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for him to wait, but he was intrigued by Hattie and unwilling to leave yet.
    “Coffee sounds fine, but I don’t want to take up much of your time, ma’am. Surely you’ve got your hands full. I’ll just have one cup and be on my way.” He purposely avoided looking at the toddler. What sane man intentionally poured salt in open wounds?
    “Nonsense.” Hattie motioned him to follow her inside. “Set a spell.”
    At just that moment, a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired man strode into the kitchen. There was urgency in his tone and movements. He barely glanced at Hank.
    “Ma, Amelia needs you.” His worry was more than evident.
    “What is it, Joe?”
    “Amelia didn’t say, but something’s not right.” Joe Ellenberg’s gaze touched on things around the room. Hank knew the man wasn’t seeing anything, that he was on the verge of panic.
    “Amelia knows what she’s doing. Don’t you worry.”Hattie handed Joe the boy, Orson. Then she flew over to the cupboard, grabbed a mug, filled a cup of coffee for Hank and set it on the table in the middle of the room. “You two set and jaw and I’ll see what Amelia needs. Keep that water boiling.”
    Joe sat in complete silence. Hank stood by awkwardly, then walked over to the other side of the table and sat down. The rancher seemed completely unaware of the child in his arms. The little boy picked at a button on Ellenberg’s shirt.
    “I’m Hank Larson,” Hank introduced himself. He added, “I drove Amelia out.” He lifted the coffee mug to his lips. It was too hot to drink. “Her horse needs a new shoe.”
    “Thanks. Much obliged.” Joe jiggled his knee and the child perched there laughed.
    “Amelia threw you out?” Hank didn’t try to disguise his bitterness.
    Joe shook his head no. “Rebekah asked for Ma. Amelia doesn’t believe in keeping fathers away from the birthing.”
    “You don’t say.” Hank had never heard of such a thing and said so.
    “It was her father’s way, I guess. Some folks disagree with the notion, but Amelia’s not one to run from a good head butting. Rebekah likes having me there.”
    If that were the case, Hank wondered how long Joe would sit and jaw.
    Just as Hank lifted the mug again, a horrific scream cut the air. His own hands began trembling. When hot coffee splashed on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, he quickly set the cup down and willed himself not to think. Not to remember.
    “I’ve got to go,” Hank mumbled.
    Joe Ellenberg’s face went ashen. “Last time it waseasier.” He ran his hand over his son’s dark hair, smoothing it against the boy’s crown. “Didn’t take more than a couple hours.”
    Hank was mute. His Tricia had suffered for what seemed like days.
    “Amelia’s here. She’ll know what to do,” Joe reassured himself aloud.
    For this family’s sake, Hank hoped it was true. He sincerely hoped Amelia was as skilled and confident as she had tried to lead him to believe. He still doubted she was as knowledgeable as any male physician.
    Hank pushed out of the chair. He had to get away from this house, away from the nightmares the birthing conjured. He would head back to town without Miss Amelia Hawthorne and save his questions for another day.
    Just then, another long, terrible scream rent the air and Joe Ellenberg stood so abruptly little Orson almost rolled off his knee and onto the floor. Joe caught him in time, hauled him up.
    “I’m going back in.” Joe headed for the door, turned around and shoved the toddler at Hank.
    There was nothing to do but hang on as Ellenberg rushed out of the kitchen. Hank held Orson at arm’s length and looked him over. The boy gurgled, laughed and waved his arms. He was chubby, pink cheeked and strong. Hank had to tighten his grip to keep the boy from squirming out of his hold.
    Hank sat down heavily and moved the steaming cup of coffee beyond the child’s reach. As the boy made himself comfortable on his lap, an ache the size of a boulder grew in Hank’s