Page 73 of What it Takes
Chapter Seventeen
Ben bolted upright in bed, almost knocking himself out on the cabinet that hung over the bed. Laney’s bed, he thought, as she sat up beside him.
He was in Laney’s bed, and somebody was pounding on the door.
“Ben! Come on, dammit!”
It was Josh’s voice, and the urgency in it had Ben on his feet. He pulled on his underwear, but didn’t bother with the rest. He unlocked the door and had barely released the door latch when Josh yanked it out of his hand.
“Something’s wrong with Katie.”
Ben looked back at Laney, who was sitting on the edge of her bed with the sheet wrapped around her. “Keys are in the pocket of my pants. The one with the black plastic head opens the big cargo box on the back of the ATV. Can you grab my jump bag?”
As soon as she nodded, Ben grabbed his phone off the counter and took off across the lawn on Josh’s heels. There were a few small rocks in the grass and he’d probably regret the bare feet in the morning, but he followed Josh through the kitchen door and through the house to their bedroom.
Katie was lying on her side, clutching her stomach and grimacing with pain. Rosie sat next to her, smoothing her daughter’s hair back from her face. She looked up when they came in and Ben spared her only a quick glance before he leaned over the bed.
“Hey, Katie. What’s going on?”
“She started—” Ben cut Josh off with a wave of his hand.
“Tell me what’s happening, Katie,” he repeated, because her ability to speak would help him gauge her pain level. “And we’re going to roll you to your left side, okay?”
She nodded, and he was relieved she was able to roll to her other side without too much assistance from him. “I felt fine when I went to bed. And then I woke up and my stomach hurts really bad. I have antacids next to the bed, but they didn’t help.”
Laney ran into the bedroom, her face almost as flushed as the patient’s. She’d pulled on shorts and a hoodie, and she had his bag in her hand. He took it from her and started checking Katie’s vitals.
“Can you check the baby’s heartbeat?” Josh asked.
“I don’t have the equipment for that. Hearing a fetal heartbeat with a stethoscope is almost a miracle under the best of conditions and takes too long. Katie, has your doctor expressed any concern through your pregnancy? Any risk factors?”
“No. We’re both doing great.”
“Do you feel any pressure low in your abdomen? Between your legs?”
“No. No pressure. And the pain’s higher.” She rubbed her sternum, above the baby bump. “It’s like a knot.”
Ben relaxed. Not a lot, but some of the tension eased from his muscles. “How are those cravings going for you lately?”
She made a face, but it was Josh who answered. “Cravings? She’s even eating stuff she never has before. And I swear she turns into a raccoon at night.”
“What have you eaten tonight?”
“We had pork chops and mashed potatoes for supper.”
“Which you dumped ranch dressing on because your taste buds are weird now,” Josh added.
“I had mint chocolate chip ice cream before we went to bed.”
“On top of the egg salad you begged me to make while you were watching television?” Rosie shook her head and Ben had to bite back a smile when she stood and picked up the small wastebasket under the bedside table.
“Sit up here on the edge of the bed for me, Katie.” He helped her up, watching her face. She looked miserable and her level of discomfort rose, but he didn’t see signs of severe pain. After making sure Katie was able to sit, he nodded for Rosie to move a little closer. “So, to recap, you had pork chops and potatoes with ranch dressing, egg saladandice cream?”
Katie made a keening sound of distress and her mom was there, wastebasket at the ready. Ben supported her shoulders to make sure she didn’t fall, while she wrapped her arms around her stomach and threw up.
Josh disappeared, and Ben wondered if he had a weak stomach, but he was back in less than a minute with a wet washcloth. Once Katie nodded, Rosie removed the basket while Ben helped her roll back onto her left side. Her husband wiped her face, smoothing away the clamminess and making her smile.
“I hate throwing up.”
