Kathleen Creighton - One Christmas Knight

She sat hunched forward in the chair, rocking it slightly, making faint creaking sounds, not saying anything. He watched the way her hair shone warm in the light, like polished cherry-wood, and thought again of the nursery rhyme about the robin.

“Selfish…” She whispered it, then shook her head and said slowly, “And yet, you brought me here.”

His feelings burned inside him like fire. He wanted so much for her to understand. “But that’s just it,” he said with gravel in his throat. “I know you’re not selfish.”

“No-maybe I am selfish.” She left the chair rocking, empty, and came to the railing, her chin lifted in that uppity way she had. And he caught his breath, filled with a sudden burst of pride and delight in her, so it was all he could do to keep himself from bursting out in smiles and dragging her into his arms then and there.

“I wanted to be a mother,” she said, roused and angry. “That’s pretty selfish, I know. And I had a good job, plenty of money, a really nice home, and all this love and warmth and security-everything a child could want or need, right? Except for one thing-oops. no father! Bummer. But then I thought, so what? The important thing is the love, not who it comes from, or how many. I know lots of kids with two parents who’d be a helluva lot better off with one-or none at all, if you want to know the truth. So I thought, I’ve got enough love for two people, and I knew I’d make one terrific parent, so I decided to do it. I planned to try it this way first, and if that didn’t work, I’d adopt. But it did work. And if you want me to say I’m sorry I did it-wett, I’m not.”

He listened to the angry rhythm of her breathing and felt his own pulses quicken in response, and his body heat with a passion to match hers, although he knew it was a different kind. He meant to change that as soon as he could. He didn’t move toward her, though, but said in a slow, soft drawl, “Well, Marybell, like I said, I know you’re not selfish. And I won’t say you’re wrong about anything you just said, especially the part about the love bein’ what’s important, and you bein’ a terrific mama. Which I guess just leaves me with one question.” He turned his head to look at her. “Why? Why did you have to do it this way? I mean, look at you-you’re smart, funny, warm, a whole lotta fun to argue with, and probably the most beautiful, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Her breath caught, and surprise flashed like summer lightning in her eyes. His own heart stumbled, then began to pound like answering thunder. He whirled away from her, not trusting himself so near her, heat pumping through his body. Struggling with it, searching for a way to say it without being crude, he finally burst out with, “Woman, there must have been men fallin’ over themselves to be the father of your child!”

Behind him, she laughed softly and unevenly, as if someone had taken her by the shoulders and shaken her. “Maybe so. But not the right one.” Silence pulsed between them.

Then she said in her brisk, businesslike Mirabella voice, “I guess you want to know how come I’m a virgin at thirty-eight. Well, like I said, I didn’t exactly plan it that way. My problem has always been, you see, that I don’t look anything like who I really am. I told you what I was like as a child. Well, there was a poem I remember-it was about this little girl who was a tomboy on the outside, but inside she was something completely different. That was me. It still is. When I was fat and homely, I kept waiting for some little boy to see how funny and smart and generous I was.

“By the time I got prettier, I’d developed this enormous chip on my shoulder. So now I looked like this cute, sexy little airhead, when actually I was an angry, resentful witch. And…I I kept waiting for some guy to see how funny and smart and generous I was in spite of all that.”

Remembering the thought that had come to him way back in that truck-stop diner in New Mexico, Jimmy Joe wanted to burst out with, ‘I would have! Me!“ It took all the patience and good manners he had in him not to interrupt her.

“Guess what? Nobody ever did. Oh, I had crushes, of course-always on somebody who didn’t have a clue. Guys who were attracted to me because of my looks-which was pretty much all of them-got turned off as soon as they found out who I really was. They just weren’t expecting somebody who looks like I do to have a brain, I guess. They thought they’d be getting this adorable little someone they could dominate and control, and when they found out I was bossy and independent and headstrong and just as capable as they were-if not more so-boy, did they back off in a hurry.

“So…” She gulped, and suddenly there were tears in her voice. She lowered it to a whisper and went on, hurrying now, determined to get it all said. “I kept waiting for some guy to come along who would see how smart and funny and generous, and headstrong and independent and capable I was, and love me anyway. And no one ever did. I could have settled for just…someone, I suppose, but I’ve never been much good at compromising.” She stopped there for a short huff of dry laughter, then finished in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “For me it was the right man, or none at all. Eventually, I realized that the right man wasn’t going to come along in time, and if I was going to have a child, I’d have to do it without one. So I did.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy Joe said hoarsely, “you just gave up too soon.”

“I’m gon‘ be rollin’ into home ‘bout twelve, one, tonight. My wife’s gon’ be lyin‘ in bed a-waitin’ for me.”

I-40-Texas

“Oh…Jimmy Joe.”

He turned to her then, all primed and ready to take her in his arms, but when he saw the way she was looking at him he froze, a terrible fear prickling his skin. Her eyes were huge and dark with tears; he could see them glistening, too, on her cheeks.

“Don’t you see?” she said, her voice so gentle and sad it just about broke his heart. “You don’t know who I really am, either, any more than they did. You don’t know me-how could you? You’ve only seen me…what-when I was in labor. Weak and helpless and scared to death and vulnerable. And now with Amy, when I’m such a soppy, sentimental fool. That’s not me. I’m not at all like that!”

He would have reached for her right then, pulled her into his arms and murmured reassurances into her mouth, but she put up both hands to ward him off, and continued in a rapid, breathless voice.

“I’m an impossible person to live with. I’m moody, and I really need my privacy, my own space. I’d organize you to death-I’m frighteningly efficient. And a compulsive planner. I always have my Christmas shopping done-and everything wrapped-by mid-October. I’m bossy and argumentative, and I always have to be right. I stick notes on things, and underline in magazines. I…I’m a health nut. I don’t eat red meat. And I really do hate country music!”

He studied her as she wound down through the laundry list of her shortcomings, saying nothing to derail her. But as he listened and watched her, he felt the fear slowly leave him, and the quiet joy of certainty come to take its place. He knew he could have kissed her then, and in a very short time thereafter had her in his bed. But it wasn’t about that. It never had been. It was more important than that. There was a lot more at stake here than a few passion-filled hours. This was about the rest of his life. Except for the issue of her virginity, he couldn’t see how taking her to bed was going to solve anything important.

He didn’t think arguing with her was going to solve anything, either. He thought about it-about finally making his pitch like a traveling salesman and telling her all the ways he’d figured out that she could have a life with him here in Georgia and still do the things she liked to do out there in L.A.; how she could start her own business, if she wanted to, and go to Atlanta for shopping and concerts and plays, or to Athens, even to the university.

But he knew this wasn’t the right time for that, either. She was right about a couple of things-she did dearly love to argue, and she did hate being wrong. At the moment she was on a roll, and he had an idea if he tried to argue with her she would just dig her heels in and get stubborn about it, more than ever determined to prove she was right.

“Reminds me of one of the great movie lines of all time,” he drawled, when he saw she’d finally run down. He paused, shrugged, and delivered it: ‘“Oh, well…nobody’s perfect.’”

She blinked, then let go a misty gust of laughter. He saw a look of confusion flash like a bird shadow across her face.

“Gettin’ cold out,” he said gently. “Gettin’ late. Come on, let’s go inside. I’ll show you to your room.”

He put his hand on her back to guide her through the door he was holding open for her, and felt her tremble. He almost lost it then, all his resolve and patience and self-control. Okay, he thought, so maybe making love to her wouldn’t solve anything important between them, but it sure as heck would take care of her trembling, not to mention the hunger that was burning up his insides.

He was starting to worry about that, too. If things kept building up in him the way they were, he was afraid that when he finally did make love to her, he might have trouble being as gentle with her as he knew he was going to need to be. This whole thing, in fact, was turning out to be a lot more complicated and difficult than he’d thought it would be. It was going to take just about all the patience and self-discipline he had in him to get it to work out right. But he never doubted that it would. Or that she was worth it.

I really hate this, thought Mirabella. Here she was, all primed to have it out with him once and for all, and he’d left her flat, with nobody to fight with. Now she felt frustrated, and a little foolish.