One Christmas Knight

Chapter 8

“Gotta make a change here. Got a’ alligator in the road.”

I-40-Texas

While the big truck churned slowly along the exit ramp, carving its own tracks in the frozen, unblemished white, Mirabella focused on its driver’s hands. They looked so strong and sure, so steady on the wheel. And she thought, We’ll be okay in those hands, my baby and I… Everything will be all right.

The truck came to a lumbering stop. There was an explosive hiss of air through the brake lines and then, except for the quiet grumble of the idling diesel engine, silence. Jimmy Joe set the brakes and flipped switches, then turned in his seat to grin at her. “Well,” he said with a little half-shrug, “here we are.”

She arranged her own lips into a smile for his benefit, although there was still a hollow feeling in her chest, and asked, “Where, exactly, are we?” It looked pretty much like nowhere to her-eerie in its emptiness, without so much as a light showing in the distance.

“We’re at a rest stop.” He let out a breath and stood, leaning across the passenger seat to peer out the side window into the darkness. “Not much of one-pretty much just picnic tables and potties. I expect the rest rooms’re gonna be a mite chilly-”

“Rest rooms! Seriously?” That right there was enough to pick up her morale. “Oh, God-where?”

He gave her a doubtful look. “You sure you want to go out there? I was thinkinv maybe I could rig up somethin’…you know…” He paused, coloring a little. “Portable, or somethin’.”

“Over my dead body,” said Mirabella through her teeth. At some point, modesty was probably going to become optional, even for her. But not yet. Not yet. “I can walk. Let me out of here-now. Open the door.”

He made an exasperated noise as she looked ready to bowl right over him, but he managed to get a good firm grip on both of her arms. “Okay, now hold on, wait a minute,” he said as he steered her backward into the sleeper. “At least put a coat on first, okay? One of mine-that one a’yours isn’t worth a darn…” As he spoke he was opening a door, at the same time taking the precaution of maintaining a hold on one of her elbows as if he expected her to make a break for it as soon as he let go. “Here,” he said, pulling out a Levi’s jacket lined with sheepskin, “this oughta do it-put this on.”

“It’s my bottom half that’s wet,” she told him as he held the jacket for her and guided her hands into the sleeves as if she were a three-year-old.

And suddenly hearing herself, she thought, I can’t believe I told him that. A man and a stranger, and I told him as easily as if we were best friends and I’d known him forever.

It just didn’t seem real to her. None of this did. The world she lived in-her carefully planned, controllable universe-had vanished. Everything was different. All the rules had changed.

“What’s the matter?” Jimmy Joe’s body had gone tense and still. “You havin’ another one?”

She shook her head rapidly and tried to explain. “I just…don’t believe this is happening. It’s not… Nothing’s the way I planned…”

“Hey.”

He turned her toward him, his brow furrowing as he watched his hands tug the two halves of the jacket together just below her chin, slip inside the collar and under her hair and carefully lift it free, then return to fuss unnecessarily with the lay of the collar and lapels. Only when he had them smoothed to his satisfaction did his eyes finally move upward to her face, while his fingers, left on their own, slipped back into the warm places along the sides of her neck as if they belonged there.

The warmth, the feel of them there, made her want to close her eyes, but he cradled her head as if it was something precious and tilted it slightly so that she had nowhere to look except into his eyes.

“Now, you listen,” he said, his voice gone soft and growly. “Everything’s gonna be okay, you hear?”

She nodded, but the gentle movement of his sensitive fingers along the cords of her neck made her shiver. So he repeated it: “Everything’s going to be okay.” Then he closed his eyes and pulled her gently forward. She felt the tickle of his exhaled breath in her hair as his arms came around her, and then her eyes were closing, too, and she was leaning into him, holding on to his strong, hard body as she accepted with a sigh the support and comfort he offered.

How wonderful this feels, she thought, her skin, her cells, her being soaking up the unfamiliar sensation of masculine hands drawing gentle patterns on her back. As if even they knew…

I wish I could stay like this…forever.

Knew that for her, forever would be counted in minutes…seconds…fetal heartbeats. And measured in the tolerance of a tiny but independent creature for being squashed between two large and inconsiderate bodies.

They both felt the kick at the same time and drew apart, laughing. Jimmy Joe coughed and said, “That’s some little slugger you got there,” and hooked a thumb in his pocket and shifted his feet in endearing awkwardness.

“Tell me about it,” said Mirabella, gasping at the continuing convulsions taking place in her belly.

“Well,” he said, “I reckon that’s a good sign.”

She gave a short, soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess…” And then, frowning: “Jimmy Joe?” As it often did, unguided by thought, her hand had come to rest on the quivering bulge just above her navel, where it moved in gentle, circling strokes. Emotion crept up on her, stealing the words, but still somehow she managed, “I, uh…thanks. For stopping…for picking me up. For…you know. Being here.” And although she didn’t want it to, the wobble in her voice added, And for everything, we both know is still to come.

As clumsy as it was, he seemed to understand, murmuring huskily, “Shh…no problem.” And all the while his eyes followed the movement of her hand on her belly, his own hand hovering in the space between them as if he very much wanted, but wasn’t sure he had the right, to touch.

Seeing that, all at once Mirabella’s heart felt swollen, and something very much like grief stung the backs of her eyes and throat. Why couldn’t it have been? she thought. Oh, why couldn’t I have found someone like this before? I wouldn’t have given up! It wouldn’t have had to be like this! Dammit, where were you?

She forced a laugh to explain the unexplainable tears, then sniffed, drew a breath and in a high, distressed voice, said, “Uh…can we go to the bathroom now? Please?”

He jumped as if she’d startled him out of a doze, lifting the errant hand and using it to push a fallen lock of blond hair back from his brow, letting out a breath with a sound not unlike the truck’s air brakes. “Oh-sure. Just let me get a flashlight…”

From yet another of the sleeper’s storage compartments he produced a battery-powered lantern, the kind you can either carry or set down on its base. He kept a light hold on her arm as he edged past her and reached across the passenger seat to open the door. Then, guiding her carefully after him, he backed out into the darkness.

The wind was brutal. The instant it touched her, she swore and began to shake uncontrollably. All she could say was, “Oh, God. Oh… God.”

Jimmy Joe switched on the flashlight and set his teeth and concentrated on not shivering so much himself, and also on resisting the strong temptation to lift Mirabella into his arms and carry her. It probably would have been faster and easier, and a dam sight warmer for both of them if he had. But a lot of stuff from those childbirthing classes was coming back to him, and one of the things he remembered was that laboring women were apt to be funny about being handled; that sometimes they liked to be touched and sometimes they didn’t, and that it wasn’t always easy to know what kind of mood they were in. He figured he and Mirabella had lots of time ahead of them to get to know each other’s ways, and he didn’t want to take a chance on messing things up before they’d gotten started.

Hugging her, now. Holding her. That had been nice. He thought about it as he crunched beside her through the frozen snow, supporting her with one arm hooked across her back and under her arm while she hung on to his hand with a grip like a vise. Yes…she’d seemed to like that. He’d liked it, too. Probably a lot more than he should have, considering the circumstances.

The fact was, he didn’t know quite what to do with the thoughts and feelings that kept coming over him where Mirabella was concerned. He kept thinking-and telling himself-that he ought to be ashamed. But he wasn’t. For one thing, what he felt for her wasn’t the usual kind of lust or desire for a beautiful woman’s body, which likely would have been shameful. It seemed to him it was more a kind of “connectedness” that had been growing on him for a while now, ever since he’d put her to bed in his truck and sat beside her and rubbed her back and watched over her while she slept.

Maybe even before that. When he’d ordered chicken-noodle soup for her. Or when he’d first offered her his bunk.

But whenever it had started, what it had grown into was a sense of closeness, a degree of familiarity he couldn’t remember having had with any woman since J.J.’s mama. Not even then. It was probably something to do with the drugs and alcohol and all that, but there had been a big part of Patti he’d felt closed off from; a part-maybe the most important part-that he could never reach.

What was even stranger to him was that in the years since their divorce he hadn’t met a woman he’d even wanted to get that close to. And he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, when he finally did, he’d picked one about as different from himself as it was possible for two humans to be.

It didn’t make much sense to him. He didn’t know what it all meant or where it was going, and to be honest, he didn’t even want to think about it. Tonight, whatever happened, it looked as if it would be just the two of them, and a baby to be brought safely into the world. Right now he had to concentrate on that.

The rest-room building was dark and as cold as he’d thought it would be. If there was any power in the place it was evidently out-lines were down somewhere, probably. Any ideas he’d had about calling for help from here were fleeting; the phone was dead, too.

It made him think maybe it was time he got one of those cellular phones for his truck, which up to now hadn’t seemed like a high-priority expense to him. Between the radio and the table phones in truck stops, it just hadn’t been necessary-plus, he had a real strong dislike of people, mostly four-wheel drivers, he’d seen goin’ down the road with phones in their ears instead of payin’ attention to their driving.

Against her wishes, he helped Mirabella into the ladies’ side of the cinder-block building and got her situated in a stall. Then, although it made him uneasy to do it, he put the flashlight down on the cold concrete floor for her and left her there.

There was enough reflected light from the snow for him to see by as he made his way around to the men’s room, although inside it was so dark he had to take care of his own necessities pretty much by feel. The water in the lavatory was flowing, but the way it felt to him, it wasn’t much more than a degree or two above freezing. That made him think about that porta potty and microwave oven he’d decided not to have installed in the truck when he’d had the cab customized, but he’d figured he would never have much occasion to use ’em and it was just going to be a waste of money and space, so why bother?

Goes to show you, he thought. You just can’t predict where life’s gonna take you.

He had plenty of time to think about that while he huddled in the lee of the rest-room building shivering and stamping his feet and trying his best not to freeze to death while he waited for Mirabella to come out. You can’t predict life.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she’d said, which was her way of saying the same thing, he supposed.

Except that in his life so far, he figured he’d seen just about everything, and what he hadn’t seen he’d probably heard about, and the fact was, there wasn’t much about life that surprised him anymore.

He did still have a sense of wonder, though, which was a whole lot different than surprise or disbelief. And it was definitely wonder he felt as he stood there in the snow with a Panhandle wind blowing right through him and all around him a black sky full of cold, bright stars coming down to touch the edges of the whirling snow. There was a strange, desolate beauty about the night, and something more than that. A shivery kind of feeling. A sense of excitement. Anticipation, maybe.

He wondered if it had more to do with it being Christmas Eve, or the fact that just inside those cinder-block walls there was a woman about to give birth to a baby. What an incredible thing that was, when he really thought about it. And what a strange way to spend Christmas.

He thought about how it would have been, how it usually was: his family all gathered together-Mama, J.J., Jess and Sammi June, Granny Calhoun and his other sisters and their husbands and kids, and his brothers and probably a few odd aunts and cousins and neighborhood strays. Right now they would most likely be gathered around the old upright piano, Mama bangin’ out the accompaniment while everybody sang carols out of the hymnbook-“O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Away in a Manger” and “Silent Night.”

“Away in a manager,/No crib for a bed…”

That was when it occurred to him that maybe this Christmas Eve wasn’t so strange after all. And he wondered if this was how Joseph must have felt, pacin’ up and down outside that stable, all those years ago. And whether Joseph had felt the same kind of awe, excitement and fear.

It had been a long time since he’d thought much about praying. He’d been about Sunday-schooled to death when he was a kid, and through all the troubles and bad times with Patti he’d given up on the whole notion of religion; these days he left that aspect of J.J.’s education pretty much up to the boy’s grandmama.

Now, though, standing there all alone in the cold looking up at those stars, thinking about the woman and child who were depending on him, he suddenly felt more than a little bit overwhelmed. He figured what he needed now was some help, and it wasn’t the kind that was going to come in a chopper or with flashing lights and a siren. He also knew there wasn’t any way he was ever going to find the words to say what he wanted to say, or to ask what he needed to ask. So in the end he just stood real still and quiet and prayed that the Good Lord would know without being told.

With that taken care of, it began to seem to him like Mirabella had been in the rest room a long time. He was just thinking maybe he’d better chance it and go and see if she was okay, when he saw the shadows shift and the lantern light come splashing out onto the snowy walkway. He went to her and put his arms around her and hustled her back to the truck as fast as he could, neither of them saying anything until they were back inside, and shivering and shaking and rubbing themselves warm.

“I’m…sorry…I took…so long,” she said as soon as she could get the words out. “I had…a contraction…in there.”

It was pretty much what he’d thought, and concern made his voice harsh. “You okay?” She nodded, and he drew a big breath.

“Okay, let’s see…” He looked at his watch and tried to figure how long it had been between that one and the one before, but with everything that had been going through his mind, he’d lost track. Near as he could tell, though, the interval seemed shorter.

“It was really strong,” Mirabella said with a shudder. “Stronger than the others. I think…” She paused, hiccuped, and finished thoughtfully, “It might have something to do with gravity.”

“Gravity?”

“Yeah, because I was standing up. You know…the weight of the baby… more pressure.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you ought to be lyin’ down,” said Jimmy Joe uneasily.

“What for? I was thinking, maybe if I walk around-well, move around anyway, just in here, like this-it’ll go faster.”

“Faster?” His voice rose to a squeak he’d never heard before. “Don’t you think we ought to be tryin’ to slow things down? I was thinkin’, if we can hold off until daylight, maybe the wind’ll die down enough by then, they can get a chopper out here…”

But he realized as the words were coming out of his mouth how selfish of him it was, to want her in pain that much longer, and that it was pure-and-simple panic making him say that.

So he wasn’t surprised when she gave him a dirty look and said with a snort, “That’s easy for you to say-you’re not the one in labor.”

Then, in spite of everything, he just had to grin. It was such a Mirabella thing to say-the old Mirabella, the one with the uppity chin and the California brass. The cold had put color in her cheeks and the wind had played havoc with her hair, and she looked wild and sort of magnificent sitting there glaring at him with that spark of anger in her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said contritely, and was rewarded with another dirty look. Only this time he could see by the quiver at the corners of her mouth that she knew he was teasing her, and he had an idea she’d already forgiven him.

After that an odd little silence fell, a moment of comfortable friendliness of the kind that happens between people who know each other well, just sitting there in the truck’s front seat with the armrests folded up, knees almost but not quite touching, facing but not looking at one another, heads turned instead toward the dark windshield. They both drew breath to speak at exactly the same moment, then laughed.

Mirabella said, “Go ahead,” and Jimmy Joe gestured toward the radio and muttered, “Ah, I was just thinkin’ maybe I ought to try callin’ again.”

She nodded. “Good idea. I was thinking I should go and put on some dry clothes while I’ve got the chance.”

But while she knew her voice was gratifyingly brisk and businesslike, she also knew her actions definitely weren’t. Getting up was a slow and ponderous process-in her view, much like an elephant rising from a mud wallow. Jimmy Joe, of course, was instantly there trying to help her, but she waved him off, saying through clenched teeth, “It’s okay, I got it,” as she finished the job herself. A small victory, but she felt immeasurably stronger for it.

The fact was, she’d had some time to think, sitting alone in that frigid toilet stall, counting her way through a contraction bad enough to make her sure she didn’t want to experience very many more like it. And what she’d decided was that she didn’t like feeling lost and scared and helpless. She wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t her. What she wanted was to feel like herself again-strong, capable and in control.

She’d reminded herself that she’d planned this thing from the very beginning, every aspect of it, and just because fate had decided to step in at the last minute didn’t mean everything had to fall apart. So this was the way it was going to be? Fine. So she was having her baby in a truck? Big deal. People had babies in worse places-like taxicabs, for instance-all the time. So nobody was coming to help? At least she’d been through the whole course of childbirth classes, so she knew what to expect.

And she wasn’t alone. She had Jimmy Joe. There was no reason why things shouldn’t be fine. Of course not. All she had to do was stay strong and keep a clear head.

She was running all that through her head, making her way between the seats when she felt it-first the tension in her back, then radiating pain that coiled around and under her belly like a saddle girth, stopping her in her tracks. She clutched at the seats for support and her right hand found Jimmy Joe’s shoulder instead.

He didn’t say a word, but was suddenly there behind her, his body warm and solid against her back.

“Easy, now…I got you.” His voice was a calming murmur, a soft vibration against her temple as his arms gently encouraged her to lean into him. “You just relax now. Relax. Don’t hold your breath. Breathe easy, now… Let ‘er go…let ’er go.”

Relax…yes. I’d forgotten. That’s what I have to do. Relax.

But it was easier said than done. “I can’t,” she gasped, and was instantly furious with herself. Ordinarily, “can’t” was simply not a word she allowed in her vocabulary.

“Sure, you can. Close your eyes, now, and lay your head back. ‘Atta girl, just like that. Think about something else. Water, now… Yeah, water’s good. Just float…”

She did as he told her. The words blew softly past her ear, tickling. She smiled, and the pain seemed to grow smaller, as if she were drifting away from it.

The humming in her ear became singing. “‘Row, row, row your boat/Gently down the stream…”’

That struck her as funny. She giggled, and seemed to drift even further away from the pain, leaving it behind…

Then it was gone. And it felt so good. “It’s over,” she announced on a long exhalation, almost trembling with euphoria, as if she’d just won a tremendous battle. She didn’t want to open her eyes; it would be so nice, she thought, to stay right here and float like this forever.

But Jimmy Joe was saying something to her, shifting her weight, easing her back into her own axis. Her legs and body felt odd, as if she really had been on a boat and was now having to accustom herself to solid ground again.

“That was much better that time.” A tremor crept into her voice as she felt the shock of separation, the chill of air where his body had been. “It really helped. Thanks.” And suddenly she was laughing. “‘Row, row, row your boat’?”

“Well, shoot,” Jimmy Joe said with a shrug and an abashed grin, “it was the only water song I could think of. Tell you what, I’ll try an’ see if I can come up with somethin’ better next time.” He looked at his watch and frowned, fiddled with it for a moment, then flashed her his smile again. “Okay, we’ll see how that does. Supposed to be a stopwatch-don’t think I’ve ever had occasion to use it before. If it works right, we’re gonna know just how far apart those pains are coming.”

“Right,” said Mirabella staunchly.

She realized she liked the way he kept saying “we.”

Which was a new and strange feeing for her, accepting a partnership when she was so accustomed to going it alone. And even more strange to feel so overwhelmingly grateful for someone’s presence. She, who had always valued her privacy above all else and guarded her independence so jealously. But right now, standing close to this man who should have been a stranger still, so close her belly almost brushed his belt buckle, she found that she wanted nothing but to lean against him and lay her head on his chest and feel his arms around her and his warm breath in her hair. And she wondered how it could feel so comfortable and right.

“You aren’t havin’ another one already, are you?”

She blinked Jimmy Joe’s face into focus and found that he was frowning at her in alarm, and realized only then that she’d been gazing at him-with God only knew what sort of dopey expression on her face.

“No,” she said quickly, looking away. Swallowing hard. Telling herself, It’s just the circumstances. As soon as this is over he’ll be gone. And I’ll be glad, won’t I?

“That’s good.” His frown eased into something else-something she couldn’t read. Then he reached unexpectedly to touch her face, rubbing his thumb over the place between her brows where tension gathered. “We want to be ready for the next one so it doesn’t sneak up on us again. Get you relaxin’… breathin’ right.”

“Right,” Mirabella whispered. His eyes were so dark and warm…as bracing as coffee on a cold morning. She wanted to hold on to them, wrap herself around them and drink in their strength and certainty.

His smile blossomed slowly, almost without her noticing… until, like a finger of sunlight reaching into a dark corner, it touched something deep within her, and she felt stirrings like the fine tremblings of a moth’s wings-like the first tiny movements of the new life inside her.

“We’re gonna do okay, you and me,” he said in a husky voice, drawing a feathery line across her forehead with his fingertips like someone leaving stroke marks in velvet. “Don’t you worry now, y’hear? Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

She nodded, and her hand rose unguided to touch his where it cradled her cheek-touch, then catch and hold it there. She made what was for her an unprecedented sound, a laugh so saturated with emotion it sounded almost like a sob. Embarrassed by it, she closed her eyes…and felt the soft brush of his mouth on hers. Just that, there and then gone, so quickly she might have imagined it, if his next words hadn’t blown like a whisper of breath across her lips.

“You’d best go now…get outta those clothes while you can.”

Dazed and disoriented, she let him turn her and guide her into the sleeper.

“I got that out of your car for you,” he said, pointing to the navy blue overnighter that she’d somehow failed to notice sitting in the far corner of the bed compartment. “Don’t know what all you got in there-hope it’s somethin’ you can use. If you need anything of mine, just go on and help yourself.”

She murmured her thanks, and heard the curtain slide across the opening. A moment later she heard the crackle of radio static, and his growly CB drawl saying, “Mayday, Mayday, we got us an emergency here…anybody out there listenin’? Come on…”

My overnight bag. She reached for it and pulled it toward her, smiling mistily and shaking her head even though she knew she ought to be used to Jimmy Joe’s ways by now. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t think she would ever get over being a little bit awed by him-and grateful. At least she hoped not. People like him shouldn’t ever be taken for granted, she thought. Like roses and robins, and the Grand Canyon.

Mostly her overnight case held cosmetics and toiletries, her hair dryer and changes of underwear, none of which she was likely to be needing anytime soon. This trip, however, she had thrown in a nightgown, for convenience during one-night motel stops. It was her favorite, an enormous T-shirt with a picture of a glowering cat on the front and the words, I Don’t Do Mornings. Made for comfort rather than modesty or style, it did absolutely nothing to camouflage her swollen breasts and bulging belly. It wasn’t very warm, either, but it was long enough to cover her legs to mid-calf, and since she wasn’t going to be wearing any bottoms, that seemed a big plus. For warmth and modesty she could always wear one of Jimmy Joe’s shirts on top of it.

No bottoms… A little spasm of queasiness gripped her. I feel like a virgin preparing for my wedding night, she thought. And then the irony of that struck her and she had to sit down, holding her stomach and hiccuping with silent laughter.

“How you doin’ in there?” Jimmy Joe called from the front.

She jumped guiltily and began to shuck off clothing as fast as she could, managing to answer with a muffled, “Fine…just about done.”

After a pause, his voice rode in on a ripple of laughter. “Hey, I thought of a good water song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…how ‘bout ’The River’? Garth Brooks.”

Preoccupied with peeling off her wet pants, she had to confess she’d never heard of either the song or, “Garth…who?”

Which clearly appalled Jimmy Joe. “Come on, now. You don’t mean to tell me you never heard of Garth Brooks? One of the biggest country singers the last couple years. Songs’ve been at the tops of the charts-Where you been, woman?”

Mirabella sniffed. “Oh…well. I told you, I don’t listen to much country music.”

“Huh.” There was a little silence, then, on a note of curiosity, “What’ve you got against country music, anyway?”

“I don’t have anything against country music. I just consider it a contradiction in terms, is all.” But she was smiling, exhilarated by the prospect of a new battle. Arguing with Jimmy Joe was such fun.

He gave a loud disdainful snort and to her delight countered with, “Don’t know why that surprises me, comin’ from a woman who thinks Pinocchio was Walt Disney’s best movie.”

“What?” She swept back the curtain with a grand gesture. “Oh, not again. How can you even argue that? It’s common knowledge Pinocchio was Disney’s masterpiece. All you have to do is look at the artistry, the animation, the characterizations, the themes… What?” Jimmy Joe was solemnly shaking his head. “Okay, why not? Just give me one good reason.”

“One’s all I need,” he said, watching her with his soft, unreadable eyes, smiling a quirky half-embarrassed smile she’d never seen before. “And I’ll tell you what it is. It hasn’t got a romance in it.”

“What?” Mirabella blinked, then laughed. “Romance? What’s that got to do with anything?”

He shrugged, then got up and came around the seat. Disconcerted, she took a step backward. “It has to do with everything, that’s what. Don’t you know that? Pretty near every great story’s about love. You notice every other Disney movie has one? Cinderella has one, Snow White has one-even Bambi has one. Only Pinocchio doesn’t. Shoot, the only female in it’s that fairy.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him. “I can’t believe it. You’re a romantic.”

He accepted that with that same half-serious, half-embarrassed little smile. “And you’re not,” he said thoughtfully.

The sleeper felt crowded and too warm, and she didn’t know whether it was because of his presence in it, or the subject under discussion. “As far as I’m concerned,” she said tightly, “the whole business is overrated. I’ve never met anybody in love who was happy about it. It just seems to make everybody miserable.”

“You ever been in love?”

She just looked at him; opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again and gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands.

Another one. He’d been half expecting it. He was puzzled, though, and a little disappointed because now he didn’t know whether it had been the contraction coming on or the mention of love and romance-particutarly the question he’d asked-that had made her tense up like that.

If it had been the latter, that might explain a lot, he thought as he thumbed his stopwatch, glanced at it, then set it again. Say she’d got her heart broken, the baby’s father had run out on her-now that was a possibility that hadn’t even occurred to him, but it sure would explain her being where she was and the situation she was in. Not to mention the attitude.

Hard to imagine any man doing that, though. Especially to her. If she’d been his…

He squelched the thought, but it lingered in his voice as he coached her with a fierce kind of tenderness. “Don’t tense up on me, now. Breathe…”