The Mountain Midwife Read Free Page A

granted him half a day cooling his heels in a Portuguese police station, then hours more of questioning by one official after another, before they released him to face a bombardment of cameras and reporters. In order to escape the flashing lights and cacophony of questions from the media, Hunter had raced for the Lisbon airport and relative anonymity behind the security checkpoint. He waited there for a flight that had been delayed and then delayed again for security reasons. During the wait, he paced, ate bad food, and avoided televisions. He avoided looking anyone in the eye. He tucked in his earbuds and turned up the music a little too loudly to avoid conversation. But a flight attendant recognized him when he boarded his flight, and then everyone on the plane wanted to greet him, congratulate him, or even in one case, tell him he was crazy. Not that he would have slept on the flight. He never slept in moving vehicles of any kind.
    He scrubbed his hands over his face. “And if you don’t sleep now, you won’t get any at all.”
    His mother would be over far too early to stock his refrigerator because she still didn’t think he ate right. His father would come along to hear about the trip, the newest tunnel project, and, of course, what had happened in Lisbon.
    Feeling twice his thirty-two years, he dragged himself to his feet, grabbed his briefcase, and trudged up the steps to his bedroom.
    He should take a shower to relax tense muscles. All he wanted to do was drop onto his bed and sleep until he woke up without the aid of an alarm. Probably a good idea. No one expected him in the office for another day. After he texted his family and business partner that he had ended up flying through London instead of taking the regularly scheduled direct flight to Newark and then another to Reagan National, he turned off his iPhone until landing in northern Virginia.
    L ANDED SAFELY . He had texted a brief message to siblings and parents and his coworkers. H OME TO SLEEP .
    A number of buzzes from the phone set on Mute told him at least a few of them had responded, but he hadn’t looked. He didn’t possess either the physical or the mental strength to respond with anything other than L EAVE ME ALONE . Silence from him was better. More than likely, they were all in bed at this hour of a weeknight anyway.
    Mocking this presumption, the landline began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID. Justin Langford, his business partner. He could go to voice mail.
    Hunter lifted his briefcase onto the bed and removed his MacBook. At the least, he needed to charge the computer’s battery. And he knew he would rest better if he unpacked that suitcase.
    He would rest better if the phone didn’t keep ringing all night. Yet it rang again. Stopped. Rang again. At the same time, his iPhone began to buzz with incoming messages.
    He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.
    C ALL ME . V OICE - MAIL BOXES ARE FULL .
    He blinked, shoved his glasses up so he could rub his scratchy eyes, and read the messages again, and again, as Justin kept sending the same one.
    Never in his life had his voice-mail box been full. He wasn’t that social a guy.
    Seeing the battery on his iPhone was nearly dead, he picked up the landline and called Justin back. “What’s up?”
    “It’s about time, bro.” Justin still sounded like a frat boy despite a decade out of college, masking a brilliant mind. “Are you too good to answer your phone yourself now that you’re the local hero of the hour?”
    “I’m hardly that.” Hunter fumbled the doll he’d bought for his niece onto the bed.
    Justin laughed. “I just got done being interviewed by half of the news organizations in the country, I think. Excellent publicity. I’m surprised they’re not beating down your door.”
    “I’m hoping they won’t realize I’m home.” Hunter crossed the room to the window overlooking the front of his condo. Half a dozen news vans parked along the curb, reporters