Page 242 of Wild Then Wed
Anna nods, teeth gritted, and the next contraction builds—sharp and fast. Her whole body tightens as Sawyer braces himself and says, “Okay, Anna—when you’re ready, give me one strong push.”
Internally, I’m barely holding it together—but Estelle is rock solid. Calm and firm and steady, the way I think my mom would be if something like this had happened in front of her. She thrives in the mess. Loves a good crisis. I wish she were here. I wish she could see this.
But right now, I’m so glad Estelle is.
Sawyer gets it from her, I realize. The steady hands. The grounded voice. The way she knows exactly when to step in andwhen to hold back. There’s not a trace of panic in her expression. Just a quiet determination.
Anna’s hand clamps around mine again as the contraction rolls through her—longer and stronger than the last. Her scream cuts through the air, high and raw, echoing off the barn walls and making Winnie whimper from where she’s still tied to the beam behind us.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure who I’m talking to—Anna or myself or my dog. “You’re doing great.”
Sawyer leans forward, his hands steady and eyes focused. “I can see the head, Anna,” he says gently. “Baby’s got a lot of dark hair.”
Anna’s head rolls back against the saddle pad and for a second, just the briefest flicker of a smile crosses her face. “Really?” she breathes.
“Yes,” Sawyer says with a small smile. “You’re almost there. You’re doing fantastic.”
But her eyes close again, her chest rising and falling so fast. She looks completely wrung out.
Estelle reaches for the water bottle she brought in with the towels and unscrews the cap with one hand. “Anna, drink some water, baby.”
Anna lets go of Estelle’s hand just long enough to grab the bottle and take a few shaky sips. Some of it dribbles down her chin, but she doesn’t care. None of us do. She swallows, breath hitching, then leans back again.
Her hand finds mine blindly and latches on.
I squeeze back, hard. “You’re doing so good,” I whisper. “Just a little more. You’re almost there.”
But inside, my heart is racing. Sawyer shifts slightly, his voice calm but focused. “You’re really close, Anna. Only a couple more pushes, okay? You’re almost there.”
Anna nods, barely. She lets out a long, shaky breath, then bears down again with everything she has, her scream sharp and raw. Her hands fly down, instinctively reaching toward where the baby is about to emerge.
“Ithurts—oh my God—ithurts—” she cries, her legs tensing, her heels digging into the blanket.
Estelle is quick with the cool cloth again, pressing it gently to Anna’s forehead. “You’re doing a great job. You’re almost there. Just keep going.”
But something in Sawyer shifts. It’s small—barely a flicker—but I catch it. His mouth tightens into a flat line.
I know that look. Something’s wrong.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, gently pulling my hand from Anna’s. “I’m just going to go help Sawyer for a second.”
“No—don’t leave me—” she gasps, reaching out blindly.
“I’m not leaving, I promise. I’m just going to be right down there, okay? I’ll come right back. Estelle’s still here. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
I move quickly, ducking down beside Sawyer—and immediately see it.
Oh God.
The baby’s head is out, wet and slick and matted with dark hair. But just beneath the jaw, circling tightly around the neck, is a thick, purplish cord. The umbilical cord. It’s wrapped around once, maybe even twice. It looks tight.
Too tight.
There’s no blood, not yet. But the color of the cord—it’s wrong. Too dark. And the baby’s face is bluish, tinged around the mouth and nose, its features scrunched but not moving. Not yet.
I feel like I might pass out.
But Sawyer’s already in motion, calm and quick.
