There was another long sigh. “Never, never, never hit a girl. Ever.”
“You got it. And that is a rule. And don’t you forget it. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir…”
“So, what’d your grandma give you for punishment?”
That patented sigh again. “No computer till after Christmas, and I have to do Sammi June’s chores for a week.”
Jimmy Joe snorted. “You got off lucky. Times have sure changed, you know that? I’d have got my butt paddled, but good.”
“I’d rather have a spankin’ than no computer,” J.J. said in a mournful tone. Then instantly he added, in a much perkier voice, “Dad, can we get on-line?”
Oh, Lord, thought Jimmy Joe. “Hey-hey,” he said. “Wait just a darn minute-what brought this on?” Unnamed alarms were already spiking through his insides.
“Can we, Dad? It’d be so coot-there’s all this neat stuff you can do-”
“Absolutely not!”
“But Da-ad…”
“Now, don’t start with me, J.J. You’re way too young to go surfin’ around the Internet, or whatever it is they do, unsupervised. Shoot, there’s stuff on there’d make me blush. I’d sooner let you go to the downtown bus depot by yourself.”
“Dad, you would not There’s creeps and weirdos down there.”
“Yeah, well, there’s creeps and weirdos on the Internet, too. What put this idea in your head, anyway?”
“My friend Rocky just got on-line. He gets E-mail. If I went on-line, we could send each other E-mail.”
“Yeah, and so could anybody else.” What in the world, thought Jimmy Joe, was he going to have to protect his child from next? Television was bad enough, but there at least, he-or anyway, his mama-had some control over what came into the house. “I can’t believe his parents’d let him do something like this, J.J. You sure Rocky isn’t just puttin’ you on?”
“No, Dad, honest. It’s like this, see. His parents are divorced, and his mom works, so she got Rocky on-line so she can keep track of him and help him with his homework from her office. Isn’t that cool? And very ed-ja-cational, too.”
Jimmy Joe couldn’t think of a reply to that, so he muttered something along the lines of, “Yeah, well, we’ll talk about it.” And remembering the mistletoe incident, he pointedly added, “After Christmas.”
This business of being a single parent, he thought, by no means for the first time, was getting harder and harder every day. He had a lot of sympathy for Rocky’s mother, even if he didn’t think much of her idea of a solution to her problem. It made him sad to think about a little kid doing his homework in front of a computer screen, all by himself in a big old empty house, instead of at the table in a nice warm kitchen with his mama cooking dinner a few feet away. That was the way it ought to be. That was the way it had been for him, and the way he tried to make sure it was for J.J. Of course, he had to admit, it did help to have a whole bunch of kinfolk around to help out.
“Hey,” he said, “guess I’d better get back on the road if I’m gonna get there in time for Christmas turkey. You tell your grandma I called, and behave yourself, now, y’hear?”
J.J.’s sigh was resigned. “I will, Dad, I promise. But I wish you were here now.”
“I wish that too, son.”
“I miss you, Dad. And I miss Rocky, too. There’s nothin’ but women around here.”
“Yeah?” Again, it was hard to keep laughter out of his voice. “Well, all I can tell you is, there’s gonna come a time that won’t seem at all a bad thing.”
“Uh-uh, Dad-no way.”
“Well, we’ll see. Okay, you be good now.” And he added the trucker’s sign-off, like he always did when he was on the road: “Ten-four.”
“Ten-four, Dad.”
Jimmy Joe hung up the phone with a hollow belly and a heavy heart, which was about normal after talking to his son.
As he slid out of the booth he figured he could let himself look one more time at the woman across the way. The fact was, it had come as something of a shock to him when he’d realized that the pregnant woman squeezing her belly into that booth was none other than the driver of the silver-gray Lexus with the California plates. No doubt about that auburn hair, though. He decided he liked the way she wore it, shoulderlength and parted on the side, in a way that reminded him of the old 1940s movies Granny Calhoun liked to watch on her VCR. He thought it was kind of sexy, the way it showed her ear on one side, but dipped across her eyebrow and just barely grazed her cheek on the other. Sexy, with attitude; he hadn’t been wrong about that little “So what?” tilt of her chin.
All in all, she was just plain nice to look at. She wasn’t tall, which he thought might make her look further along than she was-not like his sister Jess, for instance, who was tall and big-boned and could hide a pretty good-size baby under a men’s blue work shirt until the last minute if she wanted to. Obviously this lady wasn’t interested in hiding anything, though, because the top she was wearing-a long-sleeved turtleneck in some kind of thick, silky stuff in a deep, dark plum that shimmered in the light-had a tendency to cling. Not in an embarrassing way; like the car she drove, the lady had class. Just enough to give a hint of the way her body might look under normal circumstances-all curves and sweet, giving softnesses, voluptuous as a Southern summer.
He would probably have looked at her a whole lot more, but he figured he’d already embarrassed himself enough, getting caught flat-footed staring at her like some kind of noaccount Cracker without the manners his mama had taught him.
As it turned out, though, the booth where she’d been sitting was empty and the waitress was clearing off the table. Just as well, he thought, and tried to put the lady and some vague feelings of disappointment out of his mind.
Which was easier said than done. It wasn’t about her being such a looker, either, although she sure was that. But he wondered what in the world was she doing, a California girl, way out here in the middle of New Mexico, as far along as she was. And all by herself, by the looks of things.
One thing for sure, Jimmy Joe thought, if she wasn’t single, her husband ought to be ashamed of himself. And if she was… Well, it was a shame. A real shame.
He just hoped she knew what she was getting herself into.
Mirabella emerged from a stall in the ladies’ room feeling not much better than she had going in. She washed her hands and blotted her face with a wet paper towel and then, since there wasn’t anyone to see her, paused a moment to study her reflection in the mirror above the sink. As usual, what she saw did not please her. Her hair was okay, and her complexion, though paler even than usual, didn’t trouble her; but she didn’t like the dark circles under her eyes and the deep grooves, like tiny parentheses, around her mouth. She hadn’t been sleeping very well, that was the problem. Just lately it seemed as if the baby had changed position, or something, and it was almost impossible for her to find a position that was comfortable-or if she did, one that would stay that way for any length of time. Small wonder-she was just so huge. Like a bloated hippo, she thought, eyeing her enormous and slightly pendulous breasts and bulging belly with dismay. How would she ever get back to her normal size and shape? Was it even possible?
Then, as she always did when such thoughts overcame her, she felt terribly guilty. I didn’t mean it, she hastily assured whatever powers might be listening. It’s what I wanted. No matter what, it’s worth it.
She knew what she needed more than anything was just to lie down for a little while, maybe put her feet up. She considered with longing the lounge she’d glimpsed during her earlier explorations-a nicely darkened room with a TV and several comfy-looking couches. But it had been in the section designated Professional Drivers Only, and she didn’t think it very likely anyone would mistake her for a trucker-even though from what she’d seen, some of them had stomachs as big as hers. Bigger.
Oh, well. Mirabella hadn’t gotten where she was by being a wimp or a crybaby, and she didn’t believe in giving in to min
or inconveniences or discomforts like backaches and leg cramps. She did, however, believe in extra-strength Tylenol. So before going back out to her car, she dug the bottle she always carried with her out of her purse and shook two of the white caplets into her hand.
She was looking around for a source of water with which to swallow them when she noticed a crowd of truckers gathered around a large lighted wall map over near the ATM and the machine that sold prepaid phone cards. She’d spotted it earlier but hadn’t stopped to study it, having had more pressing needs on her mind at the time. Now she deduced that it was some kind of weather map-one that displayed all the time zones, major truck routes and temperature and weather conditions for the whole Northern Hemisphere. In addition to which there were up-to-the-minute weather bulletins constantly ticking across the top of the map, like the news headlines in Times Square. She noticed that most of the assembled truckers seemed to be watching the message like it was Michael Jordan going down the court for a layup, except they didn’t look very happy about it.
Mirabella had more than her share of natural curiosity, so of course right away she wanted to know what was so interesting about that weather board. On the other hand, she wasn’t crazy about the idea of venturing into a crowd of fairly scruffy and rough-looking men. She felt comfortable enough with men when she was in familiar territory and calling all the shots, but this wasn’t L.A. None of the men she customarily dealt with wore parts of snakes as clothing accessories or clanked when they walked.
Plus, there was nothing she hated more than being stared at, and she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous at the moment. Not that she ever had been.
So she was hanging around the outer edge of the crowd, trying her best to read the message from a distance and thinking maybe it was time to get her contact-lens prescription updated, when she happened to spot the cute blond trucker from the restaurant. Since he was also busy trying to get a closer look at the board and not paying attention to anything else, Mirabella was pretty much free to stare at him all she wanted.
She couldn’t get over it. It was all there-tall and lean, blond hair with just the right amount of curl, and not even a hint of a freckle that she could see. Good facial bones, strong but not heavy; nice cheekbones, straight nose, firm chin. No eyeglasses-unless, of course, he wore contacts, too. But for some reason she just knew he didn’t. God, he was perfect. Everything about him was just… perfect.
No doubt about it, she could have been looking at her baby’s father, in the flesh.
Right then, almost as if he’d felt her staring at him, the trucker looked around and straight at her, and she had to turn her head away quickly and try to pretend she’d only happened to glance his way by accident. Then, while she was being careful not to look at him, she was certain she could feel him watching her. Only she didn’t dare look to see if he was, because if he was, then he would know she was looking at him.
And she wondered, Is this what it’s going to be like? Every time I see a tall, good-looking blond guy walking down the street, am I going to ask myself, Is it him? Is he the one?
It wasn’t, of course. She knew that. No way. Her baby’s father was a student, a music major. It didn’t seem likely to her that a trucker would fall into either the music or student category, even if this one was wearing a University of Georgia sweatshirt. The shirt had a picture of a bulldog on the front, and looked faded and comfortable, like an old, well-washed favorite. Maybe, she thought, letting her gaze travel on down to slim hips encased in equally worn and comfy-looking blue jeans, he just happens to like big, ugly dogs…
“Excuse me, ma‘am, is there somethin’ I can help you with?”
If Mirabella had been the type to die of embarrassment, she surely would have then. Fortunately, however, she’d had lots of experience dealing with humiliation, and had learned that the best way was usually just to brazen it out. Caught flat-out staring, she raised her eyebrows and said, “I beg your pardon?” in a haughty tone, as if she wasn’t the one who was being rude.
The young trucker was frowning at her, but looking more puzzled than hostile. “I was just wonderin’-do I know you from somewhere?”
God, he was cute. Brown eyes, interestingly enough, not blue. Mirabella gave him a small, tight smile that said, “Fat chance,” and shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, hey, I’m sorry I bothered you then. I just thought the way you were lookin’ at me, like you were tryin’ to figure out where you knew me from…” He had a nice, easy smile-not cocky, more sweet. Like Robert Redford. And damned if that wasn’t a dimple.
Mirabella’s heart did a little skip, which she knew from experience meant she was attracted to this guy and consequently in imminent danger of making a fool of herself. So of course, right away her attitude got even more haughty. “I apologize for that,” she said, drawing herself up like a grand duchess. “You reminded me of someone I used to know.” Then, realizing she’d been given a golden opportunity, she paused and allowed herself to melt a little. “Actually, I was trying to see that message board over there. What’s going on, do you know?”
The trucker’s dimple disappeared along with his smile. He sort of rubbed at the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable, as if the weather was in some way his fault. “Ah…there’s a blizzard, I guess. In Texas.”
“A blizzard?” Mirabella was a Californian, born and bred; even the word sounded foreign to her.
“Yeah, guess so. They say it’s snowin’ as far south as Dallas.”
Geography not having been one of her best subjects, Mirabella wasn’t sure precisely what that meant. She did, however, know that Texas was where she was heading. And furthermore, that she was going to have to get through it in order to reach her final destination. She drew a vexed breath and said, “Texas. Lovely.”
“Yes, ma‘am,” muttered the trucker humbly. Then, aiming his beautiful dark brown eyes right at her and narrowing them into a frown of what looked like genuine concern, he ventured, “Ma’am, it looks like the Panhandle might be pretty rough goin’. You might want to think about headin’ south-take I-25 out of Albuquerque, swing on down to ten. Whereabouts you headed?”
“Florida,” Mirabella told him without even thinking whether or not she should. “Pensacola.” Oh, Lord, she thought, those eyes…
The trucker nodded and looked relieved. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’d do, if I were you. Look here-” he touched her elbow in a deferential way, just enough to guide her closer to the map as he pointed “-this here is 1-25, see that? Goes right on down to I-10. You’d miss all the mess that way-be a lot safer.”
A lot longer, too. From what Mirabella could see, just doing a rough calculation in her head, it had to be four hundred miles longer that way, at least. A whole extra day. No way she would make it by Christmas, then. “Which way are you going?” she asked, angling a look at the trucker.
“Me?” He shrugged. “I don’t have much choice. Got to stay on forty-got a load to deliver in Little Rock. But if I was you…”
“Thanks for the advice,” said Mirabella, who wasn’t in the habit of taking advice from anybody, especially men-not even cute ones with big brown eyes and dimples. Especially not really young cute ones with big brown eyes and dimples. “But I think I’ll just push on.”
She was thinking, Hey, guy, if you can make it through on 1-40, so can I.
From the look on his face, the trucker obviously didn’t think so, but Mirabella was used to seeing that look on men’s faces and, if anything, it only made her more determined to prove him wrong.
“Well, good luck, ma’am.” He was giving her his halffrowning, concerned look, but with more intensity this time. Enough to make Mirabella’s heart do that little skip again, which she really wished it wouldn’t. “You have a safe trip now-drive carefully.”
“Thanks,” said Mirabella crisply. “I plan to.”
Chapter 2
“Westbound, what’s it look like back your way?” “Eastbound your f
ront door’s lookin‘ dry and dusty all way back to the Texas line. Hammer day-yown. ”
1-40-New Mexico
As she pulled out of the travel-stop parking lot and back onto 1-40, Mirabella’s thoughts didn’t dwell on the cute blond trucker with the heart-stopping dimples. She was thinking about what lay ahead of her, and feeling not nearly as confident about it as she would have liked.
Not about the weather or the road conditions in Texas-the way she figured it, people must drive around in snowstorms all the time; otherwise, life would pretty much come to a screeching halt for half the year in the northern half of the country. Besides, she had more than enough confidence in her Lexus and in her own driving skills, and if worse came to worst, she could always pull into another truck stop and pick up a set of tire chains. No way was she going to let a little old blizzard keep her from getting to Pensacola in time for Pop’s Christmas.
No, what was worrying Mirabella was something a. lot smaller than a blizzard and probably a lot more common, too. Although she never liked to admit to being afraid of anything, lately she’d begun to notice a queasy feeling in her stomach whenever she thought-really thought-about this business of having a baby.
She’d had no doubts about it before. None at all. After all, she’d planned this pregnancy down to the last detail, and it wasn’t in her nature to second-guess herself. Besides, it had been fun, at first. There’d been the exhilaration of knowing she’d succeeded-not that she was accustomed to settling for anything less, or had ever really doubted for a minute that she would; but still, she’d been warned that it could take as many as ten or twelve tries, and she’d managed it in only three.
For a while after that, she’d kept it her own delicious secret. Never much of a reader, she’d devoured every baby magazine in the doctor’s-office waiting room, then had gone out and bought every book she could find on pregnancy and child care. Mirabella never did anything by halves. Thus informed and prepared, she’d been fascinated rather than dismayed by the sequence of changes taking place in her body, for once not minding when her breasts suddenly grew three cup sizes. Hey, this was great-suddenly it was okay to gain weight!
One Christmas Knight Page 2