His Bundle of Love

Mick patted her hand. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

Nodding, Caitlin whispered, “Thank you,” and watched him hurry out the door.

The nurse beside her claimed her attention. “Are you allergic to any medication?” Caitlin shook her head at each question the nurse fired at her. The room grew dark around the edges.

So this was what it was like to die. She wanted to cry because she knew what would happen to her daughter—she’d be thrust into the foster-care system as she’d been. It wasn’t fair.

“Is the man who came in with you the baby’s father?”

Would Mick see that her daughter was taken care of? She could say he was the father, then he’d have the right to look after her. Would he understand? It didn’t matter—she was out of time. She whispered, “Yes.”

PATRICIA DAVIDS

was born and raised in the farm and ranch country of central Kansas. As a tomboy with four brothers, Pat spent an idyllic childhood where horses, softball, church activities and books formed the foundations of her rich imagination. Today, Pat works as an R.N. in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), spoils her grandkids and tries to find time to write down the stories roaming around in her head. She is president of her local RWA chapter and believes that helping new writers learn the craft is the best way to repay the people who helped her. After seven years of writing, she sold her first book to Steeple Hill in June of 2004. Dreams do come true—as long as you chase after them with hard work, determination and faith.

His Bundle of Love

Patricia Davids

And whoever welcomes a little child like this in My name welcomes Me.

—Matthew 18:5

For David, who always believed

I could do anything I set my heart on.

And for my mother, Joan.

“Look Mom! No sleaze!”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“Hey, wait! Mister, you gotta help us!”

Mick O’Callaghan stopped at the sound of the frantic shout. He turned to see a grubby, bearded derelict emerge from the doorway of an abandoned building, one of many that lined the narrow Chicago street. As the man stumbled down the dilapidated steps, Mick recognized Eddy Todd. Eddy, in his stained and tattered overcoat, was a frequent flyer at the Mercy House Shelter where Mick volunteered two days a week.

Staggering up to Mick, Eddy grabbed the front of his brown leather jacket. “Please. You gotta help. She’s havin’ a baby! I don’t know what to do. You gotta help her.”

“Take it easy, Eddy. Slow down and tell me what’s wrong.”

Eddy squinted up at Mick’s face, and some of the panic left his watery, gray eyes. “That you, Mick?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He kept the old fellow from falling by catching his elbows. The sour odors of an unwashed body and cheap whiskey assaulted Mick. No doubt Eddy had been out panhandling, and some well-meaning Samaritan had given him money for a meal, but he had spent it on a bottle instead.

Eddy regained his balance and tugged at Mick’s arm. “Come on. You’re a fireman. You can deliver a baby, can’t ya?”

Mick cast a doubtful eye at the old tenement. What would a pregnant woman be doing in there? Only broken shards of glass remained in the few windows that weren’t boarded over. A section of the roof had collapsed, and debris littered the area. The only signs of life were a few weeds that had sprouted in the sidewalk cracks and struggled to survive in the weak April sunshine. It wasn’t the kind of place he wanted to go searching through—especially for an old drunk’s hallucinations.

With a gentle tug, Mick tried to coax Eddy away. “Why don’t you come down to the mission. Pastor Frank can get you a hot meal. It’s meat loaf tonight. You like meat loaf, don’t you?”

“Sure, sure, I like meat loaf.” Eddy allowed himself to be led for a few steps, then he stopped. “But what about the girl? She shouldn’t have her baby in there. It ain’t clean, or nothing. Come on, I’ll show ya where she is.”

Mick studied the building again. What if Eddy wasn’t imagining things? He glanced at his watch. Normally, it didn’t matter how he spent his days off, but since his mother had moved in for an extended stay after her accident, he tried to make sure she didn’t spend much time alone. Tonight was the nurse’s night off. Naomi would be leaving in an hour. Perhaps if he hurried, he could check the place out, take Eddy over to the mission and get home before she left.

He turned back to the old man. “I’ll take a look, but I want you to stay here,” he insisted.

“Sure, sure. I’ll stay ri-right here.” Eddy nodded, lost his balance and staggered back a step. He wavered on his feet but stayed upright. “You want I should call an ambulance?”

Mick shook his head and hid a smile. “I’ll do that if we need one. You just stay put.”

Walking carefully up the broken steps, he ducked under crisscrossed boards someone had nailed over the doorway in a vain attempt to keep people out. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust in the gloomy interior. He faced a long hall with a dozen doors down its length. The first one stood open, and he looked in.

A tattered mattress surrounded by heaps of cardboard boxes lay in one corner. Old clothes, tin cans and trash covered the floor. The place reeked of stale sweat and rancid garbage. As he stepped back, his foot struck an empty bottle of whiskey and sent it rolling across the warped floorboards. Apparently, Eddy had been holed up in there for some time. At least there was no sign of a pregnant woman. Mick turned to leave, but the sound of a low moan stopped him.

It came again, and he moved down the hall to investigate, skirting a pile of broken furniture and fallen ceiling plaster that all but blocked the dark hall. The last door on the left stood open a crack. He hesitated beside it. Four years as a firefighter had taught him caution. Plenty of unsavory characters inhabited these slums, and some of them could be very unpleasant if he’d stumbled onto a meth lab or another equally illegal operation.

Another moan, louder this time, issued from the room. Someone was in pain. He couldn’t ignore that. Standing with his back to the wall, he stretched out his arm and eased open the door. From behind, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and Mick’s breath froze in his chest.

“What ya doin’?” a slurred voice wheezed.

Relief surged through Mick as his heart began beating again. He turned and whispered, “Eddy, you scared the life out of me! Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

“Yeah—yeah, you told me, but she’s in here. I found some help,” he announced and barged through the door.

Mick followed with more caution. Light poured in from a large, broken window on the back wall. It showed a room surprisingly neat and free of the stench that permeated Eddy’s lair. It contained little more than a bare mattress where a young woman with short blond hair lay on her side. She wore a simple black skirt and a pale pink sweater with long sleeves. Her splayed fingers covered her small, rounded belly beneath the sweater. A thin wail escaped her clenched lips. This was definitely not a hallucination.

At the sound of voices, Caitlin Williams lifted her head and sighed in relief. Eddy had managed to bring help. She was sorry she had doubted the old guy. The young man with him crossed the room and dropped to one knee beside her.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

Scared out of her wits but determined not to show it, Caitlin said, “I think my baby’s coming.”

His fingers closed around her wrist, and he stared at his watch. “How far apart are your contractions?”

“Right on top of each other,” she panted, trying to stifle a groan as another one gripped her. “You a doctor?”

“No, I’m an EMT. Don’t worry, I know what to do.”

He sounded so calm, so confident. Maybe it would be okay. Peering up at him, she realized with a jolt that she knew him.

She’d seen him at the nearby homeless shelter where she got some of her meals. Only last week, she had watched him playing football with some of the kids there. He’d caught a wobbling pass and staggered toward the makeshift goalposts with half a dozen of them hanging on and trying to pull him down. His muscular frame had made light work of the load, but it was his hearty laughter that had truly drawn her interest. His rugged good looks and dark auburn hair made him easy on the eyes. At the time, she had thought his face was more interesting than handsome. It had character.

“I know you. At the shelter they called you Mickey O.”

A warm smile curved his lips and deepened the crinkles at the corners of his bright, blue eyes. “Mick O’Callaghan at your service. And you are?” A vague trace of Irish brogue lilted through his deep baritone voice.

“Caitlin Williams,” she supplied through gritted teeth.

“Pleased to meet you.” He laid a gentle hand on her stomach. “When is your baby due?”

“Not till—” Pressing her lips together, Caitlin waited for the pains to pass. “August,” she finished.

His startled gaze flew to her face, and her fears came rushing back to choke her. “My baby will be okay, won’t it?”

“I’ll do everything I can.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He flipped open the lid, then muttered, “Not now.”

Caitlin saw the worried look in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“The battery is dead. Eddy?” he called over his shoulder. “I need you to go get that ambulance, now. And hurry!”

“Ri-right, Mick, sure thing. Um…where should I go?”

“Go to Pastor Frank. Tell him Mick O’Callaghan says to call an ambulance, then bring him here. Can you do that?” Taking off his jacket, Mick spread it over Caitlin and tucked it around her shoulders.

Eddy nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

Mick saw the old man stagger as he hurried out the door. Torn between the need to stay with the woman or make sure that help was called he looked at her and said, “Maybe I should go.”

She grabbed his arm. “No, stay, please. Eddy can do it. Stay and take care of my baby.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.” He composed his face, determined to keep her calm. He knew a baby born three months early wouldn’t survive unless it waited to be born in a hospital.

Please, Heavenly Father, guide me in making the right decisions here.

Her face tightened into a grimace as she curled forward again. “Something’s wrong. It hurts.”

“You need to breathe through your contractions, like this.” He demonstrated. “Come on, breathe, breathe.”

“You breathe. I’m going to scream.”

She didn’t and he admired her control. “Tell you what, we’ll take turns. Every other contraction, I get to scream, and you breathe.”

She uncurled and relaxed back onto the mattress. “What have you got to yell about?”

He gave a pointed glance to where she gripped his arm. “You’re doing a bit of acupuncture with those fingernails.”

She jerked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you hold my hand?” He offered it, but she ignored him and gripped the edge of the mattress instead, and he regretted saying anything.

He had seen this young woman occasionally at Pastor Frank’s shelter in the last month. She would show up for the evening meal, but she never stayed long. Like many of the women at Mercy House, she kept to herself. He’d never spoken to her, yet something in her eyes had captured his attention the first time he saw her.

The women who came to Mercy House were mostly single mothers with ragged children in tow or old women alone and without families. Their eyes were dull with hopelessness, desperation and sadness, but life hadn’t emptied this girl’s eyes—they blazed with defiance.

Up close, their unusual color intrigued him. A light golden brown, they held flecks of green that made them seem to change with the light. They reminded him of the eyes of a cougar he had seen in the zoo. Aloof, watchful, wary. Only now, raw fear lurked in their depths.

Come on, Eddy, don’t let me down. Get that ambulance here.

Struggling to hide his concerns, Mick searched for a way to establish a rapport and put her at ease. “Have you got a name picked out for your baby?”

“No. I thought I had plenty of time.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’ve got names picked out for my kids, and I’m not even married yet.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Goody for you.”

“A kid’s name is important. It’s something you should give a lot of thought. Not that you haven’t—or wouldn’t—I mean,” he murmured as he ducked his head.

Caitlin couldn’t believe it. This grown man, as big as a house, and probably twenty-five years old was blushing. His neck grew almost as red as his hair. It was sweet, really.

What could she say to someone about to deliver her baby? Things were going to get intimate. Maybe soon. She felt the beginnings of another contraction and reached for his hand. His large fingers engulfed her small ones. Strength and reassurance seem to flow from him into her, easing her fear. Focusing on his face, she followed his instructions to breathe in and blow out. The pain did seem more bearable.

As the contraction faded, she realized he still held her hand. She pulled away and drew his jacket close, relishing the warmth and comforting scent of leather and masculine cologne. The quiet of the old building pressed in around them.

“So, tell me what names you got picked out,” she said at last. “Maybe I’ll use one.”

He smiled. “For a boy, it’ll be William Perry.”

“Willie Perry Williams.” She tried the name out but shook her head. “Not a chance. Why would you do that to a kid?”

“Are you joking? William ‘The Refrigerator’ Perry was the greatest football player in the history of the Chicago Bears.”

Her husband had liked football. The thought of Vinnie sent a stab of regret through her heart. He would never see his son or daughter. How she had hoped that he would give up his wild ways once he knew they were having a baby. He hadn’t. A high-speed chase while trying to outrun the police ended his life when his car veered off the highway and struck a tree. His death that night had started her down the painful path that led to her current desperate situation.

Within days she had discovered that Vinnie had been gambling away the rent money she worked so hard to earn. The landlord didn’t want to hear her sob story. He wanted his money. Three months of unpaid rent was more than she could come up with. She was evicted the day after her husband’s funeral. With no money and nowhere to go, she soon found herself living on the streets. The one place she swore she’d never go back to.

She took a close look at her rescuer. Was he the same kind of man? One who would drink and gamble and then lie to his pregnant wife about it? She didn’t believe that. Not a guy who liked kids as much as he did.

Managing a little smile, she said, “You don’t plan on naming a girl after a football player, do you?”

“No,” he answered quietly. “I’ll name her after my mother. Elizabeth Anne O’Callaghan.”

Amazing! If this guy was any sweeter, he’d rival a candy bar.

Another contraction hit, and his hand found hers. “You got it, that’s it. Breathe,” he coaxed. “Breathe, breathe. You’re doing great.”

She curled onto her side and focused on his singsong voice. With his free hand, he began to rub her lower back in slow circles. Okay, she thought, a sweet guy is a good thing to have around just now.

“Is there someone I can call once we get to the hospital?” he asked. “Family? The baby’s father?”

She shook her head. “Vinnie, my husband, he’s dead. There’s nobody.”

“I’m sorry.”

She bristled at the pity in his voice. Normally, she would have ignored it, but now she couldn’t seem to control the emotions that flared in her.

“I don’t need your pity. I’ve had a little bad luck, that’s all.” She raised up on her elbow to glare at him. “I’ll be on my feet again in no time and a lot better off than I was before.”

Holding up one hand, he said, “Chill, lady. I wasn’t feeling sorry for you.”

“You’d better not. I can take care of myself. And I can take care of my baby, too.”

“In here?” He gestured around the room. The broken window let the wind in, and strips of dingy wallpaper peeling from the stained plaster waved in the breeze that carried the smells of mildew and rotting wood.

“Lady, I’ve seen kids living in places like this covered with rat bites and worse. If you think you can go it alone, you’re crazy. There’s a system to help if you’ll use it.”

“Why do you care? You want to name your little girl after your mother, right? You know what I remember about dear old Mom? On my fifth birthday she gave me a Twinkie with a candle in it. Then she left me inside a Dumpster for two days because she was too strung out to remember where she’d put me to keep me quiet while some new boyfriend supplied her habit. Your precious system moved me from one foster home to another when it wasn’t giving me back to Mom so she could have another go at me. By the time I was sixteen, I’d figured out living in a back alley was a better deal. Your system isn’t going to get its hands on my baby. I’ll make sure of that.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to hold back a scream as the pain overwhelmed her.

“Okay, you’ve had it rough,” he said gently. “Show me one kid down at the shelter that hasn’t. But, if Child Welfare finds out this is where you’re living, do you think they’re going to let you bring a baby here? I’m just saying stay at a shelter until you find something better. It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s the baby.”

Everyone who’d ever shown her compassion had had their own agenda in mind. Why did she think this guy was any different? Why did she find herself believing he really did care?

“How come you’re so concerned about someone else’s kid?”

He stared out the broken window for a long moment without speaking, then he looked at her and said, “Maybe because I can’t have kids of my own.”

She frowned. “I don’t get it. What about the names?”

The smile he tried for was edged with sadness. “If I ever marry, I’ll adopt children.”

“You look healthy to me,” she said, giving him the once-over. “What’s wrong with you?”

He hesitated, then admitted, “I had a bad case of the mumps when I was a teenager. It left me sterile.” He shrugged. “It’s just one of those things.”

But not a little thing, Caitlin thought as she glimpsed the sadness in his eyes.

“Mick? Mick O’Callaghan?” A shout echoed through the building.

“Last room on the left, Pastor,” Mick shouted back.

The sound of someone clambering past the debris in the hall reached them. A moment later, Pastor Frank’s bald head appeared in the doorway. “Mick, what are you doing in here? Eddy was raving about you delivering a baby.”

His eyes, behind silver wire-rimmed glasses, widened as he caught sight of Caitlin. “For goodness’ sake. Are you?”

“Not yet, but we could be. Did you call for an ambulance?”

“I did.” The sound of a distant siren followed his words.

Mick turned to her and smiled. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”

He gripped her hand again. The warmth and strength of his touch made her believe him. He would take care of her and her baby.

Twenty minutes later, two paramedics loaded the stretcher she lay on into the ambulance. Another contraction hit, stronger this time. As she tried to pant through it, the need to push became uncontrollable. One of the paramedics started to close the door, shutting Mick out.

“Wait,” she shouted. “He’s got to come with me.”

She wasn’t sure why she needed Mick. Maybe it was because he truly seemed to care—about her, and about her baby.

She stretched her hand out and pleaded, “Please, Mick, we need you.”

The two paramedics looked at Mick. The older one said, “Okay, O’Callaghan, come on. We’re wasting time.” He motioned with his head, and Mick jumped in. Moments later, the ambulance rolled with red lights and siren.

Mick knew he’d be late getting home for sure now. He would have to call once he reached the hospital. The last thing he wanted was to worry his mother. Yet, for some reason he knew he couldn’t let Caitlin go through this alone.

She didn’t have anyone. He couldn’t imagine what that must be like. Besides his mother, he had two sisters, a dozen nephews and nieces and more cousins than he could count. There were enough O’Callaghans in Chicago to fill the upper deck at Wrigley Field, while this destitute young woman was totally alone.

No, God had set his feet on the path that led to Caitlin today. Mick couldn’t believe the Lord wanted him to bail out now. Taking her hand, he smiled at her and said, “You got it now. Just breathe.”

The siren wailed overhead. Caitlin struggled to block out the sound as she panted through the contraction with Mick coaching her. Why didn’t they shut it off? She couldn’t concentrate. She needed to hear his voice telling her everything was going to be okay. And she needed to push.

She was pushing by the time the ambulance reached the hospital. Her stretcher was quickly unloaded and wheeled into the building. People came at her from all directions, yelling instructions, asking for information and giving orders she couldn’t follow. All she could do was bear down and push a new life into the world as she clung to Mick’s hand like a life-line.

A sudden gush of fluid soaked the stretcher, and her tiny baby slid into the hands of a startled doctor. “We have a girl,” he said. Mick lifted Caitlin’s head so she could see.

“She’s so small.” Dread snaked its way into her soul as they whisked her daughter to a table with warming lamps glowing above it.

“Is she okay? Why isn’t she crying?” Caitlin tightened her grip on Mick’s hand. So many people crowded around the baby that she couldn’t see her. She tried to sit up, but a nurse held her back.

“Your baby’s being taken care of.”

“Just tell me she’s okay. Please, someone tell me she’s okay.” Frantic now, Caitlin struggled to push the nurse aside, but a sudden, sharp pain in her chest halted her.

She tried to draw a breath but couldn’t get any air. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She collapsed back onto the bed as the crushing pain overwhelmed her.

Long minutes later, they wheeled the baby’s bed up beside her. Caitlin turned her head and focused on her daughter’s small face. For an instant, all her pain faded away.

Her baby was so beautiful—so tiny—so perfect. But she wasn’t moving. Someone spoke, but Caitlin couldn’t hear them over the roaring in her ears. Then they pushed her baby’s bed out the door. Their faces were all so grim.

“Is she dead, Mick?” Caitlin whispered, terrified to hear the answer.

“No,” he answered quickly. “They’re taking her to the NICU. It’s a special intensive care just for babies. They’ll take good care of her there. She’s going to be fine.”

“Why isn’t—she crying?” The pain in her chest made it hard to talk.

“It’s because she’s so premature,” Mick answered. “She has a tube going into her airway to help her breathe, and she can’t make any sound with that in.”