The Mountain Midwife Read Free Page B

standing beside them in hopeful poses.
    He tugged down the blinds. “Not a way to endear oneself to one’s neighbors.”
    “They didn’t catch you when you came in?”
    “I didn’t drive myself this time. I took a taxi from the airport and had him drop me off around the block so I could come in the back way.”
    “So you knew this might happen.”
    “I was hoping it wouldn’t, but suspected . . .” Hunter sighed and leaned against the wall. “I thought I had until tomorrow.”
    “What century do you live in? Everyone knew about it an hour after it happened. But you were in transit and no one could find you. Didn’t you see the news in the airport?”
    “I avoided TVs. I prefer not to look at myself in pictures.”
    “You looked adorable holding that little girl.” Justin barely got the words out without laughing.
    Hunter groaned.
    Justin laughed harder. “You won’t have trouble getting dates after this one. You’ll have to beat the ladies off with a stick.”
    “I’d rather beat the reporters off with a stick.” He peered around the blinds. “Will they go away if I give them a statement?”
    “Most of them will, but you might want to consider leaving town if you don’t want the fifteen minutes of fame.”
    “I don’t want fifteen seconds of fame. I didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done. If not for the explosion—” A shiver ran up his spine. “None of this would be news if that car bomb hadn’t gone off.”
    “But it did, and you saved the family.”
    “By accident.”
    “And everyone wants to hear about happy endings in this messed-up world.” Justin’s voice lost the humor. “Just go out and talk to them and ask them to have respect for your neighbors or something. A sound bite should satisfy them for the moment.”
    “If you say so, I’ll go out to face the vultures.”
    “Call me back if you need a getaway car.” Justin hung up.
    Hunter tossed the cordless phone onto the bed and took the steps down two at a time. The instant he opened the front door, lights blazed into the night, turning it as bright as day. Neighbors’ windows popped up and other doors opened. A siren wailed, coming nearer, suggesting someone might have called the cops.
    “Mr. McDermott. Hunter? Did you know that . . .” A dozen questions rained upon him like the shrapnel from the exploding car.
    He held up a hand for silence and pitched his voice to be heard above the tumult without the harshness of yelling that often distorted words or gave the impression of anger, a trick he had learned on jobs around noisy digging equipment. “What happened in Lisbon was a simple act of the better part of my human nature. The rest was pure coincidence with a happy outcome. Other than that, you probably know more than I do.”
    “But did you know—”
    “Weren’t you—”
    “That is all. Now please go away so my neighbors and I can sleep.” He started to step back into the condo.
    The reporters surged forward, microphones and cameras thrust out.
    And the police cruiser sailed onto the quiet side street, lights flashing.
    Reporters piled themselves and equipment back into their vans and squealed off for their respective stations. Hunter shot a grateful glance toward the cops, then closed and bolted his door.
    No wonder his voice mail was full. He could guess what most of the messages were—other newspeople wanting to talk to him. He was going to have to listen to all of them in the event important messages were mixed in, messages from people like his family. He didn’t want to call them at this hour unless one of those messages said he should.
    He returned upstairs and retrieved his landline to call into the voice-mail box. He had fifty-seven messages. His head spun at the notion. He doubted he received fifty-seven voice-mail messages in a year, let alone overnight.
    The first dozen were from media personnel. He deleted every one of them. Next came a mix of reporters, friends, and work