And that made him wonder all the more what she was doing out here in the middle of New Mexico, pregnant and alone, and why she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. But. he was a Southern boy, and way too well-brought-up to ask.
Chapter 4
“Where’d you say that truck stop is? I’m so hungry I’m chewin‘ on air.”
I-40-New Mexico
The bowlful of steaming chicken-noodle soup the waitress set in front of Mirabella looked good and smelled even better. Even so, she sat regarding it without enthusiasm until Jimmy Joe picked up her spoon and held it out to her and said, “Eat,” in a tone that brooked no argument. Then with a sigh she took the spoon from him, plunged it into the bowl, lifted it laden with noodles and dripping broth, and blew on it, more to forestall the moment when she would have to put it in her mouth than because it actually needed cooling.
Jimmy Joe, who wasn’t fooled, said, “Come on, quit stalling.” Mirabella took a deep breath.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry. That is, her stomach felt hungry-she just didn’t seem to have any desire for food. Which was a state of affairs she would normally have relished, having spent most of her life fighting the inescapable effects of a disgustingly healthy and indiscriminating appetite. But the truth was, she simply felt too awful to eat., She was so tired. And she had such a backache. Plus, she was worried about the weather, and feeling emotionally vulnerable about Christmas, just the thought of which made her throat constrict like a too-tight collar. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was, the distracting and disturbing presence of Jimmy Joe Starr.
As hard as she tried to ignore it, as determined as she was not to acknowledge it, to look somewhere else-anywhere else-and pretend a nonchalance she didn’t in the least feel, she was acutely aware of him. She knew he was studying her, though trying his best not to be obvious and rude about it; watching her when he thought it was safe with a puzzled intensity she couldn’t quite fathom. Why is he looking at me like that? she kept wondering. As if he had a question that was burning a hole in his tongue. If there’s something he wants to know about me, she thought irritably, why doesn’t he just ask? Or is he just too damn polite?
That was it. It had to be. He was so young, he probably hadn’t had much experience with pregnant women, so naturally, Mirabella told herself, he would be curious. But it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could just ask a stranger about-not without being rude-and if there was anything in the world this guy was, besides cute and young, it was polite.
Thinking about the man-boy, really-in those terms, while being careful not to actually look at him, Mirabella began to feel gratifyingly mature and maternal. Her confidence growing, she lifted her lashes, found Jimmy Joe’s nice brown eyes and smiled.
And just like that, all the maternal feeling she’d managed to conjure up went right out the window, along with most of the maturity and confidence.
Oh, Lord, she thought, what does this mean? The particular intensity in that warm-as-mink gaze couldn’t possibly be what it appeared to be. Of course not. Oh, no.
The truth was, one of the few things in life Mirabella had never learned how to handle was male admiration. Other than in a business context, of course; appreciation of her talent and capabilities from the male-dominated world she worked in was something she not only welcomed, but considered no more than her due. But let the soft glow of admiration in a man’s eyes flare into something more personal, more primitive-like lust, say-and her instant reaction was apt to be, “Who, me? What, is he nuts?”
Catching a glimpse of something of the sort in Jimmy Joe’s eyes, her first reaction was shock: My God, how can he? I look like a whale! That was closely followed by dismay: What can he be thinking of? After that came disappointment. She concluded sadly that he must be one of those men she’d heard about who actually found pregnant women sexy. Which she considered truly disgusting.
Thoroughly unnerved, compelled almost against her will to be sure, Mirabella braced herself, then stole another look. This one was more covert than the first, slanted upward through her lashes as she dipped her head to meet the laden spoon. But now the heavy-lidded gaze she encountered held nothing more than patient amusement.
“Eat,” said Jimmy Joe sternly, tapping the tabletop with a forefinger.
Okay, I was wrong, she thought. Oh, thank God Giddy with relief, she feigned resentment. “I’m eating. I’m eating, already. You don’t have to watch me, you know.”
“Yeah, I do,” said Jimmy Joe. But his tone was teasing, and his smile wry.
Relaxing, Mirabella tossed back the wing of hair she’d been hiding behind and smiled across the table in a friendlier way. “Seriously-I don’t need a baby-sitter. I know I intruded on whatever it was you were doing-making a phone call, weren’t you?-so why don’t you just go on, pretend I’m not here. I won’t listen, I promise.” Go ahead, she thought, pretending she didn’t in the least care, call your…girlfriend? Wife?
He scooted back the sleeve of his sweatshirt in order to look at his watch, then shrugged and gave her a regretful little smile. “Ah, I was just tryin’ to get ahold of my son, is all. Past his bedtime back there now, though. I’ll catch him in the mornin’.”
“You have a son?” For some reason, that jolted Mirabella, and she halted her spoon in surprise. It wasn’t that he didn’t look old enough; how old, after all, did a guy have to be to make a baby? But she’d just finished convincing herself that he was only a boy himself so she could feel comfortable with him, and now fatherhood made that image somewhat difficult to maintain.
“Yeah…his name’s J.J.” He said it with diffidence. But something about his voice, the smile that flitted across his face like a blinding flash of sunlight he hadn’t been able to avoid, caused a sudden soft prickling in the area of Mirabella’s heart, rather like a bad case of static electricity.
He’s so proud of him, she thought. And hard on the heels of that realization came another, much more unexpected: I’ll bet he’s a terrific father. “Tell me about him,” she said mistily. “How old is he?”
Jimmy Joe kind of stretched and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck while he thought about it-which she was almost certain he didn’t need to do in order to tell her how old his own child was. What it did was add a touch of winsome modesty to his already considerable charm. “Ah, let’s see… He’d be eight.”
“Eight months? Oh, that’s a cute age.” An image flashed into her mind-a softly lit picture of Jimmy Joe cuddling a baby against his manly pecs. Which produced another of those peculiar stirrings deep in her own chest.
He grinned. “Not so cute. That’s eight years. They tend to get pretty ornery by that age.”
“You’re kidding.” Mirabella’s spoon, halted once more on its downward arc, clattered unnoticed to the table.
His head bobbed in an affirming nod. “Be nine next July.”
Lacking Jimmy Joe’s Southern reserve and good manners, she went ahead and said it: “You don’t look old enough.”
He didn’t exactly seem flattered by that, which, she thought, was in itself a measure of how young he was. Instead he shifted in an embarrassed sort of way and muttered, “Oh, I’m plenty old enough. Pushin’ thirty.”
Thirty. Mirabella couldn’t think what to say. After a moment she picked up her spoon and calmly murmured, “Well, you don’t look it.” She was thinking, Eight…almost nine years… My God. The prickly feeling in her chest slowly dissipated.