Tiel lay Katherine on her lap. Doc folded back the towel and examined the tiny newborn, who wasn't even as long as his forearm. His hands looked large and masculine against her baby pinkness, but their touch was tender, especially when he taped the tied-off cord to her tummy.
"She's small," he observed. "A couple weeks premature, I'd guess. She seems okay, though. Breathing all right. But she should be in a hospital neonatal unit. It's important that we keep her warm. Try and keep her head covered."
"All right."
He was leaning close to Tiel. Close enough for her to distinguish each tiny line that radiated from the outer corners of his eyes. The irises of his eyes were grayish green, the lashes very black, several shades darker than his medium brown hair. His chin and jaw were showing stubble, which was attractive. Through the tear in his shirtsleeve, she noticed that blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage.
"Does your shoulder hurt?"
When he raised his head, they almost bumped noses.
Their eyes were engaged for several seconds before he turned his head to check his shoulder wound. He looked at it as though he'd forgotten it was there. "No. It's fine."
Hastily he added, "Better put one of those diapers on her, then wrap her up again."
Tiel ineptly diapered the baby while Doc checked on the new mother.
"Is all that blood…" Tiel purposefully left the question incomplete, afraid that Ronnie would overhear. Since Tiel had never witnessed a birth, she didn't know if the amount that Sabra had bled was normal or cause for alarm. To her, it appeared an inordinate amount, and if she was reading Doc right, he was concerned.
"Much more than there should be." He kept his voice low for the same reason she had. Draping the sheet over Sabra's thighs, he began massaging her abdomen. "Sometimes this helps curb the bleeding," he said in reply to Tiel's unspoken question.
"If it doesn't?"
"It can't go on for long before we've got real problems.
I wish I could've done an episiotomy, saved her this."
"Don't blame yourself. Under the circumstances and given the conditions, you did amazingly well, Dr. Stanwick."
CHAPTER 7
It was out before she could recall it. She hadn't intended for Doc to know that she recognized him. Not yet, anyway.
Although maybe her slip of the tongue had been subconsciously intentional. Maybe she had addressed him by name just to see how he would react. Her reporter's yen for provoking a response to an unexpected question or statement had goaded her into tossing out his name to see what his spontaneous, unrehearsed, and therefore candid reaction would be.
His spontaneous, unrehearsed, and candid reaction was telling. In sequence he looked at first astonished, then mystified, then irked. Finally, it was as though a shutter had been slammed shut over his eyes.
Tiel held his stare, her steady gaze virtually daring him to deny that he was Dr. Bradley Stanwick. Or had been in his previous life.
The telephone rang again.
"Oh, hell," Donna grumbled. "What do I tell 'em this time?"
"Let me answer." Ronnie reached for the phone. "Mr.
Galloway? No, like the lady told you, he's not dead."
Sabra had been roused by the ringing telephone. She asked to hold her baby. Tiel laid the infant in her arms.
The new mother cooed over how sweet Katherine looked now, how good she smelled.
Tiel stood up and stretched. She hadn't realized until now how taxing the final hour of labor and the birth had been. Her fatigue couldn't compare to Sabra's, of course, but she was exhausted nonetheless.
Physically exhausted, but mentally charged. She took stock of the present situation. Gladys and Vern were sitting together quietly, holding hands. They looked tired but content, as though the night's events were being enacted for their entertainment.
Donna was hugging her bony chest with her skinny arms and picking at the loose, scaly sacks of skin that passed for elbows. The taller, leaner Mexican man was focused on Ronnie and the telephone. His friend was watching the FBI agent, who showed signs of coming around.
Vern had propped Agent Cain's back against the counter with his legs and feet stretched out in front of him. His ankles were bound together with silver duct tape.