" Do we have any more candles?” she asked him. “Not that I know about.” “How about flashlights?” “Yeah, I have a couple of those.” “Get the strongest one. If he starts to come before John gets here, I might be able to hold the light for you.” “For... Me?” “Jack, there are only two of us here. One of us is going to push him out, one of us is going to catch him. Which job do you want?” “Oh,” he said, going for the flashlight. He took it back to her and demonstrated its strength by shining it right in her eyes. She winced and he turned it off. She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, brother. Maybe you should push him out. I’m calmer. Yeah, I vote for you,” she said. He knelt with one knee on the floor beside her bed. “Melinda, how can you be sarcastic right now?” “You know, you own a bar and you don’t keep alcohol at home,” she said, breathless. “I could have had a shot—it sometimes slows labor.” “We’ll have some on hand for the next one.” “You keep talking like that’s gonna happen,” she said. “How ridiculous.” “I think my record speaks for itself. But, Mel, I just want to make them, not deliver them.” “I hear ya, buddy,” she said, and then was gripped by another contraction. She tried to pant through it, but they were getting tougher—longer and closer together. "
― Robyn Carr , Shelter Mountain (Virgin River, #2)