“Stay with Beth. Watch over her for me.”

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

MILLS & BOON

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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.”

Caitlin’s own breathing had become short, labored panting. A frowning nurse slipped a plastic mask over Caitlin’s face and spoke to the doctor. He frowned, too.

Caitlin looked from face to face. She didn’t know any of these people. Who would look after her baby?

She gripped Mick’s arm, pulling him closer. “Go with her.”

He glanced at the E.R. staff, then back to her. “I think I should stay with you.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. She forced a smile to her trembling lips. A strange cold was seeping into her bones. “Stay with—Beth. Watch over her for me.”

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

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

The nurse beside her claimed her attention. “I need you to tell me your name.”

“Caitlin—Williams,” she wheezed.

“Are you allergic to any medication? Are you using any street drugs?” 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 now—the same things that had happened to her. It wasn’t fair.

“Who is your next of kin?” The nurse continued to insist on answers. Caitlin only wanted to close her eyes and rest, but more people crowded around her, taking her blood pressure, listening to her heart, poking needles in her arm, sticking wires on her chest. They were all frowning.

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

“What?” Caitlin tried to focus on the woman’s face.

“I said, is that man 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 nodded as she whispered, “Yes.”

“What is his name?”

“Mick…O’Callaghan.” Don’t let her be alone, Mick. Please, take care of her.

Darkness swooped in and began to pull Caitlin away. She struggled against it. She needed to stay for her baby.

“We’re losing her,” someone shouted.

Chapter Two

Mick caught up with the baby as they wheeled her into the nearest elevator. Squeezing in beside them, he stared in amazement at Caitlin’s daughter. He’d never seen anything so tiny. Her head was no bigger than the palm of his hand; his little finger was thicker than her gangly legs, yet she was so complete. Downy, brown hair covered her head and miniature wrinkles creased her forehead above arching brows. She even had eyelashes! The tiny spikes lay curved against her cheek. Awed by the wonder of this new life, he gazed at her in fascination. Truly, here was one of God’s greatest creations.

Her delicate hands flew up and curled around the breathing tube taped in her mouth.

“No, honey, don’t pull on that,” a nurse chided as she pried the tiny fingers loose. “Hold Daddy’s hand instead,” she suggested with an encouraging smile.

Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Mick reached for the baby’s hand. Her thin fingers gripped his large, blunt one. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him and blinked, then her frown deepened into a scowl. An identical, miniature version of her mother’s, and Michael Aaron O’Callaghan fell hopelessly in love.

“She looks like her mom,” he said, surprised to hear the catch in his voice. He glanced at the woman beside him. “Will she be all right?”

“She has a very good chance, but there is a long road ahead of her, I’m afraid. I’m Dr. Wright. I’m one of the neonatologists on staff here. Her lungs are much too immature to work properly, so she’s going to need help. She’ll be placed on a ventilator once we reach the unit.” As she spoke, she continued rhythmically squeezing a small, gray bag that delivered oxygen to the baby. “Do you have a name for her?”

“Beth,” he answered, “or maybe Elizabeth. Her mother can tell you for sure. When can she come and see her?”

“We’ll be busy getting Beth admitted and stabilized for the next hour or so. I’d suggest you wait until then to bring Mom in.” The elevator doors slid open, and Mick followed them as they wheeled the baby across the hall and into the NICU.

A flurry of activity began as soon as they entered the large room. At first, it seemed like nurses were scurrying in all directions at once, but it quickly became apparent it was a controlled rush as Beth was placed on a larger bed, and hooked to a waiting ventilator. Within minutes, a jungle of wires, IV poles, tubing and oxygen hoses surrounded her.

Glancing around the room, Mick noted with amusement its peculiar mix of Mother Goose and science-fiction technology. Rows of flashing monitors and digital displays shared wall space with giant nursery-rhyme characters above the open beds and incubators. IV poles held bags of fluid, swaying mobiles and colorful toys.

Dr. Wright spoke as she worked. “We need to administer a medication directly into Beth’s lungs to help mature them and start some IVs.”

Mick interrupted, “What are her chances, honestly?”

“She weighs barely two pounds, and she looks to be about twenty-six weeks gestation, which means she was born fourteen weeks early. Her chances of survival are good if she doesn’t develop any serious complications. Only time will tell.”

After the excitement of Beth’s admission died down, the nurses let Mick sit beside her bed. He couldn’t get over how adorable she looked in spite of the tubes and wires. His heart warmed to her as he watched her with a sense of wonder and fascination. After a while, he glanced at the clock surprised to see how late it was. In the rush of events he had forgotten to call home.

“I’d better go and tell your mother how you’re doing. I know she’s worried.”

He took a last look at the little girl whose arrival had generated so much activity. “Goodbye, Beth. Be well,” he whispered, knowing he might never see her again. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, and he smiled. He took hold of her tiny hand. “May God grant you many years to live, for sure He must be knowing, the Earth has angels all too few, and heaven’s overflowing.”

A nurse across the bed smiled at him as she added medication to a bag of IV fluid. “Are you a poet?”

Sheepishly, he grinned. “It’s an old Irish blessing, something my mother always says as a kind of birthday wish.”

“It’s darling. I’ll write it out and put it on her bed. We like to keep personal things by the babies, like toys or photos. Things that help the families connect with their baby.”

She reached out and patted his arm. “I’m Sandra Carter. Try not to worry, Irish. She’s a fighter, I can tell.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Hold out your hand.” He did and she fastened a hospital wristband around his arm. “You’ll need this to get back in.”

He fingered the white strip of plastic without comment. He was here under false pretenses, but only because Caitlin had insisted. Still, that didn’t quite ease his conscience.

After making his way back to the E.R., he halted on the threshold of the room where he’d left Caitlin. It was empty.

Out at the main desk, Mick spoke to the heavyset woman seated behind it. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where they’ve taken the woman who just had a baby here?”

“The patient’s name?” she asked in a bored voice, continuing to write on the paper in front of her.

“Caitlin Williams.”

She laid down her pen, then shuffled through the charts beside her. She located one, flipped it open, then gave him a startled look. “Let me get Dr. Reese to speak with you.”

She hoisted her bulk out of the chair and opened a door behind her. “Doctor, there’s someone here asking about the Williams woman.”

The unease Mick felt intensified when the grave-looking doctor emerged from the doorway. “Are you family?” he asked.

“No. I’m—a friend. Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. Ms. Williams has developed a rare complication of pregnancy called amniotic fluid embolus.”

“What does that mean?”

Drawing a deep breath, the doctor continued, “It means during her delivery, some of the amniotic fluid got into her blood stream. Once there, it traveled up through her heart and lodged in her lung preventing her from getting enough oxygen. That stopped her heart.”

“She’s dead?” Mick struggled to grasp the man’s words.

“No,” Dr. Reese admitted slowly. “We were able to restart her heart. Ms. Williams is on a ventilator now, but she hasn’t regained consciousness. The lack of oxygen can cause profound brain damage, and the embolus can cause uncontrollable bleeding problems. Her condition is extremely serious. She’s unlikely to survive.”

Unlikely to survive? The phrase echoed inside Mick’s head, filling him with a profound sadness. Caitlin was so young. She had a baby who needed her. What would happen to Beth now?

He raked a hand through his hair. “I should have stayed with her. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“I heard her tell you to go with the baby,” the doctor said gently. “These patients often have an overwhelming sense of doom. She knew, and she chose to have you stay with her child. She’s a very brave young woman.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the clerk spoke up. “Doctor, you’re needed in room six.”

He nodded, then looked at Mick. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more,” he said, then hurried away.

“Are you Mick O’Callaghan?” the clerk asked. Mick nodded. The woman pushed several sheets of paper toward him and offered him a pen. “We need you to fill out these forms, and I’ll need a copy of your insurance card.”

“My insurance card? For what?”

“For your baby.”

“No, you don’t understand. Beth isn’t mine.”

“According to Caitlin Williams, she is,” the clerk said smugly.

Just then, Sandra and two other NICU nurses rounded the corner and walked past. “Hey, Irish,” Sandra said with a bright smile. “I’m glad I ran into you. My shift is over, but I’ll be back in the morning. Your daughter’s doing fine, but you need to leave us a phone number. We overlooked that detail in the rush of her admission.”

She started to leave, but stopped and turned. “Oh, I wrote out your mother’s blessing and taped it to Beth’s bed. Several other parents have asked for a copy of it. I hope you don’t mind.” She waved and followed her friends out the door.

“It seems a lot of people think she’s your baby,” the clerk said with a smirk.

It took a call to his attorney to convince the woman that unless Mick himself had signed the paternity papers, he had no legal responsibility for the child—something Mick suspected she knew already. After that, he called home to make sure his mother was all right. Surprisingly, his mother’s friend and part-time nurse Naomi answered the phone.

“It’s about time you called,” she scolded.

“I know. I had to take someone to the hospital. I’m glad you could stay. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

“I can watch my favorite TV shows here as well as at home. Besides, your mother is good company.”

“How is she today?”

“Determined to get up and clean house even with her arm in a cast. I knew it was a mistake for that doctor to take her ankle brace off. The woman has less sense than you.”

“Keep her down even if you have to sit on her. And tell her I’ll be home in a hour or so.”

Knowing that his mother wasn’t alone was a relief. After hanging up, he went in search of Caitlin. At the medical ICU, a nurse led him to Caitlin’s room. He paused in the doorway. A single bed occupied the small room. He stepped next to it and rested his hands on the cold metal rails.

She looked utterly helpless lying with the sheets neatly folded under her arms and her hands at her sides. A thick, white tube protruded from her mouth connecting her to a ventilator. The soft hiss it made as it delivered each breath made it sound as though the machine had a life of its own. Like a mechanical monster, it crouched there controlling her fate. One breath. She still lived. Another breath. She still lived.

Someone had combed her hair. It made her look younger, sweeter. The hard edges of streetwise homelessness didn’t show now, only the face of a lovely young woman.

He had promised her that everything would be all right, but he hadn’t been able to keep that promise.

The world wasn’t full of happy endings; his job, if not his personal life, had taught him that long ago. Only sometimes, like now, when God’s plan was hidden from view, he had trouble accepting things which seemed so unfair. Saddened beyond measure, he turned away knowing he could do nothing except keep her in his prayers.

After taking a cab home, he opened his front door and Nikki, his elderly golden retriever, met him with a wagging tail. Mick stooped to ruffle one silky ear. She licked his hand once then padded back to her bed in front of the fireplace, lay down and watched him across the room with calm, serious eyes. He sank onto the sofa and rubbed his hands over his weary face. The clock on the mantel began to chime midnight. He had to be on duty in less than seven hours. He considered pulling the throw over himself and just sleeping where he was, but decided against it. Instead, he rose to his feet and climbed the stairs with Nikki at his heels.

He glanced down the hall and saw that a light still shone from under his mother’s door. He walked to the end of the corridor and rapped lightly on the thick oak panel. At her muffled answer, he eased the door open.

Elizabeth O’Callaghan was sitting up in bed reading by the light of a lamp on the bedside stand. She was dressed in a simple cotton robe of pale blue that matched her sharp eyes behind her bifocals. Her long white hair hung over a thick plaster cast covering her left arm from elbow to wrist, the result of her auto accident. Around her neck she wore a small gold chain and simple gold cross that glinted in the light when she moved.

She once told him that the cross had come all the way from Ireland with her mother. Like her own mother, Elizabeth O’Callaghan had spent her life praying for the less fortunate. And she hadn’t stopped with simply praying for them.

After his father’s death, Mick’s mother had worked to raise her own children and then went on to help other young women who were alone in the world. Mercy House had been her idea. Her work, her heart and soul had started it. With the help of several women and the local pastor, her work still went on. Mick’s heart swelled with love and pride when he thought of all she had accomplished. The Lord gave her a strong will, and she used it to help serve Him.

“Hi, Mom. How’s the arm feeling?”

“Not too bad.” She wiggled her fingers for his benefit.

“Has Naomi gone?”

“She helped me with my bath then I sent her home. I’m better now. I don’t need a sitter around the clock. A few more weeks and I’ll be able to move back to my own apartment.”

“You can move back when your doctor gives you the okay and not before.”

“I’ve put you out long enough. A man your age shouldn’t be saddled with caring for a feeble old woman. You should be looking to get saddled with a pretty young woman.”

“Where am I going to find one prettier than you?”

She grinned at him, laid her book aside and patted the mattress beside her. “You can’t sidetrack me with flattery. I’ve been waiting up for you. What kept you? Naomi said you had to rush someone to the hospital. Come here and tell me everything.”

She sounded like a schoolgirl eager for gossip. He crossed the room in a few long strides and bent to kiss her cheek. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you until you tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, young man.” She grasped his arm and tugged until he sat on the bed.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Okay. I was on my way home from Mercy House when an old bum stopped me to help deliver a baby, but we got the mother to the hospital first, and since the baby weighed only two pounds she had to go to intensive care, and the mother asked me to go with the baby and I did, only while I was gone she told everyone I was the baby’s father before she lapsed into a coma. Any questions?”

His mother’s eyes were wide with stunned surprise. “About a million. Why don’t you start at the top and go more slowly.”

He grinned and repeated the story with as many of the details as he knew, stopping often to answer her questions. At the end of his tale, he met her sad, concerned gaze and wished he hadn’t shared quite so much.

“This woman really doesn’t have anyone we can notify?”

“Not as far as I know. It’s the only reason I can think of why she would say I’m the father.”

“That poor woman. And that poor little baby. Thank goodness you were there for them. Is there any chance the mother will recover?”

“The doctor didn’t think so. I’m not Beth’s father but I can’t stand thinking of someone so tiny being all alone in the world. Frankly, I’m not sure what to do.”

“Why, you do the right thing! And don’t be telling your mother that you don’t know what that is,” she declared. “I raised you better than that.”

Mick rose and wished her good-night. On the way back to his room he considered her words. This time I really don’t know what the right thing is. I need Your guidance, Lord. What is it that You want me to do?

He got ready for bed and lay down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Each time he closed his eyes he saw Caitlin’s face. He saw her eyes wide with relief when he’d followed Eddy into her room, and he saw them filled with fear for her baby. Such beautiful eyes, closed perhaps forever, yet repeated in miniature, along with her fearsome scowl, in her daughter’s tiny face.

He barely knew the woman, but he kept hearing her voice. “Stay with Beth. Watch over her for me.” It was the last thing Caitlin had said to him.

Had she sensed that she was dying? Had she been asking him for something more? Was that why she told them he was the father? So her baby girl wouldn’t be left alone?

Mick threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of his bed. The light from a full moon cast a glow into the room. Rising, he crossed to the window. Nikki watched him from her spot at the foot of the bed, but she didn’t bother to get up.

Pulling the curtains aside, he looked out the second-story window of his home and stared at the shadows of the trees in the park behind his property. It was deserted now, but during the day it would be filled with neighborhood children playing on the swings and slides. On nearby benches, smiling young mothers would follow their play with watchful eyes.

Yet across that park and the railroad yards beyond it, there existed a world those happy children would only know in passing or see on TV. It was a world of intense poverty, where children played in filthy streets and lived in crowded, run-down apartments if they were lucky enough to have a home at all, and where mothers seldom smiled because they worried about where the next meal would come from.

Caitlin came from those streets. If she lived, she’d go back there and take little Beth with her. But if Caitlin died, where would her child go? Into foster care until she was old enough to run away and end up like her mother? Or would she be one of the lucky ones playing in a park like this?

He let the curtain fall back into place. None of the children in the park would ever be his. Facing that fact was more painful tonight than it had ever been. Perhaps because, for a moment, when Beth had grasped his finger and gazed up at him, he had known what it felt like to be a father.

He raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t responsible for Caitlin or her child, yet somehow the two of them had captured a piece of his heart. He felt connected to them. It wasn’t right that they were alone. They needed someone to care about them. They needed him. Before he could change his mind, he crossed the room to the closet where he pulled on a gray wool cable-knit sweater, a pair of jeans and his sneakers, then he headed out the door.

A fine mist fell as he drove down the dark streets. The swish-swish of his wiper blades was almost mesmerizing. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Wondering if he was being a fool, he hurried out of the rain and through the emergency room doors.

At the NICU he showed his wristband, and a nurse answered his questions. Beth was doing as well as could be expected. She invited him in, but he declined. He needed to see Caitlin.

When he entered the ICU and reached her room, he hesitated at the door. What did he hope to accomplish here? Maybe nothing. He pulled a chair up beside her bed. Reaching through the rail, he took hold of her hand.

“Caitlin, it’s Mick,” he said softly, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Glancing at the array of machines and blinking lights around her, he sighed. He didn’t know if she could hear him. But if she could, he wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone. He began to talk about her baby.

“We’re calling her Beth for now. She weighs only two pounds. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but she really is a cute, little thing. She looks like you, I think—except kind of scrawny. She has brown hair with a touch of red,” he added and smiled. “I don’t suppose you’re part Irish, are you?”

His words died away in the dimness of the room, and only the sound of the ventilator continued. One breath. One breath.

What should he say? What would a young mother clinging to life want to know about her child? What would he want to know if it were him? His grip on her hand tightened.

“Your baby is doing fine. The nurses are great. They really seem to care about her. One of them called her a fighter. I guess that means she’s going to take after you.”

He studied the small hand he held in his large one. Her fingers were long and delicate, but some of her nails were short and ragged. Did she chew them? He knew so little about her, yet she had entrusted him with her baby.

“Girl, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? I don’t know why you told them I was the baby’s father, unless you thought you weren’t going to make it. But I’m not her father, although—well, although I wish I were. She needs her mother—she needs you. You’ve got to hold on.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He bowed his head and sought comfort for himself and for her in the words he knew so well. “Our Father, Who art in heaven…”

Lost in a strange darkness, Caitlin searched for a way out. She had to find her baby. She didn’t want her daughter to know the terrible, gut-wrenching fear of being left alone—of wondering what she had done that was so bad her own mother would leave her. That was the one promise Caitlin meant to keep. No, she wouldn’t leave her baby—not ever.

Pain came again, deep inside her chest. She cried out, but no sound formed in her mouth. Perhaps it was her heart breaking because she missed her baby so. She tried to move her arms but she couldn’t. Something or someone held her eyes closed.

A faint voice called her name, and Caitlin struggled to listen. Her baby was fine, the voice said. Had she really heard those words? Joy filled her.

She listened closely. She knew this voice. It was a man’s voice. He was praying. The sound of his deep, caring voice saying those simple words brought a sense of comfort unlike anything she had never known.

Then the pain struck again and she began to choke. Somewhere, a shrill alarm sounded.

Chapter Three

Mick paced the confines of the small waiting room outside the intensive care unit where he’d been ushered, and prayed as the minutes ticked by. Was Caitlin’s life slipping away beyond those doors? What would become of Beth? Why didn’t anyone come and tell him what was going on? Finally, twenty agonizing minutes later, a young doctor appeared. He didn’t look encouraging. Mick prepared himself to hear the worst.

“How is she?”

“Stabilized at the moment. She had some bleeding from her lungs. We’ve managed to control it for now.”

“Thank God.” Relief caused Mick’s tired muscles to betray him, and he sank into one of the blue tweed chairs in the room.

“If it doesn’t reoccur—she has a chance.”

Mick looked up. “You don’t sound very sure of that.”

“Her condition is critical. It’s best not to hold out false hopes.”

“Can I see her?”

“For a few minutes,” the young doctor conceded.

In the unit, Mick paused outside Caitlin’s door. What was he doing here? Why was he getting involved?

Because she didn’t have anyone else.

Stepping up to her bed, he leaned down and whispered, “Don’t worry, Sleeping Beauty. I’ll see that they take good care of you, and of Beth. You aren’t alone. God is with you.”

He pressed her hand but got no response. He studied her quiet, pale face. He had called her Sleeping Beauty, and the name seemed to fit. Her heart-shaped face with its prominent cheekbones and expressive flyaway eyebrows coupled with her short hair gave her an almost elfin appearance. What was it about her that drew him so? Was it only because she was alone that he felt this intense desire to take care of her? Somehow, he knew it was more than that.

Crossing to the door, he glanced back. Caitlin’s chest rose and fell slightly in time with the soft hiss of the ventilator. One breath. One breath.

“Rest easy. I’ll watch over little Beth for you.”

As soon as he said the words a deep sense of satisfaction filled him. This was right. This was what he was meant to do.

After leaving Caitlin, he went to see her baby. Beth lay on her side snuggled in a soft cloth nest covered with tiny red and blue hearts. The ventilator tubing and IV lines were neatly organized now, but a daunting array of machines surrounded her bed. Glancing around the unit he saw a number of other parents who like himself had been drawn here in the middle of the night. Most of them stood by beds looking uncertain, their faces a curious mixture of hope and fear, pride and pity.

He pulled up a stool and sat beside Beth. His heart went out to her. She was so little and so alone in the world.

One of her hands moved up to curl around the tube in her mouth, and her brow furrowed in a frown. Gently, he uncurled her fingers and gave her his thumb to grip instead. “You’re not really alone,” he whispered. “You’ve got the good Lord and me on your side.”

For the longest time, he stared at her tiny face. Each feature so perfect and so new. That she lived at all was nothing short of amazing.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

The words mirrored his own thoughts so closely that he wasn’t sure he’d really heard them. He glanced up and saw a woman seated in a rocker holding a baby on the other side of Beth’s bed. She looked old to be a new mother. Her short, dark hair was streaked with gray at the temples and crow’s-feet gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she was dressed in a hospital gown beneath a yellow print robe.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asked feeling bemused, or maybe just sleep deprived.

“I said, it’s amazing. They’re so perfectly formed even at such an early age.”

He nodded. “Yes. I never knew.” His throat closed and tears pricked at his eyes. He struggled to regain control and after a moment, he pointed with his chin. “Is yours a boy or a girl?”

Her smile held an odd, sad quality. “I have a little boy.” She lifted the blanket so he could see the baby’s face. The features of a child with Down syndrome were unmistakable.

“He has a lot of hair,” Mick said, trying to find something kind to say.

She ran her fingers through the baby’s long hair. “Yes, he does. It’s so very soft,” she said almost to herself.

The baby began to fuss. She snuggled him closer and patted him until he hushed. She looked at Mick and smiled. “I wanted to thank you for the lovely saying on your daughter’s bed.”

Mick glanced at the foot of Beth’s bed. His Irish blessing had been written in green ink and surrounded by little green shamrocks drawn on a plain white card and taped to the clear Plexiglas panel. “It’s something my mother says.”

“It helped me so much.”

Smiling gently, he said, “I’m glad.”

She tucked her son’s hand back inside the blanket. “When I first saw my son—first realized what was wrong with him, I thought it would have been better if he had gone to be with the angels—” Her voice cracked. She blinked back tears when she looked at Mick. “Isn’t that terrible?”

Mick found himself at a loss as to how to answer her, but the nurse had come back to the bedside. She dropped an arm around the woman and gave her a quick hug.

“No, it isn’t terrible. We can’t help the way we feel. Disappointment, fear, sadness—they’re all feelings that catch us by surprise when something goes wrong.”

“I do love him, you know. It’s just that we’ve waited so long for a child. I’m almost forty. He was going to be our only one,” her voice trailed into silence.

A moment later she patted the nurse’s arm. “You’ve all been wonderful. Thank you. And you.” She looked at Mick. “Your mother’s saying pointed out to me that God knows what He’s doing. My son wasn’t meant to be an angel in heaven. He was meant to be an angel here on Earth, like your little girl.”

Gazing at Beth’s frail form, surrounded by everything modern medicine offered, he could only pray the woman was right.

“You look like death warmed over.”

Mick closed the door of his locker and cast Woody an exasperated glance. “Thanks. I could say the same about you.”

Towering a head taller than Mick, Woody Mills, a Kansas farm boy turned Chicago firefighter and a close friend, grinned. He pulled his cowboy hat off and ran a hand through a blond crew cut that closely resembled the stubble of the wheat fields he’d left behind. “Tough night?”

Mick nodded. “I never made it to bed.”

He wasn’t looking forward to staying up another twenty-four hours. Maybe they’d have a quiet shift, and he could grab a few hours in the sack.

“Woody!” They both turned at the sound of the shout. Their watch commander, Captain Mitchell, appeared in the open doorway. “Ziggy needs help in the kitchen. Give him a hand.”

Mick groaned, and Woody laughed. “That’s right, Mick’O. It’s Ziggy’s week to cook. So guess what we’re having?”

Mick leaned his head against the locker. “Spaghetti. Why can’t he cook something—anything—else? He knows I hate spaghetti.”

“Then it’ll be a good week to go on a diet. Besides, the rest of us like it, so you lose.” Still chuckling, Woody left the room.

The gong sounded suddenly and Mick raced for his gear along with the other men. He never found the time that day for a nap or for a plate of spaghetti. Two structure fires kept the company out for most of his shift. It was late the following morning when he found the time to call the hospital to check on Caitlin and the baby.

Caitlin’s condition was unchanged, but the news about Beth was less encouraging. She was requiring higher oxygen and higher ventilator pressures, and she’d developed a heart murmur.

“Her murmur is due to a PDA,” Dr. Wright explained to Mick over the phone. “It’s a condition that often occurs in very premature infants. Before a baby is born very little blood goes to the lungs. As the blood is pumped out of the heart, it passes through a small opening called the ductus arteriosus and goes back to the placenta for oxygen. After a baby is born, this artery closes naturally, and blood flows to the lungs. But in many premature infants, it doesn’t close and that’s a problem. We can treat her with medication, but if that fails, she’ll need surgery.”

“Isn’t surgery risky for such a small baby?”

“PDA ligation is a routine procedure, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It may close after the drug is given. I’m optimistic but this is one of the complications I mentioned. I’ll keep you informed. Also, our social worker needs to talk to you about signing paternity papers.”

It was the perfect opening to admit that he wasn’t Beth’s father. Only, he didn’t take it.

Inside the odd darkness, Caitlin drifted all alone. Sometimes it was as dark as midnight, other times it grew vaguely light, like the morning sky before the sun rose, but never light enough to let her see her surroundings. Voices spoke to her, telling her to open her eyes or move her fingers. She tried, but nothing happened. When the voices stopped, she was alone again.

It was pleasant here. No pain, no hunger, no cold; none of the things she’d come to expect in life. The urge to remain here was overwhelming, but she couldn’t stay. She had to find her baby. Once she found her baby she’d never be alone ever again. She would always have someone to love and be loved by in return.

At times, a man’s voice came. Deep and low, mellow as the notes of a song, it pulled Caitlin away from the darkness. He spoke to her now, and she knew he was watching over her little girl. Her baby wasn’t lost at all.

The voice told her all kinds of things—how much the baby weighed and how cute she was. Sometimes the voice spoke about people Caitlin didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. Sometimes, he spoke about God, and how much God loved her. He spoke about having faith in the face of terrible things. His voice was like a rope that she held on to in the darkness. If she didn’t let go, she could follow the sound and find her way out.

Now his voice was saying goodbye and she hated knowing that he was going away. She felt safe when he was near.

Something soft and warm touched her cheek gently. The fog grew light and pale around her. She opened her eyes and the image of a man with deep auburn hair and a kind face swam into focus for an instant, then the fog closed over her again.

“She opened her eyes!” Excited, Mick stared at Caitlin and prayed he hadn’t imagined it.

“What did you say?” The nurse, who’d just entered the room, looked at him in surprise.

“She opened her eyes! She looked at me.”

It’d been five days since Caitlin had slipped into a coma, and for the last two days Mick had divided his waking hours between sitting with Beth, whose condition was slowly worsening, and sitting with Caitlin. This was the first sign of any spontaneous movement from her.

“Caitlin, open your eyes,” the nurse coaxed. Nothing.

Mick leaned close to Caitlin’s ear. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I know you’re in there. Give me a sign.”

Again nothing. The nurse pinched the skin on the back of Caitlin’s hand, then lifted her eyelid. Turning to him the nurse asked, “What were you doing when she moved?”

A flush heated Mick’s face. “I was getting ready to leave, and I kissed her cheek,” he admitted, feeling foolish.

Giving him a sad smile, the nurse touched his arm. “Sometimes we see the things we want to see, even if they’re not really there. How is her baby doing?”

Mick glanced at Caitlin’s still form and motioned with his head. The nurse followed him from the room. Once outside, he raked a hand through his hair and said, “Beth isn’t good. Her heart hasn’t responded to the medication they’ve given her. It looks like she’ll need surgery.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you Mr. O’Callaghan?” Mick turned to see an over-weight man with thin gray hair standing in the hall. His ill-fitting, dark blue jacket hung open displaying a wrinkled white shirt stained with a dribble of coffee. He held a scuffed black briefcase in one hand.

“Yes, I’m O’Callaghan,” Mick answered.

“I’m glad I finally caught up with you. I’m Lloyd Winston, the social worker for the NICU.”

“What can I do for you?”

Mr. Winston glanced at the nurse, then said, “Why don’t you come to my office. We can speak in private there.”

Mick held out a hand. “Lead the way.”

“Have you got a minute to help me change this bed?”

“Sure.”

Caitlin heard voices clearly this time—they were right beside her. Cool hands touched her body. She struggled to open her eyes, and for a moment, the blurred forms of two women came into view. Abruptly, they pulled her onto her side, and the movement sent waves of dizziness and pain crashing through her.

“Isn’t she the saddest case?”

“No kidding.”

“I heard the baby might not make it.”

“I heard that, too. Hand me the lotion.”

One of them smeared cold liquid across Caitlin’s back. Were they talking about her baby? She fought to concentrate.

“My cousin had a little boy that was born prematurely. He’s five now, but he’s blind and deaf. She feeds him through a tube in his stomach, and he takes round-the-clock care.”

“That’s awful.”

“It’s awful to see my cousin tied her whole life to a child who’s so damaged that he can’t even smile at her. At five, he’s hard to move and lift to change his diapers. Think what it’s going to be like when he’s twenty-five.”

My baby’s not damaged. She’s perfect. Caitlin wanted to shout at them. She wanted to cover her ears with her hands, but her arms were deadweights.

From the moment she suspected she was pregnant, she had wanted a little girl. Her daughter was going to grow up to run and laugh and give her mother a dozen hugs a day. They would have each other forever. Caitlin would never leave her baby hungry, or hurting, or scared and alone in the dark the way she had been treated as a child.

Without warning, Caitlin was rolled to her other side. Her joints and muscles cried out in protest and nausea churned in her stomach. She moaned, but no sound escaped her. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s time for her to stay on her left side. Can you help me change the sheets on that patient in room eight?”

The sound of their voices faded away, and Caitlin was alone again, but she was glad they were gone. She didn’t want to hear about a child who was deaf and blind. She had to find her own baby.

She concentrated on opening her eyes. Bit by bit, her eyelids lifted and a room came into focus. There was dark blue tiled floor and wallpaper with lines of deep blue flowers running up a pale blue background. It was a room she’d never seen before. She tried, but she simply couldn’t keep her eyes open and the room faded away.

Lloyd Winston’s office turned out to be on the same floor as the NICU, and the office was as untidy as the man himself. His desk and file cabinets were piled high with books, forms and folders. Empty foam cups overflowed from the trash can. He cleared off a portion of the desk by moving its contents to a stack on the floor, then sat down. Mick took a seat and waited for him to speak.

Flipping open his briefcase, Winston pulled out a file. “I understand you haven’t signed the paternity papers for your daughter. Do you realize that until you do, you’re not legally the baby’s parent?”

“I understand that,” Mick answered. “The situation with Caitlin and myself is a bit—well—unusual.” Mick watched the man’s confusion grow as he explained how he and Caitlin had met. When he finished, Winston leaned back and pressed his fingertips together over his ample paunch.

“You’d like me to believe that after meeting you for the first time, out of the blue, a woman, who may or may not think she’s dying, names you as her baby’s father?” His tone held more than a hint of disbelief.

“That’s what happened.”

Winston leaned forward and stared at Mick intently. “I know that taking on the responsibility of caring for a critically ill infant can be very daunting. It’s understandable that you’re reluctant to admit to being the child’s father.”

Mick leveled his gaze at the overstuffed social worker. “I’m a firefighter. Walking into a burning building is daunting. Trust me. Beth is not my biological child.”

The man’s eyes widened at Mick’s tone. “I see. This certainly complicates things. Dr. Wright tells me the child needs surgery. I’ll have to get a court order to make her a ward of the state right away.”

Mick frowned. “She has a mother. She doesn’t need to be made a ward of the state.”

“Ms. Williams’s condition prevents her from giving consent for any procedure, and I understand her recovery is doubtful. Since she’s incapacitated and you are not any relation to the child, the state must assume care.”

“For how long?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long will Beth be a ward of the state?”

“Until we can locate a relative. Which we might have done by now if you had come forward with the truth sooner.”

“What if you can’t locate anyone?”

“If we don’t, she’ll remain a ward of the state and go into foster care when she leaves here.”

A knock sounded at the door, and a nurse from the NICU looked in. “Mr. O’Callaghan, you’re wanted in the unit.”

Mick shoved out of his chair. “Is something wrong with Beth?” Fear sent his heart hammering wildly.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Please come with me.”

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