One Christmas Knight

She felt bewildered and abandoned, but at the same time vindicated, never more sure of the rightness of her decision than at this moment. Relationships were just too hard. Men and women never really understood one another. They were like alien species, struggling to cohabit on the same planet, each believing they’d figured out how to speak the other’s language when in reality neither of them had a clue. And while it was true that some people did seem to find ways to make it work, those relationships always seemed wonderful and miraculous to her, like stories of scientists cohabiting with chimps, or gorilla mothers rescuing human children. As far as she could see, most marriages-even seemingly happy ones like her own parents’-were quiet daily struggles just to understand and be understood.

I don’t understand, she thought. What did I do to make him look at me like that?

It couldn’t be the fact that she’d had a baby-a moment ago he’d told her, with glowing softness in his eyes and tenderness in his touch, what a wonderful thing she’d done. And if he didn’t particularly approve of the way she’d done it, why on earth should it matter so much to him? What could possibly make him look at her with such pain and disappointment in his eyes? As if, in some indefinable way, she’d betrayed him.

It was one of the few times in Jimmy Joe’s life he wished he’d had the courage to go against his mama and take up smoking. Then at least he would have an explainable excuse for what he was doing, stomping up and down in the bitter cold, trying to keep his extremities from freezing. Funny how nobody ever seemed to think it was crazy to risk a case of frostbite just to grab a few puffs of a cigarette.

But he couldn’t think of any kind of reasonable explanation for not wanting to go back inside his nice warm truck just yet. He was just so…well, hell. He didn’t know what he was, that was the problem. He didn’t know if he was mad, or disappointed, or what. He for sure didn’t know why it mattered so much.

Well, yeah, he did, too. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

He thought about how he’d felt when he’d first run into Mirabella back there in New Mexico; how he’d judged her selfish and irresponsible for doing what she was doing, making a trip like that all alone; how angry it had made him to see her putting her child at risk. He hadn’t known what to do with those feelings then, when she’d been no more than a stranger to him. And he sure didn’t know what to do with them now that there was so much more at stake.

And that was the crux of his problem. Because somewhere along the way he’d gotten to know her, even thought he was beginning to understand her.

Somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with her, even though she was as different from him-with her sophisticated big-city ways-as night was from day. And not only with her, but with her baby, too. And now he just couldn’t figure out how in the name of heaven he could have done such a thing. How could he love a woman when her beliefs and her whole way of thinking and living were completely different from his?

You just do.

The answer didn’t come to him like a revelation or anything, with beckoning stars and singing angels. It had been in his heart all along, and what he was doing out there freezing his butt off in the Panhandle wind was trying to get used to having it there. Trying to get used to the pain it brought him. Because yeah, he loved the woman, in spite of all the ways she was different from him. No doubt in his mind about that at all. And even if she loved him back-which was by no means a given-there wasn’t any way in the world it was ever going to work out between them.

So, what was he going to do? What could he do?

Well, he knew the answer to that one, too. What he was going to do was go back there to his truck and keep the woman he loved and her new baby girl warm and safe until somebody came to take them away from him forever. And while he was doing that, he would be trying his best to understand how a beautiful, bright, funny woman could think it was okay to have a baby without ever knowing what it was like to make love to a man, and how she could do something so selfish as to deliberately deny her child the chance to grow up in a home with both a mom and a dad in it.

And, he thought, remembering the pain and disappointment in her eyes when he’d left her, if that didn’t work, he would do his best to pretend it didn’t matter.

An apology was sitting primed and ready on his tongue when he climbed back into his truck, but he never got a chance to give it to her. She’d gone to sleep at last, with the baby snuggled on her bosom, cozy as a bunny in a nest. And again he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

He went and knelt beside the bed, feasting his eyes on the two of them, mother and child. He picked up a strand of Mirabella’s hair and let it run like silken strands through his fingers. “Ah…Marybell,” he whispered. He’d never felt such a fullness inside. He touched the baby’s head with a single finger, wondering at the incredible softness of it, like the velvet fuzz on a butterfly’s wing. Amy Jo… He’d never felt such sadness. He wondered why it was he seemed destined to hold his sweet baby girls only once-just long enough to fall in love with them-and then lose them forever.

Mirabella awoke to the loveliest sound. Someone was singing “Greensleeves”-or rather the Christmas version, “What Child Is This?”-in a very nice tenor voice. Could it possibly be Jimmy Joe? No-the radio, of course. But what were such a nice voice and such a beautiful song doing on a country-music station? It had to be a country-music station, there wasn’t anything else out here in the middle of the Texas Panhandle.

Then she realized that she was hearing something else. Something amazing. For the first time in her life she was awakening to the sound of a man snoring in her ear. She listened to it in sleepy bemusement, finding it oddly pleasant, thinking how surprising that was. She’d always thought she would hate sleeping with a man who snored. She turned her head slightly…and felt the tickle of hair on her lips. Her heart lurched and warmth burst inside her. Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God…it’s true. I do love him.

And her logical mind quickly responded, Nonsense! It’s the circumstances. You only think you do because you were in trouble and he came to your rescue, dummy. Like a knight on a big blue charger. In fact, wasn’t that what they used to call truckers? The Knights of the Road…?

The baby nestled below her breast stirred, arching her tiny body and shooting out one fist like a miniature pugilist. So that’s what she’s been doing, her mother thought, gazing down in teary adoration. No wonder her legs had been going numb.

She moved her legs experimentally and was pleased to find that they seemed to be in working order, although they felt as though they each weighed several hundred pounds. Conversely, the middle part of her seemed light as a feather, if a little loose and jiggly, like half-set gelatin. And, when she laid an exploratory hand on it, it was not nearly as flat as she’d hoped. The lower part of her torso, the part diapered in thick layers of towels, it seemed wisest not to disturb.

Soon, she thought. It was getting light. Help would be coming soon.

She watched the light turn from blue-gray to mauve, and to a beautiful shade of rose…and then to gold. And suddenly streaks of blinding radiance shot across the sky and frozen landscape, splashed like molten fire over the dashboard and front seats and onto the bed where she lay with her baby in a sleeping man’s arms.

She gasped at the sheer glory of it, and Jimmy Joe’s snoring instantly stopped. He lifted his head from the pillow beside hers, his eyes going first to the baby then to her face. Reassured, he propped himself on one elbow and frowned at the light.

“Wha’ time is it?”

“Morning,” said Mirabella huskily. “That’s all I know. Christmas morning.”

“Everything okay?”

She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his face. For a long, seemingly endless time he gazed back at her without speaking. Then he leaned down slowly and kissed her.

She’d never been kissed like that-never. His mouth was so firm and warm and soft; strength and sensitivity wrapped in satin. It felt so wonderful. It made her feel like crying-like a beautiful sunset, a touching movie, a sad song, tiny children singing. It was nourishment-food and drink-and warmth and shelter and loving arms all rolled into one incredibly sweet, impossibly lovely touch. She wanted it to last forever.

But of course it couldn’t. Her cheeks and eyelashes were wet when he lifted his head. She gazed at him through a silvery blur, trying to read the messages in his glowing brown eyes, finding tenderness and puzzlement and wonder and fear, knowing they must be reflections of hers. Her lips trembled as she waited for him to say