36

MATTHEW TOOK A MINUTE to roll his shoulders and attempt to ease the tension in his muscles. After almost three hours of labor, the first wisps of downy hair had become visible. It wouldn’t be much longer now. On the next contraction, he’d prepare Colleen to push. Luckily for him, this wasn’t her first child, and though the labor was intense, Colleen’s body instinctively remembered what to do.

Deirdre stood near the headboard and bathed Colleen’s face with a cool cloth, murmuring words of encouragement and praise, helping her sister through each contraction, making sure she rested in between.

Deirdre had been a rock this whole time, steadying both Colleen and him with her calm demeanor, her soothing tone and touch. Matthew smiled, recalling the moment she’d come back into the room, nursing uniform in place, and requested that the three of them start with a prayer. She’d taken his hand and Colleen’s and offered the most simple, yet heartfelt, words of gratitude for Matthew’s presence, as well as a plea for God’s assistance in delivering a healthy child.

The humble prayer had brought a rare measure of peace to Matthew, giving him the confidence to cast aside his fear and let his doctoring skills take over.

Somehow, taking his ego out of the equation and leaving the matter in God’s hands eased the pressure he always put on himself.

“God has given you the talent to heal, Matthew,” Deirdre had once told him. “You just need to stay out of His way and let Him use you.”

Now, as they worked together to help usher this new life into the world, Matthew realized his past mistakes. Medicine wasn’t a solo effort. It took a dedicated team of doctors and nurses to heal a patient, in addition to God’s grace and mercy. A doctor was merely the instrument of God’s healing power.

Colleen’s body tensed, and a groan ripped from her throat.

“Time to push, Colleen.” Matthew nodded to Deirdre, who gripped Colleen’s hand.

Once the contraction faded, Colleen slumped back. Perspiration bathed her face, her hair clinging in wet strands to her cheeks. Immediately, Deirdre used the cloth to freshen her face.

“Another few pushes should do it,” he said. “You’re doing well.”

Her ragged breath panted out.

“Try to take deep, even breaths if you can.”

Colleen tensed as another contraction started.

“Here we go again.” Matthew ignored her cry of pain and kept his focus where it was needed. “Keep pushing. That’s it.”

Colleen labored until her cheeks were crimson. Then she whooshed out a great breath and flopped back.

The baby slid out into his waiting hands. He stilled, immediately aware something was wrong. The child’s face was a faint shade of blue, due to the cord that was wound tightly around its neck.

Matthew’s pulse sprinted with a hard surge of adrenaline. “Scissors,” he barked.

Deirdre jumped to hand him the sterilized instrument, and he cut the umbilical cord. Then he quickly and carefully unwrapped the cord from the baby’s throat.

The little chest didn’t stir.

“Why isn’t the baby crying?” Colleen’s frantic voice made the hairs on Matthew’s neck rise.

He glanced at Deirdre’s anxious face and gave his head a slight shake. Deirdre turned her attention to Colleen, murmuring soothing words to keep her calm.

Matthew laid the infant on the bed and ran a finger around its mouth to ensure there was no obstruction. Then he lifted the baby, turned it over, and patted its back.

Please, Lord, help this child breathe.

Sweat poured from his brow. He patted again—harder. Waited another second, then tried again. No response. He flipped the child over and, going on sheer instinct, blew a breath into its mouth. He waited, watching for any movement, then blew again.

At last, the baby’s chest rose, and a mewling noise erupted, followed by a loud wail. The blueness receded from the baby’s face, quickly turning to a mottled shade of red.

Matthew’s shoulders sagged in relief. Deirdre’s face streamed with tears as she passed him a towel to swaddle the squalling infant.

Tenderly, he wrapped the baby and then handed the tiny bundle to Colleen. “Congratulations, Mrs. Montgomery. You have a daughter. A very feisty one by the looks of things.”

Colleen smiled through her tears as she gazed down at the new life in her arms.

“Thank you, Lord,” Deirdre whispered. She leaned down to kiss the top of Colleen’s head.

Then she walked over and threw her arms around Matthew. “And thank you,” she said. “You saved the baby’s life.”

A tidal wave of euphoria and relief flooded his system as he clasped Deirdre to him. They clung together, overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He breathed in her familiar scent as their hearts beat in tandem. Then, reluctantly, he released her. “We’d better let the father know.”

Matthew found Rylan still pacing the hall. “Come and meet your new daughter.”

Instant tears rolled down the man’s cheeks. “Is everyone all right?”

Matthew smiled. “Everyone’s just fine.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Thank you.” Rylan pumped Matthew’s hand and rushed into the room.

Matthew inhaled and then blew out a long breath. With it, he offered prayers of gratitude to a most benevolent God who had guided his hand and his breath to save the infant’s life.

Truly doctoring was a partnership of the best kind.

Deirdre’s slippers made no sound as she descended the back staircase and entered the empty kitchen. After all the excitement of the day, her mind was too keyed up for sleep, and she hoped some warm milk might soothe her.

Grateful for the light Mrs. Harrison kept burning, Deirdre moved to the icebox and took out a bottle of milk. She poured some into a saucepan and set it on a low flame on the stove.

Pulling her robe tighter, she leaned back against the counter and smiled, reveling in the miracle she’d witnessed tonight. The joy on her sister and Rylan’s faces as they gazed at their precious daughter was more than words could express.

Her eyes burned at the memory. Would she ever experience such joy, such fulfillment? With a husband so besotted and filled with pride that he could scarcely contain himself?

Unbidden images of Matthew came to mind, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. He’d been wonderful tonight. Despite his initial trepidation, he’d risen to the occasion and guided them through the birth with a confidence that inspired complete trust. And he’d saved her niece’s life, calmly dealing with the wrapped cord and helping the child draw her first breath.

And yet she sensed no arrogance in the man. He wore a simple humility Deirdre found immensely appealing. Strong yet gentle, knowing yet kind. Matthew embodied every positive trait a good doctor should possess.

As well as a good husband.

Deirdre stirred the milk, trying to ignore the fact that in a few short hours, Matthew would leave for the train station, and she would have to say good-bye once again—this time for good.

Lord, I’ll need your strength to get through this next challenge.

The milk sputtered in the pan. Deirdre turned off the flame and poured the liquid into a large cup. Reaching for the cinnamon shaker, she sprinkled a generous amount over the frothy milk.

She lifted the cup to breathe in the pleasant aroma.

A shadow fell across the kitchen floor, and Matthew entered the room with a sheepish shrug. “Looks like we both had the same idea.”

Deirdre’s heart skipped in her chest. His golden-brown hair sat in unruly tufts over his forehead, his plaid robe belted tight around his waist. The glow from the lamp highlighted the planes of his handsome face.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I kept reliving tonight like a newsreel going around in my head. I thought some milk might help.”

She smiled. “You can share mine. I made too much for one.”

She reached for another cup and poured half the contents into it for him. As she passed it to him, she hesitated. “Oh, I should have asked if you like cinnamon.”

He wrapped his hands around her fingers still holding the cup. “I adore cinnamon,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “It reminds me of you.” With his thumb, he brushed circles over the back of her hand, sending a cascade of tingles through her arms.

In the dim light, his eyes appeared as dark as cobalt. She couldn’t seem to gather her thoughts to get a word out.

He took the cup from her and sipped the concoction. “Hmm. Very good.”

“Thank you.” She took a quick sip from her own cup.

Matthew set his mug on the counter and moved closer. “I’m glad I have the chance to talk to you before . . . tomorrow.”

Before you leave.

“I wanted to thank you,” he continued. “I couldn’t have delivered that baby without you.”

“Of course you could’ve. You were brilliant in there. A true example of grace under pressure.”

“If anyone displayed grace under pressure, it was you. But overall, I’d say it was God’s grace that carried us through.”

She smiled, her heart full. “That’s one thing they don’t teach you in school. That all healing should begin with prayer.”

He took one of her hands in his. “Thank you, Deirdre, for believing in me. Your faith in my skills has given me back my confidence.”

Her lips trembled into a smile, so thankful was she to have gifted him something during their time together. “I guess we made a good team.”

“We certainly did.”

A charge of electricity zapped between them. She could almost feel the racing of his heart beneath his robe. She gave a soft sigh. “I thank God for bringing you into my life, Matthew. And I wish you and Phoebe nothing but happiness in the future.”

He hesitated, a thousand unspoken words swirling in the depths of his eyes. “And I you, Deirdre. I hope you find fulfillment in your career.” He reached out to brush a finger down the length of her braid.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She needed one last kiss to remember for the rest of her days.

On a sigh, she clutched the lapel of his robe and raised herself up on tiptoes until their mouths were even. She waited a beat, waited for him to push her away, searching his face for permission. He pulled her to him with a groan and kissed her. Her arms wound their way around his neck, her fingers pushing into his hair. One of his hands cupped her jaw, and he pressed kisses to her temple and her eyes and then back to feast on her mouth.

I love you. The unspoken words reverberated through her soul, begging to be uttered, but she dared not, knowing they wouldn’t be welcome. Instead, she memorized the planes of his face, the taste of his lips, the thunder of his heart against hers.

At last, when she thought her legs might not hold her, he released her. Cool air rushed in between them as he stepped away. Her whole being cried out in protest.

Don’t go, she wanted to beg.

But her path lay in a different direction—while his was anchored back in Toronto.

This had been a lovely sojourn, a respite from the world.

But it ended here.

“Good night, Deirdre,” he said, his voice rich with regret. “I wish you good dreams—tonight and always.”

“And you as well, Matthew.”

He stood in the doorway, a halo of light surrounding him. Then, with a last smile, he was gone.