Free And Baby Makes Five by Debra Clopton Page B

contraction eased, the worst wave subsided. She felt a bit of relief knowing the anger mingling with her fear had a name. Transition. She’d heard about it, seen comical movies where, because of it, the nice mother-to-be turned into an evil witch making the moviegoers laugh when the recipients of her wrath were thrown into hilarious upheaval.
    But this wasn’t funny.
    As Lilly lay on the blanket before the slowly dwindling fire, things about her life started coming into focus—sharper, clearer.
    She wished someone was there to calm her fear. To share the change the pain caused in her. Someone to stand by and hold the hand she didn’t feel like giving, to mop the brow she didn’t feel like having mopped. Someone beside her to love her through the good and the bad. To share the pride when all was done and they held the prize.
    Lilly had no one.
    No flesh and bone, no one to fill this want that had always been there inside her heart.
    She was so tired. Exhaustion claimed her and she closed her eyes as the contraction ended. Her mind was too numb to feel any fear, any anger. She could only acknowledge her situation with a dull sense of wonder. Had the grannies passed through this same valley of doubt? Had they ever wished for things to be different, for someone to stand by them?
    Were men really the way they believed them to be?
    Lilly had always secretly wished they were wrong. She wanted to believe in heroes.
    Were there any heroes out there?

Chapter Eight
    C ort stared through the windshield at the tree blocking his path. He’d made it only halfway to Lilly’s house, and it had taken him nearly thirty minutes. The note in the purse had been scribbled hurriedly and simply said, “Baby coming—help.”
    “Some cavalry we make,” he growled at Loser, who cocked his head and barked once. “I guess we walk from here on in.” It was Loser who growled at that. He didn’t like the idea at all and showed it by scrambling to the far side of the truck. Squinting his hairy eyes, he glowered at Cort.
    “Don’t look at me like that. I had to bring you.” Not certain when he’d make it back home, he’d snatched up Loser and hurried to the truck.
    Now, reaching for the dog again, he wasn’t pleased when Loser crouched against the door to avoid being snagged and drawn into the cold. His toenails scratched the seat as he tried to cling, and had Cort not been so worried about his neighbor he might have laughed. Instead he stretched, clasped Loser about the middle and lifted him from the stranded vehicle.
    He’d just started creeping down the slippery road, wondering how he would ever be able to help Lilly, when out of the darkness came Samantha, hauling her little fat body as fast as Cort had ever seen a burro move.
    And she wasn’t happy to see him standing there.
    Cort couldn’t blame her. He’d left Samantha at his place, not taking the time to lead her back home after he found the phone lines were dead and the electricity was off. However, he hadn’t counted on the storm having toppled trees over the roads. And he’d never dreamed the burro would make better progress than he would. Poor Lilly. If she needed help fast, she was in trouble.
    Samantha must have come to the same conclusion, because she took one look at Cort, stuck her nose in the air and clomped past him and Loser. The dog yelped, snapped at her heel and was promptly rewarded with a bump on the snout from Samantha’s leg as she stopped suddenly to study the fallen tree.
    Cort headed toward the ditch just as Samantha stuck her nose down and plowed past him into the lead. Cort continued on, following her, with Loser snarling all the way.
    This was the burro’s territory, and the best way to help Lilly was to get there by the fastest route. If that meant tailgating a burro—a very smart burro—then he’d do it.
    In the next five minutes Cort slipped and slid on the ice more times than he cared to count. The night was so thick with billowing sleet and