He was staring down at her, with the baby held between them like a vow and his heart hammering in his throat, feeling as scared and helpless as he had the night Amy was born, and Mirabella was staring back at him, looking so beautiful he wondered if maybe he ought to chuck his whole game plan and just kiss her again, and go on kissing her until she didn’t have any breath left to say no.
He was about to embark on that new strategy when a voice behind him sang out, “Oops, home too soon!”
He turned, heart pounding like a guilty teenager’s, while Mirabella said, “Hi, Mom…Pop.” in a breathy, little-girt voice he didn’t recognize.
“Pete,” her mama was scolding as she bustled up the walk with her hands full of plastic grocery bags and a plastic rain-bonnet on her head, “I told you we should have eaten lunch first.”
“The hell with that,” growled the barrel-chested man beside her, waving around the umbrella he was holding so it wasn’t doing much to keep the rain off anybody. “I told you I want to meet the man-shake his hand. And that’s what I’m gonna do.”
He heaved himself up the steps, furling the umbrella as he came, his chin jutting out ahead of him in a way that reminded Jimmy Joe so much of Mirabella, he almost forgot his manners completely. He had to fight hard to contain his smile when he saw the traces of rust mixed in with the thick, straight, irongray hair.
Mirabella gamely murmured introductions, which her father mostly drowned out with his crisp and authoritative, “G‘momin’, son. I sure am glad to meet you…glad to meet the man that brought my granddaughter into the world. Come on in here, now. No sense in lettin’ all the warm air out.” He dragged Jimmy Joe into the house, pumping his hand.
Behind her husband’s back, Ginger caught Jimmy Joe’s eye and winked. “Ohh, look-roses!” she cried, spotting the bouquet he’d left on the table. “Aren’t they gorgeous? They need to go in some water. I’ll just take these groceries into the kitchen-”
“Let me carry those for you, ma’am.”
“Now, let me see, how’s my little ol’ baby girl?”
“She just woke up, Dad. She needs her diaper changed. She’s hungry again, too. I was just going to-I better go feed her…”
“You do that, honey. Son, you’re plannin’ on stayin’ and havin’ lunch with us, aren’t you?”
“Well, sir, ah…” With his hands already full of grocery bags, there wasn’t much Jimmy Joe could do but follow Mirabella with his eyes as she fled down the hallway with Amy in her arms.
In the kitchen with her parents, he had an attack of claustrophobia. The cheery room seemed too crowded with just the three of them in it, and yet he felt Mirabella’s absence so profoundly, it almost bordered on panic. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was losing her, that he was about to let everything he’d hoped for slip through his fingers, just when he’d had it in his grasp. Because he knew her. He knew exactly what she was doing right now, in there alone with her baby and her thoughts. Right now her rational, reasonable planner’s mind was telling her all the reasons why things wouldn’t ever work out between them; and in another minute, her stubborn, muleheaded, opinionated mind was going to set it all in concrete. And he knew that once Mirabella had made up her mind, there wasn’t anything on earth, short of a force of nature, that was going to change it. So if he was ever going to try to do it, he had better do it now.
He set the bags of groceries on the kitchen table as gently as he could, and with a muttered, “‘Scuse me, sir…ma’am,” dived through the doorway and headed off down the hall in the direction Mirabella had taken.
He found her in a back bedroom-the guest room, by the look of it, since he didn’t think Pete Waskowitz would have tolerated all those flowers, or the white priscilla curtains at the windows. There were a few of Mirabella’s clothes and lots of baby things lying around, a white bassinet beside the bed, and a baby blanket spread out on the comforter. The room smelled of baby powder and a just-changed diaper, which brought back all kinds of memories for him.
She was sitting in a chair near the windows, so engrossed in the baby at her breast, she didn’t notice him for a minute or two. He watched her-watched the play of rain shadows in her hair, the creamy-soft curve of her cheek as she bent over her child, the gentle smile no one else would ever see-and knew that he’d been right, and that he would love this woman and this child until he drew his last breath…and beyond that, until the end of time. It strengthened his resolve for what he had to do.
She gave a gasp of outraged modesty when she saw him, and yelped, “Jimmy Joe-go away!”
But he ignored her, and instead went to sit on the edge of the bed right opposite her, and leaned forward to watch her somberly with his hands clasped between his knees. Her eyes followed him, darkening with wariness, at first. But once she knew he wasn’t going to run blushing at the sight of her naked breast, she relaxed and accepted his presence, it seemed to him, with a kind of quiet pride. They sat like that in silence for a while, listening to Amy’s squeaky gulps and the whisper of the rain on the windowpane.
Then she shook her head, just slightly, and he saw her eyes fill with tears. “Jimmy Joe,” she said in a broken whisper, “what are you doing here?”
He’d had a thousand miles to prepare for this. He’d probably thought of a thousand different ways to say what he wanted to say-clever. intelligent ways. Every one of them went right out the window. With his heart in his throat and in his eyes, he finally looked at her and said it: “Marybell, I’ve come to take you home with me.”
Chapter 15
“That home cookin’s smellin’ awful good right now.”
I-40-Texas
He knew from her silence and sadness that she’d probably expected it, that she’d already guessed what he wanted to ask her. And that the tears in her eyes were there because she’d already convinced herself it wasn’t going to work.
Funny thing-he never once thought it had anything to do with her maybe just not feeling the same way about him that he did about her. Somehow, he knew she did. It was just a feeling he had, something to do with the way she looked at him, the way her lips clung to his when he kissed her, the way she trembled when he touched her. And then, she’d named her baby Amy.
“Jimmy Joe,” Mirabella whispered, “I can’t.” The ache inside her was so vast that she wondered as she gazed down at her daughter’s fat, contented little cheek, how she could not feel it, too.
“You say that a lot,” he said matter-of-factly. “So far you’ve been wrong every time.”
Since normally there was nothing Mirabella hated more than being told she was wrong, that should have been enough to launch her headlong into an argument with no holds barred. But now, since deep in her heart she wanted nothing more than to be wrong, all she could do was snap, “It wouldn’t work,” then clamp her mouth shut again and glare at him in stubbornness and confusion.
He took a deep breath and for a moment didn’t say anything, while she watched his eyes roam the room, touching briefly on her, on the baby at her breast, the rain-streaked window, the bassinet, as if searching for something that lay just…there-so near but always beyond his grasp.
Then his gaze came back to his hands, clasped between his knees, and he cleared his throat, lifted his eyes to hers and smiled his sweet, Jimmy Joe smile and said, “I’ve never been much good with words. I mean, I know a lot of words. I read-my mama tells me too much-and the words are all up there in my head, and I hear them sometimes when I’m drivin’ and I don’t feel like listenin’ to the radio or one of my books-on-tape. Words just flow along so easy, then, like a river. But when there’s something important I want to say, I don’t know, it’s like somebody throws up a dam, or somethin’, and all those words back up inside me, and the only ones that come through is just my usual trickle.”
He paused to grin, then shake his head and look down at his hands again. “See, I knew you’d have to argue with me. And I had about a thousand miles to think how I’d answer you. All the good rea
sons why, different as we are and crazy as it seems, I think I could make you happy. Now that I’m here, though…” He looked up at her, his smile slipping awry. “The minute I saw you, I knew I wasn’t gonna have the words. So I figure the best way is just to show you. So…Marybell, that’s why I’m askin’ you to come home with me to Georgia. So you can see for yourself who I am and what I’ve got to offer you. And then you can decide if it’s anything you want, or not. It’s up to you. So…what do you say? Will you come with me?”
Come with me… It’s up to you. Oh, God, what was happening to her nice, controllable, well-planned world? It was as if he’d suddenly come to her and said, “Hey, you want to fly to the moon? Here are the tickets-we leave in an hour!” The wild, the crazy, the impossible, was suddenly there within her reach-and she felt confused, terrified, paralyzed, her heart racing and her mouth as dry as sandpaper. She opened it, but no sound came out. The silence grew tense and viscous. And then…
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bella,” her mother said, “don’t be an idiot.”
They both turned to see her standing there, Amy’s infant carrier car-seat in one hand, the diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Jimmy Joe rose instantly, mumbling, “Ma’am,” as good manners dictated. Mirabella simply sat, dumbstruck, as Ginger dumped the baggage onto the rug and advanced with arms outstretched.
“Here-I’ll take that baby. You go get your coat.”
“But…she hasn’t been burped-”
“I’ll do it. Go and get yourself ready-now. This instant.”
Mirabella drew a sharp, reflexive breath as she saw her baby lifted from her arms, an instinctive preparation for battle. Then she caught Jimmy Joe’s quiet gaze and the exhalation sighed softly from her lips. “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured humbly.
They rolled into the front yard of Jimmy Joe’s mama’s place late in the evening, long past the usual suppertime. He’d thought about whether he should take her home, first, but then he’d figured that might not be fair to her, and that he couldn’t really expect her to make a decision until she’d had a chance to see what she was getting into. And that meant his whole family-at least the part of it he lived with on a regular basis, which was to say, Mama and Granny Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June, and of course, J.J.
His heart did a little double-skip when he thought about Mirabella and his son meeting for the first time. He wasn’t worried so much about J.J. liking Mirabella right off the bat-how could he not?-and even growing to love her like the mama he’d never had.
On the other hand, he had to face the fact that his son had pretty much outgrown the cute-and-adorable stage, and that he could be a real pistol, sometimes. He knew it was asking a lot of a woman with a brand-new baby of her own to take on someone else’s eight-year-old kid, besides.
But whichever way it was going to go, he knew he wouldn’t have to be in suspense for long, because the minute J.J. heard the rumble of his diesel and the hiss of those air brakes, he would be out that front door like a shot, just like he always was.
With one ear tuned to the slamming of the door and the familiar cry, “Hey, Dad!” he turned to Mirabella, who’d come quietly to stand between the seats and was peering through the cab windows at the house, which for some reason was all lit up like Christmas. “We’ll stop here a minute, if that’s okay,” he said, just a little out of breath. “Just want to pick up J.J., have you meet my mama. My place is just down the road.”
She didn’t say anything, but nodded and began to unbuckle the belt that held Amy’s infant carrier securely in place in the passenger seat. He got out and went around to open the door and lift the carrier down for her. Then he offered her his hand to help her down the steps, remembering what a climb it had been for her before, wondering if her independent nature would let her accept. When she gave him a look but took his hand anyway, he thought it was a good sign.
They were standing together beside the truck, sort of straightening themselves out and shaking the road stiffness out of their legs, when he finally heard the door. Not a slam, though, and without the exuberant shout of welcome that usually went with it. He turned and saw that his son had come onto the porch. But instead of running on out to meet him as he always did, he was just standing there with the light from the windows behind him shining in his hair, so he looked like he was wearing a halo.
Jimmy Joe touched Mirabella’s elbow and they started across the yard, last fall’s dead leaves crackling and crunching underfoot. When they reached the front walk, J.J. started slowly down the steps and came toward them, holding himself straight and tall, as if he was walking down the aisle of a church, fixing to light the candles on the altar. Wondering what had gotten into his son, Jimmy Joe set the baby carrier carefully on the ground, cleared his throat and said, “Hey, son, there’s somebody here I’d like you to meet.”
That was when he got his first look at Mirabella, who had stopped dead-still in the middle of the walk. He didn’t know how to describe her expression, except to say she looked…stunned. Then as he watched, her face began to take on a kind of glow, as if she was witnessing a miracle. She glanced up at him, and her eyes-again there was only one way to say it-her eyes were dancing.
“God does have a sense of humor,” she murmured as she moved up beside him, her hand going out toward the boy standing so tall and stiff before her. Thinking she meant to ruffle his hair, Jimmy Joe held his breath, knowing how J.J. hated that sort of thing, but she stopped just short of it and instead said briskly, “Hey, how are you doing? I’m Mirabella.”
Then, while J.J. solemnly shook her hand, his father let his breath out in silent thanksgiving, knowing it was going to be all right. He’d seen that look on Mirabella’s face before, as she watched her baby while she slept.
“You’re a lot prettier in person than you are on TV,” J.J. said, studying her with his head cocked to one side.
“Thanks-I think,” said Mirabella, laughing shakily. She still felt jangled after the shock of seeing her fantasy child in the flesh, right there before her eyes.
In the boneless way of all eight-year-olds, J.J. dropped to his knees beside Amy’s carrier. “Boy,” he said in an awed voice, “she sure is little.”
“Can I hold her?” asked a tall, slender girl with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, who had just joined them.
“This is J.J.’s cousin, Sammi June,” Jimmy Joe said. “Sammi June, say hey to Mirabella.”
“Hey,” said Sammi June dutifully. “Can I hold the baby?”
“Well-” Mirabella looked over at Jimmy Joe and caught his reassuring nod “-sure, you can. As soon as we get inside.”
“I get to hold her first,” J.J. hissed, glowering possessively.
“Uh-uh. I’m the oldest, so I get to hold her-”
“Uh-uh, do not! I saw her first!”
“Sammi June!” yelled a tall, slim, dark-blond woman from the doorway. “You get in here, now, and help Gramma put the food on the table.”
“That’s my sister Jess-Sammi June’s mother,” said Jimmy Joe, then muttered under his breath as he bent to pick up Amy’s carrier, “Sure am glad everybody’s just bein’ their usual selves.”
They went up the steps together, Mirabella thinking, Oh, God, is everybody in this family tall, thin and blond? Then she saw the woman standing behind Jimmy Joe’s sister, waiting for the confusion to clear. A small woman, shorter even than Mirabella, with a neat cap of hair in a rich, naturallooking shade of brown, and a body that was still youthful, though definitely on the voluptuous side.
“Mama,” said Jimmy Joe, sounding slightly breathless, “this is Mirabella.”
“Betty,” his mother said firmly, as she held out her hand.
She doesn’t look anything at all like Jimmy Joe. That was the first thing to sort itself out of the mess in Mirabella’s mind. Then she saw his mother’s eyes-warm, brown eyes, with a golden gleam of fire lurking in their depths. And she thought, with a sense of familiarity that was almost like a homecoming, Yes…
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“I’m just so happy to finally meet you,” Betty Starr exclaimed, dragging them all through the doorway and into her house with the sheer force, it seemed to Mirabella, of her personality. “Let me see this little one, now. Oh, she’s sound asleep, isn’t she? Well, that’s good. Just bring her on in, we’ll set her right down beside the table. Y‘all come on, now, food’s on the table. We waited supper for you. Would you like to freshen up? No? Well then… Mama…?” Her voice rose to a melodic bellow. “Supper’s ready, Mama. Company’s here and food’s gettin’ cold.”
In a kind of daze, Mirabella followed her into the large, informal dining room that adjoined a rather old-fashioned kitchen, with appliances that probably dated at least from the sixties. She was reassured by the light pressure of Jimmy Joe’s hand on her back, and in a strange way by the children, fidgeting and hissing at each other as they came along behind. Children, at least, were the same everywhere.
While Jimmy Joe’s mother directed everyone to their places and his sister Jess bustled off to the kitchen to see to lastminute preparations, they were joined by a tiny wraith of a woman, no taller than the two children and bent and gnarled as a tree root with osteoporosis.
“Hey, there, gorgeous,” said Jimmy Joe, bending over to kiss and hug her, handling her as though she were made of blown glass.
The old woman beamed and reached up to pat his cheek, then clutched his arms and peered around him like a child playing hide-and-seek. “Where is she?” she croaked, her old eyes gleaming, and Mirabella knew that, frail though she might be, here was a woman who still held the reins of life firmly in her hands.
One Christmas Knight Page 23