At Odds with the Midwife Read online

  “It’s Tibetan music. Frankly, I can’t stand it because it reminds me of the time my dad insisted we all needed to learn to play the zither.” She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “Carly is absolutely convinced it’ll help the plants grow.”

  He frowned. “Carly? Oh, yes, Joslin.” He vaguely remembered the two of them had been best friends, along with Lisa Thomas. Glancing around at her family’s property, he realized she had done what he couldn’t—kept her ties to their hometown.

  “Come on,” she said briskly. “Let me look at that hand. It’s rude to keep the nurse waiting.”

  Giving her a thoughtful look, he followed her inside. A nurse. In spite of her prickliness, this sounded promising.

  “Don’t touch the door or the facings,” she said, pointing to what he could now see was a bright blue, glistening with newness. “I just painted them.”

  “I know. I smelled the paint.”

  While she scrubbed her hands at the sink, then bustled about, setting out a basin, a clean towel, disinfectant and bandages, Nate looked around the cozy cabin.

  The living room held a dark blue sofa and chair with a huge, multicolored rug in the middle of the floor. A rock fireplace, probably original to the house, dominated one wall. A few sealed boxes were piled one atop the other along a wall, and a stack of paintings and photographs waited to be hung. A doorway opened onto a hallway, where he assumed the bedrooms and bathroom were.

  The place was warm and inviting, not at all the den of hippie craziness his mother had claimed it to be. Also, it was rustic, but not primitive. Thinking about it now, he wondered why she had chosen that word.

  “Come over to the sink,” Gemma commanded and he did as he was told, standing with his hand under warm running water. He was very aware of her gently clasping his hand in her own while she turned it this way and that, keeping it under the stream from the faucet. Nate liked being close enough to catch her scent, which was faintly flowery, no doubt heightened by the work she’d been doing out back.

  He was about to ask what she’d been planting when she shut off the water and grabbed a handful of paper towels, which she placed beneath his hand to catch the drips, and directed him toward the table. Its scarred top spoke of many meals eaten by many generations. The chairs were a mishmash of styles, but all seemed to be as old as the table. Nate could imagine previous Whitmires sitting here, eating, talking, laughing. The place had a settled atmosphere. In spite of the modern furnishings, glowing electric lamps and the laptop open on a living room table, he could picture a woman in a long dress coming inside, removing her bonnet and pumping water at the sink to wash up. Maybe that’s what actually haunted the Whitmire farm—the ghosts of hardworking, happy people with established traditions going back generations. He shook his head at the fanciful thoughts. He never lapsed into daydreams like this.

  Casting Gemma a wary glance, he ruefully decided that she wouldn’t know if this was out of character for him or not. They hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years.

  “This cabin is nice,” he said, watching her pick up a rubber bulb syringe, fill it with warm water and expertly flush his cut with a disinfectant solution. “Your family farmed this land for many years.”

  “More than a hundred, but my dad wasn’t interested in farming so he sold most of the farmland and established the campground.”

  “But they stayed in this cabin, kept the family home.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” she said, glancing up and giving him the full attention of those remarkable green eyes. “They have roots here that they wanted to maintain. My parents may have been...unusual, but they knew how to create a happy home.”

  Nate didn’t answer. For all of their wealth and position, his parents had never known how to do that. From his first memories, their home had been sterile, filled with icy silences. Funny, after all these years, he still never thought of the ostentatious house at the end of Pine Street as his home, only theirs. That’s why it was sitting empty, falling into disrepair. Why he’d rented a small house near the hospital and filled it with furniture he’d bought himself. He had yet to include anything from his childhood home.

  “And how are your parents?” he asked. “I heard they had left town, and the campground was permanently closed.”

  She gave him a big smile—the expression of someone talking about those she loved. “They’re very well. As soon as I was launched into the world, they took the money they’d inherited from my dad’s family and the sale of the farmland and took off. They’ve traveled the world ever since, helping out on building projects in places in need wherever they can. I see them a couple of times a year here in the States, or I go wherever they are.”

  “It sounds...idyllic.”

  Gemma laughed and her eyes lit up. “It sounds like what a couple of middle-aged hippies would do, but don’t tell them I said that.”

  “I doubt that I’ll ever see them.”

  “You might be surprised.” She lifted his hand and examined it closely for debris, then, apparently satisfied, she carefully positioned a bandage over the cut. “This is their home, after all.”

  “Are you going to be here long?” Maybe she’d go out to dinner with him. There were no decent restaurants in Reston, but Dallas was only a couple of hours south and he knew there were plenty of fine dining places there. Besides, if she was as competent a nurse as she appeared to be, he might have a job for her.

  “I’m back permanently.”

  “Really?” More and more promising, Nate thought. “Is your nursing license current?”

  “Of course.” She tilted another smile at him. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Afraid I didn’t bandage your hand right? Remember, you were on my property without being asked, while I was busy working.”

  Deciding he’d better change tactics, he asked, “What were you doing out there, by the way? At first I thought you were burying a body.”

  “Planting herbs.”

  “In the dark?”

  “It’s not dark. There’s a full moon, which is when these herbs must be planted.”

  Maybe she wasn’t as different from her parents as he’d thought. “Oh? What kind?”

  “Blue cohosh, for one.”

  He frowned. “It grows wild all around here. You only have to walk into the woods and pick it.”

  “I’d rather have it close by and if I grow it myself I can ensure the quality.”

  She was watching his face carefully. Nate felt as if he was trying to communicate in an unknown language.

  “And you need these for cooking?”

  “No, for pregnancy, labor and delivery. Tincture of blue cohosh stimulates labor.”

  Nathan went very still as those words sank in, the facts lining up before him as if they were printed on the very air.

  “You’re a midwife.” His tone was flat.

  * * *

  GEMMA WHITMIRE STARED at the sudden stiffness in his face, the way his brown eyes had narrowed. Alarm bells clanged in her head, but she spoke calmly. “Yes, I am.”

  “And you’re planning to open a birthing center?”

  “Yes, in your father’s old offices next to the hospital.” She lifted her chin, held his gaze. There had been a time when she would have backed down, apologized, tried to explain her position. Those days were gone. “Exactly as you plan to establish a family practice and reopen the hospital.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Both facilities are for people’s health.”

  “No, the hospital cures people and keeps them well—”

  “Fortunately, giving birth isn’t an illness.”

  Their eyes met—hers defiant, his resolute. Gemma’s heart sank as she imagined the swirl of objections that were about to come at her. She’d heard them all before, fought them all before. Somehow
, it was disappointing to know she was about to hear them from Nathan.

  She hadn’t recognized him at first when he’d startled her and she’d thrown him to the ground. He’d been a small, skinny guy in high school, with dark hair worn long in defiance of his parents. He must have grown a good six inches since she’d seen him last, topping out at six feet, with wide shoulders and muscled arms. His hair was cut short, probably for the sake of convenience. But those eyes hadn’t changed. Deep-set and steady, they looked at her as if he was trying to see into her soul.

  She had admired him when they were growing up, and had a major crush on him by the time they were in high school. She’d been crazy about his good looks, his serious gray eyes and the way his thick brows came to a slight peak as if he was gently surprised by life. Whereas the other guys she’d known had been jocks or cowboys, he’d been focused and smart. Apparently, he still was.

  But he was also wrong.

  “Giving birth is fraught with risks. Risks that are best handled in a qualified medical facility.” His voice was firm, as if he thought that stating his case strongly would have her immediately caving.

  Not a chance. “Giving birth is a natural process, which women have been handling very well for quite a while now.”

  “That’s true, but why take risks with women’s lives when excellent medical facilities and qualified personnel are available?”

  “It’s not a risk and I am qualified personnel. I’ve been a registered nurse for ten years and a midwife for six. I’ve worked in every type of medical situation, every type of neighborhood you can imagine, even some pretty bad ones, which is why I know self-defense moves. Many times, a birthing center is the most affordable option for families, and you may not be aware of this, but Reston County isn’t exactly overflowing with wealthy people who can afford hospital births and care. Our new birthing center is the only option for expectant mothers since we don’t know when the hospital will be reopened, anyway.”

  “It will be soon...”

  “Besides that, more than ninety percent of this country’s births are in a hospital and we have such high maternal and infant mortality rates in the United States. It’s appalling.”

  “I agree, but I can’t believe that dragging home births back from the past is going to improve the situation.”

  “Which is exactly why they’re not being dragged back from the past. Nonhospital births are proven safe on a daily basis, both at home and in birthing centers across this country.”

  He raised a skeptical brow. “Your birthing center has to have a transfer agreement with a hospital no more than thirty minutes away and a licensed doctor as medical director.”

  “I’m working on both of those things with the hospital in Toncaville until you get the Reston County Hospital reopened.” She clapped her hands onto her hips. “And once our hospital is reopened, if you choose not to be the medical director for the birthing center, I’ll respect that and continue with a doctor from Toncaville—no matter how inconvenient that might be.”

  He frowned, obviously not liking her tone. “You’ll have to be on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I know that.”

  “You think one nurse-midwife is going to be enough for the whole of Reston County?”

  “Of course not. I’ll be hiring other qualified personnel.”

  “Good luck with that.” He jerked a thumb toward town. “I’ve got forty vacancies to fill in order to reopen the hospital.”

  “I have my own sources for finding qualified people for the birthing center.”

  “Oh? How? Did you send out flyers by Pony Express? Ask any of the locals who’ve ever helped bring a calf into the world to sign up?”

  Gemma felt her temper heating up. Her chin, always ready to lead her into trouble, lifted. “I’ve hired people and will continue to hire people who lost their jobs when Reston Community Hospital closed eight years ago. My new employees are excellent, qualified people who live in this town and wanted to continue working here but couldn’t because their livelihood was snatched away. They’ve spent eight years driving to jobs in neighboring towns. They’ve missed their kids’ baseball and football games, school plays, band concerts, and birthday parties because they couldn’t make it home in time.”

  Gemma watched emotions chase each other over his face—annoyance, anger and then shame.

  Nathan’s eyes were fierce as he said, “And those people could have kept their jobs, continued to work here in Reston, if my father, the hospital administrator, hadn’t bankrupted the place and absconded with the money.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  ONCE AGAIN, HEAT rushed into Gemma’s face, but this time, it wasn’t from anger. She pressed her palms together and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t... I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “You didn’t need to,” Nathan said, standing up. “Everyone in town knows it.”

  Gemma stared at him in dismay. She hadn’t meant to bring it up. It had to be humiliating for him to return here, face the critics, try to make things right. “I... I’m sorry.”

  The tight look on his face told her he wouldn’t welcome any more references to the issue, so Gemma cleared her throat and said, “Nate, good luck with the hospital.” She offered him a tentative smile, which he didn’t return.

  Instead, he said, “Thanks. I’ll need it.” He turned toward the door and paused. “And thanks for the bandage.” Nathan left the way he’d come. She walked to the door and watched him jog away into the darkness, his white T-shirt leaving an impression in her vision long after he was out of sight.

  Gemma stood for a moment with her shoulders drooping. She had known there would be opposition to the birthing center, but she hadn’t expected to start this battle quite so soon, and certainly not with Nathan. Her heart felt heavy with dismay and disappointment.

  As she cleared away the basin and first-aid supplies, Gemma wondered why Nathan was back. Why was he reopening the hospital? The last she’d heard, he had an excellent job at a hospital in Oklahoma City. At least now she knew where he stood regarding the birthing center.

  After a few minutes, she went back outside to finish planting her herbs, making sure they were firmly in the ground, each with a small trench around it. She could fill the trenches with water, or they’d catch the abundant rain they’d had so far this spring.

  It was nearly midnight by the time she finished so she cleaned her tools, put everything away and went inside for a shower. By sheer force of will, she put Nathan out of her mind and focused on thoughts of the birthing center and the positive impact it would have on the women of Reston County.

  * * *

  “THIS WILL ONLY take a few minutes,” Lisa Thomas assured Gemma the next morning as she slid behind the wheel of her car and buckled her seat belt. “I can’t wait to see the Sunshine Birthing Center. It’s so great that you named it after your mom.”

  “She’s pretty happy about it. I figured I owed her some kind of tribute for letting me bring home all those injured animals when I was little.” Gemma settled into the luxurious seat, so different from the utilitarian one in her elderly Land Rover. One of these days, she would get that seat replaced and not even think about how strange it would be with the well-worn interior. She couldn’t be without her rough-and-tumble Rover, though, not in this county, where roads more often resembled dried-up, rocky riverbeds.

  “I’ll never forget the first bird whose wing you tried to bandage. Between the splint and the bandages, that crow couldn’t even stand up and constantly tipped over.”

  Gemma grinned. “He lived, though.”

  “Well, yeah, but he always flew kind of sideways after that—kept flying into your living room window.”

  “He did that on purpose, remember? He’d become addicted to my mom’s homemade bread. He finally figured out that if he sat on the sill and tap
ped his beak on the glass, Mom would run out with some crumbs.”

  Lisa laughed, the deep, throaty sound that was so at odds with her petite frame. As usual, she was wearing a beautifully fitted and professional-looking dress. This one was the same blue as her eyes, and she wore matching four-inch heels.

  “She was as big a pushover as you were. That’s why he never left the area.”

  “Well, that and, thanks to me, he flew sideways.”

  Lisa grinned as she said, “Now tell me what you’ve accomplished toward the birthing center in the past week. Every time I go to one of those real estate conferences, I feel like I’ve spent time on another planet.”

  She pulled onto the highway and headed into town, listening while Gemma told her about the latest developments.

  “We have an office with very little in it except a desk and chair, computer and phone. I’ve hired Rhonda Morton to be our receptionist.”

  “The mayor’s wife? She’ll certainly keep you up on all the local gossip.”

  “That’s fine as long as she doesn’t gossip about any of our patients. I’ve also hired Beth Garmer and Carrie Stringfellow, but they’re my only nurses until we get our clientele built up enough—” She stared at the house where they had stopped. “Why are we at the Smiths’ place, Lisa?”

  “Nathan wants to sell it. Apparently, the house actually belonged to his mom. When she passed away, she left it to him and it’s been sitting empty since his dad disappeared. I told him I’d look the place over and give him an estimate on what I think it might sell for.”

  Lisa swung out of the car and opened the back door to tug out a fat briefcase and a big, black binder. “Although I don’t know what I’m going to use for comparative prices. This town isn’t exactly a hotbed of real estate activity and there aren’t too many houses like this one that come on the market. Even in this run-down state, it’s worth more than all the other houses on the block combined. Did you know the foyer is white Carrara marble? Of all things to find in rural Oklahoma.”