Healing His Heart by Carol Rose Page A

turn-in."
    They drove in silence, headlights throwing brave beams against the smothering darkness.
    "This is a dirt road, Julia. What kind of clinic is on a dirt road?" Caleb bit out suddenly.
    "It's not a clinic," Julia said quietly as the truck roared down the narrow road. They veered crazily to the right and a building appeared ahead.
    It was a house, its porch light weak in the blackness.
    "You're assisting a home birth?" Caleb's voice was incredulous as he braked to a stop in front of the house. "My God. I can't believe you!"
    Julia's hand was already tugging on the door handle. Grabbing her medical bag, she slipped out and peered back into the interior. Caleb's face was illuminated by the dashlights.
    "I'll get a ride home."
    His laugh was clipped. ''I'm sure there's a taxi service out here in the boondocks in the middle of the night. I'll wait."
    She watched his face a moment longer.
    "Go on, Julia," he said, his voice suddenly tired. "There's a woman in there that needs you."
    *
    As the front door swung shut behind Caleb, danger assailed him as stark and fresh as an open wound. He'd waited a long time in the truck, staring at the small house, hating himself for his own weakness. All this was behind him. He shouldn't even be fazed by it. It wasn't his career on the line.
    Damn, he should have dropped Julia off and left. Certainly, he shouldn't be here now, standing in a small, cozy living area, hearing the soft cries of the laboring woman over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.
    Despite himself, he crossed the homey woven rug and hesitated in the open bedroom doorway. The smells of herbal liniment and fear hung in the air. At that moment, Caleb ached for tiled floors and flickering fluorescent lights, the comforting sight of a nurses' station with its stack of charts, and most of all, a state-of-the-art operating room.
    Stupidly, as he stood there in the small house, Caleb was overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Once, a long time ago, those surroundings had been like home to him, as familiar and comfortable as his own voice.
    Even if it offered only an illusion of safety, at that moment he'd have given his mother in exchange for a hospital.
    This was the last place he needed to be. Here in this isolated house, without any mean s to help the woman, no anesthesia, or fetal monitor.
    Neither of them, he nor Julia, should be here. If only he could he'd take her away now, by force. Drag her out to the truck and drive them both miles away from the disaster waiting here. Only he couldn't, couldn't do anything but console himself with the promise of shaking her within an inch of her life.
    Julia's voice came clearly through the open door. "Breathe through this contraction, Heather. I know you're tired, but I need to see how far we have to go."
    Julia knelt at the foot of the bed, her fair head bent forward in concentration as she checked the woman's dilation.
    The door stood ajar, blocking Caleb's view of the woman, but he had an impression of youth, fear and exhaustion. A man in his early twenties hovered near, holding the woman's hand.
    On his face was an anxiety Caleb had seen a thousand times. The rest of the world might be merrily going on its way, but time was frozen for this one couple. They faced frightening possibilities. The woman appeared to be battling wrenching pain.
    How many times had Caleb seen the same scene played out in much more favorable circumstances? All through his obstetrics rotation, he'd marveled at the birth process. It was an intricate endeavor with so many possibilities for disaster.
    His stomach shuddered. He'd specifically chosen an internal medicine specialty. Obstetricians were the first to face tragedy when the miracle went wrong.
    Julia straightened, pulling off her glove. "Well, it looks like we're almost there. You can sit up now, Heather, if you'll be more comfortable."
    A capable-looking woman, evidently the midwife, who had stood at Julia's elbow now asked her, "You