Free And Baby Makes Five by Debra Clopton Page A

shaggy depths.
    Stunned by the unlikely actions of his otherwise lethargic dog, Cort jumped out of the way when, amazingly, the dog came to life. Yowling zealously, Loser zipped from the bed, toenails sliding on the wooden floor, his legs moving in triple time as he skidded out and around the door with a roar of wild fervor.
    Cort’s head was swimming, his adrenaline pumping. He’d managed to make it to the door when Loser howled like a cat caught in a fan and streaked back into the room, colliding with Cort’s feet and sending both of them flying.
    The next thing Cort knew, he’d landed with a thud, flat on his back with Loser’s worst half draped over his face, and a rear paw rammed in each of his ears.
    It was closer than Cort ever wanted to be to a dog again.
    Spitting hair, he shoved the trembling mop of fur off his face.
    “Loser! Dog! What’s come over you?” Heavy clopping on his hardwood floors drew his attention and, looking up, he nearly screamed himself.
    Samantha—or he thought it was Samantha—stood in the doorway. Her whiskered face was shrouded with fine powdered ice. Icicles hung from her ears like sparkling earrings.
    It was the strangest sight he’d ever seen. Cort thought for a moment that the hairy beast was even carrying a purse!
    Samantha the donkey in earrings and a purse. It was as close to a nightmare as Cort had come in a long time.
    That was until she snorted, sending a spray of melting ice all over him. “Awh—now! Why’d you go and do that?” he groaned, wiping his face, and glared at the beast—and the lady’s purse hanging from her neck.
     
    Lilly couldn’t believe she’d hung her purse around Samantha’s neck, couldn’t believe she hoped the burro would take the note stuffed inside the purse to Cort. She couldn’t believe her contractions were real. But they were, and her only hope of help was a whiskered little sweetheart with an impossible mission.
    It was all true.
    God sure had a sense of humor.
    Thank goodness Samantha had been hanging around the house. The little darling had practically knocked the door down to help Lilly. The inspiration about the purse had just come to her as she was standing in the doorway, knowing there was no way, with the pain she was in, that she could get to her truck and drive to the hospital. The purse hanging on the coatrack had been a blessing.
    After she’d accomplished sending Samantha for help, Lilly had managed to make it back to the living room. She’d pulled her quilt off the couch and spread it on the floor in front of the fire. Her contractions had eased for a while, then started back hard, grabbing her with the force of a sledgehammer. After each subsided she lay there, as she was now, exhausted and panting, delirious with worry.
    Poor baby! This would be the most unfortunate child on God’s green earth!
    What child would want a mother who hadn’t the sense to prepare for emergencies? A mother forced to resort to slinging her purse over a donkey’s neck and sending her to find help?
    At least Samantha was smarter than Lilly, and hopefully she’d made it to Cort’s. Hopefully he was on his way this very minute. Hopefully, she thought as another contraction slammed into her, she’d make it through this.
    Gripping the blanket, she tried desperately to relax, to focus on a spot on the wall as the Lamaze books taught. With her eyes clamped shut she couldn’t even see the blooming wall!
    How was she supposed to hang on and have this poor child when she couldn’t complete the first steps?
    How was she supposed to have this baby alone?
    Her life was a shambles, and did God care?
    Hardly!
    Panicking wasn’t Lilly’s style. She’d never been a crybaby, but with each pain building, intensifying, she couldn’t help herself. She wished for something, someone, anyone to lash out at, to latch onto. She wished she could get her hands around the neck of the jerk who’d said natural childbirth was the way to go!
    Transition.
    The