“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?