The Lawman's Convenient Bride. Christine Rimmer

walls and bedding in coral and teal, cream and mint green. It had a mural of bright flowers and butterflies on one wall, and the whole effect was so pretty and inviting, all ready for Marybeth, even though she wouldn’t be using it for a while. At first, she’d have a bassinet in Jody’s room.

      Eventually, she wandered out to the great room and tried to watch TV, but she couldn’t concentrate.

      She called Clara, who was down with the flu, of all things. Her husband, Dalton, had it, too, and so did their two-year-old, Kiera. Jody ordered her to get well, and Clara answered wryly that she was working on it.

      After hanging up with Clara, she had the ridiculous desire to call Seth. But that would only encourage him, and that didn’t seem right.

      She went to bed at nine thirty and couldn’t get comfortable, even with her body pillow to help support her belly and another pillow at her back. She was just sure she would never get to sleep.

      But then the next thing she knew, she looked over at the bedside clock, and it was after two in the morning.

      And something was...

      She put her hands on her belly, felt the powerful, involuntary tightening, as though her body had a mind of its own.

      “Dear, sweet God...”

      With an animal growl, she threw back the covers and slithered to the floor, where she crouched like a crab on the bedside rug, groaning and huffing, fingers splayed over her rippling stomach as a second-stage contraction bore down like an extra pair of giant, cruel hands, pushing so hard she would have buckled under the pressure if she wasn’t already on her knees.

      She panted her way through it, and when it was over, she realized there was liquid dripping down her inner thighs. Her water had broken.

      Her water had broken.

      And Clara had the flu, Elise was in New York, and Nellie had gone to Phoenix.

      But not to panic. Uh-uh. She’d done this before and she could do it again.

      One hand still on her belly, she reached up and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. And then she just sat there, half expecting to wake up in her bed and discover that she really wasn’t in active labor, after all; it was only a dream.

      But then another one started.

      Okay. No dream.

      She used her phone to time that one as she squatted on the floor, moaning and grunting, the pain rising to a peak at thirty-two seconds, after which it faded back down. Once it was over, she estimated she had three to five minutes until the next one hit.

      Time to find a ride to the hospital and then get in touch with her doctor—well, past time for both, actually.

      But she refused to freak. Because there was nothing to be alarmed about. She was in labor, yes, but she had it under control. Her birth coaches might be unavailable, but at least there were plenty of people she could call. Even in the middle of the night, someone ought to be able to come pick her up and take her to Justice Creek General.

      And if they weren’t, well, there was always Uber. Or 911.

      She brought up her cousin Rory’s number and almost hit Call.

      But then, for no comprehensible reason except that he kept insisting he really wanted to help, she scrolled down to Seth’s cell number and called him instead.