Page 7 of Talk Wicked to Me

He headed in the clinic’s front door, and Emerson’s sweet scent—vanilla and cinnamon with more than a hint of trouble—lingered in the air, bringing her smiling face to the forefront of his mind. There were a dozen reasons for him to shut that down, but no matter how hard he tried, he kept seeing her face in his head, as if she were calling out to him. He went up to his apartment, and as he changed into his running clothes, every argument against checking on her fell flat. He was raised in a biker family, and that protective nature was in his blood. She might be capable and brave, but he’d had a sister, and he’d lost her too soon to a situation that could have been prevented with a little communication. No way in hell was he going to leave Emerson hanging in the wind without a safety net.

He’d stop by her place on his way to the Salty Hog, under the guise of checking on Ollie, and hopefully she wouldn’t find that creepy. It was the right thing to do. At least that’s what his gut was telling him. He just wouldn’t go inside, because while he didn’t know her story, he knew one thing for sure. If Emerson Lockhart had the power to screw with his head like this after one innocent encounter, he needed to keep a modicum of distance.

MUSIC BLARED IN Baz’s earbuds as he ran along the road. He’d thought the run and the music would help distract him from thoughts of Emerson, but he was two miles in, and he was still thinking about her. The sun hung low in the sky as he turned down a side road and wound down several back roads on the five-mile loop he knew so well. He’d always loved running along the wooded rural roads where there were no houses in sight, especially during tourist season. They weren’t in the thick of it yet, but even when they were, he rarely saw anyone out there.

He picked up his pace, enjoying the slight summer breeze. He was about to turn onto the road that circled back toward the clinic when his animal-attuned ears caught something between songs. He pulled out his earbuds and was met with the unmistakable incessant barking of a distressed dog. Pocketing his earbuds, he sprinted in the direction of the barking. As he rounded a corner, he saw a familiar silver car. Emerson. His gaze landed on Ollie at the same time the dog spotted him, and they both bolted toward each other. Ollie barked frantically, circling back toward the passenger side of the car. Baz tore into the grass, and his heart caught in his throat when he saw Emerson on her hands and knees beside the open passenger door, head hanging between her shoulders, her flannel shirt lying on the grass. He’d fucking kill anyone who hurt her.

“Emerson!” He charged toward her as she cried out in pain and dropped to his knees beside her, visually scanning her for injuries. “What happened?” Ollie whined and barked as she lifted her head, eyes watery, fear riddling her features. “Ollie, sit,” he commanded, and the dog dropped to its ass beside her.

“Dr. Wicked?” she panted out. “How’d you—” Another anguished wail stole her voice, and her head dropped again.

Fuck. She was in full-blown labor, and by his calculations, the contractions were less than a minute apart. Baz slipped into medical mode. “It’s okay, Emerson. I’m here, and you’re going to be just fine. Look at me.” When she did, the fear in her eyes made him wish he could endure the pain for her. “Breathe with me, darlin’.” He exhaled two fast breaths, followed by one long breath, and she did the same. They continued breathing together through the contraction. “Good job. You’re doing great. How long have you been here?” He pulled out his phone to call an ambulance.

“I don’t know. An hour? Two? We were at the beach when it started. I was going to drive to the hospital, but a contraction hit, and when I slammed on the brakes and pulled over, my phone flew under the passenger seat. I came around to look for it when it got real ba—” She grabbed his hand as another contraction hit. “Owowow. Get it out!” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It hurts! Please. I have to push.”

“Try not to push yet. Try to breathe through it. Do you have hand sanitizer?”

“In the car!” She wailed again and went down on her forearms.

Ollie whined and lay beside her.

Baz called Gunner as he rushed to the car and reached into it.

“Hey—”

“Gun, I’m delivering a baby on Old Coast Road. I need you to call 911 and then get over here and take care of her dog for me.”

“You got it.” The line went dead.

Pocketing his phone, he snagged the keys from the ignition, shoving them into his other pocket. He found the hand sanitizer in the console and squeezed it into his palm as he went back to Emerson. “You’re doing great, Em.” He knelt behind her as she cried out again. “Darlin’, I’ve got to take your shorts off.” She made a pained, embarrassed noise and then cried out as another contraction hit. “Well, that’s a first. Women don’t usually lose control until after their pants come off,” he teased, going for levity as he pulled her shorts and underwear down her hips, gently maneuvered them over her knees, and took them off.

“How nice for them,” she gritted out, panting between contractions. “This is mortifying. I don’t even know your first name, and I’m bare-assed in front of you.”

“My name is Baxter, but you can call me Baz.” He took off his shirt and put it on the grass beside them.

“What are you doing?” she asked frantically.

“I thought you’d feel better if I got undressed, too.” Her shocked expression made him smile. “I’m just trying to distract you from the pain. I need it to wrap the baby in.”

“Oh. Well, Baz.” Her words fell fast and clipped. “Meet my vagina, which, after seeing this, will surely ruin you for all other women, and for that I’m sorry.”

“I birth animals every day, sweetheart. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Great. You’re comparing my cooch to an anima—ow. Mother trucker!”

“You’re allowed to curse, Emerson. I can see the baby’s head. Can you squat?”

“I don’t know,” she said through tears and clenched teeth.

“I’ll help you.” He helped her into a squatting position and guided her hands to his shoulders. Holding her fearful gaze, he said, “Hi, beautiful. Ready to meet your baby?”

She nodded, and more tears fell. “Baz,” she said shakily, her eyes meeting his. “I’m really scared.”

“I know, darlin’, but you’re doing great, and I won’t let anything happen to you or your baby. Do you know if it’s a girl or a boy?”

“No—” Her fingernails cut into his shoulders, her eyes widening as another tortured wail burst from her lungs. “It hurts so bad! I have to push!” She cried out, bearing down, and he felt more of the baby’s head. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Breathe. Good girl.” The next contraction had her wailing and groaning. “Focus on me, darlin’. I need you to give me another hard push. Let’s get your baby out.” Her teeth clenched, her face reddening as she pushed with all her might. The baby’s head eased out, and Emerson let out a loud moan. “One last push. Come on, darlin’, you can do this.”

She bore down, and then the tiny infant was in his hands. Something hot and thunderous flared in Baz’s chest, swamping him with unexpected emotions. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him, Emerson. He’s beautiful.” He wiped the baby’s nose, eyes, and mouth with his shirt, blinking away tears as he rigorously rubbed the baby’s delicate chest. Cry for me, baby. Come on. Let’s hear that cry.