Drive-By Daddy. Cheryl Anne Porter
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1
“THIS IS NOT happening to me.”
Darcy Alcott really needed to believe that. Because if she didn’t, then this was happening to her, she was here alone, on a deserted stretch of southwestern Arizona highway. On a bright and steadily warming Wednesday in May. With a car that had broken down. And she was in labor. Big time labor. Baby-on-its-way labor.
“Don’t panic, Darcy,” she told herself, breathing fast and furiously. Don’t panic? Here I am—my baby about to make an appearance any moment and me, stuck to the tacky vinyl of the back seat of my secondhand sub-compact car. With the doors open for air. And Mom waiting on me in town for lunch. And what did I forget? The cell phone. So…don’t panic? Right.
As the full extent of her situation hit her, she came close to hyperventilating. “Oh, God, I’m panicking. I can’t panic. I have to…” Her mind went blank. “What do I have to do? Keep talking. I have to keep talking. Maybe someone will come. Someone other than this baby. Maybe they’ll see the open doors and the raised hood and stop. Oh. Another pain. Oh, baby, not now. You don’t want to start your life with me mad at you. Please.”
But baby, who was having none of it, only tried harder to make a grand entrance. Darcy’s body bore down with the contraction, although she did her darned level best to breathe shallowly, to hold off the inevitable, to not help her daughter come into the world just this minute. However, two weeks early by everyone’s estimation except apparently her own, baby had obviously decided to throw herself a birthday party today—before the hour was up, if that birth video Darcy and her mother/coach had suffered through in Lamaze class was to be believed.
Because according to what she’d learned from that calm, never-will-experience-labor-himself videotaped doctor and his oh-so-capable nurses, filming in the controlled setting of a hospital’s delivery room…which by the way, Darcy wanted now to point out, never covered anything practical, like what to do if you were alone and in labor on a deserted highway, in both the pitcher’s and the catcher’s positions…she was about to become a mother. A single mother. In every sense of the word.
The pain peaked and passed. Darcy collapsed against the seat, panting and crying. Then she heard someone yell, “Please won’t someone help me?” She looked around, then realized the voice was her own.
Suddenly, she heard the screech of tires, and saw a rising puff of dust and grit as a white pickup truck came to a stop. Someone was here. “Help!” Darcy cried out. “Please help me. My baby…” Her voice trailed off. And please don’t let it be some film crew. Or a passing band of ex-cons.
Just then a long, tall shadow settled over Darcy, starting at the opened door at her feet. Not her best angle. A low whistle followed. “Sweet Jesus. Lady, you’re about to have a baby.”
“You think?” Darcy gasped out. Then, peeling herself off the sticky vinyl, she struggled up onto her elbows…and saw a handsome big ole white-Stetson-wearing cowboy peering in at her. “That clears everything up, doesn’t it, mister? For a minute there, I thought I was—Ow, ow, ow.” She shrank back against the vinyl. “Oh, no. Another…pain…help me…please…my baby.”
“Yes, ma’am. Hold on. I’ll help you.” He pulled back and disappeared from view.
“No,” Darcy whimpered, unable to move. “Come back. Don’t leave me.”
Then, through the glaze of her pain, her mind registered what sounded like a truck’s tailgate being dropped open. Then there was silence as a few more seconds ticked by. A few minutes later, the cowboy reappeared. Only this time, he was behind her. Hatless now, his face hovering above hers, he shoved his big hands up under her shoulders, holding her. “When this pain passes, get ready to help me move you. I’m going to get you into my truck bed. I spread a blanket there for you.”
Darcy shook her head, and licked at her dry lips. “No. Can’t move. My baby. She’s—”
“I have to move you. There’s no room here. My truck’s brand-new. It’s clean. And I’ll have more room to operate there.”
Operate? A doctor word. The pain was subsiding. Darcy caught a quick breath. Thank God…a doctor. The world was, after all, a good place. “Are you a doctor?” she managed to say past her panting breaths.
“Relax,” he told her. “Save your strength for the next pain. And no, ma’am, I’m not a doctor. I’m a rancher. Okay, here we go. One. Two.…”
A rancher? He’s a rancher who’s going to operate? Why operate? What’s wrong? My baby. Is something wrong with my baby?
“Three.” He tugged her backwards…gently but firmly. Gasping, Darcy crabbed her feet along the seat as she reached up behind herself and grabbed at the rock-solid support of his arms. “Hurry. Faster. The pains…”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me get a hold of you. I’ve got to get my arm under your legs now so I can carry you. Like that. That’s good. Okay, sweetheart, here we go. Ready?”
No. She wasn’t ready. Not for any of this. Not labor. Not delivery. Not motherhood. “Yes,” she cried out. Anything to get this ordeal over with. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, honey. I won’t leave you.”
“Darcy. My name is Darcy. Not…honey.”
His blue-eyed gaze met hers. He nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. No disrespect meant…Darcy.”
And then he had her in his arms and was carrying her as easily as if her pregnant weight were of no consequence to him. In only a matter of seconds—with Darcy realizing that her bare bottom was exposed to the world at large, should it care to pass by at this moment—he was settling her into his white truck’s bed. He was so tall, he managed to reach in right over the fender that covered the wheel well and laid her down like a mother…okay, like a father…putting a baby in its crib.
Darcy exhaled her relief at being lain down and instantly clutched at the blanket under her, concentrating on taking deep breaths and on watching him sprint to the tailgate. In one quick movement, he hauled himself up into the grooved bed with her. Then, with his boots thudding dully against the metal of the truck deck, he stepped around her, positioning himself at her head and shoulders. “I’m going to pull you up more,” he warned. “Keep your hold on that blanket.”
Darcy did. Sure enough, he tugged on the brightly patterned Indian blanket’s hem and effortlessly slid her farther into the bed until her head was resting against the bulkhead, at the cab’s back. “This is the best I can do for you, Darcy,” he told her, looking concerned. “I just wish there was some shade out here to make things easier for you.”
“While I…” Darcy rasped, “just wished…there were…some drugs out here…to make things easier for me.”
He chuckled. “I expect you do. Here. Raise up some.” With that he levered her up and wedged another rolled blanket under her shoulders. “That ought to give you something to lean against.” He stepped around her, and squatted down, all denim-covered muscle, at her feet. Lowering his gaze, he put a hand on her knee. “Bend your knees more…as far as you can. There. That’s good. Now hold on to them. And keep them bent like that.” He glanced up, looking into her eyes. “How’re we doing?”
“Great,” Darcy gasped out, feeling the onset of the next pain. “Want to…trade places?”
“Not for all the blue sky in Montana, ma’am. Easy now. Just take it as it comes.” He reached up, smoothing his hand up under her maternity top and rubbing her belly. “You’re doing fine, Darcy. Just breathe through it, make it easier for your baby. You say it’s a girl?”
Biting at her bottom lip, with her eyes squeezed shut, Darcy nodded.
“Good for you. A daughter. But how do you know? Ultrasound? Or woman’s intuition?”
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