His phone rang, and he grabbed it, wandering back into the apartment to find Tasha and discuss supper plans.

“Junior, do you know where Gramma is?”

He chuckled. “Is this a trick question? Isn’t she at the house?” He glanced around for Tasha—no sign. She must be in the bathroom.

“No, and we can’t figure out where she’s gone. After Tasha took her for the tour at the seniors home—”

“What?” He checked his watch. It wasn’t just past supper, it was nearly eight, and the sun was approaching the horizon. “When did Tasha take her anywhere?”

“You didn’t know? Gramma called to tell me she didn’t need a ride because Tasha was there and would take her.”

What the hell? His anger burst out at his sister. “And you didn’t think that a eight-and-a-half-month pregnant woman might not be the best person to escort our eighty-year-old Gramma around town?”

Maxy hesitated for a second. “I’m sorry, but honestly, no. It didn’t occur to me. They’re both very self-sufficient.”

He spotted a piece of paper on the table and snatched it up. There were only two lines, nothing to indicate Tasha would be gone for a long period of time. Picking up a few things, stopping at the house site, that was all. Fear rolled over him. She should have been home long ago. Something must have happened. He raced to pull on his shoes.

“Shit—I need to try her cell phone. Call the nursing home and find out when they left.” He hung up before Maxy could respond. Images of Tasha lying hurt at the house flashed through his mind, making him crazy.

Her line rang and went to message. He tried again.

Icy fear surrounded him. His heart was in his toes as he stabbed the button for the elevator repetitively, urging the damn thing to hurry up.

His cell phone rang with her tone, and he scrambled to answer it. “Are you okay?”

The line crackled, breaking up slightly. “We’re…fine. We need help. Gramma Turner and I are a little…at the moment. We went…walk, and she’s twisted… It’s okay, but I can’t…”

“Where are you?” Details later, location now.

“Cemetery. She wanted to…” The line went dead.

Screw the elevator. He was through the emergency exit and racing down the stairs before his call to Maxine even connected. “They’re at the cemetery. Don’t know why, but I’m heading over. Phone reception out there is almost impossible to get, so they could have been stuck for hours. Tasha said that Gramma’s twisted something. Call a couple of the uncles to come help me.”

Maxine’s voice quavered a bit. “I will, and, Junior, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Shit. “It’s not your fault. You’re right. They’re independent, and stubborn, and there’s nothing you could have done to stop them. Love you, sis. Call you when I can.”

He drove well over the speed limit as he raced toward the family plot, cursing that he was almost twenty minutes away. The Turners had a whole damn section in the Thompson Cemetery, a fact that had fascinated him when he was little, but now seemed a trifle macabre. It was like the clan was still doing things together, even now that they were dead. He skidded to a stop, leapt from the car and raced toward the rise where Grandpa Turner was buried. The steep slope of the hillside cemetery suddenly seemed to have been laid out specifically to slow him in his quest to reach them. One final burst of energy and there they were, Tasha’s dark head close to his Gramma’s white one as they sat perched on a low wall. The only lighting in this section was a small decorative imitation gas lamp a good twenty feet away, casting a tiny glowing circle along the edge where the women rested.

“There he is.” Gramma raised a hand and waved. “Over here.”

Max slowed to a walk, eyeing Gramma quickly, then taking a more thorough examination of Tasha. “Ladies. You went for a very long stroll.”

Gramma sighed. “Wasn’t supposed to be that protracted, but silly me. I was trying to be frivolous and now my ankle’s not cooperating.”

He laid a hand briefly on Tasha’s knee as he squatted, taking his Gramma’s ankle and checking it carefully.

“Ouch. Yes, that’s the part that hurts. I need someone to lean on, and Tasha and I decided she probably wasn’t the best choice to use as a crutch right now.”

Thank God. That’s all they would have needed was for Tasha to lose her balance and the two of them end up hurt. “Good thinking. Lean on me, I’ll get you back to the car.”

Gramma hopped down, and he wrapped an arm around her. He offered his other hand to Tasha.

She shook her head and waved him on. “I’ll wait. You take Gramma, then come back for me.”

He didn’t like that idea, not one bit. Before he could argue Tasha visibly winced and he stared at her, trying to figure out why— Oh my God. He might be exceedingly bright, but this was something he’d never experienced before. “Tasha?”

She covered her lips with a finger and tilted her head toward his Gramma. “You two go ahead. I’ll be fine for another few minutes.”

No. He was not leaving his wife in a graveyard, in the dark, when she obviously was in labor. Gramma would understand…and then he saw the dilemma.

There was no good solution.

He held out his hand to Tasha and she smiled at him, squeezing his fingers tight.

A shout in the distance made his heart leap as one of his uncles arrived, and he gratefully passed Gramma over with a whisper to his uncle to have an ambulance sent.

Tasha winked at him, then tucked her fingers under her belly and rubbed. An instant later he had her enfolded in his arms, his hands supporting her belly.

“You…martyr. What happened?” He helped her up and she let out a whoosh of air.

“There was something I wanted to talk to her about, and then after we’d already visited for an hour, she asked if I’d drive her to the seniors home. There was nothing wrong with that, but the next thing I know she’d convinced me to come and visit… Oh, hang it.” Tasha bent slightly, hands on her knees, her breath escaping in rapid gasps. Far too rapid.

He rubbed her back, feeling more than a little helpless. “Hey, remember our classes. Slower, if you can. You’ve got a long time to—”

“Maxwell, I’ve been in labor for the past three hours, I think I’ve figured out the damn breathing bit. My water broke just after we got to the graveside and I sat down intending to call you. But reception sucks, and then your Gramma took a step the wrong direction and…oh my God, this baby is on the way.”


This was not at all how she’d planned her afternoon to go. It was supposed to have been a short, simple trip. She’d be back in plenty of time to drag Max from his work and slather him with kisses before making her big announcement that she loved him silly. Tasha waited out another set of contractions, staring at the greenery around her as it faded into invisibility, the bright dashes of color muted as darkness settled. The other part of her brain worked hard to ignore the fact that unless an ambulance showed up soon, very soon, she just might have this baby in a graveyard.

It was sure to be one of those stories that down the road the kid would love to share with everyone.

Max supported her, touching her gently, rubbing and asking how he could help.

The comfort of his presence made a world of difference. “Just hold me. I’m so glad you made it. I didn’t think your Gramma wanted to be a baby catcher.”

“Why you didn’t tell her you were in labor?”

Tasha took another slow step, his arms around her torso. “I didn’t feel anything unusual at first. It’s only gotten bad since I got hold of you. I thought it was more Braxton Hicks, and I didn’t think Gramma needed something else to worry about.”

Max swore, holding her carefully, guiding them down the rocky path. “On the relative scale of things to worry about, going into labor trumps a twisted ankle.”

Tasha shrugged. “I guess. Oh damn. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that one hurt.” She stopped again, trying to catch her breath, but it was a struggle. In the far distance, the siren of an ambulance cut through the air. The pain shifted, and suddenly instead of squeezing her to pieces, a sharp pressure speared between her legs. “Umm, Max?”

He ducked in front of her, staring up into her eyes. His face was white in the pale light, and he looked far older than usual. “What?”

“I need to push.” And like right now. She might want to wait, but this kid had other ideas.

“Shit, are you sure?”

She snapped at him. “No, it’s just a sudden fancy I have. Arghh, crap, this hurts. It didn’t so much…shit…until now, but… Oh my God.”

“Okay, okay, let me…” He looked around frantically while she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Oh yes, there was something going on, and the men with the nice flashing lights and blaring siren racing toward them might not make it in time. Maxwell ripped off his shirt, laid it on the ground and carefully helped her down on top of it.

“Another one of your school shirts bites the dust,” she teased.

He lowered her pants, hands gentle on her body. “How can you joke right now?”

She wasn’t sure. “It’s joking or screaming. Which would you—?”

The pain struck the words from her mouth and Max scrambled to finish undressing her, her pants getting caught on her shoes until he tore them off her feet.

This wasn’t how they’d pictured it. There was no sterile birthing room with a shower and tub to relax in while they waited for the little one to arrive. Of course, if Tasha was honest, she’d never thought too hard about the messier parts of the process, skipping straight from announcing “I think it’s time” to “It’s a girl” in one smooth blend like a television-friendly soundtrack-filled sitcom.