The Midwife's Little Miracle by Fiona McArthur Page B

full time and your husband is away three or four nights a week.’ She shook her head at Chrissie. ‘How do you manage?’
    Chrissie laughed. ‘My mum gets my son off to school and my husband helps on weekends, but it’s all worth it.’
    Montana thought she made it sound a bit easier than it was. ‘What’s he do?’
    ‘He’s a truck whisperer.’
    ‘A what? Never heard of it.’
    Chrissie smiled reminiscently. ‘That’s what he told me when we met. He’s really a diesel mechanic but he told me that trucks have emotional problems, just like horses.’
    She laughed. ‘He’s Irish and has kissed the Blarney stone but I love him. When other mechanics can’t find the fault, he’s the one who goes in and sorts it out. His reputation is spreading faster than he can keep up.’
    Montana smiled at the mental picture of an Irishman talking to a tractor about its emotional problems. ‘With a man like that, it must be hard when he’s away, though.’
    Chrissie shrugged. ‘We’re saving up for a farm and then he’ll be able to stay home and work from there. Maybe we’ll even have more kids.’
    Andy’s unmistakable step in the corridorheralded his arrival. ‘What’s this about you having kids, Chrissie?’
    ‘Not yet I’m not and you’ll be the last to know.’ Chrissie looked him up and down. ‘You back again, Andy?’
    Surprisingly, Andy had dropped in three times before eight in the morning for reasons Montana assumed she’d work out later.
    She saw the twinkle in Chrissie’s eye as she watched each of Andy’s new explanations float past but she didn’t get the joke.
    Between the occasional outpatient who appeared for dressings or injections, Chrissie had turned out drawers and cupboards so that Montana knew where to find supplies when needed.
    ‘How are you going, Montana?’ Andy asked as he skimmed an outpatient chart.
    ‘It’s all pretty simple really,’ Montana said as she checked expiry dates on medications and restocked dressing packs.
    Chrissie bubbled. ‘Apart from the occasional disaster, where we do the best we can with what we have, the rest is more like a clinic than an emergency department.
    ‘Speaking of clinics, how come yours is finished over at the house, Andy?’ Chrissie had her hands on her hips and Montana laughed.
    ‘It’s not. I just came over for some more X-ray forms. I’ll see you later,’ he said, and sauntered off again.
    Chrissie put another empty box in the bin. ‘The man’s mad but a sweetie. And I have to thank him because having you here is so great. Even if you work part time I’ll have more flexibility with my shifts, which will thrill my family.’
    She opened another box. ‘Imagine if more new staff came! Just having one more midwife on the books helps so much. Poor Rhonda has been out of it for too long and she’s over having to be responsible for new babies if one drops in.’
    Montana couldn’t imagine ever being over midwifery. ‘Has Andy told you about the new birthing centre plans?’
    Chrissie nodded enthusiastically. ‘He mentioned a little and it sounds great. Especially when I think about having another baby myself. Imagine if I didn’t have to go away and wait for labour. Imagine if I could have the same person care for me the whole way through.’
    ‘That’s how case load works and we want to drum up business. I think you should spread the word,’ Montana teased. ‘Andy’s sister is a midwife. I’m nagging her to pay a visit so I can talk to her about relocating to the Lake.’
    Chrissie stopped what she was doing and leant against the bench to study Montana’s face. ‘Have you known Andy for a long time?’ she asked casually.
    Montana kept stocking boxes and missed the intensity of Chrissie’s gaze. ‘No. I’ve worked withMisty for the last six years and she’s one of my best friends but never caught up with Andy. I met Andy after my baby was born and he suggested I come here to recuperate.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Chrissie’s