Читать книгу Miranda's Outlaw - Katherine Garbera - Страница 9

One

Miranda Colby coaxed her Mercedes off the road, knowing the valiant little car wouldn’t go another inch.

The rough mountain trail looked like an ad for Adventurers magazine. Potholes and muddy patches lined the road like stains on a wedding-ring quilt, making what had once probably been a passable road into a quagmire.

She knew the cabin had to be close by. Determined to reach its shelter before the storm broke, she stepped out of the car and felt the world sink.

Clutching the roof of her car, she pried her left foot out of the muck. She balanced herself on a patch of grass and pulled her right foot out of the mud. The mate to her nowugly shoe hadn’t made the journey.

Miranda bit back a sigh of disgust, rummaging around in the back seat of the car until she found her worn canvas boat shoes. As she slid them on, she glanced at the sky.

Ominous black clouds threatened, and a roll of thunder echoed through the valley. A chance to learn how to survive in the “real” world was what she needed.

But even a city girl could tell the display would turn into a full-fledged downpour with very little urging. Grabbing the groceries and her purse, she locked the doors to her car.

The directions from the rental agent had been vague, but she knew that her cabin was located near the summit of this mountain. With that in mind, she forged ahead until she reached a dirt path.

The late-afternoon wind whipped through the trees. Miranda held the sack of groceries a bit tighter to her chest and quickened her pace. A few more minutes, then she’d be at the rental cabin. She promised herself a long, hot bath, a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea and a whole bag of Oroes.

Reaching a crossroads on the path, she froze. The sound of a man’s voice singing a ballad about lost love carried clearly in the mountain air. The haunting melody and achingly sad words touched a part of her she’d locked away long ago. Surprised for a moment, she listened to the rich baritone that drifted with the wind through the trees.

Where was he? she wondered. Her rental agent had promised seclusion, and civilization was several miles away. Whoever the man was, he’d have to be singing pretty loudly for her to hear him unless...

She was lost.

Miranda groaned out loud.

She rounded a curve in the lane and stopped as a two-story glass-and-cedar structure loomed into view. It fit the landscape perfectly, blending with nature to make the house appear almost as if it were part of the mountain.

The singing stopped, followed by a loud splash. She followed the sounds around to the back of the house. Miranda scanned the shadowed area on the rear porch. A mountain of white frothy bubbles covered the entire surface of an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. The foamy spray beckoned her weary body closer and Miranda fought the urge to strip off her clothes and dive into the inviting water. Of course, she’d never do such a thing.

She shivered again as the breeze kicked up. She took an involuntary step closer. Now she could see the steam rising from the tub, and it looked appealing in the chilly weather. A warm oasis, she thought.

Miranda sighed. It had been a grueling week at the office—the end of tax season always left her exhausted—but this year it was more than just the work. She was tirad, tired of her friends, tired of her life-style, tired of seeing her ex-fiancé and his new family everywhere she went.

She’d poured her life into her career, awakening one morning to find that something was missing. She’d handed in her resignation, but Mark didn’t believe her. He’d told her to take a leave of absence, and he’d hold her job for her. The offer was flattering, but she’d warned him she might not come back. Mark had only laughed. He said she belonged in high-level finance. She was too bright and too competitive to stay away for long.

Was she? Miranda had her doubts. Right now she wanted only peace and quiet. Right now she’d settle for climbing in that steaming tub, and soaking away the aches in her body and soul—but she doubted if Mountain Lake Lodge’s hospitality extended to a steam bath in an old-fashioned tub.

The setting sun fought through the gathering storm clouds to cast long shadows on the grass and wildflowers that blanketed the lawn. She stood at the back of some stranger’s cabin and knew she’d followed the wrong directions. Murphy’s Law strikes again, she thought wryly.

As Miranda watched, the bubbles parted and a head and torso emerged amid a spray of steam and foam. She stared at the strongly muscled back. An intricately drawn tattoo of a bind—some kind of hawk, she thought—glistened on one shoulder as the man continued to emerge from the heated water. The complex design made the predatory bird seem real. She felt its intense gaze on her almost as if the bird stared at her. Her fingers tingled with the need to trace the hawk and the male flesh beneath it.

She cleared her throat hoping to catch the man’s attention, but the sound died before it reached her lips.

The man shook his head flinging soap and water everywhere. He stretched his arms toward the sky, an outward reaching as if he were welcoming the coming storm. Miranda felt more of an intruder than ever.

He tilted his head back and let out a loud rebel yell. The kind that men had issued for ages when they were staking a claim or acknowledging the primal male buried inside the more civilized one.

Long midnight-colored strands of hair brushed the top of his shoulders. He combed through the wet locks with his fingers, revealing a diamond stud earring in one lobe.

A battered Stetson sat next to the tub along with a lit cigar. The surrounding wood deck was bare except for those items and a small pile of clothing. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Smoke drifted upward in a lazy spiral, merging with the clouds of steam. The Hawk, for that was how she thought of him, picked up the hat and settled it low on his forehead as he leaned back against the foot of the tub.

She’d never seen a person more at home in the outdoor environment. She couldn’t picture herself sitting outside in broad daylight—naked. Apparently this man had very little modesty and more ease with his own nudity than she did.

Miranda tried again to say something, to alert him to her presence, but she was too fascinated by the sight of him. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, sure that she imageined the man, the bath and the bird. He was still there when she opened her eyes.

He lifted the smoking cigar and took a long drag on it. She wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of the tobacco. Definitely a real person—the acrid smell couldn’t be part of anyone’s imagination.

Before she could move he began singing again, but this tune hardly resembled the haunting song she’d heard earlier. The words were embarrassing and colorfully blunt.

A blush heated her face, and, despite the situation, she smiled. For years she’d accepted what passed as sophisticated boardroom humor among her male colleagues. She’d never found their sexual innuendoes embarrassing—just annoying. But this man, the Hawk, with his very crudeness, his earthiness, stirred deep feelings within her and shook her to her mud-splattered toes.

Too embarrassed to stay and ask directions, Miranda decided that she’d take her chances with the approaching storm. She pivoted on her heel, prepared to leave without alerting the man to her presence. A small rock caught under her shoe and rolled. Her feet slid out from under her as the bag of groceries went flying. Miranda let out an inelegant shriek. Her backside hit the hard ground. The Hawk rose from the tub.

“Stop!” she yelled, and covered her face with her hands on the off chance that he didn’t heed her warning. She didn’t want to deal with all that naked masculinity. A three-piece suit she could handle, but not this.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked from the porch. That lazy, deep voice brushed across her senses like the spring breezes across winter’s icy embrace, releasing a flood of longings that she thought she’d buried.

She said nothing, only pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face against them. She felt the need to cry, to laugh, to rail against a merciless God who would send her to the one person she couldn’t ask for help. A man who spoke with a deep Texan drawl and probably knew these mountains like the back of his hand. A man who made her thoughts scatter like leaves in a windstorm. A man, she thought as she heard him approach, who was standing next to her, naked and dripping wet. She sighed, biting back the hysterical laughter that she felt bubbling up in her stomach.

A large, rough hand touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Keeping her face covered, Miranda said, “No—I mean yes. Yes, I’m fine.” She wanted to stand but couldn’t unless she uncovered her face. “Are you decent?”

“I’ve got clothes on,” he said with a deep, rich chuckle that filled the meadow with its sound. Cautiously she peered through her fingers, grateful that he now wore the jeans that had been a dark puddle on the wooden porch only moments before. She sighed in relief.

His bare chest was still wet and small droplets of water clung to the matted hair. A longing welled up inside of her to touch his damp chest. She knew she was staring but somehow couldn’t stop. Miranda shook herself out of the trance this man seemed to have cast over her. She wasn’t a woman ruled by impulses, especially irrational ones, she reminded herself.

Reaching down to clasp her arm above the elbow, he hauled her to her feet. “What are you doing on my property?”

“I’m lost.”

She stared into eyes the color of chocolate. Despite the grin on his face, his expression wasn’t welcoming and warm, but filled instead with a desolation that her soul recognized. Part of her wanted to reach out to someone whose wounds were as deep as hers, but common sense told her to keep her distance. How could this tall, lean mountain man have anything in common with her?

He stared at her for so long that Miranda was afraid she’d ripped her clothing in the fall or rubbed dirt on her face during the long trek to his cabin. She brushed her hand across her cheeks and nose before trying to tame her wild mane into something that looked normal, less like a Halloween wig.

“Oh, darlin’, I think I’m the one lost”

His gentle smile and playful wink caught her off guard. The words dripped over her like honey on a warm biscuit. Tempting, sweet promises she’d regret believing later.

Despite her predicament, she smiled at him before realizing what she was doing. Country charm beat city sophistication any day. She shrugged the thought aside and gathered her senses as best she could.

“I’ve rented a cabin near here from the Mountain Lake Lodge. Can you direct me to it?” Her gourmet groceries were scattered across the lawn looking as out of place as she felt. Miranda gathered them quickly. The paper sack torn beyond repair, she glanced around helplessly.

“I’ll go one better and take you there.” He walked back to the porch. His long-legged stride captured her attention. She stared against her better judgment as he sat down on the wood deck. Sticking his cigar in his mouth, he pulled on battered cowboy boots. “I’ve got some extra brown bags. I’ll get one for you.”

Miranda watched him disappear inside the cabin. He looked as though he’d be more at home riding the range than in the mountains of North Carolina. Still he seemed to fit in here as if he were sure of the environment and his place in it

“Where’s your car?” he asked when he came back with the bags. A faded denim shirt now covered the tattoo, but allowed her to glimpse the muscles of his chest as he bent and picked up a few of the scattered items on the ground.

She wondered what his hard flesh would feel like beneath her fingers or pressed against her breasts. Get a grip, Miranda. He’s a stranger.

“Down the hill. I didn’t realize the incline would be so steep.” She glanced quickly at her groceries trying to ascertain that nothing embarrassing had been in the bag.

“I’ll take you back to get the car first.” He passed a box of chocolate-covered biscotti and gourmet espresso beans to her.

“You don’t have to,” she said, hating to be dependent on anyone—especially a man. They always expected something in return. She shoved the items into the brown bag without looking at them. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be fine.”

He took the cigar from his mouth and she watched the smoke as he exhaled. She was fascinated by the spiral and his obvious enjoyment of the tobacco product. The pungent smell didn’t bother her at all, she realized.

“I don’t mind taking you,” he said. The expression on his face was determined.

Miranda knew that he planned to help her whether she wanted him along or not. She was annoyed by his assumption that she needed his help—but the challenge in those chocolate brown eyes persuaded her to hold her temper. She doubted many people got the better of this man, and after the trials she’d been through today, she didn’t have the heart for a battle.

“This mountain is dangerous, darlin’,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “Especially to inexperienced vacationers. Besides, the sooner I get you to your cabin the sooner you’ll be out of my hair. No offense, ma’am. but I like my privacy.”

Miranda didn’t bother to correct his impression that she was on vacation. Let him think what he wanted. Hopefully after today they wouldn’t see each other again. She made a mental note to send him a box of cigars, and replied stiffly, “Thank you. If you’re determined to act as a guide, can we leave? I don’t want to get caught in this storm.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Working quickly they gathered up the rest of her groceries and Miranda tossed them into the sack. She tried to ignore the fact that the man’s jeans clung to his body like a second skin. Tried to ignore that the brush of his fingers against the back of her hand kindled an awareness she’d never experienced before. Tried to ignore that her body recognized in him something her mind wouldn’t accept

Thunder rumbled and streaks of distant lightning filled the sky. Miranda shivered in response. She was in trouble, even if he helped her back to the car and gave her directions. If the Mercedes had cooled enough to start, she’d still never make it to the cabin without getting drenched.

“That lightning’s still far off, darlin’. We’ll make it to your car.”

“My name’s Miranda Colby,” she said coolly. She hated being called by a generic endearment like darlin’. She wanted to be polite to him because he was going out of his way to help her but she resented his condescending tone.

“Luke Romero,” he said extending one large hand to her. The skin on his palm felt rough against her own and she involuntarily tightened her fingers. Slowly she released his hand, hating to lose the warmth, the security offered by that brief polite action. His hands were strong, capable. Not like the soft, well-manicured hands she was accustomed to shaking.

“We better get going if we’re going to beat the rain,” he said, and walked around the house. He stubbed the cigar out and put the stump in his shirt pocket. Miranda followed quickly, ready to find a warm, comfortable place.

Luke stashed her grocery bag in the back seat of his Suburban and helped Miranda into the truck. The courtesy was one that he usually didn’t bother with, but this lady looked tired. She smiled her thanks, but lines of strain bracketed her mouth, and he sensed she didn’t want his company.

He suspected her tiredness went beyond the fatigue of a long car drive or overwork. She had an air of vulnerability about her that was at odds with the elegance of her appearance. Bruised, he thought, as though even her bones ached. Shapely bones, his libido reminded him, as he walked around the truck.

Miss Colby was stacked. Though he’d sworn off women, he couldn’t help noticing the way her silk T-shirt clung to her generous curves and her designer jeans molded over rounded hips that invited a man’s touch. His palm actually tingled with the need to pat her backside.

Suddenly Luke was glad that the woman had the good sense to be leery of him. He didn’t want to play the games that women inevitably played with men. He’d moved to the mountains to escape all of that.

Luke downshifted the Suburban as he navigated the twisting dirt road. Maybe, he thought, she was just embarrassed at needing someone’s help. A lot of women these days liked to think they were self sufficient. Whatever the reason, it was none of his business. He’d come to the mountains, not to play the knight to some damsel in distress, but to rid himself of the stress and temptation in the city. To find a place where he was content and at peace.

He drove in silence, the tension in the truck simmering between them, like a live wire downed in an electrical storm.

He rounded the bend and saw a battered green sports car parked on the side of the road. Mud from last night’s rain caked the wheels. Luke bit back an instinctive curse and slowed the Suburban. “That your car?”

“Yes,” she said softly, not meeting his gaze. “I had no idea the mountain would be...”

“So steep,” he finished for her. He wished old Edgar would give up trying to make money off his hunting cabin. Without fail, he rented his place to someone with no camping experience. Luke’s first impulse was to tow her car down the mountain to the fork leading to her place, so that she’d be out of his hair. But last night’s mud and the threatening storm worked against him. He knew her car wouldn’t make it, even with the Suburban doing all the work.

Well, hell, he thought. This is what came of being neighborly. He backed the truck up to the Mercedes and got out to attach the chain to the car. Rain started to fall, not a soft summer rain, but a harsh torrent. He stood there for a minute, sure that the Almighty was punishing him for his earlier thoughts about the woman. He’d had no right to think of her in purely sexual terms and now he was paying the price.

He attached the chain to the back of his truck before climbing into the cab. Cold drops trickled slowly down his neck. The earthy scent of rain mingled with the essence of Miranda Colby. The primitive scents teased his base instincts and he reacted like a man who’d forgotten. Forgotten that cold rain could lead to cuddling. Forgotten that cuddling could lead to bold caresses. Forgotten the soft feel of that one special woman in his arms.

Miranda stared at him—guilt pouring off her like the icy drops from saturated clouds. Desire hit him hard. He knew he could never have her for his own but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted her.

In spite of the fact that she was prickly—hell, that was part of the attraction.

Oh, damn, he thought, I’ve been too long without a woman.

He didn’t say anything, or even look at her. Rain always made him irritable. It wasn’t her fault he’d given in to the unusual chivalrous impulse to help her.

“I’m sorry you got wet,” she said quietly. The tone in her voice clearly stated that she hadn’t asked for his help.

He nodded in acknowledgment, but kept silent. After stepping carefully on the gas, Luke watched through the rearview mirror as her car lurched drunkenly out of the mud. It bounced on the rutted dirt like a pull toy in the hands of a giant.

He breathed deeply, trying to absorb the essence of her into the fabric of his being. There was something pure and innocent about the woman sitting next to him, despite her city sophistication. She didn’t have the tough veneer he’d encountered in city women before. He’d known more than his share of hardened independent women who wanted only one thing from a man. And while he had no doubt that this little lady was successful, he knew there was much of life she hadn’t experienced. Part of his jaded soul was challenged by that innocence. He’d almost forgotten what innocence felt like. He quelled the urge to corrupt her.

She didn’t look like someone who’d want to be isolated on a mountain. She had the sleek polish of a professional career woman. The humidity had caused her thick hair to curl around her face in a way that brought to mind pixies. But he knew the cut would fall into a sophisticated style just as easily.

Forcing his attention off Miranda, he eased slowly forward, gathering the speed needed to tow the car up the mountain. The Suburban could tow twice the weight, but her car had him worried. The body and wheelbase were battered from driving up the mountain. Frankly, he was surprised she’d made it as far as she had. It said something about her determination.

“Please, stop.”

Startled, Luke braked and glanced at her, arching one brow in question.

“I’d rather go to my rental cabin.”

“Darlin’, your cabin is on the other side of the mountain. You’re only about twenty minutes’ walking distance in this weather, but you’re about two hours in driving time.”

“I’ll be on my way then. Thanks.”

She had the door open before her words registered. Stepping out into the pouring rain, she reached back for her food. “Give me a minute to stash this in the Mercedes—”

“There’s no way that car will make it down the side of this mountain and back up the other. I’ll let you try it if you’re determined. But I’m not going to haul you out of the mud again until the storm lets up.”

The stubborn tilt of her jaw told him he’d made a mistake. His words had been taken as a challenge instead of fact. He bet she never turned down a dare. “Darlin’, it’s the car, not you.”

She just stood there making him feel big and mean in a way he hadn’t since Brett looked up at him with big weepy eyes and asked why Luke wasn’t his daddy anymore.

“I can’t stay with you,” she said, her voice heavy with raw emotion.

“I’m not asking you to move in, darlin’, but you can stay at my cabin until the rain clears.”

She hesitated, but she really had little choice. Relictantly, she nodded, “Just until the rain lets up a bit then I’ll walk over to the rental place.”

The rain slowed to a steady downpour that Luke knew from experience would last until dawn. Though the storm wasn’t an intense one, the ground would be slick and the night treacherous. Already the sky had darkened and in another twenty minutes it would be pitch-black outside.

He waited patiently for her to reseat herself and close the door. He refused to look at her but the image of her in that wet T-shirt stayed firmly in his mind. The image of her hardened nipples peaked against the cold, damp cloth wouldn’t leave. Would they be that resporrsive to his mouth and fingers?

When she was settled, he put the truck back into motion. Damn fool woman. Hell, damn fool man for caring about her safety. The touch of vulnerability beneath her sophisticated facade made him want to protect her. Despite the lessons he’d learned about women from his ex-wife.

He couldn’t let her go alone to Edgar’s hunting cabin even though it was what he should do. The mountain and Mother Nature in general weren’t kind to the weaker sex. He knew some women were strong—stronger than him—but this little thing wasn’t.

She looked as if a gust of wind could push her over the side of his mountain. She had no car, no coat and would probably insist on taking that bag of junk food with her. Luke shook his head and cursed his daddy for raising him with a strict code pertaining to women. Without that upbringing he’d probably let her go off on her own.

He pulled into his driveway and stared at the woman next to him. The woman whose pretty gray eyes reminded him of the mist that ringed the mountain most mornings. A keen intelligence gleamed in her gaze along with a trace of fear. Fear of him? he wondered.

He walked around to open her door but she was already standing on the ground when he got there. She had that bag of groceries clutched to her chest like a shield. Tugging the sack from her, he started for his house, letting her follow.

A damp chill settled over him as he led her to the front porch of the cabin he’d built with his own hands. Staring at it now—imagining how it looked to her eyes—he felt a sense of pride.

He knew from past experience that his house would be warm and dry. The last thing he wanted was to go back out into the wet night.

“It’s cold and dark. The woods are dangerous to novice hikers. Stay with me until morning.”

“I’d rather go on,” she said. Something in that soft, tired voice convinced him to quit arguing with her. She needed to be at a place where she could relax. And it wasn’t in a bachelor’s cabin. Truth to tell, the sooner he left her presence the better it would be for him.

“Okay, I’ll take you,” he said. Her gaze melted under his, becoming so feminine that his gut tightened in reaction. “But under one condition.”

“What?”

He wanted to reassure her but knew any protestations of innocence from him wouldn’t be convincing. He’d lived life to the fullest before retiring to the mountains. He stared into that fine-boned face and felt each of those decadent years as if they were wrapped around his neck with a heavy chain.

Years of recklessly prowling the country on his low rider with women of easy virtue. Years of barroom brawls and morning afters spent in the cool-down tank at the local sheriff’s office. Years of fast living and hard times.

He smiled the grin that his ex-wife had told him would drive fear into the heart of the devil himself, and drawled in that deep Texan accent his daddy had taught him to use on a stubborn woman. “Darlin’, it involves me, you and a warm, dry room.”