“It looks really bad, Dad. There’s trucks and cars turned over and everything. I saw it on TV.”
“You watch too much TV,” said Jimmy Joe, “you know that? How come you’re not outdoors playin’ or somethin’?”
“’Cause we got rain. I gotta do something, Dad. I’m on restriction, so no computer, remember?”
Jimmy Joe chuckled. “Yeah, so how are you and Sammi June gettin’ along? You two kiss and make up yet?” At that, J.J. muttered something his father couldn’t quite catch. He hunched himself over the phone and yelled, “What?”
Just then there was one of those little lulls that come over a noisy crowd sometimes, kind of like everybody in the room stopped to take a breath at the same moment. But whatever it was his son was telling him, Jimmy Joe missed it anyway, because in that quiet moment he heard a soft voice, practically at his elbow, say, “Excuse me…”
He jerked around, thinking it was the waitress finally come to take his order. But it wasn’t It was about the last person he’d expected to see-none other than the redheaded pregnant woman he’d last seen a couple of hundred miles back, getting into a gray Lexus. And although she was trying her best to maintain that uppity lift of her chin, it was easy to see that it was costing her plenty to do it.
For a moment or two he just stared at her. Then he figured he must have made some kind of sound, because he heard J.J. say, “Dad? What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”
That snapped him out of it. He mumbled, “Hang on a minute, J.J.,” then managed to gasp, “Ma’am?” as, being a well-brought-up Southern boy, he almost killed himself trying to mind his manners and stand in the confines of that booth.
She quickly put out her hand, motioning him to stay put, and said in a not-too-steady voice, “Please-don’t get up. I was just wondering-I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind if I shared this booth with you? There doesn’t seem to be anyplace else…”
It occurred to Jimmy Joe while she was saying it that the way she looked, if she didn’t sit down right soon, she was going to fall down. To put it mildly, she looked dead on her feet. Her face was so pale you could darn near see through it. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and although she kept wanting to smile, what she looked like to him was somebody trying real hard not to cry. And-he hadn’t noticed it before, but those eyes of hers were enormous. Dark blue-gray, like the ocean when it rained. Looking into them, he began to feel a little bit dizzy, as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down…
“Dad?”
“Oh-sure! By all means…” His natural, ingrained reflex was to get up and help the lady to her seat. But before he could get himself untangled and out of the booth, she’d already slipped in across from him with a sigh and a whispered, “Thank you.”
“Dad? Who’s that you’re talkin’ to?”
“Uh…listen, J.J., I’m gonna have to call you back after a while, okay?”
“Oh, please,” the woman inserted hastily, “don’t-not on my account. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“That’s okay, I was about done anyway,” Jimmy Joe assured her as he was hanging up on J.J.’s wounded-sounding, “Da-ad…” Then for a minute or two he had a bad case of the fidgets, while he tried to adjust to her being there and at the same time figure out how he felt about that.
One thing he felt was nervous, which was understandable; he never had been real comfortable around beautiful women. Pretty, okay. He liked flirting with a pretty woman as much as the next guy. But knock-your-eyes-out, movie-star gorgeous? Uh-uh. Women like that made him feel like he’d forgotten how to breathe. With that dark red hair and pale-as-milk skin of hers, what she reminded him of more than anything was paintings he’d seen of the Madonna. Except the thoughts he’d been having about her… Well, he would have been ashamed to think them in church-put it that way.
On the other hand, beautiful or not, she was damn well ticking him off by the way she was acting, driving across the country all by herself, taking chances with that baby she was carrying. Which was also understandable; having lost one child because of a woman’s pure selfishness and irresponsibility, he had a low tolerance level for that sort of behavior.
What had him confused, though, was that now that she was sitting right there across the table from him, and he could see in her eyes how tired and scared she was, it was real hard for him to stay mad at her. Although he did mean to try. For one thing, it made it a whole lot easier for him to overlook how beautiful she was.
“Hi,” she said as she settled herself, in a kind of breathless and sheepish way that for some reason made her seem more likable than she had up to now. Then she stuck her hand out and, in a more forward and businesslike way than most of the Southern women he was used to, added, “I’m Mirabella Waskowitz.”
And he decided he liked that, too.
“Jimmy Joe,” he said, as he took the hand she offered.
Chapter 3
“Boy, I got heartburn so bad I’d give five dollars for one Rolaid.”
1-40-New Mexico
His hand felt nice. Firm and warm and strong. Just the kind of hand you hoped would be there to reach for if you really needed one.
Which was precisely why Mirabella let go of it as quickly as she possibly could without being rude about it. She didn’t want a hand from anybody, especially a man. She was doing just fine without one, thank you.
But he was just so damned adorable. That Southern accent, that Robert Redford hair and smile, and that name…Jimmy Joe? Really, it was almost too cute.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said, her relief so overwhelming she was unable to hold back a sigh. At least, tank God, she hadn’t burst into tears. But it had been close. Too close.
He mumbled, “No problem…my pleasure.”
Polite, thought Mirabella approvingly. Kind of distant, too, which she also happened to like; she despised men who presumed they’d earned the right to instant familiarity the minute they told you their names. Still, she found herself wondering about it; wondering if Jimmy Joe really was shy, or if this was an example of that Southern reserve she’d heard about, or if maybe the coolness she’d detected in his eyes was only the natural wariness of someone who wasn’t about to get involved with the problems of a total stranger.
Which was fine with her and just as well, because after all, here she was just four weeks away from becoming a middleaged, unmarried mother, and she ought to be ashamed of herself for even having such thoughts about a kid who probably couldn’t even buy beer without getting carded.
It was just awkward, that’s all. It was hard to get past the fact that she was sitting across from a man who was the walking-around-in-the-flesh spitting image of her unborn child.
And impossible to deny the secret delight she felt when she thought about the prospect of having a little towheaded toddler version of Jimmy Joe running around her house sometime soon-a version, of course, that would be possessed of both athletic and musical talent and an IQ in the “gifted” range. She was absolutely confident of that-those qualities having been even higher on her list of priorities than a tall, lean body and olive-toned skin. When Mirabella planned something, she left as little as possible to chance.
“You want somethin’ to eat?” Jimmy Joe asked, stretching around to look for a waitress. “Let me see if I can get somebody-”
“No, that’s okay,” said Mirabella. “I’m not really hungry. I just needed…to sit down for a while.” The miniature-genius version of Jimmy Joe in her belly chose that moment to execute an athletic maneuver closely resembling that of a frolicking dolphin, causing her to lean sharply backward in her seat and suck in air in an audible hiss.
“You okay, ma’am?”
Since she had her eyes closed, she couldn’t be sure whether it was alarm or compassion she heard in Jimmy Joe’s voice, although she thought it was probably a little of both.
She waited until the worst of the pains had gone shooting off down her legs, then nodded and let out along,
slow breath. “Oh, yeah, it’s just too much sitting, I guess.” If I could just lie down, she thought. God, please…just let me lie down.
It suddenly occurred to her that she was teetering on the brink again. She recognized that weak, hollow feeling, the one she’d had earlier as she’d stood helplessly surveying the jam-packed restaurant dining room, just moments before she’d spotted Jimmy Joe sitting all alone in a booth big enough for two. She knew she was just one shaky step from the edge, one kind word away from tears.
Panic seized her. She couldn’t humiliate herself in front of him-she couldn’t. “Well-better go-thanks for the breather,” she chirped, not even caring how ungainly she looked, frantically hitching her beachball-shaped body along toward the edge of the bench. Or how crazy she sounded. leaving so abruptly when she’d only just sat down. All she could think about was getting out of there, away from people, away from him, before she made a complete fool of herself.
But before she could make good her escape, Jimmy Joe’s hand shot out and snagged her elbow. And there was nothing shy or reserved about the way he held on to it, or the tone of his voice when he demanded, “Hey-wait a minute. Where’re you off to?”
Ordinarily, Mirabella’s tolerance for being manhandled or questioned was just about zero. However, at the moment she was operating on sheer bravado, and the best she could come up with was a superior smile and a toss of her head meant to convey the impression that she was just bursting with selfconfidence.
“Listen-thanks very much. It was nice of you to let me, uh, share your table for a moment,” she heard herself babble. All the while she was looking anywhere but at Jimmy Joe, at anything but the strong, masculine fingers curled around her arm, or the earnest young face leaning close, now, to hers.
“But…I’m pretty tired. So I think I’m going to go out to my car and lie down for a while.” Yes-oh, yes, that would do it. She could curl up on the back seat. That would be better than nothing. Or did the front seats recline? She had no idea; she’d never had occasion to test them. Just…please, God, let me get out of here. Please let me lie down.
She was standing now. So was he. Desperately, Mirabella focused her eyes on the picture of the ugly bulldog on his University of Georgia sweatshirt. She stuck out her hand, not an easy thing to do since he was still holding her elbow, and said, “Well. It was nice meeting you, Jimmy Joe.” And she was thinking, Please, God, don’t let me cry.
Jimmy Joe knew he was about to do something rash the minute he saw those big gray eyes of hers go wide and shiny, and realized she was about one blink away from spilling over. That panicked him; he never had been able to stand seeing a woman cry.
He coughed a little bit to loosen up the nervous knot in his chest, then said, “Look…ma‘am, I’ve got a sleeper in my truck. It’s pretty comfortable, and it’d be warm. I’m not usin’ it, so if you want it, well… What I mean is, you’re welcome to it.”
Well. He could see he’d surprised her as much as he had himself, saying that. Because her eyes, which had been staring a hole in the middle of his chest, suddenly flew right up and smacked into his in a way he wasn’t prepared to handle. Sort of made him wish he could have ducked.
Then she shook her head hard and said, “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Thanks, but…”
Just like that, he didn’t know why, but all of a sudden he was mad at her again. His voice got soft and polite, which, if she’d known him better, she would have known meant he was in no mood to be crossed.
“Excuse me, ma‘am, but you’re about out on your feet, far as I can see, and I got a perfectly good sleeper goin’ wantin’. Now, I’m gonna take you out to my truck and get you settled, and then I’m gonna leave you to rest as long as you need to, y’understand? Come on, now-you need anything from your car? No? Okay, let’s go, then. Come on…”
It was the tone of voice he mostly used to get J.J. to see things his way when the boy was feeling contrary and muleheaded about something, and he was glad to see it worked just as well on muleheaded pregnant women. Just when he thought he might have to tell her his personal views on women who were too selfish or too proud to do what was right for their babies, he felt her kind of relax and let out a shaky breath of surrender.
She whispered, “That’s…really nice of you,” then looked around like she’d maybe misplaced something, and mumbled, “I just…need to use the ladies’ room first, okay? ’Scuse me…” He let her go, and she turned and headed off in the direction of the rest rooms.
As she went. Jimmy Joe saw her duck her head and brush at her eyes, and he suddenly knew she was doing her best to hold on to her pride, and hide from him how tired and grateful she really was. And he felt a softening inside, a slow melting around his heart.
He flagged down a waitress and gave her his order, along with five bucks to make sure she held his table for him until he got back. Then he got his coat and keys and went to stake out the ladies’ room from a discreet distance, not really believing she would try to skip out on him, but not quite trusting that pride of hers, either. While he waited he fidgeted with his keys and paced a little, and tried to figure out why he was letting himself get so riled up over this woman.
Mirabella. What kind of name was that, anyway? Italian, that’s what it sounded like. But with a last name like-what was it? He couldn’t remember, except that it was hard to pronounce and definitely not Italian. Unless-well, of course, it was probably her married name. That would explain the last name, but not the Mirabella. If he’d had to guess he would have said she was Irish, with that red hair and those thick dark eyelashes, and pale as she was, in the good light in the restaurant he’d detected the faint ghosts of freckles.
Not that it was any of his business.
The fact that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring wasn’t any of his business, either, but there was no use denying he’d noticed. Or that it bothered him a lot more than it should have. Jimmy Joe didn’t like to think of himself as being a judgmental person, but along with everything else he’d observed so far about this woman, the fact that she’d let herself get pregnant out of wedlock couldn’t help but have an effect on his opinion as to her basic good sense.
And it still wasn’t any of his business.
Except that now, by offering her his sleeper to rest up in, what he was doing was butting in and making her his business, wasn’t he? Which she hadn’t asked for. And doing her a kindness didn’t give him the right to pass judgment on her character. He hadn’t been brought up to behave that way, and he didn’t mean to start now. No, sir.
So here’s what you do, Jimmy Joe, he said to himself as he made one more pass around the rack of paperback books, which by this time had been pretty well picked over, so there were mostly Louis Lamours and maybe a few John Grishams left. Sue Grafton’s latest-but he’d already read that. What you do is, you’re gonna let the lady rest until they open up the road and then you‘re’gonna go on your way and forget about her. Ten-four.
When he came around the rack, there she was, just coming out of the door marked Women. She looked as though she might have washed her face and taken a brush to her hair, but as far as Jimmy Joe could see, all it had done was make her look like a lost little girl.
That was when he knew the last part of that vow he’d just made might not be so easy to live up to.
To Mirabella, the walk through the truck parking lot felt like the longest of her life. It was just so damn cold. There wasn’t any snow, but a bitter wind cut like a knife through her coat, which was a soft, lightweight leather designed for southern California winters. She wanted to hurry, but that was impossible, and for once she didn’t mind that Jimmy Joe kept a firm grip on her elbow, or resent the way he patiently adjusted his long, lanky stride to match her slow, side-to-side waddle.
“Sorry I can’t go any faster-I know I walk like an obese duck,” she said at one point, characteristically trying to mask her embarrassment with laughter.
Jimmy Joe glanced at her and drawled, straight-faced, “Naw…
more like you sat on a horse too long.”
Mirabella gave a short, surprised laugh. Surprised, because he sounded so much less reserved when he said it, as if he really might have a sense of humor underneath all that politeness. And because all of a sudden she didn’t feel selfconscious about the way she walked anymore. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was about what he’d said or the way he’d said it that could have had that effect on her.
Then they were passing between the seemingly endless rows of idling trucks, hundreds of them, rumbling away with a sound like an oncoming stampede.
“They’re so big,” said Mirabella through her shivers, knowing it was an inane thing to say, which didn’t surprise her, being right on a par with her usual snappy social repartee. Considered a clown in her family and a wit among her female friends, and at the very least, concise and articulate in professional situations, when it came to a conversational one-on-one with an attractive member of the opposite sex, Mirabella was generally about as eloquent as…well, a duck.
But they were big. Huge. Awe-inspiring, especially up close like this. Having a very literal mind, she rarely thought in poetic analogies, but the trucks made her think of great slumbering beasts-domesticated, pampered beasts, to be sure, many of whose owners had decked them out for the holidays in tinsel garlands and Christmas lights, with wreaths and red bows tied to their front grills.
“This here’s the one,” said Jimmy Joe, and let go of her arm while he took out his keys. When he stepped in between two of the massive machines and unlocked the door of one of them, she noticed that his truck didn’t have any Christmas decorations on it. Then he pulled the door open and she could see the words Blue Starr Transport written in silver on shiny royal blue, along with a logo that looked like the star of Bethlehem, and she decided that with a name and a logo like that, he didn’t really need anything more.
One Christmas Knight Page 4