Her world darkened, as if a cloud had drifted across the sun. “So…I guess you’re anxious to be on your way.”

“Yeah… J.J.’s waitin’ for me. Still got a load to deliver, too. You know how it is…”

“Yeah…” Her smile flickered, then went out like a snuffed candle when she met his eyes. She grabbed a desperate gulp of air and said, “You talked to J.J.?”

Jimmy Joe suddenly frowned. “Haven’t had a chance. I’m gonna call him after I get out of here, I guess. That’s if I get out-Did you know there’s a whole crowd of reporters downstairs? They tell you about that? TV, newspapers, I don’t know what all.”

He sounded so incredulous, she had to laugh. “That’s what I heard. So…I guess you’re a hero, huh? Did you talk to them?”

“Hero…” he muttered under his breath, then gave a disgusted-sounding snort. “Didn’t have much choice. They pretty much had me surrounded. Those media people sure are somethin’ else. Damn-oh, ’scuse me, ma‘am-darned if I didn’t feel ’bout like General Custer at Little Big Horn. Course…” He smiled and reached out as if he meant to touch her, and her heart skipped a beat. But he let the hand drop to his side and then made sure it stayed there by hooking the thumb in his jeans pocket. “They only talked to me because they couldn’t get at you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Me?” She tried to laugh at the absurdity of it, at the same time shrinking back against the pillows. Because having lived most of her life in a media-crazy town like Los Angeles, she knew exactly how an ordinary, unremarkable story could catch fire in the public’s imagination, especially when fueled by a hungry media trying to fill a slow news day. This story-Christmas Day, lady stranded on snowy interstate, giving birth in a truck, handsome trucker-driver hero-oh. God, it would be like manna sent from heaven!

Oh, God Everything in her cringed at the thought. How stupid she felt. How humiliating it was. To have everyone know…the people she worked with… And worse than the humiliation was the thought that the specialness of her time with Jimmy Joe, the beautiful intimacy they’d shared, might be taken away from her to become just more fodder for the newsmagazine shows.

“Oh, God,” she whispered “Oh, no…”

“Marybell, I’m afraid you are about the biggest thing to come along since Madonna had her baby,” said Jimmy Joe, smiling crookedly down at her. There was a look in her eyes she couldn’t quite fathom, a certain sadness, perhaps. Could he possibly regret the loss of what they’d had together as much as she did? Her throat filled. “The hospital’s doin’ a pretty good job of keepin’ ‘em away, so far,” he went on, “but soon as you leave here, you know they’re gonna be waitin’ to jump you. Probably be best if you just faced the music. Hold a press conference, or something, get it over with right here.”

“I’d hate that,” Mirabella snapped. She felt like a cornered animal. I don’t want to deal with this, she thought furiously. Not now. Now when I feel so vulnerable, so not myself. So alone. “I can’t do it.”

She saw her mother and Jimmy Joe exchange looks. Then he shrugged and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, lightly, as if brushing away tears. “Well, now…” he said in a soft, soothing tone, “you sure don’t have to, not if you don’t want to. Hey-I’ll just go talk to ’em for you, how’s that? Sure…listen, I’m gonna take care of it, don’t you worry about a thing.”

Okay, great, she thought resentfully. Now what does he think I am-a helpless wimp? Just because he saved my life, just because I needed him last night, does he now think I can’t get along without him?

“You don’t have to do that,” she muttered, shifting around against the pillows. I don’t need you, Jimmy Joe Starr. You, or anybody else. Amy and I will be just fine! She glowered first at Jimmy Joe, then at her mother. “Okay-okay. Tell the hospital I’ll talk to them. Just once, though. After I’ve had a chance to shower and wash my hair!”

“Marybell, are you sure you want to do this?” Jimmy Joe asked, bending over her, his eyes dark and concerned.

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “I’m not a child.”

“Well, okay then.” He ducked his head and planted a kiss on her forehead, then straightened and looked across at her mother. She heard her mother give a tiny gasp, quickly stifled, then a laugh that sounded both surprised and pleased.

“What?” she demanded, her paranoia prickling.

“I think I’d better be rollin’,” said Jimmy Joe in a husky voice as he leaned down to kiss her again. Not on the forehead this time, but on the lips, and with such tenderness she instantly forgot all her suspicions, forgot she’d just vowed she didn’t need him. Maybe she didn’t need him, but she wanted him. Oh, yes, she wanted him. Wanted him kissing her like this again-often-for all the rest of her life.

Then he straightened and she felt his fingers, briefly, in her hair. “I’ll stop by the nursery, see if they’ll let me say goodbye to Amy Jo. You take care a’ yourself, now, you hear? Ma’am-sure was nice meetin’ you.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Mirabella stared after him, feeling stunned…like a hollow, aching shell. I can’t believe it, she thought. He’s gone. I’m never going to see him again.

“Well,” her mother said when the door had closed silently behind him, letting her breath out in a rush of laughter. “I certainly can see why you feel about him the way you do.”

“Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?” Mirabella’s voice was light and breathy, cheery and fragile as a soap bubble.

“Oh, honey, anyone can see you’re crazy about him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Mirabella with a snort. “Just look at him, Mom.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I did. He’s an absolute joy to look at. I also saw the way he looked at you, my dear. Those eyes…”

Mirabella rolled hers in exasperation and leaned back against the pillows. “Oh, brother. Don’t read anything into it, okay? He just has kind eyes, that’s all. And cute little dimples and a sweet, sexy smile. So what? He’s not even thirty. That’s eight years younger than I am, Mom. Eight years. So, forget it.” She sniffed and threw an arm across her eyes. “Just forget it, okay?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Ginger said with a soft laugh, “Well, all I can say is, for somebody so young, he’s awfully wise. He certainly managed to figure you out in a hurry.”

Mirabella uncovered one eye. “What are you talking about?”

Her mother was wearing that arch, Moms-know-everything look that always annoyed her so. “I’m talking about that nifty little piece of reverse psychology he just pulled on you. Boy, how did he get your number so fast? That’s what I want to know.”

“Reverse-that was no such thing!” said Mirabella hotly. “I simply-”

“Bella, he winked at me.”

“He what?”

“He winked at me-right after you’d ‘knuckled under’ to his demand for a press conference.”

“He didn’t.”

“Yes, dear, he did. He saw you crumbling like a wet cookie, and somehow he already knows you well enough to realize that the best way to get you to do something you don’t want to do is to tell you you can’t do it, or offer to do it for you.”

“Yeah, well, if he knows me so well,” Mirabella sobbed angrily, “how come he didn’t stay, huh? Tell me that!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, the man had things to do! Besides, with all those prickles of yours, how was he supposed to know you wanted him to? Oh, my dear,” her mother said huskily, “you have so much pride. But I’ll tell you this-if you let that beautiful young man get away, you are absolutely crazy. Do you hear me? Crazy.”

And she said no more. Because like the terrific mother she was and always had been, she knew when it was time to ignore all the prickles, and simply… hug.

A nurse bustled in, strewing cheer before her like flower petals. “Oh-having a little cry, are we? We certainly know how that is! Well, I have someone here who’s going to make you feel a lot better!” She held back the door and wheeled in a tiny plastic bassinet with a practiced flourish. “Here you go-this pretty little girl wants her mama, don’t you, sweetie pie? Yes, you do…”

Mirabella sat up straight, sniffling, and wiped her eyes on her hospital gown as she searched avidly through her tears. “Oh,” she cried, laughing when she saw the tiny bundle tucked in a bright red Christmas stocking, a tiny red stockinette cap on her fuzzy pink head. “She looks just like an elf!”

“That’s just what she is,” cooed the nurse. “A li‘l ol’ Christmas elf. And she’s all nice an’ clean an’ sweet, an’ she’s even had a visit from her handsome daddy, and now she’s hungry, aren’t you, darlin’? Here you go, mama.”

And she scooped up the baby, red stocking and all. Mirabella held out her arms, and as the nurse placed her daughter into them, she wondered again in utter awe how something so tiny could rouse such enormous feelings in her.

“Oh…” she whispered, and a moment later she wasn’t even astonished to hear herself doing something she’d vowed she would never, ever do. But she was. She-intelligent, sensible, no-nonsense Mirabella-was talking baby talk. Cooing like a besotted dove. “Hi, there… How’s my widdle girl? How’s my sweetie-little-lov’ums, huh?”

Oh, it was awful. It was glorious. It was… Amy. Her baby. Her miracle.

The nurse hovered, ready to help with the breast-feeding, until she saw that Mirabella didn’t seem to need any help. She laughed and said, “Well, I see somebody’s taught you right. I’ll just leave you to it, then. Y’all just give me a buzz, now, if you need anything.” She parked the bassinet beside the bed and went away.

“Who was it?” Ginger asked softly. “Jimmy Joe?”

Mirabella nodded, her head bowed as she gazed intently at her hungrily nursing daughter. She rocked herself slowly back and forth, awash in prickles and weighed down by an ache deep. deep inside her.