Читать книгу His Christmas Sweetheart - Cathy Mcdavid - Страница 12

Chapter Three

The ice-cream parlor, across the street and up half a block, had recently reopened after sustaining significant damage in the fire. Miranda liked the remodeling job, though the place lacked the ambiance of the old one.

A few of the original furnishings had been salvaged, including a pair of wrought-iron chairs with heart-shaped backs from the fifties, glass root-beer mugs from the sixties and a Coca-Cola poster the owner swore was his great-great-aunt’s from the roaring twenties.

All the spared items were currently stored and on display in the brand-new Sweetheart Memorial Museum. Annie Wyler, Will’s boss’s new wife, had donated the land—on which her family’s inn had once stood—to the memorial and paid for its construction out of the insurance settlement money. It was a grand gesture and much appreciated by the folks of Sweetheart.

Miranda had been by the memorial three times so far. She particularly enjoyed seeing what new items had been donated, most of them stirring happy memories of her childhood from age seven on, when she’d come to live with her foster parents.

Before age seven had been less happy. Miserable, actually. She didn’t forget those days, either. Miranda accepted the cards life dealt her, learned from them and moved on. What else was a person to do?

Sneaking a glimpse at Will sitting across from her in the booth, she supposed there were other options. One could hang on to the past. Retreat into it. Let it disempower them. In her opinion Will had done all those things.

She took another spoonful of her brownie delight hot-fudge sundae and almost groaned in ecstasy. “How’s your...” What was it he’d ordered? “Scoop of plain vanilla ice cream?” She failed to mask her disdain.

“It’s okay.”

“You should have ordered a little hot fudge with that.” She relished an even larger spoonful of her sundae.

“Maybe.”

“Seriously, Will, what does it take to wring more than one or two words out of you?”

He observed her from over his spoon. The small glint of heat she’d seen the other day in her kitchen reappeared, lighting eyes as dark as the hot fudge that had been generously poured over her ice cream.

Proximity. To her. That was what it took to wring more words from him. Well, she could certainly arrange for proximity. Lots of it.

“What went wrong?”

“I beg your pardon?” She dabbed at her mouth before melted ice cream dribbled down her chin.

“You said you had a crummy morning.”

“Oh, yes. That.” For a brief second she lost her appetite. Fortunately it returned, and she dug into her remaining sundae. “My appointment at the bank didn’t go well.”

“Your appointment?”

“I’m trying, hoping, to refinance my house. Problem is I’ve had a little trouble making the monthly payments on time since losing a resident.” Miranda didn’t wave her dirty laundry in public. But she was also a plainspoken person, and Will had asked.

“The bank won’t cut you any slack?”

“No. Rules are rules and policies are policies. I can possibly refinance if I bring my account current.”

“How far behind are you?”

It was a rather bold question for someone who rarely spoke. “Two months as of next week. Then, when I make November’s payment, which I will on Tuesday, I’ll only be behind one month.”

“What are you going to do?”

She sighed and set down her spoon. “Whatever I have to. I’m not losing my house or my business. I have worked too long and hard to get it off the ground. My residents need me. I’m the only certified elder-care facility in Sweetheart run by a registered nurse. If I go under, they’ll have nowhere to live.”

All right, she was being melodramatic. Other than Mrs. Litey, all her residents had family to go to.

“Any prospects?”

“No. Not at the moment.” She didn’t fib to Will as she had to the banker.

“You can’t go under.”

No, she couldn’t. Will stating as much piqued her interest. Did he care? For her or Mrs. Litey?

“Thanks for the support. If you by chance have a relative needing supervised care hiding in your back pocket, I have a room available.”

“I wish I did.”

His sincerity touched her. Without thinking, she reached across the table and laid her hand atop his uninjured one. For several seconds he froze. Then he jerked his hand away with such speed, he knocked her arm sideways.

Miranda gathered herself, feeling a little hurt. “Sorry about that. I’m a touchy-feely kind of person. Goes with the territory, being in the medical profession and from a large family.”

He remained silent.

“Look, Will, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She noticed then that he was breathing regularly. Really regularly. As if he was counting his breaths. His hands had disappeared beneath the tabletop, and she thought she heard the snapping of a rubber band against skin.

Well, wasn’t that curious?

She wanted to ask him about the snapping—who wouldn’t?—but, for once, she curbed her impulses. What she’d learned about Will during the past few months was that he defined the term “private person” and wouldn’t appreciate her prodding.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t expecting it.”

She hadn’t been expecting it, either. Reaching for Will’s hand had been an impulse. The response to a moment of feeling connected to him. She’d thought—hoped—the connection was reciprocal.

“Hey, no worries.” She grabbed her spoon and polished off the last of her sundae. “I’m not easily offended. If I was, I wouldn’t surround myself with crotchety old people and a smart-mouthed aide.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Other than Mrs. Litey? Heavens, no. I love my job. I even love her. On her good days.”

The reminder that he hadn’t been around much wasn’t lost on him. “Give her my best,” he said with an end-of-discussion abruptness.

As if that would stop her. “Which is it? Your work or visiting Mrs. Litey?”

Now it was his turn to ask, “I beg your pardon?”

“What don’t you want to talk about?”

He developed an avid interest in finishing his boring single scoop of vanilla ice cream.

“Fine. None of my business.” Except she wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut. “The thing is, I’ve come to depend on your visits, and I shouldn’t have. Mrs. Litey is my responsibility.”

“I like visiting her.”

“So it’s work, then.”

“I’ve been marking the cross-country ski trails.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not easy.”

“I imagine the fire’s made it hard to find decent trails.”

He nodded.

“If you need any help, give me a holler.” When his brows lifted in surprise, she said, “What? I know these woods better than most. Better than you, I bet.”

“Right.”

“Ha. You forget, or maybe you don’t know, my dad was assistant superintendent of the Sierra Consolidated Mining Company. He dragged us kids over every inch of these mountains when we were growing up.”

“Your mother’s also a nurse.”

Well, well. He’d done some of his own research. On her. Miranda was pleased.

“I followed in her footsteps. After earning my degree, I worked a few years at the Renown Regional Medical Center in Reno. That’s where I became interested in elder care. When I moved back to Sweetheart, I worked at the clinic with my mom for a while. Then the economy tanked, and Dad lost his job at the mining company. He and Mom moved to Tahoe City. She still works as a nurse, and Dad’s a stay-at-home Mr. Mom. I have two new foster sisters, nine-year-old twins.”

“How many altogether?”

“Foster siblings? Eight. And my parents love every one of us like their own. They’re pretty amazing people.”

“I’d say.”

“What about your parents? Are they in the Tahoe area?”

“No.”

“Another state?”

“No.”

His short replies were no doubt intended to put her off, but they only served to make her more curious. Will was a puzzle, and Miranda had a fondness for puzzles. “I take it you aren’t close to them.”

He waited a beat before answering. “They’re dead. They were killed in an accident.”

She nearly jumped at the jolt that shot through her, and pressed a hand to her middle. The sundae in her stomach sat like a heavy stone.

“I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine the horror of losing both her parents at once. “How awful for you.”

He looked at her across the table, emotion once again flaring in his eyes. Not heat and definitely not passion. Anger perhaps? Remorse?

“It was more awful for them,” he ground out.

“When did it happen? How old were you?”

Standing, he announced, “I have to go,” and let in a gust of cold air as he exited the parlor, which reached Miranda clear on her side of the room. She waited a minute before collecting her things.

Will was even more complex than she’d originally thought. And more damaged. She’d be smart to leave him be, as he clearly wasn’t ready for any kind of romantic relationship.

Except Miranda didn’t think she could. She wasn’t just attracted to him or challenged by him, she was fond of him. Growing fonder by the day. He was like no man she’d ever met.

Outside she glanced up and down the street. Her car was parked two blocks away, near the bank. Seeing the building’s brick facade, she was again reminded of her financial dilemma. Determination surged inside her. She wasn’t one to let a minor setback derail her from her goals. If she needed extra money to keep her business afloat, she’d get it. One way or the other.

Setting off, she strode confidently toward the Paydirt Saloon. During college when she’d come home for the summers, she’d worked part-time at the Paydirt, earning extra money to supplement her scholarships.

The mayor was clearing tables amid the sparse gathering of afternoon regulars. Behind the bar, the mayor’s son washed glassware. Both issued her a friendly hello.

“What can I get you today?” the mayor asked when Miranda approached.

Without hesitating, she relieved the mayor of the tray she was holding and reached for the towel on the table. “A job. Even a few hours a week if that’s all you have.”

Mayor Dempsey studied her critically.

Miranda braced herself for a slew of questions. Why did she need a job? What about her elder-care home? What made Miranda think there was a position available when employment in Sweetheart was as scarce as crow’s teeth? She also braced herself for rejection.

To her overwhelming relief, the mayor’s expression softened. “I assume you can start today.”

* * *

“YOU ABLE TO ride with that bum wrist?” Sam asked.

Will tugged the cinch tighter and looped the excess strap into a tight knot. Gripping the pommel and back of the seat, he tugged and demonstrated how little his injury bothered him by testing the saddle’s stability.

Rocket Dog, a stout, sassy four-year-old mare that had originally belonged to Will’s former employer, High Country Outfitters, pawed the ground in anticipation. This one liked the cold weather and the challenge of climbing steep frost-covered hills. She was a perfect match for Will’s current mood.

“Why aren’t you taking one of the ATVs?” Sam leaned against the corral fence and crossed his arms over his chest.

Will double-checked the maps in his saddlebags and his supplies. Two bottles of water, a thermos of black coffee and a protein bar. That should be enough to last the morning.

“Some of the trails I want to mark are blocked by fallen timber.”

Easier to ride a horse over the obstructions than drive an ATV around them. In his opinion anyway.

“I’m thinking you have enough trails already marked. We don’t have many skiers making reservations.”

“Could change.”

He wasn’t one to oppose his boss, and if Sam insisted, he’d cancel the outing or take an ATV. In truth, the ride was more for him than work related. Will needed the solitude and the feel of a horse beneath him. The more he was in the company of others, the more tangled his thoughts became. Alone he could sort them out and compartmentalize them. Less likely to plague him that way.

Why had he told Miranda his parents had died? No one in Sweetheart knew that about him. Not even Sam.

For the past two days, his and Miranda’s conversation in the ice-cream parlor had replayed over and over in his mind, affecting his every waking moment. All he could see was her eating that damn sundae and him revealing the darkest of many dark moments from his past.

“Don’t forget a poncho,” Sam advised.

Both men glanced at the sky. Clouds had been gathering since dawn. They weren’t yet heavy with snow, but weather this time of year was unreliable at best.

“Got one.”

“The contest winners and their families are arriving tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to introduce you to them once they’re registered and settled into their cabins. Over dinner. The following morning you can give them a tour of the ranch.”

“Sure.”

The dining hall wasn’t scheduled for construction until spring. In the meantime, guests were served family-style meals in the kitchen of the main house. Hearty country breakfasts every morning comprised the usual fare, with the occasional dinner. Like tomorrow, in honor of their special guests. Most people seemed to enjoy sitting at the same table as the cast members of the show The Forty-Niners once had.

Will’s presence at a meal had only been requested once before. When his boss had gotten married.

He and his bride had looked happy that day. Sometimes when Sam didn’t think anyone was watching, he wore the same dopey smile he had during the ceremony. With their two daughters from their respective previous marriages, they were now one big happy family.

Will envied his boss. Happiness like that had once been within his reach.

Lexie had been his first love and the woman he believed he’d spend the rest of his live with. But then, he’d also believed he’d conquered his PTSD. He’d been wrong on both counts and had learned a very hard lesson. Women didn’t want a broken man.

“I only ask because I’m wondering how long you intend to stay in the mountains.”

Will slanted Sam a look.

“Bedroll. Tarp. Rope.” One by one, Sam listed the items Will had packed.

“Two hours. Three at the most.”

“Okay. Just making sure. You’ve been burying yourself in work the last couple of days. Not that you don’t always bury yourself in work.”

“It’s important the winning couple have a good time.”

“Yeah, but the entire burden of their stay doesn’t rest on your shoulders.”

Will retied the bedroll behind his saddle and patted the mare’s rump, a signal to Sam that he was ready to leave.

“How’s Mrs. Litey?”

“Don’t know.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Apparently Sam wasn’t ready to cut Will loose yet. “A while.”

“Is there a reason you’re avoiding her?”

“I’m not.”

“Miranda, then.”

“I better head out while the weather’s holding.” Will didn’t wait for a response. He flung the reins over Rocket Dog’s neck and mounted her in one fluid move. Cruze jumped up from where he’d been lying and waiting.

“Sorry, boy. You need to stay here.”

The shepherd mix instantly planted his hind end on the ground. He used to hate being left behind. Lately his age had started to show, and a trip to town would exhaust him. He’d be there when Will returned, or in the barn.

“Do me a favor, will you?” Sam patted Cruze’s head, letting Will know his dog would be watched during his absence. “On your way back.”

“Sure.” As long as it wasn’t stopping by a certain elder-care group home.

“Mayor Dempsey has a package for me. Some vouchers for the contest winners. Can you pick them up at the Paydirt on your way back?”

“Will do.”

Will didn’t normally ride through town, though he had before. During Sweetheart’s early days and up until The Forty-Niners had ceased production, horses were a common sight on the streets.

Saluting Sam, Will turned Rocket Dog toward the long tree-lined drive leading from the ranch. Halfway to the main road, he chose a partially hidden trail, one used more by deer and elk than humans. He and Rocket Dog were immediately engulfed by towering ponderosa pines.

Will was in his element. He rode the mare hard, down one hill and up the next, until their breathing was labored. The terrain, still thick and green despite the encroaching winter, didn’t last. Within a mile, the forest gave way to a sea of barren, blackened land. This was how close the fire had gotten to the Gold Nugget.

Skirting the border of the vast wasteland, Will stopped occasionally to dismount and mark the trail with a red plastic tie fastened to a low-slung branch. Only the most stalwart and athletic of riders, hikers and cross-country skiers would choose this trail. He couldn’t wait to lead them.

At one point he nudged Rocket Dog across a rushing stream. Well, more like a babbling creek until spring, when the snow melted. Then crossing would be tricky. At the very top of the hill, where the stream originated from an underground spring, Sweetheart’s original settlers had chanced upon gold and had staked a claim. They’d prospected the area for thirty years until it had panned out.

Will thought the old claim, with its discarded and derelict equipment still there, might make an interesting rest stop and noted it on his map.

Hard riding and fresh air took his mind off Miranda, but only for a short while. Too soon, he was back to thinking about her. Constantly.

Had she and her father visited this mining site when she was young? Did they hike this same path? Picnic at this same spot along the creek? View the town nestled in the valley below from this same vantage point? Why did she waste even a minute of her time with him?

Will couldn’t fathom the answer.

Two hours later, the narrow trail merged with a larger and more frequently used one that led to town. By now the mare’s steps were slower, her excess energy having been spent. Will relaxed and let her set the pace for the last leg of their trip. Miranda still filled his thoughts, but caused him less anxiety.

In his opinion, the woods surrounding Sweetheart showed no signs of recovery from the fire—other than the forest service’s clearing the network of dirt roads. Scorched pine tree trunks stood at bent angles, resembling an army of ghoulish stick soldiers. Here and there a tree remained, miraculously spared from destruction. It would be years before the seeds from their cones produced new generations.

Will wondered if winter, with its gray skies and heavy blankets of snow, would be kind and hide the forest’s blemishes, or unkind and magnify them.

His ride down Matrimony Lane drew a lot of stares and a few waves, which Will returned with a nod. He didn’t admit to searching every female face for Miranda’s. At the Paydirt Saloon, he tethered Rocket Dog to the old hitching post beside the building. Drooping her head, she eagerly indulged in a well-deserved snooze.

Inside, the mayor hailed Will from behind the bar and reached for a clean mug. “The usual?”

“Not today.”

“What brings you by?”

“Sam sent me. You have some vouchers for him.”

She frowned in confusion. “What vouchers?”

“For the contest winners.”

“Don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I’ll call him.” Will reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and dialed Sam. His boss didn’t pick up. “Must be a mistake.”

“Try again in a few minutes. In the meantime, have a beer.”

“How ’bout a water?” He wasn’t in the mood for drinking.

Finding his regular stool open, he sat and attempted to reach Sam again, with the same results. Disconnecting, he debated what to do.

“You look as if you are wrestling with a mighty problem.”

At the sound of Miranda’s voice, he sat instantly straighter.

“We know it’s not Mrs. Litey, unless you’re feeling bad about ignoring her. She misses you something awful, by the way.”

Will suffered a stab of remorse.

“You shouldn’t make her pay just because you’re mad at me.”

Having no choice, he turned slowly around. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Seems like it.” She stood with a serving tray propped on her hip, a red apron tied around her waist and a pert scowl on her pretty face.

He blinked in disbelief. “You’re working here?”

“Part-time.” She squared her shoulders. “Just until I catch up on the mortgage payments. So I guess we’ll be running into each other, seeing as you’re here a lot.”

He suppressed a groan. His one place of practically guaranteed solitude had just been invaded.

It was in that moment that he realized there were no vouchers and never had been. His boss knew about Miranda’s job and had set Will up.

The snake.

“Well, what’ll it be, cowboy? Can’t rent that bar stool for free.” Miranda flashed him a saucy smile that sent his pulse rate into the triple digits. “Swiss-and-bacon burger’s on special today.”

She moved closer—on purpose, he was sure of it—until her thigh brushed his knee. He swallowed hard and waited for the panic attack, ready to bolt at the first sign.

To his shock, it didn’t come. And when he spoke, his voice sounded normal.

“I’ll take mine medium well.”