“There, now,” he said tenderly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Shaken and relieved, she laughed. And deep inside her he felt it, and with her felt all the newness, wonder and excitement of the very first time. Her first time. His, he would always remember as a Christmas night in the sleeper of his snow-bound truck. Shaken himself, he thought of miracles; frightened, he thought of his life if he’d never found her, and with his heart pounding, bowed his head and sought her mouth and kissed her until his world had righted itself again.
He rocked her gently, so gently. Her tender body enfolded and caressed him and he felt every muscle and tremor, every pulse beat, the tiniest flinch and spasm. He knew when she tensed and tightened, and when she relaxed and softened, and when her body began to swell and throb to its own rhythms; when it was time to take them over and make them his…and then theirs. And when he could take them both to the limit-and beyond. And finally…finally, he knew when to let them both go, so that they spun wildly, deliriously out of control, overwhelmed and laughing with the sheer joy of living, and of making and being in love.
Quietness and peace came slowly, like twilight settling down after the sun has set in a blaze of glory. In the stillness between sighs, Mirabella heard it-the snuffling, snorting sounds of a baby waking.
“Oh, boy,” she murmured, laughing. “Perfect timing.”
“I’ll get her,” Jimmy Joe said. He was already pulling on his sweats, padding across the room in his bare feet.
A few minutes later he was back with Amy tucked expertly in the crook of his arm, a fresh diaper and dry blankets in his other hand. Her heart turned over as she watched him spread out the blankets and change her daughter’s diaper while she stretched and gurgled and made faces at him in the soft light of the bedside lamp. When he finished, he scooped Amy up and placed her gently in her waiting arms, then quickly piled up pillows, climbed back into bed and drew Mirabella against him and pulled the blankets around them all.
“I think,” said Mirabella drowsily, “I know what the old man meant. About this bed being a marriage bed-a bed for a lifetime. It’s this, isn’t it? For being together…”
He nodded. “For making love, and just talking…”
“For making plans…”
“Reading out loud to your kids…and grandkids…”
“Cuddling on Sunday mornings…”
“Reading the paper…”
“Making love…”
“Making babies.”
“Making babies?” she asked, craning to look at him. “Are you sure?”
“Well,” he said, “of course, Amy Jo’s mine already, but I wouldn’t mind makin’ a couple more-long as we do it the old-fashioned way.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said slowly, “You do realize, don’t you, that if I hadn’t done what I did, I’d never have met you? If it hadn’t been for that idiotic thing I did, I wouldn’t have been out there on that interstate, pregnant, in labor, stranded. Then you couldn’t have rescued me, and then where would we be?” She shivered suddenly, and his arms tightened around her.
“I don’t know,” he said, dazed. “I guess you might be right.”
Mirabella laughed softly. “Of course I am,” she said triumphantly. “I’m always right.”
“Okay, eastbound, I’m headin’ for the barn.”
“Happy trails, westbound. Ten-four…”
KATHLEEN CREIGHTON
KATHLEEN CREIGHTON has roots deep in the California soil but has relocated to South Carolina. As a child, she enjoyed listening to old-timers’ tales, and her fascination with the past only deepened as she grew older. Today, she says she is interested in everything-art, music, gardening, zoology, anthropology and history, but people are at the top of her list. She also has a lifelong passion for writing, and now combines her two loves in romance novels.
