The Cateses' blue truck stopped in front, and Hardy strode to the door. He was wearing a fleece-lined windbreaker with the school panther logo on the back. Looking large and capable, he entered the trailer and closed the door firmly. His assessing glance swept over my face. I blinked in surprise as he kissed my cheek. He went to my mother, sank to his haunches before her and asked gently, "How does a ride in a pickup sound, Mrs. Jones?"

She mustered a faint laugh. "I think I might take you up on that, Hardy."

Standing, he looked back at me. "Anything I should bring out to the truck? I've got the cover on the back, so it should stay pretty dry."

I ran to get the duffel, and handed it to him. He headed for the door. "No, wait," I said, continuing to load objects into his arms. "We need this tape player. And this—" I gave him a large cylinder with an attachment that looked like a screwdriver.

Hardy looked at it with genuine alarm. "What is it?"

"A hand pump."

"For what? No, never mind, don't tell me."

"It's for the birth ball." I went to my bedroom and brought back a huge half-inflated rubber ball. "Take this out too." Seeing his bewilderment, I said, "We're going to inflate it all the way when we get to the clinic. It uses gravity to help the labor along, and when you sit on it. it puts pressure on the—"

"I get it," Hardy interrupted hastily. "No need to explain." He went out to stow the

objects in the truck, and returned at once. "The storm's at a lull." he said. "We need to get going before another band hits us. Mrs. Jones, do you have a raincoat?"

Mama shook her head. As pregnant as she was, there was no way her old raincoat was going to fit. Wordlessly Hardy removed his panther jacket and guided her arms through the sleeves as if she were a child. It didn't quite zip over her stomach, but it covered most of her.

While Hardy guided Mama out to the truck, I followed with an armload of towels. Since the water hadn't broken yet, I thought it was best to be prepared. "What are those for?" Hardy asked after loading my mother into the front seat. We had to raise our voices to be heard above the din of the storm.

"You never know when you might need some towels," I replied, figuring it would cause him unnecessary distress if I explained further.

"When my mother had Hannah and the boys, she never took more than a paper sack, a toothbrush, and a nightgown."

"What was the paper sack for?" I asked in instant worry. "Should I run in and get one?"

He laughed and lifted me up to the front seat beside Mama. "It was to put the toothbrush and nightgown in. Let's go, honey."

The flooding had already turned Welcome into a chain of little islands. The trick of going from one place to another was to know the roads well enough that you could judge which flowing streams were passable. All it takes is two feet of water to float virtually any car. Hardy was a master at negotiating Welcome, taking a circuitous route to avoid low ground. He followed farm roads, cut through parking lots, and guided the pickup through currents until fountains of water spewed from the trenching tires.

I was amazed by Hardy's presence of mind, the lack of visible tension, the way he made small talk with Mama to distract her. The only sign of effort was the notch between his brows. There is nothing a Texan loves more than to pit himself against the elements. Texans take a kind of ornery pride in the state's raucous weather. Epic storms, killing heat, winds that threaten to strip a layer of skin off, the endless variety of twisters and hurricanes. No matter how bad the weather gets, or what level of hardship is imposed, Texans receive it with variations on a single question..."Hot enough for you1?"..."Wet enough for you?"... "Dry enough for you?"... and so forth.

I watched Hardy's hands on the wheel, the light capable grip, the water spots on his sleeves. I loved him so much, loved his fearlessness, his strength, even the ambition that would someday take him away from me.

"A few more minutes," Hardy murmured, feeling my gaze on him. "I'll get you both there, safe and sound."

"I know you will," I said, while the windshield wipers flailed helplessly at the flats of rain that pounded the glass.

As soon as we arrived at the family clinic, Mama was taken in a wheelchair to be prepped, while Hardy and I took our belongings to the labor room. It was filled with machines and monitors, and a neonatal open care warmer that looked like a baby spaceship.

But the room's appearance was softened by ruffled curtains, a wallpaper border featuring geese and baby ducks, and a gingham-cushioned rocking chair.

A stout gray-haired nurse moved around the room, checking the equipment and adjusting the level of the bed. As Hardy and I came in, she said sternly, "Only mothers-to-be and their husbands are allowed in the labor room. You'll have to go to the waiting area down the hall."

"There's no husband," I said, feeling a little defensive as I saw her brows inching up toward her hairline. "I'm staying to help my mother."

"I see. But your boyfriend will have to leave."

Hot color rushed over my face. "He's not my—"

"No problem," Hardy interrupted easily. "Believe me, ma'am, I don't want to get in anyone's way."

The nurse's stern face relaxed into a smile. Hardy had that effect on women.

Pulling a colored folder from the duffel bag. I gave it to the nurse. "Ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you'd read this."