Rocky Mountain Redemption (11 page)

“Thank you, Dillon.” Ben gave the boy a gentle pat
on the head then passed a sobering glance Callie's way before he disappeared behind the door.

“Why don't you boys come with me?” She bent over to catch their attention. “My name's Callie.”

Almost in unison, the two boys turned and peered at the door behind them. The staid and brave way they held their ground, like two little soldiers guarding a sacred monument or a beloved patriot, had her struggling to keep her composure.

From the bedroom their mother cried out in pain once again. Callie motioned for the boys to follow her as she made her way to the kitchen to boil water. While she located clean rags and other linens Ben had requested, she tried to distract the boys by asking questions. She also found herself praying for the woman as pain-filled moans filled the dwelling.

After she tucked the children into bed, she loaded up her arms and carried the hot kettle and rags into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“Just pour the water into the basin there, Callie,” Ben instructed, his hand bracing the pale woman's shoulder as she toiled for each short panting breath. Perspiration had plastered the poor woman's light brown hair against her head. Tiny rivulets streamed down her face. “I'll need your help on the other side.”

Willing her heart to slow its frantic pace, Callie did as she was told, each step toward the bed a silent victory.

“Mrs. Nolte, this is Callie, my new assistant.” Ben felt the woman's pulse at her wrist. “She's going to be helping us tonight.”

“Hello,” Callie offered.

The woman's eyes fluttered open and she braved a smile. But her face almost instantly contorted with the
arresting pain of another contraction. She stared up at Ben, pleading with a fearful gaze for him to help.

“It's all right. Just take deep breaths,” he uttered, his voice like a gentle, calming touch.

Callie sat on the bed opposite Ben, patting the woman's face and neck with a cool, damp cloth.

“Good, Callie.” He nodded her way. “Just keep her as comfortable as you can.”

As the moments ticked by she felt her control slipping from her desperate grasp. She silently berated herself. If she couldn't maintain her composure in this situation, she could well risk losing her job. Ben needed her to keep her head.

And this poor woman…she needed her, too. Callie had only to focus on the pleading, fear-filled look etched in Mrs. Nolte's kind face to testify to that.

Ben glanced up at Callie every now and then, offering her an encouraging look. She found that if she kept her eyes on him, watching the way he worked with quiet direction and confidence, she was able to maintain her focus.

Just seeing how tender Ben was with the poor woman as she battled through each contraction made Callie's heart swell with gratitude. He handled Mrs. Nolte with a gentle strength and wisdom, challenging every last, lingering question as to Ben's character.

The tenderness she witnessed called up a heartbreaking contrast of bad memories. When her own nightmare barged into her mind, Callie's tender world jerked off its axis.

Six years ago this had been her. She'd labored for a day and a half. There'd been no doctor, not even a midwife. Max had refused. And she'd struggled alone through every pain and contraction. She'd been
exhausted at the end, much like this woman. And it had been with the final push that she'd lost consciousness.

The woman gasped, jerking Callie from the agonizing memories. “Oh, dear… Please. Help me. I can't—” Mrs. Nolte clutched Callie's arm with such force, as if a pack of ravenous wolves were nipping at her flesh. She cried out in pain, but this time it merged into an almost animal-like grunt as she bore down, pushing.

“Lift her shoulders, Callie. Prop another pillow behind her.” Ben moved to the foot of the bed.

“You're doing fine, Mrs. Nolte,” he spoke above another gasping cry. “Just make the most of each contraction, all right? You're almost there.”

Callie looked up and found herself pinned by Ben's concerned look. In spite of her best attempt to keep every emotion shuttered deep inside, he must have sensed her unease and raw emotion. He was like that, and where it had strongly irritated her just a few days ago, now it almost gave her a strange sense of comfort.

“Are you all right?” he mouthed while Mrs. Nolte sank with relief, albeit brief, into the feather bed as that contraction subsided.

Callie nodded, probably a little too vigorously since Ben cocked his head as if to say
Are you sure?

She had to be all right.

Ben needed her.

Mrs. Nolte needed her.

When the woman began growing restless again, Ben braced a hand at one of her knees. She clawed at then gripped the bedsheets, her perspiration-beaded brow furrowed in pain and concentration with the onslaught of another labor pain.

“Garrett is going to be proud of you when he gets off
the range, ma'am. Just keep up the good work and the little one will be here before you know it.”

Callie heard Ben's encouraging words to the woman, but all she could seem to see was her own worst nightmare playing out in her mind. The helpless moans. The intensity of each tormenting contraction. The fear that permeated the room. The evening was wrought with stark reminders of six years ago.

She could face anything. Blood. Gaping wounds. Protruding bones. She just didn't know if she could face the most natural and beautiful moment, when a newborn child entered the world.

It loomed as a horrifying reminder, a shameful testament to the fact that she'd been unable to last out the labor to see her child born safely. Maybe if she could've held on for a few more minutes—even seconds—she might've given birth to a healthy baby girl. Maybe if she'd taken matters into her own hands and insisted on help. Maybe if she'd never made the decision to marry Max in the first place…

But then—then she'd never have known the intimate honor of carrying her baby for nine blessed months.

With the wound still gaping in her heart, she had to wonder if nine months in the womb was better than nothing at all.

When she peered down and saw Mrs. Nolte sinking into the bed as though she was unable to last through another second of labor, Callie felt overcome with desperation.

“Mrs. Nolte… Don't—don't give up now, ma'am,” she managed through clenched teeth and a thick throat. “We're right here with you. Just make it through this one. That's all you need to think about right now.”

Ben's head snapped up. He stared at Callie for a
lengthy moment then gave her a single nod of appreciation. “That's right. Just this one contraction,” he echoed.

The next minutes seemed to blur by for Callie. Mrs. Nolte made it through the last few pushes with one encouraging word after another from Ben and Callie. And when her newborn boy finally emerged, Callie felt a shared sense of enormous relief.

But the relief was swallowed whole in the next few moments. Her blood ran cold. Dread and raw fear pulled down all hope like a lead weight.

The baby was bluish in color. He wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. Wasn't making a sound.

While Ben focused completely on tending to the newborn, Callie's hands trembled uncontrollably. She tried to calm Sarah Nolte's growing panic. Tried to stuff down her own seizing panic. But she couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the little baby, wondering if this was what it'd been like when her little girl had been born.

When the newborn finally let out a small whimper what seemed like minutes later, Callie's stomach surged. The cry of relief that came from Mrs. Nolte, and the quaver Callie heard in Ben's voice as he assured the woman that all was well, brought ready tears to Callie's eyes.

She might've cried a river then, but she couldn't. Wouldn't. If she let herself break down now, she might never, ever stop up the deep well of tears that capped off all of these long and anguished years.

B
en was still shaken inside.

Though it'd been three hours since Sarah Nolte had given birth to her baby boy, and the little guy was doing just fine, the tenuous moments when it seemed the baby wasn't going to breathe still tromped over Ben's weakening confidence.

This baby, the third boy in the Nolte family, had been bigger than the first two. Probably close to nine pounds. And he'd come face up and with the cord wrapped around his chubby little neck. Sarah had been courageous throughout, and by the look on Garrett's face when he flew through the door an hour ago, he wholeheartedly agreed.

Ben remembered breathing a heartfelt prayer of thanks when the strapping newborn had finally taken his first breath, after a good minute outside of the womb. Within half an hour, the little one's coloring was nearing perfect, and his cry hearty. A very good sign, indeed. The baby was healthy. Doing well. And even suckling at his mama's breast as Ben ushered Callie out to the wagon to return home.

So why didn't those things comfort Ben deep down? It
seemed that one tragedy after another stacked up against him, challenging his ability and skill as a doctor. Ben had failed to turn Max around and bring him back into the fold. He'd failed to save Aaron's sweet baby and dear wife. And he'd failed to restore Joseph's vision.

Over the past hours, it'd been all he could manage to hide the lack of confidence that plagued him without mercy.

The look in Sarah's eyes—that pleading, unquestioning look that bequeathed Ben far too much faith in his expertise—troubled Ben to the core. And then the way Callie had peered at him, with a vulnerability and trust as tender and fragile as a tiny seedling. He swallowed hard, remembering the way it shook him deep—made him wish he could be found worthy.

But the fleeting look of terror he'd seen cross Callie's face had almost brought his heart to a sudden, sobering stop. Plain as day, he'd seen it. Her fear had tugged at his compassion with relentless force.

As the pale glow of morning's earliest light climbed over the horizon, Ben urged the horses down the frost-covered, grassy path. He contemplated the sense of helplessness he felt, finding an odd sense of quietude as he watched the way the horses' warm breath made rhythmic puffs of steam into the cool and crisp late October air.

When Ben glanced over at Callie hugging her arms to her chest, his uncertainty faded some. She was a mystery, just Callie. A deep and exquisite and beautiful mystery. A gift to him the last two weeks…tonight. Perhaps forever?

His nerve endings hummed to life. Grew louder as he saw the wisps of hair that had fallen in loose waves from her braid. He had to clench his fist tight to keep from
touching the rich strands. The radiant, almost ethereal way her fair skin reflected the first inkling of breaking light entranced him completely.

“Are you cold?” he finally asked, his throat gone tight.

“A little.” She breathed into her hands.

Ben grabbed the lap robe from behind the seat and settled the blanket over her shoulders. “Here, this should help.”

The fact that she didn't flinch at his touch or his nearness was heartening. “Were you all right in there?” On a sigh, Ben threaded a hand through his hair. “Did I throw too much at you?”

He focused down the road, realizing that maybe he'd assumed too much from her. But for several days now, she'd been remarkably adept as she assisted him with patients. Never once had she balked or seemed uneasy. She'd handled situations as naturally as if she'd had training. In fact, he couldn't quite get over just how perfectly she complemented him.

“I guess I thought with how well you've handled other patients this past week, you'd do fine.”

She turned toward him. “It's not that.”

“Then what is it?” He met her gaze, and even in the pale light he could see the way her eyes took on that faraway, pain-filled shadowing. “The way you looked, I thought I was going to have another patient on my hands.”

Callie lifted her chin in that familiar and stubborn I-don't-need-your-help kind of way. “It won't happen again.”

Ben gave his head a slow shake. “Callie, I—”

“I promise,” she added, laying a hand on his right forearm. “I won't let you down again, Ben. I don't know
what came over me, but I promise I won't let it happen again.”

He dropped his gaze to where she held his arm, saddened that she could think him so demanding and unforgiving.

And moved by the way her touch soaked right through his heavy sheepskin coat and wool shirt, to his skin. Then to his heart. Her touch, her lingering gaze, the way she seemed torn between maintaining her distance and reaching out to him, brought his breath up short.

He covered her hands with one of his. “You didn't let me down, Callie. You were wonderful back there.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, hoping this glimpse of vulnerability heralded, even as the morning's first light, a new day. “The encouragement you gave Mrs. Nolte couldn't have been more perfect. It kept her with us.”

She swallowed visibly. Sitting so close to her, he could feel her tense as she averted her attention to where the horses plodded steadily toward home. He hadn't really been privy to this fragile side of Callie before, and seeing it now made him wish that he could take her in his arms, sheltering her from her silent storm.

Right now it didn't seem to matter that she'd once been married to Max. Or that her past was still shady, at best. Or that a hint of suspicion hung over her.

“What matters to me isn't
that
it happened, but
why
it happened. You looked like you'd seen a ghost.” Pulling on the reins, he brought the horses to a halt in the middle of the path. “Please. Tell me what's bothering you.”

She pulled her hands into her lap. “I can't.”

“Can't? Or won't?” Ben closed his eyes momentarily and sighed, wondering if he was pushing too much. But at the moment, it didn't really seem to matter. He opened his eyes and looked at her, pointedly. “Do you
trust me, Callie? Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

Callie studied him as though trying to dig deep into who he really was. It evoked a strange discomfort when she looked at him like that.

Was she seeing Max?

Or comparing him to Max?

The thought of being compared to his wayward, immoral brother stung deep.

“The way you're looking at me now, I'd think you were trying to find some reason to mistrust me,” he choked out. “Some piece of evidence that would justify your determination to keep your distance. For whatever reason, you're committed to staying at arm's length.”

“No. It's not like—”

“Do you think I'm like Max? Is that it?”

“I thought—I thought she was going to lose the baby,” she finally said, her rosebud mouth drawn down at the corners as though she might cry. “She almost did.”

“But she didn't.” Toning down his ire, Ben cautiously reached up and smoothed wayward strands of hair from her face even as he battled back his own taunting failures and silent accusations.

“She was in such pain.” Her voice quavered. “And having such a hard time.”

He cupped his hand at the side of her head, struggling to remind himself that ultimately life wasn't his to give or take away. That ultimately, God was in charge of the outcome.

Seeing the remnant of torment in her eyes, he searched for words that would ease her. “It was a difficult labor, but she made it through—and you were part of that.”

She almost leaned into his touch, but not quite. “I feared for her, Ben.”

He swallowed past a lump that had been there since the time they'd arrived, three hours ago. “I did, too.”

Her breath caught. “You did?”

“I did. It was touch-and-go. But we made it through. God saw us through,” he added, remembering how desperate he'd been to find God's presence there guiding him.

Ready emotion seized his throat as he recalled the overwhelming expression of gratitude and relief he'd seen on Sarah's face when her baby gave his first, small cry.

And the look of trauma and fear he'd witnessed marring Callie's lovely features. There had to be something more to the unveiled look of horror. Yes, she'd feared for Sarah Nolte and her baby, but was there something beyond the sympathetic, compassionate concern? Some dark and daunting image from Callie's past that had come back to haunt her?

 

Callie might as well have aged ten years in four days.

With an unnerving sense of irony, she peered at her image in the mirror hanging above the bureau. The woman staring back at her, all done up and ready to attend Boulder's annual Harvest Dinner and Town Hall Dance, appeared far younger than the way she really felt.

Ever since Sarah's baby was born, Callie's struggle with the haunting memories of her own tragic delivery had been nearly insurmountable. The incident had dredged up the familiar pain and deep ache far more than she'd experienced in the past.

But comfort seemed out of her reach. Like the rippling cascade of a waterfall echoing through mountains,
she was almost sure she could hear comfort's alluring, peaceful call, but she couldn't seem to find it.

She'd longed, yearned for someone to talk to these past days. Callie found herself craving a real peace to subdue her very real fears and hurts, but nothing she did seemed to satisfy. Not throwing herself into her job, helping Luke with the kittens, befriending one of the girls at the Golden Slipper, or even knitting mittens for the orphanage with Katie.

Perhaps she was missing something. Something bigger than herself. Bigger than the things she did to feel useful. Bigger than the stubborn strength she'd strapped on these past years. Bigger than even Ben Drake.

In a moment of utterly shameful weakness, she'd almost spilled everything to him. About her pregnancy, the labor, the delivery. But she just couldn't tell him about all of that. Doing so would only add to the shadows already cast over Max's memory. Besides, there was certainly no guarantee that he'd believe her.

With a heavy sigh and determination to climb above the grief, she adjusted the lace collar on her emerald-green dress as images of Sarah's chubby little boy flitted through her mind.

Jared Benjamin Nolte…

He was such a sweet baby, so content and peaceful. She'd gone along with Ben to check on the little one the day following the birth, and when Mr. Nolte had told Ben that they'd named their new boy after him, Ben had become disconcertingly quiet.

A heartwarming smile coaxed up the corner of Callie's mouth.

First a kitten. Now a baby.

Ben should be honored—at least that's what she thought. But for some reason he seemed agitated by
the whole thing. As if he didn't think he deserved the tribute.

Callie hadn't met anyone who deserved such an honor more than Ben Drake. He was caring. Kind. Compassionate.

He was everything that Max was not.

For the past three weeks she'd seen Ben tend to one patient after another, his steady demeanor never altering from his usual calm and gentle way. Even in the face of one patient's rude behavior, he seemed to walk above the unseen realm of discourtesy, treating the person with respect and consideration and patience.

At times, he seemed almost larger than life.

That very attribute had been the quality that had drawn her to Max seven years ago. It was the trait that had dramatically changed after they'd married, too. But for some reason, with Ben things seemed different, as though the person she saw day in, day out was the real, genuine Ben.

When she heard the front door open, she felt her heart skip a beat. He was here. Ben had come for her.

And she was going to be attending the dinner and dance with him. It'd been a last-minute request on his part, and though she was fairly certain he was just making an attempt to include her in community happenings, she'd been glad for the invitation. For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted to attend a function like this. But first her father had deemed dancing a sin, and then after she'd married, Max hadn't wanted anything to do with an occasion like this.

He'd preferred a more raucous crowd to fulfill his desire for pleasure. And thankfully, he'd never once forced Callie to accompany him.

Regardless of the fact that she considered herself to
be fairly naive, it wasn't hard to guess what he did when he was out. He'd drag himself home in the wee hours of the morning with red lip paint on his neck and face. And the overwhelming smell of perfumed powder and booze wafting around him in a noxious cloud.

Having no intention of dwelling on those unpleasant memories, she swept her gaze down her dress one last time then emerged from her room.

She glanced up just in time to see Ben come to a sudden stop in the hallway. He stood there all still and straight, staring at her, almost as if he were seeing her for the first time. His gray-blue eyes darkened with an intensity that sent a quiver of contentment all the way down her spine to where her toes curled in her new, buttoned boots.

“You look lovely, Callie.” His voice was low and husky as he advanced a step closer.

She slid a hand up and touched the locket at her neck, taking in his appearance, as well. Indulging herself—if truth be told—in his striking good looks. “You're looking very nice, yourself, Ben,” she breathed, swallowing hard as she noticed how handsome he looked in his dark gray trousers, crisp white shirt and navy blue vest and coat.

Feeling a warm blush coloring her cheeks, she worked frantically to stuff those thoughts back down.

After Max had died, she'd vowed never to make herself vulnerable to a man again, and now here she was, practically throwing herself at Ben. As good as Ben Drake seemed, there had to be a flaw to him. And if she knew what was best for her, she'd figure out his weakness just as soon as possible.