Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Excerpt from Wyoming Mountain Investigation by Juno Rushdan
Prologue
1949
“Oh! He kicks and punches and—” Cindy Ferguson broke off with a gasp and a shriek “—he’s either a football player or a soccer star!” she finished. She shrugged through the pain and said softly, “Or a rock star, like his dad! You know, you’re supposed to be doing studio work right now—”
“Hardly a rock star—just a studio musician. There are other studio musicians,” Aidan Ferguson assured her. “This kid has one mom—and one dad. I’m a so-so musician. I intend to be a great dad!”
“You’re already a great husband,” Cindy assured him. “And don’t kid yourself, a great musician. You could play with so many groups, but you stay with me!”
“Pain meds are making me look good,” Aidan teased.
“If only I had some pain meds!”
Her water had broken; they’d rushed into the ER and were assured her doctor would be right there.
Aidan watched his wife in distress, trying to return her smile. He reminded himself that childbirth was a natural event.
The pain that came with it was natural, too. Cindy would be fine.
But he was worried. They had come to the hospital too late. Cindy was already in heavy labor, fighting the pain. The nurse had been in, but along with his worrying, he was growing nervous and angry—where the hell was the doctor?
As if on cue, Dr. Jamison walked in, wasting no time on small talk. He gave Cindy a lightning-quick examination and shouted, “Delivery room. Now!”
Cindy was whisked out.
Aidan was left to pace the room until a nurse showed him out and into the waiting room where it seemed he joined a cavalcade of marchers: fathers, others, just pacing in circles as they awaited news of the births of their children. He thought about how his phone was probably ringing: his world was a good one, and even though he was just a studio musician he knew that big names would be calling to congratulate him. That made him smile, and, of course, thinking about them helped make the time go by. And he’d been warned that even now, it could be a while.
He was stunned when the doctor who had so recently left with his wife appeared again almost immediately.
“Mr. Ferguson?”
“Yes, yes!” Aidan wasn’t sure why the mere mention of his name frightened him so much. He didn’t mean to be a pessimist. But...
“Something happened, something is wrong!” he said anxiously, reaching the doctor.
“Uh, no, Mr. Ferguson. They’re seeing to your wife and child now. A little boy, sir. Or, should I say, a big boy. He’s ten pounds one ounce. Mother and son are doing fine. You’ll be able to see them soon.”
Aidan thought he muttered a thanks—he wasn’t even sure. He sank into one of the chairs, his head falling into his hands.
Ten pounds. Kind of giant for a newborn? A boy. Every dad’s dream, ten pounds, big and strong, maybe he was going to be a star football player!
In thirty minutes, he was allowed to see Cindy and his newborn son.
And the baby was beautiful. He looked as if he was a few weeks old already, as if he could walk out of his bassinet. He had a full head of dark hair.
He kissed his wife, shaking his head as he sat next to her, stroking her hair, leaning over to give her a gentle kiss. “Thank you, thank you,” he told her. The emotion welling in him was almost unbearable.
“Thank you, Dad,” she teased. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”
He grinned. “Well, you had the hard part.”
“No, actually, you had the hard part!” she teased.
A nurse cleared her throat from the doorway and they both looked up, reddening.
“Um, sorry. I have papers here. Have you thought about a name yet?” she asked.
Aidan looked at his wife. She smiled. “Jake. For your dad,” she said.
“Jake. For my dad,” he agreed. And nurse or no nurse, he leaned over to kiss her again.
