LITMIR.BIZ

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      “It’s a mess. Single-vehicle accident about ten miles past Manny Cordova’s place. Looks like the driver lost control.”

      Nolan listened to the report coming over the police scanner. Since he was the only one on call at the newspaper, it looked as if that “mess” was his responsibility. He loved most things about owning and managing the local newspaper. But stories like this were never fun.

      He took a sharp corner slowly, his tires jostling on the poorly maintained pavement. Ahead he spotted the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. Parking behind the police cars, he had a view of the accident. The vehicle—some kind of SUV—had gone off the road and crashed into a rock outcrop.

      He’d have to get a photo. About to uncap his camera, Nolan froze. He could just see the rear license plate of the mangled vehicle. And he’d seen that particular pattern before.

      And then it hit him.

      The SUV belonged to his sister.

      Dear Reader,

      In our family my husband, Michael, is the one who is usually taking business trips. I stay at home and look after the kids and the house and shovel all the snow (it always snows when he goes away). When I found out I was going to be working on a series set in New Mexico, though, I knew that this was my chance. I had never been to New Mexico. Clearly a “business trip” was in order.

      So I told my husband, “Honey, I’m going on a business trip to New Mexico.” He asked me what I was going to do there. “Oh, go shopping and sightseeing and hang out in the local coffee shops. I’ll probably have to take lots of pictures,” I added, so it would be clear that I would be working very hard. I think he must have felt sorry for me by this point, because that’s when he volunteered to come with me.

      Several months after that trip, I sat down at my computer with visions of mountains and deserts and Georgia O’Keeffe paintings filling my imagination. Michael and I had a wonderful time in New Mexico. It’s a beautiful place, an enchanting place. The perfect setting—in my opinion—for THE BIRTH PLACE series.

      If you’ve read the earlier BIRTH PLACE books, you’ll already have met my hero and heroine. Kim Sherman is the birth center accountant who has come to town for reasons only she knows. And Nolan McKinnon is the local newspaper editor whose world is about to be torn apart by a family tragedy. I hope you enjoy the adventure of their love story. And come back to Enchantment next month to discover the truth behind the legend of the homecoming baby.

      Sincerely,

      C.J. Carmichael

      P.S. I’d love to hear from you! Write to #1754-246

       Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta T3H 3C8. E-mail: [email protected].

      Leaving Enchantment

      C.J. Carmichael

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Thanks to all the “Super” authors who made collaborating

       on this project so much fun: Darlene Graham,

       Brenda Novak, Roxanne Rustand, Kathleen O’Brien,

       Marisa Carroll. What a great team of writers to work with!

      Special thanks to Anita Cisecki, R.N., ISE,

       who works in high-risk obstetrics at the Foothills Hospital

       in Calgary, for sharing her amazing experience and

       expertise. Lucky for me my brother married your sister!

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE SPACIOUS ROOM FELT tranquil and homey—with dim lighting, soothing classical music and the scent of lavender in the air. Steve Davidson rubbed massage oil through the back opening of his wife’s favorite flannel nightgown, while Mary crouched on her hands and knees panting softly.

      She was ten centimeters dilated.

      Lydia Kane, midwife and founder of The Birth Place, observed the young woman thoughtfully. Six years ago, Mary’s first delivery had been relatively quick. Lydia had predicted that this second one would be even faster. And yet the baby still hadn’t dropped into position in the birth canal.

      Across the room, where she was folding the damp towels Mary had used to towel off from a soak in the whirlpool tub earlier, Gina Vaughn, the assisting midwife, was biting her bottom lip. Lydia caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile.

      Gina was doing wonderfully. Newly certified, a mother of two herself, Gina’s passion for the calling reminded Lydia of herself decades ago. Oh, she’d been terribly idealistic at that age. A part of her, she knew, still was.

      Even after all these years, every birth Lydia attended gave her the same deep sense of wonder and satisfaction. The belief that she was helping mothers savor the full meaning of their childbirth experience had motivated her to establish The Birth Place in the fairly isolated town of Enchantment, New Mexico, and to keep it running—sometimes overcoming incredible hurdles—for over forty years.

      “Excuse me.” Steve approached, his eyes creased with concern. “How much longer, do you think? She’s really in a lot of pain.”

      “Let’s see how she’s doing.” Lydia performed a quick examination. The baby hadn’t descended into the pelvis yet. Come on, little guy, she urged silently. She checked Mary’s temperature while Gina assessed the fetal heart rate with a handheld Doppler. Steve and Mary both seemed to relax slightly when they heard the steady rhythm.

      “It’s 145 to 150 beats per minute,” Gina said.

      Lydia nodded. “Temperature is normal.” She turned back to Steve. “It shouldn’t be much longer. Let’s wait for a few more contractions. Mary, do you want to try squatting at the side of the bed?”

      Maybe a change in position would help bring the baby down.

      Lydia knew the Davidson’s daughter, Sammy, hoped for a sister. But Lydia suspected Mary was carrying a boy, at least one pound heavier than Sammy had been.

      “You’re doing beautifully,” she told Mary, stroking the petite woman’s back, containing her own growing unease.

      “That last contraction was a killer.” Mary crawled awkwardly from the bed, leaning heavily on Steve for support. She grabbed one of the strong wooden posts, then squatted, pulling hard on the bed as another contraction swept over her.

      “Oh, I need to push!” Mary cried.

      Lydia understood the other woman’s overwhelming urge to bear down. In second-stage labor, Mary’s entire body was focused on expelling the child from her womb.

      “Good work, Mary,” she encouraged.

      Gina

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