Standard Disclaimer: None of this story or Virgin River or Glee situations and characters belong to me. Words can't express the gratitude and appreciation I feel from you loyal readers. And thanks so much to our fandom's faithful writers who are keeping this little ship alive with their stories: arwenforlife, Keshbeast, TWrites, Rontora, and samcedesfan85. Also thanks to mangoblogs, Da'khari, and SabCynAri3 and anybody I inadvertently left out as well for their stories. Please forgive all errors.

Chapter 20

All day long she had visions of gun battles in the forest. The unfortunate lack of work couldn't keep her from pacing. With the bar closed and so many of the men out on the scavenger hunt, the town was impossibly quiet.

Merce spent most of the day on Doc's porch, sitting on the steps. It was about noon when the black Range Rover pulled slowly into town. He drove up alongside the clinic and lowered his tinted window. "I heard what happened to you," he said.

"You did? I didn't know we had any mutual friends."

"I wanted to tell you a couple of things, because you did me a favor. Number one—I know about Giardi and he's a loose cannon. I know a lot of what goes on back there, and there aren't any others like him, that I know of. People like The Mack yes, Mack, I am not going to tell you her legal name—that's the woman who had the baby—she's been in some trouble, but she's not dangerous to anybody. She just flies under the radar, has had some tough breaks, doesn't know a lot of ways to make money. By the way—she's gone. Took that baby and went to a sister's in Arizona. I got her on a bus."

"You said Nevada before," Merce said.

"Did I now?" he asked, a small smile. "Well, I could be mistaken."

"I just hope you know where to send the check, since it's yours."

"I said, they'll have what they need. Didn't I say that?"

She was silent a moment, thinking. The check he was going to send would come from the sale of marijuana. There were people who thought it was no worse than a few beers, and she was about to pledge her life and love to a man who owned a bar, thought nothing of serving up a few beers. Then there were others who recognized its medical benefits. And a third faction saw it as a dangerous drug—one that, in the wrong hands, perhaps young hands, could lead to more dangerous addictions. Merce only knew two things: it was still legal to have an ounce on you for recreational purposes inside private homes of adults, but illegal to grow and sell without a license. It was still a criminal offense to cultivate pot, possess more than one ounce, and have it on you while driving. There were so many laws that even she didn't know what was legal and what wasn't thoroughly without looking it up.

"You said you wanted to tell me a couple of things," she said.

"I'm leaving the area. There's been a death. Doesn't really matter that Giardi won't be any great loss to society," he said with a shrug. "He's associated with a couple of the operations here, so there's going to be an investigation, warrants, arrests. I'll be moving on." He smiled at her. "You get your wish. You won't be doing business with me anymore."

She leaned forward on the porch steps. "Have you done any kind of violence?"

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "Not so far. We've had our little misunderstandings. I had to rough up some that tried to steal from me to teach a lesson but never had to kill anyone or send anyone to the hospital. I'm just a businessman not a mafia don."

"You couldn't find a more legal business?"

"Oh, sure," he answered, smiling. "I just couldn't find a more profitable one."

The window went up and he moved down the street and out of sight. She memorized the license plate, knowing that if he was any good at his profession, it wouldn't matter.

At dusk, she sat out on Doc's porch and waited. As darkness began to descend, she heard the vehicles return. As they drove slowly into town and pulled up to the bar, she tried to assess the mood of the group. Everyone seemed solemn and tired as they got out of trucks and jeeps, stretching their backs and arms. Vests were gone, guns stowed in their racks and sleeves rolled up. But shortly they were clapping each other on the back, laughing and gathering around Sam's porch. She was so relieved to see Stevie, laughing with the men, one of the brothers, completely safe. The last truck to pull up was Preacher's, in which Sam rode, as well, and they had something large in the bed, something hanging out. When he parked, all the men gathered around, and the tempo of the group seemed to pick up. There was laughter and loud voices.

Almost afraid to know what was going on, she walked across the street. Sam was coming for her and met her halfway.

"Well? You find anything?"

"Not any bad guys," he said. "Menkins's camp was busted up and what junk they left behind, we destroyed. Henry and a couple of deputies showed up to confiscate their plants. I just don't want them back in the neighborhood if they're going to let an illegal drug operation in. Truthfully, they don't have the manpower to keep them out, so we will."

"Haven't you ever thought—it's only a little pot?"

"I don't have an opinion about that," he said with a shrug. "But even though it's legalized and pharmaceutical companies grow it, the black market still exists, so we have to keep the growers out of Lima River to keep our community safe from people like Giardi."

"What have you got in the truck? What's that awful smell?"

"A bear. Wanna see it?" he asked, smiling.

"A bear? Why on earth…?"

"He was really pissed," Sam said. "Come and see—he's huge."

"Who shot him?" she asked.

"Who's taking credit or who actually shot him? Because I think everyone is taking credit." He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her the rest of the way.

She began to pick up the voices. "I swear, I heard Preacher scream," someone said.

"I didn't scream, jerkwad. That was an authentic Zulu battle cry."

"Sounded like a little girl."

"More holes in that bear than in my head."

"He didn't like that repellant so much, did he?"

"I never saw one go through that stuff before. They usually just rub their little sunken eyes and run back in the woods."

"I'm telling you, Preacher screamed. Thought he was gonna cry like a baby."

"You wanna eat today, bozo?"

There was laughter all around. A carnival-like atmosphere ensued. The serious group that had left town in the morning had come back like soldiers from war, elated, victorious. Except this war turned out to be with a bear.

Merce glanced in the back of the truck and jumped back. The bear not only filled the bed, he hung out the end. The claws on his paws were terrifying. He was tied in, tied down, even though he was dead. His eyes were open but sightless and his tongue hung out of his mouth. And he stunk to high heaven.

"Who's calling Fish and Game?"

"Aw, do we have to call them? You know they're gonna take the frickin' bear. That's my bear!"

"It ain't your bear, bozo. I shot the bear," Preacher insisted loudly.

"You screamed like a girl and the rest of us shot the bear."

"Who really shot the bear?" Merce asked Sam.

"I think Preacher shot the bear when he came at him. Then so did everybody else. And yeah, I think he screamed. I would have. That bear got so damn close." But as he said this, he grinned like a boy who had just made a touchdown.

Preacher stomped over to Sam and Merce. He bent down and whispered to Merce, "I did not scream. It was a battle cry these punks don't know about our African heritage." He turned and stomped off.

"Honey," Sam said, softly. "We found one other thing today." She looked up at him expectantly. "We found the black Range Rover. Ran off the road and went down a couple hundred feet…"

"Is he dead?" she asked fearfully, surprised that she even cared.

"There wasn't anybody inside."

She gave a short, startled laugh. "Goodness gracious," she said. "He came by here today at about noon. All he did was roll down the window and said that because I did him a favor he wanted me to know there was no one else out there in the cannabis trade like Giardi that he knew of, and he was leaving the area. Sam, he must have ditched the truck."

"Probably," he said. "Which means he might be getting a new vehicle, new look and be back. Please don't ever go with him again, Merce. Promise me."

She was thinking, insanely, that he was one person who treated her okay and seemed to have something of a conscience. If he came to her and said someone needed medical help, it would be hard to refuse him. "Just how many children do you think he can father?" she asked with a laugh.

"Men have lapses in judgment."

"Do they? Hopefully you haven't had too many," she said.

"I haven't had any," he said with a smile.

"So. That's all you got? A wrecked SUV and a bear? Must be a little anticlimactic for you," she said.

"You calling that bear anticlimactic? Baby, that is a huge frickin' bear!"

There must have been about twenty-five men, they all smelled bad, and they were filing into the bar. Merce sniffed Sam's shirt. "Whew," she said. "You smell almost as bad as the bear."

"It's going to get worse before it gets better," he said. "Now we'll have beer, food and cigars. I have to get in there and start serving beer while Preacher and Stevie fire up the barbecue pit."

"I'll help," she said, taking his hand. "It was a waste of time, wasn't it?"

"Not in my mind. Our forest is nice and tidy, we're turning a trailer full of plants over to the sheriff and we got a mean old bear."

"You had fun," she accused.

"Not on purpose," he said. But his smile was very large.

"Is it over, Sam?" she asked him.

"I sure hope to God so, baby. I hope and pray that all the danger is over."

For once Merce was behind the bar. She helped serve beer and drinks, tossed a great big salad while Preacher turned steaks on the grill. Plates and utensils were put out for a buffet-style service. The men poked fun at each other, their laughter getting louder and wilder as the night wore on. Although Stevie was officially working, when he'd pass one of the men, he'd be pulled into a strong-armed embrace and praised as though he was a comrade. Doc wandered across the street for a whiskey, visited with the men for a while before going back to his house. Most of the locals left before the meal was served, home to claim to their wives that they shot the bear.

It was about nine when the cards and cigars came out. Sam grabbed Merce's hand and said, "Let's get out of here. You must be exhausted."

"Hmm," she said, leaning against him. "My feelings won't be hurt if you want to hang out with your boys."

"They'll probably be around a day or two. Since they came all this way, they'll want to fish and stink up my bar. Fishing's starting to get good." He put an arm around Merce and walked her through the back of the bar. "We need to give the baby a nap."

"We need to give the baby's father a shower," she said, wrinkling her nose.

While Sam showered, Merce put on one of his shirts, her favorite soft chambray. She curled up on the sofa with one of Sam's magazines in her lap, flipping through the pages. She would have to find something better than Field and Stream, she decided.

She could hear the raucous laughter from the bar; she could almost smell the cigar smoke, but it made her smile. These were good people—people who came running when they thought there was a possible danger. Sam's friends, the people in town—they knew the meaning of being neighbors.

She had only known the neighbors on each side of her in L.A. With Matt's long hours, they didn't socialize as much as she'd have liked. And big cities can be less friendly. Everyone was so focused on work, on making money, on buying things. Merce used to concentrate on that, as well. Besides that Hummer, which she'd needed for work and was as much for the town as herself, she'd hardly bought a thing in six months. She patted her tummy—she would have to buy clothes soon—she couldn't get her jeans closed. As she thought about it, she didn't crave any particular label. It made her smile. Lately, she didn't recognize herself. She was not the same woman who nearly slid off the mountain several months ago.

Sam came out of the shower, a towel around his waist, rubbing dry his short hair with another one. He tossed the second towel and went to his bed, lifting the covers and inclining his head toward her. She put aside the magazine and went to him. As she slipped in, she said, "You're sure you don't want to play poker and make yourself smell disgusting? They're going to keep us up all night anyway."

He dropped his towel and got in beside her. "You're kidding, right?" He scooped her up next to him and she snuggled close.

"Have I told you how much I like sleeping with you?" she asked him. "You sleep very well. And you don't snore. But I think maybe you wake up too early."

"I like the mornings."

"I can't fit in my pants already," she said. She lifted herself up and with her elbows resting on his chest said, "You know what I admire about you. That you can just call your friends and they just come."

"I only called one of them—Jake, the one who told me that I better wife you up quickly—he called the others. They're just like that. And if any of them called—I'd go." He smiled at her. "I never expected a posse like that to turn out. Says something about the way people feel about you."

"But you didn't actually find anyone scary out there."

"I liked what I found. I wasn't willing to take any chances, and neither was anyone else. The same thing would happen for any other crisis—like a bear mauling or a forest fire or someone lost in the woods. People band up, go out and take care of the problem if they can. What else are you thinking about love?"

She played idly with his damp chest. "That look you get when you're facing off with someone or something, do you have any idea how dark it is? You might want to keep that look in the closet—it's disturbing."

"Unfortunately, I have had to face a lot of life and death and had to take the lives of the enemy. I am a warrior only when they there is a battle. I promise that the only time you will see that expression is when someone is in danger, and I have to stop being Sam the barman who owns a bar that everybody knows your name...and become Sam the highly trained ex-Marine sergeant who has been willing to sacrifice himself and kill for his country and would sacrifice himself and kill even more so for the safety of the woman and child that he loves above all else."

"As long as you use that intensity only as needed, I can live with that. I still hate guns and violence and that will never change about me either."

"I want to tell you something," he said. "I asked your sister all about your husband. Matt."

"You did?"

"Yep. I understand he was a great man. A brilliant man—and kind. He did a lot of good in the world, and he was good to you. I have a lot of respect for him."

"She didn't tell me this."

"I've been trying to figure out how to say this to you. I might muck it up, but you have to listen. A couple of weeks ago I let you cry alone, because I was pissed. I caught you talking to his picture, and I felt jealous and threatened. Threatened by a dead man, which makes me a true dumbass." He touched her hair. "I won't ever do that again, Merce. I understand why you love him, why you'll always—"

"Sam—"

"No, I'm going to tell you this, and you're going to listen. We are going to be married and spend the rest of our lives together, and we are going to communicate effectively even when it's uncomfortable. I know you didn't want your life to change the way it did, and you couldn't control it. Just like you can't control what you feel. You don't have to pretend you don't think about him, or miss him. And if you have those moments when you're sad, when you wish you could have him back in your life, you can be honest with me. You don't have to pretend it's PMS." He smiled. "We both know you don't have PMS anymore."

"Sam, what are you talking about?"

"I just want one thing. If I can be a sport about the fact that he'll always be an important part of your life, can you try to not be sorry that we're together, having this baby? Because I have to tell you, I've never been more ready for anything. I'll do my best not to be jealous. I realize I'm not your first choice, but your next choice. That's good enough for me, and I'm sorry someone you loved died. I'm sorry for your loss, Merce."

"Why are you saying this? It's such nonsense."

"It's what I heard," he said. "I heard you saying you were sorry you were pregnant, that it just happened, and you promised not to forget him."

Merce gave him a look of disbelief. "I thought you were hurt by what you heard me say—but you were hurt because of what you didn't hear!"

"Huh?"

"Sam, I'm not sorry I'm pregnant. I'm thrilled! I got myself all worked up because I realized that I was more in love with you than I thought possible. Maybe more in love than I've ever been in my life. I had a short insane moment of feeling that I'd betrayed his memory somehow. As though I'd been unfaithful or something. It's true—I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. I know I resisted, but you just won me over by your actions not your words. We got to get better at communicating with words babe. I promised Matt I wouldn't forget him. And I won't because you're right, he was a good man. And I respected him, too."

"Huh?" he said again.

"Look," she said, playing with his thick, damp hair. "I was upset and a little confused. I loved Matt very much. I didn't think I'd get to feel that again, much less for someone new. Imagine how it threw me when I realized I felt something even stronger. Something even more powerful. Sam, I was telling Matt I had moved on. I was saying goodbye—it was difficult. I'm not going to be a widow anymore, darling. I'm going to be a wife. This thing I have with you—it's amazing, and I am going to love you wholeheartedly without reservation for the rest of my life. Some people never find one person. I am blessed that I was able to find two men who were perfect for me for the different stages I am and was in my life."

"Seriously?"

"Totally serious babe. I was in this high, emotional state," she said with a shrug. "I was tired and pregnant. Sam, I love you so much. Can't you tell, do you think I was lying when I said it before?"

"Well…I was confused" he said, sitting up in the bed a little. "But I thought it was mostly physical. I mean—damn, Merce. We're really good together. The way we come together, it almost makes me weak to think about it."

"I don't mind the physical part one bit," she said with a mischievous grin. "But I love more about you than that. Your character, for one thing. Your generosity and how about your courage. Oh, there are about a million things, but I'm done talking now." She kissed him. "Now I want you to say something wonderful to me right before you tear this shirt off my body."

He rolled her over onto her back and, looking into her eyes, said, "Merce, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm going to make you so happy, you won't be able to stand it. You're going to wake up singing every morning."

"I already do, Sam."

The temporary end, so the story won't be listed as complete...the book is from a series...here are a few quotes from Sam being extra and/or stupid throughout Merce's pregnancy and labor in book 2, I may do an epilogue or add future chapters of Sam's and Merce's family from the series if you all want me to:

"He moved behind her and slipped his arms around her. His hands went under her jacket, under her sweater to where the jeans she could no longer close were gaping open. He put his large hands over her tummy and she put her hands over his, leaning back against him. They stood and looked out across the beautiful land, and then there was a little movement within her. These tiny flutters had just begun.

"I'm sorry you can't feel that yet," she whispered. "The baby just fluttered."

He bent to kiss her neck. "She likes it."

"How can we not? Oh, Sam, you shouldn't have shown it to me. Now if you can't get Rusty and Rose Pillsbury to part with it, my heart will break." She pressed down on his hands. He was going to build their dream home here. It was a perfect wedding present. The wedding had been small and nice with their sisters and Sam's dad and the minister, and the reception with all of their family and friends had been a surprise afterwards here in Lima River. She knew that Sam's bar apartment and Sue's cabin were not a place to raise a family, but to have Sam find this piece of property for their future home was more than she had expected following all the excitement of just becoming newlyweds and seeing the ultrasound together with Jeff telling them that she was expecting a girl which Sam had been convinced of all alone; even though she could swear the baby felt like a boy to her, she was craving all of Sam's favorite foods and none of her own.

"Think positive," he said. He gently massaged her tummy. "I thought men were supposed to get all freaked out when their wives were pregnant. Not want to touch them. Not want to have sex."

"Not all men," she said.

"God, I want you more than ever," he said, kissing her neck again.

"That—" she laughed "—is simply impossible."

"Want to christen the new home site?"

She laughed at him. "I'm not going back to Doc's with grass stains on my butt. Control yourself."

"Sam was mesmerized by the sight of her, naked in front of those mirrors. He hadn't really seen her like that. He'd seen her naked, of course, but lying down or standing almost a foot shorter than he as they showered. Now he bent, looked at her profile and said, "My God, Mercedes. You're huge."

She threw him a look that suggested a different choice of words. "I mean, you look awesome, Merce. Look at that!"

"Shut up, Sam," she said.

When they got to Dwight Evans's house for Christmas dinner, Merce preceded Sam up the walk toward the front door while Sam began toting luggage and gifts. "Merce," he called, causing her to turn around to see him smiling brightly. "You're starting to waddle," he said proudly.

"Uh!" she exclaimed, tossing her hair as she turned abruptly away from him.

"Sam was frowning darkly. A couple of the brothers-in-law, Dan and Ryan, came forward and said, "Need a hand unloading, Sam?"

"Yeah," he said, his brows drawn together.

"What's the problem?" Ryan asked.

"I said exactly those two words to her—huge and waddle—and she was very pissed about it."

The men laughed. Bob clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Come, my brother. Let's get you unloaded, get you a beer and teach you the facts of life. Out back, where men will be men and the women won't hear us."

Outside on the patio, now too cold for picnicking, there were a couple of large space heaters thoughtfully provided by Dwight, who knew the men of the family would want their beer and cigars without interference. And where Sam also wanted to be, while his daughters overran his house and bossed people around. With Merce and Janey, there were six, not to mention granddaughters—a formidable and intimidating group of women. It was there that Sam learned from the experience of four brothers-in-law and the occasional comment from Sam, that if having children was a partners' project, pregnancy was definitely a team sport. The women were the ones who knew the rules. What a man said and what girlfriends or sisters said were viewed from entirely different perspectives. If your sister said you were huge, it was a badge of honor. If your husband said that, he thought you were fat. If your best friend said you waddled, it was adorable. If your husband said that, he thought you walked funny and he no longer found you attractive.

"And look out," said Janey's husband, Mason, father of three, "if you try to make love to her, she thinks you're a pervert, and if you don't, she'll accuse you of no longer finding her desirable as she sacrifices herself to bear your child."

"The last time we had sex, instead of crying out 'Oh, God, Oh, God,' she said 'Ugh.'"

Ryan spewed out a mouthful of beer and fell into a fit laughter. "Been there, brother," he finally choked out.

"You wanna know what's coming, or you wanna be surprised?" Bob asked.

"Oh, please, I can't take any more surprises," Sam said. "Okay, you're coming up on where you love the baby more than her. Everything is about the baby—you consider her your brood mare."

"What do you do about that?"

"Well, for starters, never talk about breeding."

"Grovel," said someone else. "Beg for forgiveness." "But don't trip yourself up and claim she's way more important than the baby, which brings you a whole new set of problems."

"Aw, Jesus."

"And since you don't have the big belly and the backache, it would be advisable not to mention that this is all completely natural. She might deck you."

"You'd think a frickin' midwife could rise above these ridiculous notions."

"Oh, it's not her fault. There was an estrogen explosion in there—it's beyond her control."

"You want to be especially careful about admiring her breasts," Jeannie's husband, Dan, said. He took a pull on his cigar. "Especially since they're, you know, only temporary."

"God, that's gonna be so hard. Because—"

"I know." Someone else laughed. "Aren't they great?"

"Pretty soon there's going to be labor and delivery," Bill said. "And the love of your life, whose back you're trying to rub and whom you're doing everything in your power to encourage, to keep comfortable, is going to tell you to shut up and get your fucking hands off her."

Everyone laughed so hard at that, even Sam, that it appeared to be a universal fact.

"Why doesn't anyone tell you these things before?" Sam asked.

"What difference would it have made, Sam? You didn't know you were about to score a pregnancy, anyway. I know, I know—you thought you knew everything there was to know about women. Turns out you're just as stupid as the rest of us."

"Gonna be fun today," he said. "You boys, you sure know how get the women all spooled up."

"Save it. Want me to help you get the bird ready?"

"Yeah, we should do that. Then we make brunch."

"I'm good with brunch," he said. "Did you notice Brie is here?"

"I noticed that," Dwight said. "And I noticed that so far, two of the five married women in this family did not spend the night in bed with their husbands."

"Okay, save it. Since I'm going to get it later, I don't need your two cents."

"Whatever you say, son," he said. "If you get in really deep, maybe you can take her back to my office and show her all your medals, tell her how you've barely escaped death a dozen times and she just doesn't scare you." Sam glared at his father. Dwight laughed, having far too much fun with this."

Corny stood right inside the door, a smile growing on his lips and a wonderful warmth lighting his eyes as he looked her up and down. "Oh, honey," he said in a breath. "Look at you. You're gorgeous."

Merce laughed. These guys, she thought. To the last one, they loved pregnant women. It was very amazing, very sexy. No one could better appreciate that kind of man than a midwife. He dropped the plans on a table and moved toward her with his hands stretched out, tentative. "Go ahead," she said. His hands were on her belly in no time.

"Ah, Merce." Then he pulled her into his arms to give her a hug. "Ripe and ready," he said. "You're so beautiful."

"I'm right back here," Sam said from behind the bar.

Corny laughed. "Be right with you, buddy. I have my hands full of woman right now." "

"Yeah," Sam said. "My woman."

"You need your own woman," Merce said. Another one who was, like her husband, a big, handsome man, an angel of a man, and though he was surely over thirty-five, completely unattached.

"I do," he said. He touched her nose. "Why don't you find me one?"

"I'll get right on it," she said, pulling out of his arms and grabbing the rolled-up plans from the table.

She lay on her back, her belly sticking up like a mountain on top of her short frame, and Sam couldn't keep his hands off of it. While there was a time he couldn't keep his hands off the rest of her—and she had no doubt they would be there again before long—right now it was the antics of his baby within her that occupied him thoroughly. He would let go a loud bellow when her entire abdomen shifted, caving in on one side and protruding enormously on the other. And he especially liked when it appeared a foot was sliding in a large lump up one side. She could actually doze while he occupied himself with her pregnancy. It brought to her mind what he was going to look like rolling a ball on the floor with their baby girl, bouncing her on his knee, twirling her around over his head.

"We should think about naming your new playmate," she said.

"I have a suggestion," he said. "Marlena."

"I like Marlena," she said. "Old crush?"

"Our mothers. My mother name was Mary like my sister's and you mother's name was Elena," he said.

"Aw, that's sweet. I like it. Marlena Evans sounds like a soap opera name, but we can give her a middle name that begins with J to honor her godparents John which is Preacher's legal name and my sister Janey. How about Johnna, Joanna, Janicia, or Janna."

"Sweet I like all of them. Even better we can call her MJ if we do there are lots of important MJs, you, all the MJ's in the Spider-Man movies, Jordan, Jackson..."

"You are something else Sam Evans."

"Well, shit."

"Oh, brother," Jeff's wife said. "That doesn't happen very often," Bree said.

"What?" Sam said. "What?"

"But I have all these pink things! From Christmas!" Merce shrieked.

"What?" Sam said. "What the hell is it? Is the baby all right?"

"Baby's fine," Jeff said. "It isn't Marlena, that's for sure. Look—femur, femur, penis. I blew it. And I'm so damn good, I can't imagine how that happened."

"It was probably just on the early side," Quinn said. "We should've done another one at twenty weeks to be sure."

"Yeah, but I'm so damn good at reading the ultrasounds," Jeff insisted.

"Penis?" Sam asked.

Merce looked up into his eyes and said, "We're going to have to come up with another name not one that combines my mom's name with your mom's name." Sam had a dumb look on his face. Merce didn't recall having seen that look before.

"Man," he said in a breath. "I might not know what to do with a boy."

"Well, we got that news just in time," Quinn said, leaving the exam room.

"Yeah, right before the shower," Bree added, following her.

"I really thought I had it nailed," Jeff said. "I feel betrayed, in a way."

Merce looked up into her husband's eyes and watched as a slow, powerful grin appeared. "What are you thinking, Sam?" she asked him. "That I can't wait to call my brothers-in-law, they are going to die."

"Merce? Are you nervous about—you know—giving birth?"

"Not at all. You know why, big fella? Because I'm meeting Jeff Sterling at Valley Hospital, and if everything goes to hell, I'm having a big fat epidural. Afterward, I'm having a rare steak and a crown."

"Merce," he said, running a hand down her hair onto her shoulder. "I want you to have the epidural."

"Sam—are you nervous?" "Oh, baby, nervous doesn't touch it. You're my whole world. I don't think watching you hurt is something I can do. But I gotta be there, you know?"

She smiled and shook her head. "You know how you always said I should trust you? Well, now it's time for you to trust me. I know what I'm doing, Sam."

"Yeah. Well, that makes one of us."

"Do we have any more candles or any alcohol for me to drink?" she asked him.

"Not that I know about. You don't need alcohol now one of us needs to be sane."

"How about flashlights?"

"Yeah, I have a couple of those."

"Get the strongest one. If he starts to come before Jeff gets here, I might be able to hold the light for you."

"For... Me?"

"Sam, there are only two of us here. One of us is going to push him out, one of us is going to catch him. Which job do you want?"

"Oh," he said, going for the flashlight. He took it back to her and demonstrated its strength by shining it right in her eyes. She winced and he turned it off.

She rubbed her eyes. "Oh, brother. Maybe you should push him out. I'm calmer. Yeah, I vote for you," she said.

He knelt with one knee on the floor beside her bed. "Mercedes, how can you be sarcastic right now?"

"You know, you own a bar and you don't keep alcohol at home," she said, breathless. "I could have had a shot-it sometimes slows labor."

"We'll have some on hand for the next one."

"You keep talking like that's gonna happen," she said. "How ridiculous you are Sam Evans."

"I think my record speaks for itself. But Merce. I just want to make them, not deliver them."

"I hear ya, you are such a dick," she said, and then was gripped by another contraction. She tried to pant through it, but they were getting tougher—longer and closer together.

"God, I wish I could do this for you."

"That makes two of us." She closed her eyes for a moment. Two minutes later she was seized by another one. She panted through it. Sam went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, going back to her to wipe her brow and neck. "That's nice," she said.

"You have to wait for Jeff," he said.

"I'm doing the best I can, Sam."

He held her hand and wiped her brow through several more contractions, murmuring, "It's okay, baby. It's okay..."

And then she snapped, "I know it's okay! Stop saying that!"

Oh, he had heard about this—when you're doing whatever you can, but she hates you, anyway. "Sorry," she said. "That's transition talking."

"Transition?" he repeated.

"It's getting closer."

"Sam" she said breathlessly. "You're going to have to take a look. Get the flashlight and shine it right on my pelvic floor. See if the birth canal is opening. Tell me if you see him coming."

"How will I know what to look for?" he asked. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Our son has hair," she said in a very snotty tone.

"Okay, don't get pissy, I don't do this for a living." She lifted her knees and spread them while Sam held the flashlight on her. "Whoa," he said. He looked over her knees at her face. He looked a little bit pale.

"Show me how much, like this," she said, showing him a circle with her thumb and forefinger. He responded by showing her a circle, larger than hers.

"Oh, Lordy," she said. He turned off the flashlight.

"Mercedes, I want you to wait for Jeff..."

"I am sick to death of being told to wait for Jeff!" she said meanly. "Sam, listen to me. I'm having this baby. Periodt. And you're going to pay attention and help. Got that?"

"Aw, Mercedes..."

She grabbed his wrist and dug her nails into him. "Do you think this is my first choice?"

He thought briefly about suggesting, again, that she try to hold off. But he knew he was not in the driver's seat here, plus he was resisting the urge to look at his wrist to see if she'd drawn blood."

Sam's hands were shaking as he did so, wiping the muck of birth from his son's little body. Merce was straining up to see him, her fingers reaching toward him to touch him. For a moment Sam was paralyzed. Transfixed. Before he could close the blanket around him, he stared at him in sheer wonder. His son. Brought right out of his wife's body. Naked, covered with muck, squalling, and the most beautiful human he'd ever seen.

Merce was tugging at her T-shirt as Sam was handing her the baby. She held the baby's cheek against her warm breast, running her fingers over his perfect head. The baby stopped crying and appeared to be looking around. Merce glanced up at Sam and gave him a little smile. "Come on, little guy," she cooed, serene, totally focused on her son. "Do your job here. Stanch the bleeding, bring out the placenta."

She pinched her nipple to fit the baby's mouth, trying to entice him with it. Sam felt a river of emotion run through him. He didn't know if he was about to burst into song or faint. He dropped to his knees to be closer and watched Merce tickle the baby's mouth and cheek with her nipple and then the baby turned his head instinctively and clamped on, took hold, suckled. And Merce said, "Oh, my! You're very good at this." Then she looked at Sam, who knelt by the bed, dazed. She smiled weakly and said, "Thank you, darling."

He leaned closer to her, his face next to his son's head. "My God, Mercedes," he said in a breath. "What in the world did we just do?"

"I think I just gave birth to the most perfect child in the world during a blackout in the dark and talked you through helping me do it. Thank God that everything was okay and their was no cord wrapped around his neck, and he was not a breached birth. We are truly blessed even though we have experienced a lot of pain and loss in our lives this moment right here-the joy and the love we have for our son eclipses it all."

"Sam threw back the shot and when he brought back his head, his eyes were misting over. "My wife," he said in a whisper. "You have no idea the strength that took. She was amazing. I watched her face—she went to a place of power I've never been. And then, when I handed her the baby, when she put my son against her breast..." He took another swallow. "When she nursed my son, she was in another place—there was such joy, peace, and love... God," he said.

"Yeah," Preacher said. "That was God." Preacher opened his arms and gave the man a huge hug, patting his back.

"I've never seen anything like that in my life," Sam whispered.

Preacher clamped strong hands on Sam's upper arms, giving him a little shake. "I'm real happy for you, man. You and Merce deserve this happy ending."

Final A/N: When I find a book with characters that I can see Mercedes and Sam saying their words, I will continue to post these stories if you all want them with my CT it's hard to write for the fandom but copy, paste, and find and replace is not as difficult for me. Have a great rest of the summer and remember beauty comes from ashes, and we have enough ashes to have lots of beauty coming our way...I have to try to get back into work mode for tomorrow, and if I am able to work from home in the future, I will flip some more stories. (How many stories have I done this to since April?) Bye for now the family shelter in place reunion is at a temporary end my family and newfound friends: Emestee1, bcandylandgirl, Emma, DamnGina17, Mowatts87, cherica22, jacquelinehogan922, whoknowstv, arwenforlife, Keshbeast, TWrites ,Akasha83, Tana, HomiesOverHos, and Guests as well as all who have favorited and followed this work.