For a few moments he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just sat rigid and vibrating with his arms locked in a protective circle around Mirabella and her baby, with Mirabella’s cheek pressed tight against his forehead. But no male animal tolerates such vulnerability for long. Self-preservation messages sang along his nerves and shouted in his brain: Protect yourself! Take cover! Flee!

Heart hammering, muscles surging, he “fled” to the limits of available space, which in his case was only as far as the front of the cab-to his own realm, his domain, where he’d always been in supreme control-to his driver’s seat. But it was enough. In that familiar space he felt his heartbeat slow and his panicked breathing ease, and a sense of humility and calm settled warm and soft around his shoulders. He looked over at Mirabella, propped upon the pillows, eyes shining in her pale face like silver stars as she gazed back at him, then down at the baby cradled against her breast. He thought he’d never seen such a beautiful sight in all his life. The Madonna herself couldn’t have looked so lovely.

He huffed out air, smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Wow,” he said. “Amy, huh?” And then again, “Wow.”

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked softly.

His heart stumbled; his chest quaked. He nodded.

She leaned forward, holding the baby toward him in her outstretched arms, swaddled in his own favorite, his very softest blue plaid flannel shirt. He took her like the precious gift she was, with suspended breath, with gratitude and awe, and held her up so he could see her face-to-face…eye-to-eye. “Hello, Amy Jo,” he whispered. Welcome.

She gazed back at him with her unfocused newborn’s stare, one tiny fist curling and uncurling against one perfect, petallike cheek. And suddenly it seemed to Jimmy Joe that he heard tiny, silvery tinklings and loud, rumbling crashes, the sounds of things falling and breaking all around him. Soft and miraculous as the sound of raindrops falling on flower petals-the sound of a heart falling in love. Mighty and powerful as an avalanche-the sound of the earth shifting beneath his feet, of his life changing forever.

My God, he thought. My God.

He thought how different this was from the way he’d felt when he’d first set eyes on his son, J.J. He’d been so proud, of course. Sorry he hadn’t been there to see him born. And relieved the baby was healthy and strong, glad his own long vigil was finally over, hopeful Patti would stay off the dope this time, and sad because deep in his heart he’d known she wouldn’t. It was only later that he’d come to love that little boy more than his own life.

But this-he’d never felt anything like this before. He felt awed and humbled, yes, but also strong and powerful, invincible and mighty. For this little girl he would slay dragons, move mountains, swim oceans. He would guard and protect her, lay down his life for her, and love her without condition until the day he died.

Behind him, the CB radio gave a little belch of static. He’d forgotten-he’d left the channel open in case the doctor in Amarillo or the state troopers needed to get ahold of him. Now, though, it reminded him of something.

“Somethin’ I need to do,” he muttered. And it pleased him, as he tucked the bundled baby neatly into the crook of one arm, that it felt so natural and easy, and how quickly it all came back to him.

He reached to unhook the mike he’d left dangling across the passenger seat and looked over at Mirabella. She smiled sleepily back at him and nodded. He glanced down once more at the baby nestled against his heart and then, using the hand with the mike in it, he tuned in channel 19.

Only the rush of the open channel filled the cab; in the lonely hours of Christmas morning, it seemed, even the tired truckers had run out of something to say.

Elation filled him. He was grinning from ear to ear as he mashed the button and calmly intoned, “Breaker, one-nine… Merry Christmas, all you drivers out there on 1-40… This is the Big Blue maternity ward. Thought you’d like to know…we got us a little Christmas present here. Mama and new baby daughter are both doin’ just fine. Folks…say hello to Amy Jo…”

Well, the minute he said that, he knew it was a mistake. The radio just about exploded with whoopin’ and hollerin’ and everybody trying to talk at once. He got the volume turned down as quick as he could, but it didn’t help much. From the sound of things, every driver within hearing distance of his broadcast was cutting loose with his airhorn. At the unaccustomed noise, Amy Jo’s eyes, instead of staring with searching intensity at his face, squinched up tight, and her fists started waving and she began to make unhappy squeaking noises.

“Uh…sure do ‘preciate all your good wishes,” he said as soon as he could reclaim the channel again. “Let me tell you, it’s been a long night, and I think mama and baby could both do with a little peace and quiet, so, uh, we’d ’preciate it if you’d use your lights instead of your horns to say hello while you’re passin’ us by… Thank ya kindly, an’…y’all have a Merry Christmas, now. Ten-four.”

After that things got quiet, except for an exuberant toot busting loose now and then. Jimmy Joe put away the mike and gave his full attention to the baby, who by this time was getting warmed up pretty good. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mirabella, riled and worried as a mama bear hearing her cub squall, but instead of handing the baby over to her, he cuddled her closer and gently joggled her while he crooned, “Shh…it’s okay, sweetheart. Hush, now… hush.” And he began to sing to her the way he always used to sing to J.J., and just once in her too-short life, to another precious little girl.


“Bye baby bunting,

Daddy’s gone a-hunting,

Gone to get a rabbit skin

To wrap the baby bunting in.


From the nest he’d made for her in his sleeper bed, Mirabella watched him rock and sing to her newborn baby and didn’t once think about how politically incorrect the lullaby was. Strange shivers and tingles ran about beneath her skin like pulses of electricity; a lump she couldn’t identify sat in her chest-was it panic? was it fear?-and no matter how many cleansing breaths she took, she couldn’t ease it. She wanted to cry-what else was new? She wanted to laugh.

Oh, God, what is this? she wondered. Could it possibly be normal? Something she’d missed in all those books she’d read, some kind of postpartum high, perhaps. It would certainly explain why she seemed to see him as a blur in a wash of shimmery golden light.

But it wouldn’t explain the desolation and longing she felt, seeing him over there in his seat, so far away from her. So far away. The emptiness in her arms where her baby should be-that she understood. But what was this chill all around her where his arms had been? Why did she feel so lost without him near her, so lonely without his body next to hers? Come back! she wanted to cry. Please come and hold me again. Her face ached with the pressure of her longing.

He must have seen something in her expression, because he rose slowly and came to lean over her, crooning as he settled the once-again-peacefully-sleeping baby in her arms. Crooning to her, not the baby. “There now…it’s okay. Here she is…here she is. Yeah…see there? Everything’s okay now.”

And as she gazed down at her daughter’s face-so perfect, so lovely-a sob shuddered through her. No, it’s not okay. We’re not enough, Amy and me. We need you. Please stay. We’re not complete without you!

“Hey, now,” he said huskily, sitting on the edge of the bed. She felt his fingers under her chin, gently lifting it. Felt his thumb brush at the wetness on her cheek. “What’s all this, hmm? Come on, now, Marybell, don’t cry.”

She raised her eyes to his face, able to see it clearly now that he was close to her again, even without her contacts. She could see his kind, warm eyes, his sweet, familiar smile.

Oh, God, what am I doing? she thought. What am I thinking of? After everything he’s done for me. After everything I’ve put him through…

She sniffed and said in a low voice, “I’m okay. It’s just…I think I’m just really tired.”

“Sure you are.” He stroked the hair back from her temples, and she tried, really tried not to find anything but his own natural compassion in the tenderness. “You just lie back there and sleep. I’m not gonna let anything happen to your baby.”

She nodded, but couldn’t tell him how she felt inside-trembly and wired, her nerves jumping around inside her like popcorn in a popper. “You must be exhausted, too,” she said huskily. “Jimmy Joe, I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to thank you-”

“Oh, hey-” he began, but she put her fingers to his lips.

“For everything you’ve done. I know I must have put you through hell.”

He kissed her fingertips, then shook his head, eluding them. “Naw, you were great,” he said in a gravelly voice. “You were fantastic. Beautiful.”

She smiled ruefully at him. “I don’t think so. I seem to remember I hit you a couple of times.”

“’S okay…I had it comin’.” His dimples flickered on and off, like signal lights.

“I know I yelled mean things at you.”

“Hey, I told you to, remember?”

She allowed herself a brief ripple of laughter, throaty and precarious. “Well, anyway…I just want to apologize, okay? For the god-awful mess I’ve made of your truck, for any really weird and embarrassing things I might have said or done…”

He winced as if she’d poked him and made an exasperated clicking sound. “Now there you go again. You worry about the doggonedest things, you know that? Woman, you just brought a brand-new life into this world! You got nothin’ to apologize for, understand?”