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pale as he stared down the barrel of Farrah’s rifle. “My name is Tom Watkins, and this is my wife, Jordan. She’s in labor and the bridge is washed out.”
       Farrah opened the door and stepped aside. “I’m Farrah Mathews, and this is my friend, Ted. My bedroom is right through that door.” She pointed the way. “Ted, get some clean towels and fresh sheets from the linen closet down the hall.”
       Tom laid his wife down on Farrah’s bed.
       Farrah removed some scissors and thread from the nightstand. “How close are the contractions?”
       “Eight minutes,” Jordan answered through labored breaths.
       She handed the scissors to Ted. “Take these scissors to the kitchen and soak them in alcohol. You’ll find it in the cabinet above the sink.”
       He stared at the scissors. “Do you know what you’re doing?” 
       “Do I have a choice?” she huffed. “Grow up, and pull yourself together.”
       “Mr. Watkins, put some warm water in a big bowl and bring it back here.”
       The men left the room, and Farrah made Mrs. Watkins as comfortable as possible. “Okay Mrs. Watkins, here we go. Just do what comes naturally.” Farrah stood at the end of the bed with a towel.
       “Have you ever delivered a baby before?” Mrs. Watkins asked in between bouts with labor pains.
       “You really don’t want me to answer that.” She removed the woman’s panties. “Come on, Mrs. Watkins. Stay strong.”
       “You’re looking at what no other woman has ever seen before. I think it’s time you call me Jordan.”
       “A sense of humor.” Farrah’s voice cracked. “That’s a good thing at a time like this. Right?”
       The electricity went out.
       Great.  Just what we need . “There’s a lantern on the kitchen table. Somebody bring it in here,” she ordered.
       Mr. Watkins sat the basin of warm water on the nightstand, then started back toward the kitchen. “I’ll get it.” 
       “Ted, call nine-one-one on your cell. Tell them what’s happening and don’t forget to warn them about the bridge.”
       Farrah tried to see what was going on, but it was too dark. “I need that lamp in here, Tom.”
       Jordan’s husband finally returned with the lamp. The room filled with the dim glow. 
       “Everything’s gonna be alright, Jordan.” Her words of encouragement were more a plead to God. “Come on now, you got this.”
       After a lot of pushing and screaming, came a flood rush of joyous tears as the youngest Watkins made her grand entrance into this world.
       “She’s beautiful.” Farrah cleaned the baby and wrapped her in a big, fluffy towel. “Time to meet Mama.” She laid the baby in Jordan’s arms. “Do you have a name picked out?”
       “We were going to call her Christine, but I think I’d like you to name her.” She looked up at her husband. “That is, if it’s alright with you, Tom.”
       Tom admired his new daughter. “If that’s what you really want.” 
       Farrah watched the new family. “My mother’s name is Tara.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she smiled. “She died earlier this year.”
       “Tara Christine Watkins.” Jordan watched her baby as she said her name. “It’s beautiful.”
       The lights came back on.
       “See there?” Tom never took his eyes off his daughter. “She’s performin’ miracles already.” 
       “Daddy, would you please take Tara into the other room, while we get things situated in here?” asked Farrah. “I think Mama could use a shower and some clean clothes.”
       “My suitcase is still in the truck,” said Jordan. “I don’t want Tom getting any wetter than he already is.”
       “I think I have some dry clothes for both of you. That is, if you don’t mind wearing my parents’ clothes.”
       The couple stared at each other.
       “Mom and Dad weren’t big on wasting.” She opened a sealed box and took out some jeans and a work