Standard Disclaimer: None of this story or Virgin River or Glee situations and characters belong to me. Thanks for all your continual support. Three more chapters to go, please forgive all my errors. Stay safe and take care of yourselves and loved ones!

Chapter 17

Merce was just pulling up to the clinic in the morning when beside her an old pickup was pulling into the next parking spot. She recognized the man at once—Phil. She hadn't seen him since that first time, when she treated his facial wounds. He jumped out of the truck as she got out of the Hummer. His hands were plunged into his pockets and he seemed to nearly vibrate with the jitters. She suddenly realized something—the man who took her to deliver his baby in the backwoods, also a grower, didn't seem to be on anything. This guy was wired. High. She'd never have gotten in a truck, in the middle of the night, with Phil—baby or no baby. She further realized that without a plan of any kind, she could get hurt if she refused such a request from Phil. He was pretty scary, and clearly unstable.

Before she could even address him, he said, "I need something. Back pain."

"What do you need?" she asked calmly, very practiced in handling his type back in the city.

"Pain medicine. I need something for pain. Fentanyl, maybe. OxyContin. Morphine. Something."

"Did you hurt your back?" she asked, trying to avoid his eyes as she proceeded to Doc's front porch. He was jerking and tweaking, and upright rather than sitting on a low stool, she became aware of his size. Like most men he was considerably taller than she was. It was clear he'd gotten his hands on something not depressive. Maybe methamphetamine, as Doc had earlier suspected. He wanted a narcotic to bring him down. The pot from his garden must not be doing it for him.

"Fell off a ledge out there. Might've broke it. It'll be okay, but I need a little medicine."

"Fine. You'll have to see Doc," she said.

His feet moved nervously. He pulled a hand out of his pocket and grabbed at her sleeve and she jerked out of his reach.

Sam, coming from her cabin, arrived behind her and was just pulling into town as Phil made that move and for a split second she almost felt sorry for him. Sam accelerated, screeched to a stop within inches of Doc's porch and was out of the truck in one second. "Get away from her!" he shouted.

The guy backed away, but just a little bit. He looked at Merce. "I just need something for the pain in my back," he said.

Sam reached into his truck and had his hand on his rifle. The look in his eyes was frightening. "I'm okay," she said to Sam. Then to the twitchy young man, "I don't prescribe the kind of drugs you're looking for. We leave that to the doctor. And he'll want an X-ray, undoubtedly."

The guy stared at her, then grinned stupidly. "You ain't got no X-ray."

"There's one at Valley Hospital," she said.

Sam pulled the rifle off the rack and held it at his side for a moment. Then he kicked the truck door closed and came up onto the porch to stand beside Merce. He put an arm around Merce and pulled her against him. "Want to see the doctor?" he asked Phil, rifle in hand.

"Hey, man," he laughed nervously. "What's your deal, man?" He backed away with his hands up, palms facing Sam. "Take it easy. I'll go to the valley," he said. He jumped off the porch, not bothering with the steps. Must be some back pain, she thought. He got in the old pickup, started it, put it in gear and drove away. But he didn't go toward the valley—he went toward the woods.

"You know him?" Sam asked.

"He was at that camp Doc and I went to a few months ago. When you watched the baby for us. You remember…"

"Menkins's?"

"Uh-huh. Did you have to do that?" Merce asked. "He really hadn't done anything threatening."

Sam glared after the departing truck. "Yeah," he said. "I had to. He's wrong. He was just wrong." Sam said. He knew she didn't like guns and believed she could handle herself with these dope dealers and growers. But a part of Sam that he couldn't explain to her until she gave him opening to was just super protective of her. Even if she didn't know why. She was his woman, and he would die for her to make sure she was safe and sound.

Every first weekend of autumn, the Andersons played host to a huge harvest picnic at their ranch. Everyone they knew in Lima River and even some folks from surrounding towns showed up. CJ had a huge canvas tent he erected in the pasture outside the corral, barbecues were set up, people provided tables and chairs. Their neighbors brought their miniature horses and set up pony rides. Sam always donated a couple of kegs while Preacher whipped up some of his best potato salad in a tub so big it looked as if it would feed a third-world nation. There were barrels of lemonade and iced tea, ice chests full of sodas and, in the afternoon.

The barn floor was swept clean and a small band was set up for country dancing. There were children everywhere, running from one end of the ranch to the other, from corral to hay loft.

Merce had looked forward to the picnic as a chance to hold Meagan for a while. The baby was passed around from Pam to CJ. CJ was pretty busy around the barn and barbecues, but from time to time he was near the picnic tables or food tables and she would catch a glimpse of him holding Meagan comfortably on his hip.

The Andersons were wonderful, authentic people with nothing but tons of love in their hearts. CJ was just like Pam with Meagan; sweet, nurturing and tender. The sun was beginning to lower in the late afternoon sky when Sam found Merce sitting on the porch swing with the baby, giving her a bottle. He sat beside her and played idly with Meagan's dark curls. "She seems to be doing well here," he said.

"She should," Merce said. "She's home." And it gave her deep satisfaction to know that this was true in all ways.

"I'd like to spin you around the barn a little bit," he said, leaning over the baby's head to give her a kiss.

"Another surprise. You dance?"

"I think that might be overly optimistic," he said. "I do something. I'll try not to hurt you. My white chocolate body roll or robot might not be the best moves for this crowd."

Pam came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. "Here, Merce, let me take her off your hands. I'll put her to bed."

Merce stood with the baby in her arms and walked into the house, Pam right behind her. She turned and placed the baby in Pam's arms. Then she leaned toward Pam and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You have a wonderful family," Merce said. "I think you are doing an amazing job with her."

Merce made an appointment at the Grace Valley clinic. She was surprised to learn that both doctors were available, so she requested the OB. Prenatal consult, she said. "We'll go ahead and put your patient with Dr. Sterling," the receptionist said, and Merce did not correct her. After all, she'd been there before with a couple of pregnant women for ultrasounds, and they knew her as the midwife upriver. After seeing a few patients, Merce headed for Grace Valley in the afternoon.

It had only been a short time since the gathering at the Sterlings' house, and she could no longer deny the truth. She was pregnant. She already knew it. They had plenty of pregnancy tests on hand at Doc's, and she'd used one. Then another one. And another. Half of her hoped it was wrong, the other half of her was afraid it was wrong.

When she got to the clinic, Quinn was hanging around the reception desk. "Hey, there." She leaned as if looking around Merce. "I thought you were bringing in a prenatal consult?"

"Yeah," Merce said. "Me."

Quinn's eyes grew momentarily round, surprised.

"It must be the water," Merce said with a shrug.

"Come on back. You're with Jeff, and as you know, our nurse is on maternity leave. Want me to stand in or keep out of your business?"

Merce felt a shudder of nervous emotion. "Please, come with me. I think I need to explain a few things," she said.

"Oh, boy," Quinn said, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Sounds like it might be a little complicated."

"Not a little," Merce answered.

Jeff came out of the back and said, "Hey, Mercedes. You bring me a prenatal consult?" Before she could answer, Quinn inclined her head toward Merce. "Oh," Jeff said. "Well, first things first—Quinn, set her up in there. Let's get the facts."

"Okay," Merce said, suddenly meek and nervous. "But I already know."

"Don't try and make my job so easy," he said with a laugh. "There's no challenge in that."

Merce went into the exam room where she found a gown and sheet. She undressed and sat up on the table, waiting. How was she supposed to feel about this? She'd been desperate for a baby, and now she was having one. Why did it feel so confusing? As though something had gone wrong, when in reality it had finally gone right.

But this wasn't what she had doubts. And she knew it wasn't what Sam had planned—he'd offered to take care of their birth control needs. Oh, brother, was he going to be surprised.

Jeff came in, Quinn on his heels. "How are you feeling, Merce?"

"Besides terribly confused? A little nauseous in the morning."

"Strangest thing, isn't it? But you're keeping food down?"

"Yep."

Quinn set up the instruments and pap slide while Jeff got her blood pressure. "Want to talk first or second?" he asked her.

"Second."

"Okay. Quinn—can you fire up the ultrasound? Thanks. Merce, lie back and slide down for me, okay?" He guided her feet into the stirrups and kept hands on her legs in case she slid too far and accidentally fell. When her position was solid, he took his place on his stool and snapped on the rubber gloves. He inserted the speculum. "You know how far along?"

"Three months," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Approximately."

"Congratulations," he said. Beside her the ultrasound bleeped as it warmed up. He pulled out the speculum after the pap slide was complete and gently palpated the uterus, measuring for size. "You're almost as good at this as I am, Merce," he said. "You have reached the right approximate diagnosis. Good. Everything's good." He pulled the wand from the ultrasound; because this was an early pregnancy he would do an internal probe for a better reading as opposed to running the probe over her still soft belly. "Turn your head, Merce," he said. "Beautiful," he added.

She looked at the monitor. Tears slid out of her eyes and into the hair at her temples. There it was, a small mass, limbs just visible to the practiced eye, moving around inside of her. They watched the new life for a little while and she gave a hiccup of emotion, moving a trembling hand to cover her mouth.

"Just about twelve weeks," Jeff said. "Out of the miscarriage woods. We'll print you out a picture, though the view is going to be lots better in another few weeks."

He removed the probe and helped her to sit up. Quinn leaned a hip on the counter and Jeff returned to his stool.

"You're in perfect health," her doctor said.

Quinn handed Merce a tissue. "I've been there, Merce," Quinn said. "Believe me."

Finally Jeff said, "What's the matter, Merce? How can we help?"

She blotted her eyes. "I'm sorry to do this to you, but it's just so complicated."

Jeff reached out to her and gave her knee a squeeze. "It probably isn't as complicated as you think."

"Oh, wait," she said with a weak, embarrassed laugh. "How about I start by telling you I'm hopelessly infertile."

He gave a little laugh. "Let's see—you have a uterus, ovaries, Fallopian tubes… And I've heard this business of not being able to get pregnant from pregnant women before."

"And I went through three years of infertility treatment, including surgery, without success. We even had one very expensive, very failed attempt at in vitro."

"Well, that puts an interesting spin on things. Maybe you should back up a little. You don't have to talk to us, Merce. It's up to you."

"No, I want to. I need advice. I'm a mess. See—before moving up here from L.A., I was married. My husband was a doctor—we often worked together. We tried desperately to have a baby. He was killed by a police officer who had mistaken he for a robber. That was a year and four months ago. Almost exactly. I came up here looking for a simpler life, a safer life. I just wanted to start over."

Jeff shrugged. "Kind of looks like you found what you were looking for."

She laughed. "Lima River isn't all that simple. But yes, in some important ways, I found what I was looking for," she agreed. "Of course, this wasn't planned. I didn't think it was possible for me to get pregnant."

"Is the problem Sam?" Quinn asked.

"Yes, but he doesn't know it. He's so wonderful, but he knew from the beginning that I wasn't quite over my husband. I adore Sam—you can't imagine—but I still haven't gotten to that point where I feel free to move on to—" She took a breath. "To another man." They gave her a moment and another tissue. "This is supposed to be my baby with my husband. The one we tried so hard to have." She blew her nose.

Quinn stepped forward and took her hand. "It seems apparent that Sam loves you. And that he's a good man."

"He's real good with children," Jeff put in.

"Whether you planned to or not," Quinn said with a shrug, "it appears you have moved on. At least in some ways."

"The last time I gave my heart and soul to a man, he died," she said with a sniffle. Then she lowered her head and a couple of tears fell on the hands folded in her lap. "I don't think I could survive something like that again."

Quinn stepped forward and took her into her arms and Jeff was quick to join her. They comforted her for a minute. Then Jeff gave her shoulders a squeeze and said, "Merce, I like Sam's chances. Five wars couldn't kill him."

"Five wars?" Quinn asked.

Jeff shrugged. "You didn't know that?"

"I knew he was in the marines!"

"Men actually do talk," Jeff said.

"That husband of mine," she groused. "He's so badly trained!"

"I'm so confused," Merce said. "I don't really know what to do!"

"Naw, that's not true. It's a done deal, Merce," Jeff said. "Now you just have to be a little kind to yourself and work through it. You wanted a baby real bad, and you're having one. Sam—he doesn't know?"

"No. He knows I'm widowed—he's the only one who knows in Lima River. But he doesn't know how hard I tried for a baby. He's been so supportive of me in my grieving moments—he hasn't said a word to anyone, because I asked him not to. It's easier, you know—when people don't look at you that way. Like you might be in constant pain. But," she said, "he also offered to take care of our birth control concerns, and of course I told him I had it covered. I was absolutely sure I couldn't get pregnant. I'd never lie about that to a man!"

"He's a good man. He's going to understand."

"He's going to think I tricked him, isn't he? I mean, he's forty!"

"Yeah, lot of that going around, too," Quinn said. "I remember dealing with some of these same issues when I found out I was pregnant. Artie was over forty when I broke it to him that he was going to be a father. I was afraid he'd bolt."

"I had surgery to remove endometriosis, had my tubes blown out, took hormones, took my temperature every day for two years…" Merce sobbed. "We tried everything. Matt wanted a baby as badly as I did. I'm telling you—I'm completely sterile!"

"Well…. " they both said.

"It's the funniest thing," Jeff said. "God works in mysterious ways. I can't believe how many miraculous pregnancies I've seen…"

"What if Sam is furious? Who would blame him? I mean, he hasn't even been in a serious relationship, and here I come. Bouncing into town, telling him I have the birth control issue covered. What if he thinks I am liar trying to trap him?"

"Something tells me he's not going to say that," Jeff said. "But, there's only one way to find out. And—at three months—I'd recommend you not wait much longer."

"I'm afraid," she said quietly.

"Of Sam?" Quinn asked, shocked.

"Jesus, of everything! I'm not even sure I should be here! From the beginning, I thought it was a mistake, making such a big change. I'm not a country bumpkin."

"You'd never know it," Quinn said. "You seem to fit in just fine."

"Some days I think this place was just what I needed. Other days I ask myself what I'm still doing here. Not only that, do you know how scary it is to think of being committed again and opening myself up to the pain that follows when something goes terribly, terribly wrong? I'm afraid to move on—even though you're right—I already have. I still cry sometimes—over my dead husband. How can I ask another man to put up with that?" She drew in a jagged breath. "At the very least, we should have been able to plan for a possible baby before…"

Quinn held her hand. "Hardly any of us manages to work things out that neatly," she said. Quinn lifted Merce's chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. "I think you should try to remember two things—you have a baby inside you now, a baby you longed for. And a good man back in Lima River. You got this Merce. You'll know what to do."

Merce knew Jeff and Quinn were right. It was important to face this head-on and tell Sam as soon as possible. Let him have time to react. Respond. When she got back to Lima River, she intended to go straight to the bar. But there, in front of Doc's, was a car she recognized. Sugar and Rory Flanagan. Sugar must be in labor.

When she got inside she found the Flanagans with Doc, waiting in the kitchen with a cup of tea. "So this is it?" Merce asked.

"I think so," Sugar said. "I've been in labor all day, and now I'm having contractions less than five minutes apart and some spotting. That's when you said to call, right?"

"That's what we decided. Would you like to come upstairs, settle in and let me check you?"

"I'm scared," Sugar said. "I didn't think I would be."

"Darling, there is nothing in the world to be afraid of. You're going to sail through this. Rory, why don't you let me get Sugar comfortable and then you can come upstairs."

"But I want to be there for everything!" he said.

Merce laughed in amusement. "She's just going to get undressed, Rory. I bet you've been there for that about a million times." She took Sugar's suitcase and her arm. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go have a baby."

Once settled in, Sugar proved to be only four centimeters dilated. Back at the hospital in L.A. they would call that the price of admission—anything less than four centimeters and you were sent home to labor a little longer. Merce observed a couple of contractions and they were coming strong and long. That business about sailing through was perhaps overly optimistic.

Rory was at his wife's side as soon as he was invited and, unlike Joe, he was completely prepared for the rigors of labor. This couple actually had had some birthing training. Merce told Rory to walk his wife up and down the upstairs hallway and left Sugar in his capable hands to go downstairs to use the phone to call Sam.

"Hi," she said. "I have a delivery, so I'm not coming to the bar."

"You think it'll be long?" he asked.

"There's no telling. She hasn't progressed very far yet."

"Can I bring you anything? Something to eat?"

"No, Sam, not for me. Doc can walk across the street if he wants to. But listen—my instinct tells me maybe he shouldn't have a whiskey tonight."

"Don't worry about Doc—his instincts are pretty good, too. Merce? My door will be unlocked."

"Thank you," she said. "If we finish up before morning, I'll sneak into your room. Would that be okay?"

He laughed his low, sexy laugh. "It's always okay, Mercedes. I might not be able to sleep hoping you will be in my arms soon."

"I'll hope, too—but for Sugar's sake, not yours or mine."

Sugar's blood pressure was stable and her labor was difficult. Three hours later, in spite of walking, squatting and laboring, she was still only at four centimeters. At midnight she was at a possible five. Doc suggested a Pitocin drip and breaking her water, which Merce had just been considering. Her contractions were coming every two minutes. Near midnight Merce checked her and with great relief, found that she had progressed to eight centimeters. But then, just thirty minutes later, she was back at five. Merce had been down this road before—the cervix had swollen and appeared as though it was shrinking. That indicated they might not be able to have a vaginal birth. She examined Sugar during a contraction when her cervix widened and literally tried to hold her cervix open to the great discomfort of the patient, but it just wasn't working. Sugar was wet with sweat and growing more exhausted by the minute.

It was three-thirty in the morning when Merce made the call to Jeff Sterling. "I'm sorry to do this to you," she said. "I have a delivery that might be going south. I've got a patient who's been laboring for hours, stuck at five. Her cervix advanced to eight and swelled back to five. She's not progressing. We could ride this out, but mother is wilting and I have no indication that… I think it's very possible the baby's not going to fit. She is tiny. I suspect she's going to need a cesarean."

"Did you pit her?"

"Yeah. Pitocin running and I broke her water."

"Okay, stop the pit, turn her on her left side. How long has she been laboring, stuck at four or five?"

"Ten hours with me. She labored at home for about eight."

"Have you tried stretching the cervix?"

"Unsuccessfully," she said. "Our ultrasound at your clinic showed a competent pelvis and average-size baby."

"Things change," he said. "Any fetal distress?"

"Not yet. The doptone shows a strong, regular, even heart rate, but mother's pressure is up a bit."

"You could ride this out awhile, but if she's exhausted, I vote for not waiting. I'll meet you at Valley. Can you make the drive or do you need helicopter transport?"

"We've got some real good shocks on that Hummer," she said. "Either way, she's an hour or more from the hospital. I'll wake Sam. Get his help."

Merce checked Sugar once more; she had finally made six centimeters, but she was weakening. Sugar's heart rate was increasing and the baby's had dropped just slightly. Rory was growing nervous and pale despite the number of times Merce reassured him that this wasn't unusual. It was starting to look like even if the baby was going to fit, Sugar might not have the energy to push him out.

It was 4:00 a.m. when Merce called Sam. He didn't sound as though he'd been asleep. "Sam, I'm going to have to transport my patient to Valley Hospital for a C-section. Jeff's going to meet us there. I could use some help."

"Be right there," he said.

"I'll try to get her downstairs and then if you'll—"

"No, Merce," Sam said. "Leave her where she is. I'll get her downstairs. I wouldn't want both of you to fall."

"Okay, sure. Thanks."

Then she went back to her patient. Although Doc was standing by, this was Merce's case and a decision like this was entirely hers. "Sugar," she said, gently brushing the hair away from her soaking brow. "We're going to transport you to Valley Hospital for a C-section…"

"Nooo," she cried. "I want to have the baby normally."

"Nothing abnormal about a C-section," she said. "It's a good operation, and it keeps you and the baby out of distress. Fortunately, we have the time so you're not at major risk. But with the distance to the hospital, we shouldn't wait until you are. It's going to be fine, Sugar."

"Oh, God," she cried.

Then she was gripped by another hard contraction and fear gave way to pain. Her husband tried the breathing with her, but after all these hours of hard labor, it was futile. She had very little space between contractions and some residual pain that made it feel, to her, as if her contractions were continual, back to back.

Merce had had tough deliveries before, but it was different in the hospital, when you could just wheel your patient down the hall to surgery and let the surgeons and anesthesiologist take over; in a hospital she would give the mother every chance to make it through, if she wanted to try. It was different for her here, when the hospital was so far away, staffed and equipped for only routine procedures and surgeries. She couldn't help but feel very disappointed for Sugar, who had so looked forward to a natural childbirth with her husband.

"Sugar, it's just one of those things. Sometimes a C-section is the best answer," Merce said. "You're not going to have this baby here, but we want you to have as many healthy births as you desire."

"Of course you're right," she answered breathlessly.

Merce heard the front door open, Sam's feet on the stairs and then his voice outside the door. "Merce?"

She pushed the door open.

"Let me take her down for you. I'll drive you to the hospital in the Hummer."

"Thanks. Come in. Just let her get through this next contraction."

Sam stepped into the room and nodded at Rory. "How are you doing, man?" he asked. "I'm going to carry your wife downstairs for you—you look pretty exhausted. You and Merce can ride in back with her and I'll drive." As soon as Sugar seemed to relax a bit, Sam bent over the bed and lifted her easily into his arms. "Hang on, kid," he said. "I'll get you down before the next one hits, how's that?"

Merce grabbed her bag and said, "Rory, please get Sugar's suitcase." She followed Sam downstairs, grabbed her coat and while Sam held Sugar, she opened up the back of the Hummer and slid out the gurney. "Sugar, I want you on your left side, please." Once she was situated, Merce and Rory climbed in on either side of her, kneeling, while Sam got behind the wheel and took off in the direction of Valley Hospital.

Merce kept the fetoscope handy and blood pressure cuff on Sugar's upper arm. She checked her pressure and the fetal heartbeat every few minutes. They were nearly halfway when she reached forward and put a thankful hand on Sam's shoulder. His hand automatically came up to cover hers. "You were still awake," she said softly.

"In case you needed anything," he answered.

She gently squeezed his shoulder, but what she really wanted to do was throw her arms around him. She so appreciated the way he instinctively supported her.

When they got to the hospital they entered the emergency room and, once inside, Merce handed Sam her coat and said, "You should move the SUV. Rory and I will take her up to labor and delivery. Jeff's meeting us. I hate to ask you, but…"

"Of course I'll wait. I'll be right here. Don't worry about me."

"Am I going to be allowed in?" Rory asked while they were in the elevator.

"That's going to be up to Dr. Sterling," she said. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't have a problem with it."

Merce pushed the gurney through the swinging doors and was very happy to see Jeff standing at the sink, finishing his scrub. Hands held up, he turned toward her and gave a nod and a smile. "Number two is set up, Merce. The anesthesiologist is here."

Beside him at the adjoining sink, pumping the faucet pedal with her foot, was a nurse in scrubs, her mask tied around her neck. She looked over at Merce and with a sarcastic twist of her lips, said, "Another botched home birth?"

Merce's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as if slapped. Jeff whirled on the nurse, glaring at her. Then Jeff turned back to Merce and said, "Can you scrub in with me, Merce?"

"I'm prepared to assist Dr. Sterling," the nurse said from behind him.

"Thank you, Rachel, but I'm leaning toward someone more professional. You and I will talk later." And to Merce, "You have less than fifteen minutes."

"Certainly. Rory wants to be there," she said.

"Of course. Rachel, find the father some scrubs. Merce, you'll find some in the locker room. Shake a leg."

Merce pushed the gurney to operating room number two and let the circulating nurse pull Sugar into the room. She donned green scrubs in the locker room and joined Rory at the sink, saying, "If you scrub in, the doctor might be inclined to let you hold your son when he's born. Just like this," she said, demonstrating the scrubbing technique. "No guarantees on that, so no pouting. And you'll have to stay at Sugar's head."

"Have you done this before?" he asked her. "Assisted in a C-section?"

"Many times," she said.

"Merce?" he asked. "It wasn't botched, was it?"

"Of course not. What Sugar experienced wasn't all that unusual. You were there, Rory. You see anything happen that bothered you? I trust you would've said something or at least asked a question or two." She smiled at him. "You have one stubborn little boy to raise. Fortunately, we have a very good surgeon at our disposal."

By the time they entered the operating room, Sugar had received her spinal from the anesthesiologist and was much more comfortable. Jeff was ready to begin and Merce took her place next to him, her instruments lying out on the mayo stand.

"Scalpel," he said.

She slapped it into his hand. "Thank you," she said. "For what you did out there."

"She's a good nurse, but I never figured her out for jealousy. I apologize for her. We're ready to retract," he said. He chuckled. "You do a damn fine job, Merce. I'd let you deliver my wife's babies in a second."

Afterwards, the ride back to Lima River wasn't exactly quiet—Rory was a literal motormouth. Sam heard the details of the surgery several times. While Rory's wife was in recovery and his son in the nursery, he needed a lift home to fetch his own vehicle so he could go back. He chattered while Sam drove, and Merce's head lolled on the seat beside him.

"Exhausted, baby?" he asked her.

"I'll be fine after a nap," she said.

"Merce assisted Dr. Sterling," Rory sounded from the back. "He asked her to. It was incredible. The things she knows how to do."

Sam glanced over at her and smiled. "You know what's incredible, Rory?" Sam said. He reached over and squeezed her thigh. "She never surprises me."

It was 9:00 a.m. before they got back to Lima River. Merce checked in with Doc. "Mother and baby came through very well. Jeff Sterling is a wonderful, fast surgeon."

"Good call," he said. "For a city girl." And then he treated her to a rare smile.

She found there were only three people scheduled for morning appointments and Doc was more than capable. She had asked Sam to give her a call in five or six hours—she didn't want to sleep all day or she wouldn't sleep that night. Both the labor and delivery had been taxing and she was spent; she felt like she could sleep for days but she knew she wouldn't.