You're not touching her," Ronnie said fiercely. "Take your lousy hands off her."

The man called Doc continued to press the girl's abdomen.

"She's in either the first or second stage of labor.

Without knowing how much she's dilated, it's hard to gauge how close she is to delivering. But her pains are coming frequently, so I'm guessing-"

"Guessing?"

Ignoring Ronnie, Doc patted Sabra's shoulder reassuringly.

"Is this your first baby?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can call me Doc."

"Okay."

"How long since you first started noticing the pains?"

"At first I just felt funny, you know? Well, I guess you don't."

He smiled. "I have no personal experience of it, no. Describe to me how it felt."

"Like right before a period. Sort of."

"Pressure down there? And twinges like a bad case of cramps?"

"Yes. Real bad. And a backache. I thought I was just tired from riding in the pickup so long, but it got worse. I didn't want to say anything." Her eyes moved to Ronnie, who was hovering over Doc's broad shoulders. He was hanging on every word, but he kept the pistol trained on the people who were lined up like matchsticks on the floor.

"When did these symptoms start?" Doc asked.

"About three o'clock this afternoon."

"Jesus, Sabra," Ronnie groaned. "Eight hours? Why didn't you tell me?"

Her eyes began to tear again. "Because it would have ruined our plans. I wanted to be with you no matter what."

"Shh." Tiel patted her hand. "Crying will only make you feel worse. Think about the baby coming. It can't be much longer now." She looked across at Doc. "Can it?"

"Hard to say with first babies."

"Your best guess."

"Two, three hours." He stood up and faced off with Ronnie. "She's going to deliver tonight. How easy or difficult the labor and birth will be rests with you. She needs a hospital, a well-equipped delivery room, and medical personnel.

The baby will also need attention immediately after it's born. That's the situation. What are you going to do about it?"

Sabra cried out with another pain. Doc dropped down beside her and monitored the contraction by placing his hands on her abdomen. The steep frown between his eyebrows alerted Tiel to trouble. "What?" she asked.

"Not good."

"What?"

He shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to discuss it in front of the girl. But Sabra Dendy was no dummy. She picked up on his concern. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

To his credit, Doc didn't talk down to her. "Not wrong, Sabra. Just more complicated."

"What?"

"Do you know what breech means?"

Tiel's breath caught. She heard Gladys make a tsking sound of regret.

"That's when the baby…" Sabra paused to swallow hard. "When the baby is upside down."

He nodded solemnly. "I think your baby is in the wrong position. Its head isn't down."

She began to whimper. "What can you do?"

"Sometimes it isn't necessary to do anything. The baby will turn on its own."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

Doc looked up at Ronnie, who'd asked the question. "A cesarean section is done, sparing the mother and child a grueling delivery. A vaginal delivery is dangerous, and can be life-threatening. Knowing that, will you let someone call nine-one-one and get Sabra some help?"

"No!" the girl cried. "I won't go to a hospital. I won't!"

Doc took her hand. "Your baby could die, Sabra."

"You can help me."

"I'm not equipped."

"You can anyway. I know you can."

"Sabra, please listen to him," Tiel urged. "He knows what he's talking about. A breech birth would be extremely painful. It could also endanger your baby's life or cause serious defects. Please urge Ronnie to take Doc's advice.

Let us call nine-one-one."

"No," she said, shaking her head stubbornly. "You don't understand. My daddy swore that neither I nor Ronnie would ever see our baby after it's born. He's going to give it away."

"I doubt if-"

But Sabra didn't allow Tiel to finish. "He said the baby would mean no more to him than an unwanted puppy he would take to the dog pound. When he says something, he means it. He'll take our baby, and we'll never see it.

He'll keep us apart, too. He said he would, and he will."

She began to sob.

"Oh, my," Gladys murmured. "Poor things."

Tiel glanced over her shoulder at the others. Vern and Gladys were sitting up now, huddled together, his arms protectively around her. Both were looking on sorrowfully.

The two Mexican men were talking softly together, their hostile eyes darting about. Tiel hoped they weren't plotting another attempt to overthrow Ronnie. Donna the cashier was still lying on the floor facedown, but she muttered,

"Poor things, my ass. Almost killed me."

Ronnie, having reached a decision, looked at Doc and said, "Sabra wants you to help her."

He looked as though he were about to argue. Then, maybe because time was a factor, he changed his mind.

"All right. For the time being, I'll do what I can, starting with an internal examination."

"You mean her…"

"Yes. That's what I mean. I need to know how far the labor has progressed. Find something for me to sterilize my hands with."

"I've got some of that waterless hand wash," Tiel told him. "It's antibacterial."

"Good. Thanks."

She made to get up, but Ronnie halted her. "Get it and come right back. Remember, I'm watching."

She returned to the spot where she had dropped her satchel, her soft drinks, and her sunflower seeds. She retrieved the plastic container of hand wash from her satchel. Then, getting Vern's attention, she mimicked holding a video camera up to her eye. At first he looked perplexed, but then Gladys nudged him in the ribs and whispered in his ear. Nodding vigorously, he hitched his chin in the direction of the magazine rack. Tiel remembered they'd been browsing there when the robbery commenced.

She returned with the bottle of hand wash and handed it to Doc. "Shouldn't she have something beneath her?"

"We've got some bed pads in the RV."

"Gladys!" Vern exclaimed, obviously mortified by his wife's admission.

"They would be perfect," Tiel said, remembering the disposable protective pads she'd seen on Uncle Pete's bed in the nursing home. They prevented the staff from having to change the bed linens each time a resident had an accident. "I'll go get them."

"Like hell," Ronnie said, dashing that idea. "Not you.

But the old man can go. She," he added, pointing the pistol at Gladys, "stays here."

Gladys patted Vern's bony knee. "I'll be fine, honey."

"You're sure? If anything happened to you…"

"Nothing is going to happen to me. That boy's got more than me to worry about."

Vern levered his rickety body up off the floor, dusted off the seat of his shorts, and moved to the door. "Well, I can't walk through glass."

Ronnie nudged Donna again, who instantly began imploring him to spare her life. He instructed her to shut up and unlock the door, which she did.

At the door Ronnie and the elderly man exchanged a meaningful look. "Don't worry, I'll be back," the old man assured him. "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my wife's life." And, although Ronnie Davison was fifty pounds heavier and half a foot taller, he issued him a warning. "If you harm her, I'll kill you."

Ronnie pushed open the door and Vern slipped through. His attempt at a jog was unintentionally comical.

Tiel watched his progress across the parking lot until he reached the gas pumps and climbed into the Winnebago.

Doc was talking Sabra through another pain. When it passed, the girl relaxed and closed her eyes. Tiel looked at Doc, who was watching the girl. "What else would be helpful to you?"