Free Caribou Crossing by Susan Fox Page B

her together.
    Darn it, she was an optimistic person who tried to see the bright side of life. She really would get through this and, somehow, life would get back to normal. There’d be another child. Not one to replace the little boy they’d lost, but a new, unique individual.
    Her mind could recite those facts, and one day, surely, her heart would believe them and start healing.
    Dr. Mathews, dressed in blue scrubs, walked into the room. She was so beautiful, with gorgeous red hair and emerald green eyes, she could have been a model. When Miriam had told her that, she’d laughed and said that as a toddler she’d plastered Band-Aids over her dolls’ imaginary wounds, and her fate was determined. She was a warm, caring doctor who always took the time to explain things and to listen to patients’ concerns.
    Now her green eyes were shadowed, and her face was strained as she touched Miriam’s shoulder. “How are you feeling, Miriam?”
    â€œSad. And sore. I want to go home.”
    â€œI’m sure you do, and we’ll get you there as soon as we can.” Her gaze shifted to Miriam’s mom, the doctor’s raised brows conveying a question.
    Miriam’s mom shook her head, her throat moved as she swallowed hard, and tears seeped from her swollen eyes.
    The doctor nodded. She pulled up another chair, beside Wade’s.
    â€œWhat went wrong?” Miriam asked. “Was it something I did?”
    â€œNo, not at all. These things happen. You couldn’t have prevented the miscarriage.”
    The words confirmed what Miriam’s mom had said, but how could she not feel guilty? She’d carried this child, and she’d lost it. “If I’d called you earlier?”
    â€œThe baby had problems. He wouldn’t have made it, no matter what you did. I’m so sorry.”
    More tears slipped down. So sorry. They were all so sorry. And none of that “sorry” could save her little boy.
    Dr. Mathews began to describe what had happened, but Miriam couldn’t take it in, or maybe she just didn’t want to. Perhaps one day she’d want to understand, but for now, only one thing mattered: Her baby was dead.
    The doctor was talking about the surgery they’d done, and Miriam’s brain slowly grasped that something had gone wrong. “You had a rare condition called placenta percreta,” the doctor said. “The placenta had penetrated the uterine wall and attached to your bladder.”
    Miriam’s brain couldn’t make much sense of this. It didn’t sound good, though. Her insides were messed up. Not just her insides, but her reproductive organs.
    She was vaguely aware of both Wade and her mom gripping her hands tightly, but she focused on Dr. Mathews’s face.
    The doctor leaned forward, her expression sympathetic, and again rested a hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “It’s a serious condition, Miriam. And during surgery, the placenta ruptured. There was a hemorrhage and”—she stopped, took a breath, then went on—“we had to do a hysterectomy. I’m so very sorry.”
    Miriam’s breath caught in her throat. Hysterectomy? Women with uterine or cervical cancer had hysterectomies. A hysterectomy meant that they took out . . . No. No, it wasn’t possible.
    Wade made a choked sound and there was a rushing in Miriam’s ears like busy traffic on a wet highway, almost drowning out the doctor’s next words.
    â€œYou won’t be able to get pregnant again.”
    And then, mercifully, Miriam’s world went black.

Chapter 9
    Late April 1995
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    It hit Wade out of the blue every now and then. He’d be focused on work, and suddenly there it would be. The pain.
    Today, he’d been on the move since dawn. The cows were starting to calve, so he rode around regularly, checking for problems. The older cows usually gave birth easily, but complications could always arise, and he kept