Christmas with her Boss (12 page)

But Millicent wasn't going anywhere. Trying to move her now would only add to her distress and the night was warm enough.

‘Who needs a manger, anyway?' Meg muttered and glanced upward to where a thousand stars glittered in the clear night sky. ‘This is where babies should be born. So get on with it.'

Millicent rolled her eyes.

‘I know, sweetheart, it's hard,' Meg said. ‘Or I don't actually
know. I've heard it's hard. You should have its daddy holding your hoof.'

She was being ridiculous.

She was thinking of William. The book she'd brought out to read was a romance. She and William. Having a baby. William coaching her through…

‘Well, pigs might fly,' she muttered and tossed her romance aside and snuggled under her blanket. ‘We're two single ladies, Millicent, and we need to get on with it together. You do your bit and I'll do mine.'

 

There'd been a last minute offer to the air traffic controllers. The union officials had deemed it worth considering and had sent out urgent contact to its members. Because this was Christmas they'd vote online. If enough members voted by midnight, planes could start flying as soon as tomorrow morning.

Great. He might get home almost by Christmas, he thought. He'd gain a day flying from Australia to the States. If he left on Christmas Day, then he'd arrive on Christmas Day.

He could give Ned and Pip their gifts. He could see them again; take them out to dinner, maybe. Leaving Meg?

She was his employee. His ex-employee. So what was the problem leaving her?

No problem at all.

He intended to help with milking at five. He needed to go to sleep.

He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought of…

Meg.

He thought of Meg for a long time. He tried to think of anything but Meg but she was superimposed, like a veil through which he saw everything else.

Or maybe…maybe everything in his life was a veil and Meg was behind. The only substantial thing.

What sort of crazy thinking was this? Where was the logic? Furious with himself, he threw off his covers and paced over to the attic window.

Two o'clock. The stars were amazing.

There was a light in the paddock beside the dairy. A faint light from a lantern. Someone was beside it.

Millicent? Was she calving?

Meg would be down there, making sure things were okay.

What business was it of his? He didn't know the first thing about birthing calves. He'd be no help at all.

But, now he knew she was there, doing nothing was impossible. He'd help if he could, he thought grimly, and then he'd leave.

He tugged on his overalls and headed downstairs.

What sort of life was this? Meg had been awake since five this morning. She'd be asleep on her feet, he thought as he made his way across the yard towards the lantern, but then he thought of all the times he'd demanded she stay up late, that she be awake for an early flight, that she continue until the work was done.

That was different. She was Miss Jardine then. He paid her to work when he worked.

He had three PAs. He thought of them now, and thought how hard did he work them? They never complained.

He paid them not to complain.

But, for the first time, he felt a niggle of guilt. He treated his employees fairly; he made it clear at the outset what he expected and he paid well. He had a loyal and long-serving staff because of it. But his demand that they stay impersonal…

His PAs told him what he needed to know about his staff. But his PAs themselves… Miss Darling, Mrs Abraham, Miss
O'Connell? He'd have to look up their staff profiles to find out what their family background was.

What was happening to him? His staff were turning into people. And you got attached to people.
Do not get attached to people you pay.

Meg was messing with his head, that was what it was. The sooner he was out of here, the better.

Only she was in trouble. As he neared, he could see…

Millicent was down, flat on her side, her body arched and her neck stretched up as if straining to the limit.

Meg…yes, it was Meg…was lying behind her, a dark shadow behind the light. He could see a mat laid out to the side, a couple of buckets, rags, ropes…

‘Problem?' he asked as he came up beside her and she didn't react. He looked more closely—and discovered why she didn't react. She was hardly in a position to concentrate on anything but the cow.

What was she doing?

‘What's happening?' he asked, squatting beside her.

‘Dystocia,' she said, gasping. ‘I can't.'

She was lying flat, hard against Millicent's rear. Her arm…

‘Dystocia?'

‘Birth problems.' She sounded as if she'd been running. ‘First calf. Bull was too big and now this. I knew it. I can't…'

‘What can't you do?' he said, feeling helpless. He'd never seen a birth. He never wanted to see a birth.

Obviously, he was going to see this one.

Or more than see. ‘Maybe you can help,' she gasped, and he thought maybe he should head back to his nice safe attic right now. Only a coward would run.

He surely felt like a coward.

‘You're stronger than I am,' she gasped and he thought, uh oh.

‘Can we call the vet?'

‘He's away until after Christmas. He warned us.'

‘Surely there's more than one vet.' He was taking in the whole scene now and, as he did, Millicent strained. Her whole body heaved and Meg moaned, and moaned again.

‘What are you doing?'

‘I can't…' She gasped, not able to continue until the contractions subsided. Then… ‘Yes, we need a vet but we only have one locally. And the calf's leg's tucked backward instead of forward, meaning there's a ridge of shoulder stopping the birth. So I need to get the head back in the birth canal so there's room to turn it. But I can't. I don't have the strength.' She pushed and pushed again—and then seemed to make a decision. Her arm was suddenly free. She dunked it in the nearest bucket and looked up to him. ‘Can you?'

‘Can I what?'

‘Push the head back far enough so you can get the leg forward.'

He felt as if someone had punched him. Milking was one thing, but this? ‘You want me to…'

‘I'm not strong enough,' she said simply. ‘Please.'

‘You think I…'

She wasn't listening. ‘Rip your shirt off—it'll be ruined. Shove your arm into the disinfectant and I'll lubricate it. Hurry, before the next contraction.'

‘You want me to…'

‘Just do it,' she snapped and he was hauling his shirt off, thinking…thinking…nothing.

He dunked his arm in disinfectant. Meg wiped it and then started lathering him with some sort of jelly. He felt too winded to object.

‘Lie flat,' she told him. ‘If a contraction hits, don't try to
do anything except stop the head coming further forward. But the foreleg on the right is lying back instead of hoof-forward. You need to push the head back far enough so you have space to feel the foreleg and tug it forward. There's no way she can get the calf out with it back.'

‘I have no idea how to do that.'

‘Simple,' she snapped. ‘Cows have two forelegs. To calf they both need to be forward with the head between. So you pull a leg forward.'

‘How do I know what everything is?'

She wasn't listening to his panic. She was intent only on instructions. ‘It's not brain surgery. A hoof's easy to feel. Think about it. Think what you're looking for and then find it. Gentle as you can—do no damage—but you have to move fast. Before the next contraction. Go.'

So he lay full length on the grass and he did the unthinkable. To his astonishment, he could feel… What? He could feel the head. He could feel one small hoof on the left.

He needed the matching one.

Another contraction rippled through and he discovered why Meg had moaned. He almost moaned himself.

‘Don't try and do anything during the contraction. Just hold it,' she snapped from above him and he held with all the strength he had and he knew that if he hadn't been holding the head would be emerging.

With one hoof and not the other.

So he held and finally, blessedly, the contraction eased.

‘Now push,' Meg said urgently. ‘All the force you can. You need to get it back.'

He didn't need to be told. He pushed, gently at first and then, as his grip tightened, as he became more sure of what he was holding, he pushed with more force. Then he pushed with all his strength.

The head moved…and then more…

‘Now.' Meg would have seen by his arm that the head had shifted. ‘Before the next contraction. Find the leg.'

He had to loosen his grip on the head, slide his fingers to the side… It was so tight….

But there it was, a bony joint, surely the leg. He felt along it, conscious of the need for speed…

He had it, hooked by two fingers, and he was tugging it forward.

‘Careful not to rip anything,' Meg said urgently. ‘Take care.'

Another contraction. He felt it coming, released the leg, held the head. Just held.

Then, as the contraction eased, he moved again, only this time he knew what he was looking for.

He had it. He pulled, hard, hoping he wasn't doing more harm than good, but the limb was slithering round, shifting, and there seemed to be room…

He had it!

‘It's round,' he muttered and Meg's hand was on his shoulder, pressing him in a move of exultation. She was lying against him, full length on the dirt. ‘Aligned?'

He knew what she meant and he could feel it. He had two neat hooves with the head between.

‘Yes. Here's another….'

‘Let it come,' she said. ‘It'll come now.'

And it did, the next contraction shoving everything forward. Two hooves were out, and Meg was fastening them before the head appeared, tying them carefully with some sort of soft rope.

‘What…'

‘Just in case we need to help her,' she said. ‘She's been straining for too long already and this calf is big. I'll loop
this above and below the fetlock so we can pull without doing damage.'

‘Where did you learn to do this?' he demanded, dazed, and he felt her smile rather than saw it.

‘You mean why wasn't it on my CV? I can't think why I didn't include it. Here we go.'

Another contraction. Meg let it pass but the head didn't emerge.

‘Okay, let's give her a hand,' she said. ‘Can you take the rope? Tug with the contraction, not too hard, not enough to hurt the calf, I'm happy with an inch or two at a time.'

He nodded. Meg's hands were lubricated again. She was feeling…

‘Now,' she said and he tugged.

A little further.

‘Man, this head's big,' Meg said. ‘With the size of this brain, you must be having the smartest baby on the planet, Millicent. He'll take a lot of knitting for a baby bonnet.'

Her voice was low and even and, with a sense of shock, William realised that, even though most of Meg's attention was on the calf, there was solid affection and worry for the cow as well.

She'd given her heart to a cow? How nuts was that? Where was his clinically efficient, unemotional PA now?

Gone. And the sense of loss was gut-wrenching.

‘Now,' she said again, and then moaned because her hand was cupping the head, shoehorning it, and William was tugging on the hooves and there was only so much room…

‘Keep going,' she managed as the contraction lengthened and he tugged some more, slowly, insistently and suddenly the head was there, the rope was no longer needed, the calf was half out.

Millicent gave a long bovine moan and Meg cleared mem
brane from the tiny nose and then laid her hand on Millicent's flank.

‘Nearly there, girl. One more push. You can do it.'

One more contraction and the thing was done. The calf slithered out into the lantern light, a long wet bundle of spindly legs and black nose and rag-like tail. Meg cried out in delight and checked its nose was still clear and then lifted it around a little so Millicent could reach her baby with ease.

And she did. She turned and nosed her baby and she started to lick it clean. And William looked at Meg and saw her eyes were filled with tears and a man would have to be inhuman not to be moved. Not to take her into his arms…

Millicent had taken over, licking her calf with solid maternal ownership. Meg shifted away and her body collided with William's—and she didn't move any further.

He'd slipped the loop from the calf's hooves. He'd done all he could. Meg had done all she could. Their calf was alive and well—and Meg was hard against him.

He'd helped birth a calf. He and Meg. The feeling was awesome.

They were still half lying on the ground, and Meg was warm and beautiful, stained, filthy, her face tracked with tears…

She was trembling, her body reacting to the combined terrors of this day. How could he bear her trembling? How could he bear not to put his arms round her and tug her closer? So he did and, as he felt her yield, he tugged her closer still. Her hair brushed his face and he kissed the top of her head, just lightly, no pressure, nothing.

The awe from the birth was all around them—the stars, the warmth of the night, the feeling that a miracle had happened. New life… Did she feel this every time she delivered a calf? he wondered, but then he forgot to think more because she was turning in his arms and she was looking straight at him,
her eyes huge and shadowed, vaguely troubled, but nevertheless…sure.

Sure that he'd kiss her. Sure that she wanted him to kiss her. He knew it and it was one more thing to add to the glory of this night—or maybe the whole night had been building to this kiss.

Maybe his whole life had been building to this kiss.