Panic seized her. She couldn’t humiliate herself in front of him-she couldn’t. “Well-better go-thanks for the breather,” she chirped, not even caring how ungainly she looked, frantically hitching her beachball-shaped body along toward the edge of the bench. Or how crazy she sounded. leaving so abruptly when she’d only just sat down. All she could think about was getting out of there, away from people, away from him, before she made a complete fool of herself.
But before she could make good her escape, Jimmy Joe’s hand shot out and snagged her elbow. And there was nothing shy or reserved about the way he held on to it, or the tone of his voice when he demanded, “Hey-wait a minute. Where’re you off to?”
Ordinarily, Mirabella’s tolerance for being manhandled or questioned was just about zero. However, at the moment she was operating on sheer bravado, and the best she could come up with was a superior smile and a toss of her head meant to convey the impression that she was just bursting with selfconfidence.
“Listen-thanks very much. It was nice of you to let me, uh, share your table for a moment,” she heard herself babble. All the while she was looking anywhere but at Jimmy Joe, at anything but the strong, masculine fingers curled around her arm, or the earnest young face leaning close, now, to hers.
“But…I’m pretty tired. So I think I’m going to go out to my car and lie down for a while.” Yes-oh, yes, that would do it. She could curl up on the back seat. That would be better than nothing. Or did the front seats recline? She had no idea; she’d never had occasion to test them. Just…please, God, let me get out of here. Please let me lie down.
She was standing now. So was he. Desperately, Mirabella focused her eyes on the picture of the ugly bulldog on his University of Georgia sweatshirt. She stuck out her hand, not an easy thing to do since he was still holding her elbow, and said, “Well. It was nice meeting you, Jimmy Joe.” And she was thinking, Please, God, don’t let me cry.
Jimmy Joe knew he was about to do something rash the minute he saw those big gray eyes of hers go wide and shiny, and realized she was about one blink away from spilling over. That panicked him; he never had been able to stand seeing a woman cry.
He coughed a little bit to loosen up the nervous knot in his chest, then said, “Look…ma‘am, I’ve got a sleeper in my truck. It’s pretty comfortable, and it’d be warm. I’m not usin’ it, so if you want it, well… What I mean is, you’re welcome to it.”
Well. He could see he’d surprised her as much as he had himself, saying that. Because her eyes, which had been staring a hole in the middle of his chest, suddenly flew right up and smacked into his in a way he wasn’t prepared to handle. Sort of made him wish he could have ducked.
Then she shook her head hard and said, “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Thanks, but…”
Just like that, he didn’t know why, but all of a sudden he was mad at her again. His voice got soft and polite, which, if she’d known him better, she would have known meant he was in no mood to be crossed.
“Excuse me, ma‘am, but you’re about out on your feet, far as I can see, and I got a perfectly good sleeper goin’ wantin’. Now, I’m gonna take you out to my truck and get you settled, and then I’m gonna leave you to rest as long as you need to, y’understand? Come on, now-you need anything from your car? No? Okay, let’s go, then. Come on…”
It was the tone of voice he mostly used to get J.J. to see things his way when the boy was feeling contrary and muleheaded about something, and he was glad to see it worked just as well on muleheaded pregnant women. Just when he thought he might have to tell her his personal views on women who were too selfish or too proud to do what was right for their babies, he felt her kind of relax and let out a shaky breath of surrender.
She whispered, “That’s…really nice of you,” then looked around like she’d maybe misplaced something, and mumbled, “I just…need to use the ladies’ room first, okay? ’Scuse me…” He let her go, and she turned and headed off in the direction of the rest rooms.
As she went. Jimmy Joe saw her duck her head and brush at her eyes, and he suddenly knew she was doing her best to hold on to her pride, and hide from him how tired and grateful she really was. And he felt a softening inside, a slow melting around his heart.
He flagged down a waitress and gave her his order, along with five bucks to make sure she held his table for him until he got back. Then he got his coat and keys and went to stake out the ladies’ room from a discreet distance, not really believing she would try to skip out on him, but not quite trusting that pride of hers, either. While he waited he fidgeted with his keys and paced a little, and tried to figure out why he was letting himself get so riled up over this woman.
Mirabella. What kind of name was that, anyway? Italian, that’s what it sounded like. But with a last name like-what was it? He couldn’t remember, except that it was hard to pronounce and definitely not Italian. Unless-well, of course, it was probably her married name. That would explain the last name, but not the Mirabella. If he’d had to guess he would have said she was Irish, with that red hair and those thick dark eyelashes, and pale as she was, in the good light in the restaurant he’d detected the faint ghosts of freckles.
Not that it was any of his business.
The fact that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring wasn’t any of his business, either, but there was no use denying he’d noticed. Or that it bothered him a lot more than it should have. Jimmy Joe didn’t like to think of himself as being a judgmental person, but along with everything else he’d observed so far about this woman, the fact that she’d let herself get pregnant out of wedlock couldn’t help but have an effect on his opinion as to her basic good sense.
And it still wasn’t any of his business.
Except that now, by offering her his sleeper to rest up in, what he was doing was butting in and making her his business, wasn’t he? Which she hadn’t asked for. And doing her a kindness didn’t give him the right to pass judgment on her character. He hadn’t been brought up to behave that way, and he didn’t mean to start now. No, sir.
So here’s what you do, Jimmy Joe, he said to himself as he made one more pass around the rack of paperback books, which by this time had been pretty well picked over, so there were mostly Louis Lamours and maybe a few John Grishams left. Sue Grafton’s latest-but he’d already read that. What you do is, you’re gonna let the lady rest until they open up the road and then you‘re’gonna go on your way and forget about her. Ten-four.
When he came around the rack, there she was, just coming out of the door marked Women. She looked as though she might have washed her face and taken a brush to her hair, but as far as Jimmy Joe could see, all it had done was make her look like a lost little girl.
That was when he knew the last part of that vow he’d just made might not be so easy to live up to.
To Mirabella, the walk through the truck parking lot felt like the longest of her life. It was just so damn cold. There wasn’t any snow, but a bitter wind cut like a knife through her coat, which was a soft, lightweight leather designed for southern California winters. She wanted to hurry, but that was impossible, and for once she didn’t mind that Jimmy Joe kept a firm grip on her elbow, or resent the way he patiently adjusted his long, lanky stride to match her slow, side-to-side waddle.
“Sorry I can’t go any faster-I know I walk like an obese duck,” she said at one point, characteristically trying to mask her embarrassment with laughter.