CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Myra went into labour the last week in March. She had been constantly complaining for weeks that she couldn't wait for the baby to be born, but she expected it to be another ten days or so before her labour started.

Her first pain came at the cafe and Grace took her over to the clinic, but it was Colleen and Dorothy who hurried to help since Michaela had gone haring off up Pike's Peak in pursuit of a crazy old lady named Sam Lindsay and she wasn't expected back for days.

Horace hovered anxiously on the clinic porch, accompanied by Sully and a constantly changing group of others, occasionally including Hank and one or two of the girls as Myra's labour went on for the rest of the day and continued into the night. There was still no sign of the child and everyone grew increasingly worried as the next day dawned, the worried silence penetrated by Myra's shrill screams every so often.

Hank leaned against a post outside, smoking his last cigar, keeping out of Horace's way as much as possible and silently willing the baby to arrive safely.

"I'd sure feel better if Michaela was here," he muttered at one point to anyone within hearing distance. He felt a little sick, his guts twisted into a knot of anxiety as he listened to Myra's agonised cries. She was so small and frail looking - perhaps she just wasn't strong enough to get through it. He felt sure Michaela would have cut the baby out of her by now, but all she had to help her was a teenage girl, one woman who had never had her own child and another who probably hadn't given birth for thirty years.

Later he went back to the saloon for a while, but no one seemed interested in coming in for a drink so he closed up again and returned to the clinic with Dotty and Louisa, now parking himself on the bench there and drawing Dotty down beside him as Horace and Sully got up and paced around. The Reverend leaned against the wall nearby, a permanent presence now for some hours as everyone worried that Myra and the baby may not make it. Over thirty hours in labour now and still no sign it was coming to an end.

Darkness fell once again and not long after, there was silence from the clinic. Not a sound from Myra and several pairs of eyes turned towards the door as they waited for someone to come out and tell them mother and baby hadn't survived. But then a thin cry rose suddenly and the door opened to reveal Colleen, exhausted and dishevelled, but smiling.

"It's a girl," she told Horace and added that Myra was fine. Horace hurried inside at once and the group on the porch began to break up.

Hank headed back to the saloon with the girls, weak with relief that she was alright and at the same time sad that it was Horace's baby she had given birth to; just another thing that took her even further out of his reach.

Myra named the baby Samantha after Sam Lindsay, who never returned from Pike's Peak. Michaela returned alone, reporting that the old woman had died up there. She had apparently been kind to Myra before setting off on her excursion, prompting Myra to name the baby girl after her.

Hank didn't see a great deal of Myra over the next few weeks, but the times he did see her, she always seemed to be trying to quieten the baby who yelled and screamed constantly. Horace didn't seem much help, awkward and clumsy and leaving it all to Myra. A number of people interfered with differing advice on how to settle Samantha, which only appeared to upset and annoy Myra and eventually it was to Hank she turned for help, much to his amazement.

It was around two in the morning and he was still up, collecting glasses from the bar and taking them out back ready for one of the girls to wash in the morning. The four of them had already gone to bed and he had put most of the lamps out, leaving just a couple burning so he could see what he was doing.

"Hank? Hank, you up?"

It was Myra's voice, accompanied by the wails of Samantha and he hurried back into the bar, wondering what she could possibly want in the middle of the night. She was standing just inside the swing doors in a dark blue gown and frilly white cap, Samantha in her arms wrapped in a knitted blanket.

"What're ya doin' out now?" he asked her.

"I was just walkin' the baby," Myra said. "I wanted to let Horace get some sleep, but it's freezin' outside."

"Come on in." Hank ushered her towards the poker table and pulled a chair out for her, helping her lower herself into it. He dropped quickly onto the next chair as Samantha continued to cry. "Doesn't she ever stop that?"

"I just don't know what to do. Nothin' helps," Myra said tearfully. She looked exhausted, her face pale, her eyes ringed with shadows from lack of sleep.

"Give me the baby." Hank held his hands out and was surprised when Myra passed the little bundle to him without question. Her hand brushed his as she drew it away and he noticed her skin was icy. Carefully he held Samantha, rocking her and after one or two persistent yells, she subsided with a gurgle.

"She's stopped cryin'," gasped Myra in amazement.

Hank smiled, gazing down at the little face with its wide eyes, looking up at him.

"Oh, Hank, you'd have been a good pa," Myra said softly.

'But I wasn't,' he thought to himself. He had the chance with Zack and he hadn't even picked the baby up; not once. He'd thrown money at Clarice and kept away from them both. Sure, he was doing his best to make up for it now, but Zack was already in his early teens and he'd missed his childhood, missed being a real father to him. Now as he held Samantha it was so difficult not to imagine what it would be like if she was his; if he and Myra were together and he had the chance to do things properly.

"Yer a good ma, Myra," he murmured.

"I don't know why you say that. I feel so helpless." Her eyes flooded with tears and he longed to reach out and hold her too, but he knew it wasn't possible. He pulled himself together and joked instead, to cover his heartache and to make Myra laugh.

"If she gets too ornery, give her a whiskey."

It worked and she let out a little giggle, relaxing and smiling back at him as he passed the now sleeping Samantha to her.

"Hank, thank you," she said.

He just nodded, trying not to sigh too heavily, realising it was the closest they had been in over a year, but that all he could be to her was a friend.

She stayed a little longer and they gossiped quietly about some of the townsfolk, nothing too personal that would make things awkward. When she left to go home, the baby still fast asleep, Hank stayed up for the rest of the night, knowing he wouldn't sleep so foregoing the pretense of going to bed.

It was a few weeks later that several Quinns arrived in town for Michaela and Sully's wedding; her mother and a couple of a sisters. The younger one, who had wild red hair and a temper to match, immediately caught Hank's attention and for a brief period he considered making an effort to court her, at least while she was in Colorado Springs. He doubted anything more than a brief dalliance would come of it if she was anything like Michaela, but he guessed she'd look good on his arm at the wedding.

Marjorie was less than keen and looked down her nose at Hank in much the same way his own brothers had, but eventually she softened enough to talk to him a little and he discovered quickly she had plenty to be foul tempered about. Her husband had abandoned her in favour of someone younger and left her with an unpleasant little gift; the same thing that Janie and Myra had both gotten from diseased customers. Of course, she didn't mention that, but having seen the symptoms twice before, Hank made an educated guess that it was what was wrong with Marjorie. He told Michaela about it, which apparently helped patch up some rift they had between them and Marjorie subsequently consented to dance with him several times at the wedding celebration, but it was clear she wasn't looking for a man. He was happy enough just to spend an afternoon with someone different, who could offer stimulating conversation, even when she had a dig at him for running a 'brothel'. He found it amusing rather than annoying and for once didn't rise to the bait.

The Quinns all left town again soon enough, staying only to look after Colleen and Brian while Michaela and Sully went on their honeymoon. Then things returned to normal except for a new arrival in town who didn't waste much time in stirring things up.

Preston A Lodge III, an upstart from Boston arrived in Colorado Springs and opened up a bank, quickly enticing the townsfolk to invest their money or borrow more. Hank wasn't about to start giving his money to a bank and continued to keep it under his bed in a metal box where it had always been, but a number of people couldn't wait to take out loans to obtain things faster than they would normally have been able to. Horace was one of these people and took a loan to buy a fancy surrey, which he crashed on the first day. The whole episode created a huge fight with Myra and an enormous debt which Horace could ill afford.

Preston then added insult to injury with Horace, by asking Myra to take a job at the bank and quickly instigating another row between the couple as Myra agreed to consider the offer. Hank was the first to hear the outcome.

Preston had been in the saloon having a couple of drinks and when he left, Myra approached him on the porch. Hank had been out the back to the outhouse and as he rounded the corner he spotted them talking and stopped to eavesdrop as Myra agreed to take the job.

"That's wonderful!" exclaimed Preston. "I'm so pleased. I knew Horace would come around. Well, I'll see you first thing Monday morning at the bank."

So Horace was letting her take the job? Hank frowned to himself. She wasn't going to like that. It seemed as if she hadn't liked very much lately as the pair of them argued and her face took on an expression of misery and longing more often than not.

"This is the beginning of a whole new life for you," Preston went on before he walked away. That was exactly what Horace had said when Myra left the saloon; that he would give her a whole new life.

Myra sighed heavily and turned, briefly resting her forehead against the post, her expression one of anxiety and unhappiness. Hank stepped out of the shadows and walked over to her.

"Well, whaddya know. Mrs Bing's a workin girl again," he said, dropping off the porch to the street so that he stood level with her. She looked up with a start.

"Ya don't seem too happy," added Hank.

"'Course I am." She swallowed nervously, her eyes darting about in an effort to avoid his.

"In fact, ya don't seem too happy at all lately," he continued.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, looking at him now. "I got a good husband, I got a beautiful baby and now I have a great job. What else could I want?" Her face looked sad, desperate even, almost as if she were trying to convince herself that what she was saying was true, but her eyes were full of yearning.

"I don't know," Hank said, shaking his head. "Ya got that look in your eye."

"What look?" she muttered, dropping her eyes away from his again. He reached out and touched her chin, turning her face back towards him.

"The same look ya had when you were workin' for me."

For a second her eyes met his properly, looking right into him and she seemed to realise he knew what she was feeling, however hard she tried to pretend everything was alright. In that second there was a connection, one that hadn't been there in a long time, and he took a chance on it. If she hadn't looked so miserable, if she hadn't been fighting with Horace, if she'd seemed even a tiny bit happy with her life, he wouldn't have done it, but everything about her seemed to say she wanted something more. He doubted that was him, but still.

He leaned forward to kiss her. His eyes began to slide shut and he caught the scent of Myra's fancy soap, the soft smell of her skin. Time seemed to slow down for those brief few seconds as his lips moved closer to hers and then her hand came up to land on his chest, pushing against him as she turned her head aside and stepped off the porch away from him, walking away without looking back.

Hank turned away and strode into the saloon, silently cursing himself. Why had he to go and do that? She didn't want someone pouncing on her, she wanted a friend and he was so wrapped up in his own feelings he couldn't even be that. Now she'd probably avoid him like the plague, the same way she had when she first left the saloon. What had he been thinking? That she'd fall into his arms, realising she'd made a huge mistake by leaving him for Horace? It was about time he accepted that wasn't going to happen and made more of an effort to get on with his life.