The Wolf's Surrender

He tugged at the collar of his white shirt, wishing he could loosen the tie and open the top button. He checked his watch, and waited. The wind had picked up outside. Inside, the courthouse was silent, eerily so.

He checked his watch again.

He paced to the far end of the hallway. Jiggling the loose change in his pocket, he paced back to the rest-room door. It had been fifteen minutes. What could she possibly be doing in there?

He had a mother and a younger sister, and while he didn’t pretend to understand what women did with all their little tubes and vials and lotions, he knew it could take a hell of a long time. He strode to the far wall again. He checked his watch again. He listened again.

He couldn’t hear a thing.

He was getting a bad feeling about this. Pacing to the rest room, he raised his fist and knocked decisively.

Silence.

He knocked again, louder.

More silence.

“Kelly?”

Still, nothing.

“Kelly!” His voice thundered through the courthouse.

At least she answered this time. Her “yes” was more like the plaintive sound of an injured kitten, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

“You okay?”

“I…don’t think so.”

He opened the door far enough to stick his head inside. She was lying on the floor, her face ashen. He threw open the door and rushed inside. “What’s wrong?”

She lifted her head weakly. “The baby. I think it’s coming.”

“You think it’s coming! Now? Here?” His voice boomed, echoing, causing even him to cringe.

She rolled to her side, as if to try to get up.

“Don’t move.”

Resting on one elbow, she breathed deeply. “I had a little backache. Just a tiny one, mind you. And then, the next thing I knew, I doubled over. My water broke. The pains haven’t stopped for more than twenty or thirty seconds and they last well over a minute and a half. According to my prenatal classes, that means I’m in the final stages of labor.” Her voice started to shake. “First babies are supposed to take hours and hours. Days. They’re supposed to take days.”

She wet her dry lips, those full, ought-to-be-a-law-against-them pink lips. Grey’s mouth thinned in irritation. “Okay, you doubled over. You’re in the throes of labor. Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

She’d closed her eyes, and was breathing strangely. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

Finally, she said, “I…didn’t know…you were…still here.” She took several more deep breaths before relaxing. Her eyes opened, and her gaze unerringly met his. “Why are you still here?”

“Good question.” But he thought it was a good thing he was. A good thing for her. That bad feeling was getting worse.

Grey’s great-grandfather, George WhiteBear, claimed every Comanche man, woman and child had his or her own guardian spirit. The old man had made several journeys in search of his of late. Grey had never felt the need to do the same. George WhiteBear’s guide was a coyote. There were no coyotes in the Comanche County Courthouse. Some would say that was a good thing. Grey could have used help in any way, shape or form.

He saw Kelly’s phone lying next to her on the floor. Lowering to his haunches, he reached for it. “Why didn’t you call 911?”

“I tried, all right? Why are you so grouchy?”

He wasn’t grouchy. He was focused.

Maybe he was a little grouchy.

He punched in the three digits. At the first sound of the busy signal, he punched the off button. “The emergency phone system must be down.”

“Or overloaded.”

“Damn.”

“I hear you. And I understand your frustration. But my baby can hear you, too, so would you mind not swearing?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position. He could tell it hurt. Her coat was open. For the first time, he noticed she was wearing a long, moss-green knit dress and sensible leather boots. She placed both hands on her stomach, which seemed to be rock-hard. Her green eyes narrowed, and her face grew even more pale.

Grey didn’t know what the hell to do.

He jumped to his feet and paced the small room. Kelly moaned quietly. She was in labor. The pains were close and severe. He started to swear, only to clamp his mouth shut before he’d completed the word. He was judge of Comanche County. He didn’t swear. He had when he was younger, but not anymore.

Damn it to hell, what was he going to do?

He stared at his reflection in the mirror. The black-brown eyes staring back at him seemed to narrow and dilate. Strangely, a sense of calm settled over him. It started behind his eyes, moving down to his throat, easing the tense muscles in his shoulders, uncurling the knot in his stomach.

“Can you get up?” he asked. Even his voice sounded calmer.

She swallowed tightly and nodded. The moment she tried to rise, she slumped down again. This time, her groan was agonizing.

He turned on the water and punched the hand soap button. When his hands were clean and relatively dry, he lowered to his haunches again. “I’m going to pick you up. Tell me if I hurt you.”

“If you help me to my feet…” Her voice trailed away on a sound that was barely human. “Maybe I can walk.”

It wasn’t easy to help her to her feet. He didn’t know where to put his hands. It seemed he couldn’t put them anywhere without brushing the outer edge of her breast or the hard girth of her stomach. He ended up putting an arm around her back. She grasped his other hand. Her grip was strong. She was strong. She proved it by making it to her feet. Once there, she leaned against the counter behind her. “Well. So far so good.” Swaying, she took a step. It cost her.

Without conscious thought, Grey swung her into his arms. He staggered backward a step. She was slender, but she was about five feet six. And pregnant.

A glance at her face showed a small smile. While she steadied herself by wrapping an arm around his neck, probably in an effort to hold on for dear life, he redistributed her weight more evenly in his arms.

“Are you sure you can do this?” she asked quietly.

The sound he made had a lot in common with a snort again. “Just open the door.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

She pulled on the door. Using his foot, he pushed it to the wall, then shouldered his way through.