Free The Accidental Lawman by Jill Marie Landis

afterbirth. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth, slipped her father’s gold watch out of the pouch pocket dangling at her waist and checked the time.
    Ten minutes later, when nothing had happened, she lay her hand on Rebekah’s abdomen, employing both friction and pressure to stimulate the contraction of the womb.
    She glanced up and found Hattie watching her closely. The woman’s eyes conveyed unspoken concern. Amelia gave a slight shake of her head. Nothing to worry about yet. She waited five more minutes. Time was of the essence now.
    Rebekah appeared to be growing weaker. She lay back and closed her eyes. Joe and Hattie’s expressions reflected their anxiety, but they didn’t say anything. They watched Amelia expectantly.
    As if she could hear her father voicing directions in her ear, she took the end of the umbilical cord in her left hand and used it to guide her right hand slowly upward until she could cup the placenta in her hand.
    Once it was brought away from Rebekah, Amelia bundled the rags and washed her hands. She directed Hattie to fashion a broad binder or girth around Rebekah’s body and tie it into place. This done, Amelia waited for the womb to contract on its own and was finally rewarded.
    Not until she was certain Rebekah was in good health did she breathe a sigh of relief and whisper a prayer of thanks.
    There was nothing left to be done. Unlike other mothers who relished a lying-in period of at least four days, Rebekah would be on her feet within the hour. This, she told Amelia, was the Comanche way. She had seen women give birth and within the hour disassemble a tipi, pack up their worldly possessions and be on the move.
    Amelia left Joe and Rebekah to coo over their little girl and followed Hattie outside to dispose of the soiled rags. Then the women made their way along the dogtrot to the smaller log structure that housed the kitchen.
    Amelia had all but forgotten Hank was there. The minute she laid eyes on him, she reminded herself not to let down her guard.
    He was seated on a chair drawn up to the kitchen table. Orson Wolf was awake but his eyelids had grown heavy. His chubby cheek was pressed against Hank’s vest, his fingers curled around a handful of Hank’s shirtsleeve. The scene would have warmed the coldest heart if Hank’s expression hadn’t been as hard as stone.
    Hattie hurried across the kitchen and gingerly lifted Orson to her shoulder without waking him.
    “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Larson,” she said. “We surely didn’t mean to dump this child on you.” Hattie patted Orson’s bottom and instantly frowned. “Oh, no.”
    “Oh, yes.” Hank shook his head and stared at the damp spot on the thigh of his wool trousers.
    As Hattie hurried Orson away, Amelia covered a smile that threatened to bloom—until Hank’s eyes met hers and she saw a fathoms-deep bleakness. It gave her the urge to comfort him, to lighten his burden somehow.
    My wife and child died at the hands of an incompetent midwife.
    She watched him swallow, heard him clear his throat.
    He looked away. “Mrs. Ellenberg. Is she…”
    Again, Amelia remembered Hank’s own words. I didn’t get to tell her goodbye .
    “She’s fine,” she told him. “The baby, too. A healthy little girl named Melody Rain.”
    “Orson Wolf and Melody Rain? ”
    “Orson was Joe’s father’s name. Running Wolf was Rebekah’s father’s. Melody was Joe’s sister’s name. Gentle Rain was Rebekah’s mother’s.”
    Curiosity immediately replaced the sadness in Hank Larson’s eyes.
    “Rebekah is an Indian?”
    “No, but Rebekah was raised by Comanche. She was a captive most of her life. But that’s another story.”
    “One I’d love to hear someday,” he said.
    Suddenly exhausted, Amelia settled on a nearby chair. “I’m sorry to have taken up your day like this. I know you have work to do.”
    He got up and walked toward the dry sink, opened a cupboard and took down a coffee mug. She watched as he poured a cup