Free Before She Dies (Slaughter Creek) by Rita Herron Page B

right to avoid him. The tires churned over gravel, and she lurched forward, skidded and slammed into the guardrail.
    A lamp from the back seat pitched forward, a bag of diapers the church in Nashville had given her flying over the seat, pelting her.
    Then she felt a warm gush and looked down. Good Lord, her water had broken.
    Panic seized her.
    She needed a phone. Needed to call Ben and her parents.
    But she was miles from the house. The town was closer.
    The free clinic.
    If she could make it back there, they would take care of her and carry her to the hospital.
    Breathing through the pain again, she tried to start the car, but the engine sputtered and died. Frustrated, she grabbed her purse and threw it over her shoulder, shoved open the car door and dragged herself out of the car. Her lower back ached so bad her knees nearly buckled.
    With determination, she gripped her stomach with her hand and began to walk. Her little girls needed her to be strong.
    She wouldn’t let them down.

    All Ben Nettleton wanted was to take care of his family. To put food on the table.
    And for his baby girls to be born healthy.
    But worry knotted his insides as he loaded the rocking chair Norma had found at a dumpster on some side street in Nashville into his pick-up truck.
    Right now he was a miserable failure. And about the babies…
    Fear choked him.
    He leaned over, braced his hands on his knees and dragged in air. He had to focus.
    Finish loading. Then he’d sleep on the floor tonight and drive to Slaughter Creek in the morning.
    But moving there cut at him. Norma wanted to be close to her parents, said they’d help her with the kids and enable her to get a job.
    But making her go back to work meant her father would know that he couldn’t provide for his daughter and grandkids.
    He slid the rocking chair in beside the dresser that Norma had found at a garage sale for five dollars. Norma claimed she didn’t mind hand-me-downs, thrift store or garage sale finds. She didn’t even mind shopping in the dumpsters because some folks threw out good things. Their garbage was her treasure.
    This rocker only needed cleaning up and a new coat of paint. And the dresser, well, who cared if the knobs were off and it was scratched? She’d put one of those doilies her grandmother had crocheted on top to cover up the marks. And she could find some knobs at the five-and-dime.
    Besides, the babies wouldn’t care.
    But he cared, dammit.
    He hated that he was so poor that his wife had to pick up other people’s trash and take it home. That he’d been laid off at a time when he needed work – and money – the most.
    That his little girls wouldn’t have fancy new cribs with frilly curtains and plush toys. That he had no idea how he would buy diapers and formula to supplement Norma’s breastfeeding if she couldn’t make enough milk for both babies.
    Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he swiped at it with the back of his sleeve.
    Plus, what if something went wrong with the delivery? He didn’t have insurance, and hospitals cost a fortune. Then there was the pediatrician and baby shots and ear aches and colds…
    He hoisted the faded Formica table and the four vinyl chairs a neighbor had given them onto the truck next, trying to put his fears aside. But he couldn’t.
    His secret haunted him.
    It had every single day since Norma had wrapped up that little baby rattle and had him open it, her way of telling him she was pregnant.
    He had been nauseated at the sight. Poor Norma thought he wasn’t happy but that wasn’t it. He was scared shitless.
    He should have told Norma the truth before they married, should have told her doctor at her first OBGYN visit, but the shame of it ate at him like a cancer. If Norma had known, she wouldn’t be so happy.
    She’d be scared to death like him.
    But he hated to rob her excitement.
    He stacked both cribs and their mattresses in the back of the cab, his hands shaking. Was he protecting his wife, or was he just