He guided her into the sleeper compartment with a deferential touch, as if he were escorting a duchess to the dinner table, reached up to take down the pile of towels from the shelf above the bed and presented them to her without a word.

From another compartment he took out a plastic trash bag with a drawstring top and his first-aid kit. He left the bag on the bed, tucked the first-aid kit under his arm and backed out of the sleeper, pulling the curtain closed as he went. Then he slid into the driver’s seat, dialed in channel 19 on his CB radio and turned the volume up loud. Static and chatter filled the cab, drowning out all other sound, even the sigh of his own exhalation and the drumming of his rapidly beating heart.

For a while he just sat and listened to it. He felt curiously drained, felt a need to rest and rebuild his store of energy, not so much from what he’d already been through, but for what was still to come. Because this was only the beginning. He knew that, just as he knew she was going to need everything he had to give her.

The radio blared suddenly with a crackly, tinny rendition of Tennessee Ernie Ford bawling, “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” somebody evidently trying to share his own particular brand of Christmas cheer through his open mike. Takes all kinds, Jimmy Joe thought as he picked up his own mike and thumbed it on, grinning. Even among truckers.

“This is the Big Blue Starr-Hey, shut that thing off, will ya? I got a lady havin’ a baby over here. Need to talk to somebody… Come on.”

“Hey, Big Blue!” The voice was nearby, loud and excited. “‘Bout time you put your ears back on. Good to hear from you, buddy. How you doin’ over there?”

Jimmy Joe chuckled. Already the sound of other drivers’ voices had lifted his spirits, made him feel hopeful, not quite so alone. “Doin’ okay, so far. Could use a little help, though. Anybody seen any smokies lately?”

“Hell, no-‘Twas the night before Christmas and not a bear stirrin’-”

“Hey, Big Blue, they’re talkin’ ’bout you all way back to New Mexico. How’s the little lady doin’?”

“Hangin’ in there,” said Jimmy Joe. “Listen, we’d sure ’preciate it if you’d pass the word along to Amarillo. Tell ’em we need some help out here.”

“Already been done, Big Blue.”

And from farther away: “Uh…that’s affirmative. Word got there-oh. been a while ago. Word now is, they’re, uh, tryin’ to set somethin’ up, tryin’ to patch through a relay, or somethin’. Got a buncha phone lines down, so it’s takin’ awhile, but they’re workin’ on it. You’d best go on over there to channel 9 and wait for ’em…”

“Thank ya kindly, ’preciate it,” said Jimmy Joe. He was about to turn the dial when a woman’s voice broke in.

“You tell the lady we’re all prayin’ for her.”

And from all up and down the line the voices of lonely, snowbound drivers chimed in.

“Yeah, you hang in there, now.”

“We’re pullin’ for ya…”

“Y’all have a Merry Christmas!”

“Take care…”

“We’re with you, Big Blue!”

“God Bless…”

“Thanks,” said Jimmy Joe. “I sure do ‘preciate it. Y’all have a Merry Christmas, now. Safe trip… Ten-four.” He signed off with a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

For a moment he just sat there holding the mike while all that flood of emotions and feelings just sort of rolled over him like a great big wave, and when it receded, he felt calm again. Peaceful. As if somebody had put out a hand and touched him and said to him, “Son, everything’s gonna be okay.”

He took a big breath and huffed it out, then dialed in channel 9 and went through his “Mayday, Mayday!” thing once more. He thought he heard some faint mumbles and crackles in response, but since it wasn’t clear enough to be any use to him, he hung the mike back on its hook and left the channel open with the volume turned up loud.

There wasn’t any sound coming from his sleeper, so he turned on the regular radio and found a pretty clear station playing Christmas music, which he left on low just to provide some cover noise in case Mirabella still needed the privacy.

Then he started going over in his mind what she and the baby were going to need, making sure he had everything ready. Thank God, he thought, for his comfortable sleeper and for the reliability of his good ol’ diesel engine. They had the most important things-warmth and shelter and a comfortable bed. Towels and bedding for her; soft, clean flannel shirts to wrap the baby in. The first-aid kit, with scissors and disinfectant and all kinds of stuff to tie off the cord. Even a plastic squeeze bottle that held eyewash-which he dumped out-in case he needed something to suction out the baby’s nose and mouth.

As far as he could see he had everything except water for boiling, but what the heck-he always had wondered what all that hot water was supposed to be for. So it looked like he was ready. Ready as he was ever going to be.

On the radio Garth Brooks was singing “Silent Night.” Jimmy Joe smiled a little, remembering what Mirabella had said about never having heard of him, and turned it up some more so she could hear it.

“All is calm, all is bright…”

This is the calm before the storm, he thought, rubbing his eyes.

Then for some reason he remembered that Mirabella had mentioned she wore contacts. He wondered if she’d thought about them, and whether she might want to take them out and put them away for safekeeping. He wondered just how blind she was without them. There was so much about her he didn’t know.

He reached through the curtain and knocked lightly on the side of the closet. “Hey, how you doin’ in there?” He listened, and when he didn’t hear any urgent orders to keep out, went ahead and pulled back the curtain.

She was lying on her side with her back to him, knees drawn up slightly and her head resting on her arm. He could see the pale curve of her cheek, and her hair pooling like spilled wine on the pillow behind her. He thought for a moment she might be sleeping, until he saw that her hand was moving over her belly in slow, caressing circles. He went to sit on the mattress beside her, being careful not to jostle her too much, and reached over to smooth back the wisps of hair from her face. He felt dampness, but didn’t know whether it was sweat or tears. Either way, he felt his throat tighten.

“Everything okay?” he asked huskily. “Feelin’ better now?”

She sniffed and nodded, moving her head slightly so he could see she had her eyes closed. Then she whispered something, and he had to lean closer to hear. “Make a mess…” was all he caught. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to strangle her.

“Marybell,” he said with an incredulous snort, “you really are the limit, you know that?”

The exasperation in his voice startled her enough so she opened her eyes and craned her head around so she could look at him, frowning. “Why?”

“You always this hard on yourself?”

The frown turned into uncertainty; she looked as vulnerable as a scolded child. “What…do you mean?”

With restraint and tenderness he brushed his knuckles across her eyebrows, using his thumb to smooth out the worry-creases between them. “Look at you-here you are, doing probably the most fantastic and wonderful thing it’s possible for any human being to do, and you’re worried about makin’ a mess? Woman, what am I gonna do with you?” She drew a quivering sniff and didn’t say anything. He cocked his head to one side and teasingly asked, “Tell me the truth-did you seriously think you were gonna have a baby without makin’ a mess?”

“I sure did mean to try,” she muttered.

It felt good to laugh.

While he was doing that, he also had a strong desire to gather her into his arms and kiss her, but he was pretty sure it was the last thing she would have welcomed. Instead, he remembered to ask her about her contacts.

“I already took them out,” she told him, struggling to sit up. “They’re in my overnight bag.” She paused to glare at him. “And don’t you dare lose them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said humbly, and was delighted when she socked him right smartly in the arm.

By the time he’d helped her get herself turned around so her legs were dangling off the edge of the bed, though, he could see the shine of sweat on her skin. He watched her as she sat gripping the edge of the mattress and breathing hard, slowly rocking herself, and then he reached out and gently wiped her forehead with the palm of his hand.

His throat ached when she sighed and murmured, “That feels good.”

“Wish I had some cool water,” he mumbled.

She took a breath and then surprised him with a soft laugh. “Do you know…that I planned to have this baby in a tub full of water?”

“A what?”

“It’s called a birthing tub. It’s the latest thing. It’s supposed to make it a lot easier for… both them the mother and the baby. I had it all…planned. Oh…damn.” Her breathing had gotten faster and her voice more guttural, until it ended in one of those belly-deep groans. He could see her teeth clench as she tried to stifle it.

“Why don’t you go ahead and holler?” he grunted when he’d gotten his arms around her and her weight settled against his chest. “I don’t mind, and it might make you feel better.” He doubted she even heard him.

Later when the crisis had passed, though still in pain, she tried again to tell him-almost, it seemed to him, as if she were compelled. As if it was terribly important to her, as if he wouldn’t know she hadn’t meant it to be like this.

“I had it planned,” she whispered. “I did…everything right. Everything.”

Not everything, he thought. And because it had been making so much noise in his head for so long, and because he didn’t think she was really going to hear him anyway, he went ahead and asked it, in a harsh and raspy voice that wasn’t even his.