Bad Girl

by T. E. Woods

  “Clay.” The whispered moan was warm against his cheek. “My Clay.”

  He knew that voice. It was the voice of his first love. The one who took his hand and stumbled with him into the discoveries two young bodies wrapped in fevered passion dared to make. The one who held his heart with promises of forever.

  The one who lied to him without a care for the pain her words inflicted.

  In less than a heartbeat he was awake. Any vestiges of fatigue disappeared. He was fully awake. Alert. He reached to the nightstand and snapped on the light.

  “Miranda!” His whisper was a concession to the likelihood Steel was in the room across the hall. “What the hell!”

  She was nude, displaying no embarrassment or hesitancy to be seen in the glow of the bedside lamp. A relaxed smile rested on her lips. “I certainly hope hell isn’t the image that pops into your mind in this particular instance.”

  “What are you doing?” Clay tucked the covers tightly around his own naked body. “Get dressed. Get out of my room.”

  Miranda made no move to leave. Instead, she reached out a long, slim arm and wrapped her hand around his neck. Her fingers teased the nape of his neck. “In about an hour. How’s that?”

  “Now, Miranda. Before I’m forced to do something that might forever stab at your ego.”

  “I belong here, Clay. Right here. In your bed. You know that as well as I do. We’ve always belonged together. From the very start. That first night in the silo on Old Man Franzlettler’s farm. Don’t even try to act as though you don’t remember. Promises were made. I’m yours. You’re mine. The product of our connection is sleeping across the hall. We’re bound together.”

  “This is insane.” Clay rose from the bed, dragging the covers along with him. “Leave now, Miranda.”

  She pulled herself into a seated position, making no effort to cover herself. “You don’t want me to. Not really.”

  “This is not a discussion. Leave. Unless you want my memory of you to be uglier than it already is.”

  “Is it that girl with the restaurant? The one with the silly boy’s name? Are you trying to tell yourself whatever infatuation you may feel for her is comparable to what we have?”

  “What we have is nothing. Not even Steel. He’s my son! You’re an intruder, Miranda. An interloper. You might have been able to fool me when I was Steel’s age, but you’ll not blind him with your promises and lies. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Steel’s his own man.” Though she still sat naked on his bed, her tone shifted away from seduction. She was every inch the corporate CEO Steel had found so admirable. “I’ve made him an offer. It’s a good one. Not only will he learn business, he’ll do so efficiently. Without spending endless years in some beer-soaked undergraduate holding cell while piling up insurmountable debt. My home is quite large. Comfortable. It goes without saying you’re welcome there anytime you like.” For a moment she allowed a tease to race across her eyes. “I’ll always have a warm bed for you.”

  “Is that something they taught you in your church? Will seduction be a tool you teach him to use while negotiating his deals?”

  “He’ll learn many tools.” Miranda was all business again. “And as relates to my church, all I can do is introduce him to the concepts that changed my life. Made me whole and open to the love and prosperity God always had waiting for me. It will be up to Steel whether he walks the path.”

  “You won’t take my son.”

  “Steel is not yours anymore. He’s a grown man.”

  “He’s nineteen.”

  “You were sufficiently capable of making your own way when you were his age.”

  “Because you left me no other choice!” He no longer cared about his volume. “I was forced to take on what no one that age should have to.”

  “Steel won’t feel forced. He’ll know I’m with him because I want to share with him, teach him. Not because I have no other choice, but because I want to give freely to someone I love deeply.”

  His fingers tightened around the blankets he wore like a shield as he nodded toward the master bathroom. “I’m going in there. I’ll be out in five minutes. You’ll be gone. If you’re not, I’ll call the police. You can explain to your son, your minister, and all those employees you have back in Ann Arbor how it came to be you were arrested and hauled away naked on Christmas night.”

  He stalked away, aware she was speaking, but ignoring her words. He closed and locked the door to the bathroom. Looking at the wall clock, he let the blankets fall to the floor. He brushed his teeth and scrubbed his face. Then he sat on the side of the tub and watched the clock, letting his anger for Miranda build. He’d need every bit of its energy to fight for his son. When five minutes had passed, he picked up the blankets. He opened the door.

  His bed was empty.

  He looked to his right and his left. She wasn’t there.

  He left his bedroom, walked down the darkened hallway, and switched on a lamp in the living room. There was no sign of Miranda.

  In the kitchen, the counter held three pie plates, each with no more than two slices remaining. Two bottles of wine sat unopened.

  And Miranda wasn’t there.

  Confident she wasn’t in the house, Clay went to his front door and locked the dead bolt. He went back down the hall to his room, stopping at Steel’s door. He opened it and saw his son, sleeping on his back with one foot sticking out from the covers. He closed the door, returned to his own bed, and laid back down.

  She’s not here. But she’s not gone.

  Chapter 12

  FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

  Miranda tried her best to make the smile she gave the young Korean woman scrubbing dead skin cells off the bottoms of her feet seem sincere. In reality, she’d rather be back at her office at MidWest ImEx. She closed her eyes and envisioned the space Alden had assigned her just the week before.

  “You’re out of the warehouse and off the phones,” he’d said as he swung open the door to the small, windowless room. “It’s all yours, Miranda. You’ve earned it. I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be long before you’re moving up from here, too.”

  He’d surprised her with her own space three days after she’d dropped a signed contract on his desk ordering seven hundred lawnmowers to be delivered to a distributor in Munich over the course of six months with an option to purchase another seven hundred before the year ended. Alden had always been hesitant to expand MidWest ImEx’s product line beyond the bushes and plants that had been the backbone of his company since he’d started it. But four weeks earlier she’d made a call to one of ImEx’s longtime customers. Danninger’s Garden Supply was a family-run outfit in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, small, but known for offering the folks of that city the best quality European bulbs, guaranteed to make them the envy of their neighborhoods. They hadn’t reauthorized their long-standing order for Dutch daffodils, and Miranda wanted to know why. She spoke directly to Harmon Danninger, son of the company’s owner and the man in charge of day-to-day operations.

  “I’m in a heap of hurt down here, Miranda,” Harmon had told her. “I took a flyer on what was supposed to be a good deal. Misread my market and over-ordered. Now I’m up to my eyeballs with gear I can’t move. It’s a mystery to me how I’m gonna make payroll next month. As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t see how I can pay you what I owe you, let alone buy a whole new batch. I got my pennies stretched so far Old Abe is squeakin’.”

  Miranda asked him for details. Harmon was only too eager to relay the tale of the mistake he’d made.

  “What in the world made you think you’d sell a thousand lawn mowers this year?” she’d asked him.

  “I guess I had me some visions of grandiosity or whatever you call it. Wantin’ to make the old man proud, know what I mean? Turns out I made one royal mess of everything.”

  Miranda didn’t know
if she was responding to impulse or instinct, but she made him an offer. ImEx would buy his entire stock of mowers for thirty cents on the dollar. Harmon balked, but Miranda held firm. He’d made a mistake telling her how much he feared disappointing his father. She planned to capitalize on it.

  “Would you be willing to go fifty cents?” Harmon asked.

  “The offer’s twenty-seven cents. I’ll take every mower off your hands before the invoice even comes due. Your dad will never see any equipment gathering dust in his warehouse.”

  “Twenty-seven? You said thirty!”

  “What I meant to say was twenty-five. Twenty-five cents on the dollar and I’ll wire you the money as soon as you verify you’ve diverted the shipment here to ImEx. Now’s your turn to say it’s a deal, Harmon. Because if you don’t, my next offer is two dimes for every dollar of your dad’s money you’ve got tied up.”

  Miranda remembered her hand had been sweating as she’d gripped the phone, waiting for Harmon’s response. It had been hard for her to remain silent, but she’d recalled what Alden had taught her.

  When you want something and you’re so close you can taste it, hold firm. Stand your ground and never give up. Never give up, Miranda. Everything you want is yours. You just need to take it. God wants you to have it. But you’ve got to take it.

  Four days later one thousand lawn mowers were delivered to ImEx warehouses. Alden shook his head but promised her she had his trust. She vowed to sell those mowers if she had to go door-to-door herself.

  The Munich contract she laid on Alden’s desk two weeks later represented a quarter-million-dollar contribution to ImEx’s annual revenue, as well as an expanded product line and new customer base.

  Yes, sir, she thought as the woman rubbed cream up her calves. I earned that office.

  “Miranda? Miranda, can you hear me?” Natalie York’s voice teased from the leather recliner next to hers. “You’re floating on a pink cloud, aren’t you? Didn’t I tell you this was heaven?”

  What this is, is a big waste of time. I should be at work. But Miranda forced another smile and offered it to the daughter of the man who’d taken her in and was teaching her his business.

  “Can’t say as I find folks messin’ with my feet somethin’ I ever thought of as heaven.”

  “Mess-ING. Some-THING,” Natalie corrected. “Daddy tells me you’re on your way to the executive floor. No one’s going to respect someone sounding like she just fell off the hay truck.” Natalie turned curious eyes toward her. “Did you ever?”

  “Did I ever what?” Miranda spoke slowly, careful to enunciate each syllable.

  “Fall off a hay truck. Back there in Missouri.”

  “Montana.” At being able to correct Natalie, Miranda felt an odd tingle of victory. “And while I’ve ridden on and in many trucks carrying hay, I’m happy to report I’ve never fallen off any of them.”

  “Good thing, I guess. Trucks are big.” Natalie closed her eyes and leaned back. “The only place I’d like to fall right now is into Parton Jennings’s bed.”

  Miranda shook her head. It was often difficult to believe Natalie was only two years younger than she was. At twenty-four Natalie was as boy-crazy as a high-schooler.

  I’m twenty-six with an office all my own, she thought. No telling where I’ll be when I turn thirty.

  “I’ll take this coral,” Natalie told the girl working on her feet before she turned back to Miranda. “You take the pink. Your coloring is far too fair to handle something this bold. Mother says I inherited her skin tone. It can stand up to just about anything, despite all these freckles. I’m lucky that way.”

  Miranda thought of her own mother and their hardscrabble life back in Bozeman. She tried to remember if there was any way she’d been lucky and couldn’t come up with anything.

  Except Clay. I got lucky with him.

  She pushed the thought away. She knew she still felt love for Clay. And she imagined she’d love their child if she’d stayed in Montana long enough for those bonds to take hold.

  But I had nothing to give. They’re better off without me.

  Instantly, Alden’s words came back to her. They were the same words Bishop Fulcraft had spoken so many times, not only in his Sunday sermons, but again and again in his private meetings with her.

  If you want something, and you’re sure of it, take it. It’s yours. God wants you to have it. Be brave enough to take what God is offering.

  “What are you wearing tonight?” Natalie’s question broke into Miranda’s reverie. “Friday night at the club is always a hard one. If we were going tomorrow, it would be easier. Saturday is always dress-up. But on Fridays the men have taken to wearing what they wore to work. Sport coats and plain work suits. Mother says a woman never knows quite how to stand next to a man in a sport coat.” She chuckled. “And why do they call them that, anyway? It’s not like someone’s going to play racquetball in a navy blazer. Those gold buttons would block their shots. What are you wearing?”

  “I have that black dress. The one you picked for me.”

  “The sheath? Over my dead body. Miranda, if you wear that, Parton won’t even know I’m in the room. Save the sheath for when you’re with a man of your own, will you? How about that yellow sundress Mother picked up for you last month? It might get chilly after the sun goes down, but you could take a sweater. I’m wearing my cream-colored two-piece. You know, the one with the bow that drapes down? Don’t you think that would look great in the soft light of the club’s dining room?”

  Miranda had no idea what dress Natalie was talking about. But she knew wardrobe was important to the girl, and despite their differences, Natalie had become a pleasant and significant part of her life.

  “You’ll look terrific. I’m sure Parton will be stunned by your beauty.”

  Natalie’s face lit up like the stars in a black Montana sky. “Do you think so? Oh! I’d love that. I may have gotten Mother’s coloring, but my body is straight from Daddy’s gene pool. You don’t know how lucky you have it, Miranda. You look exactly how a woman should. It’s hard for me to dress these linebacker shoulders. And you can forget belts! Mother says I need to draw attention away from my waist, not toward it.” She sighed noisily. “But if Parton thought I was beautiful…wouldn’t that be fantastic, Miranda? Wouldn’t that just be great?”

  I wonder how many lawn mowers I’d need to buy from that manufacturer to get the cost under eighty dollars a unit? Better yet, if I could find somebody building them with lighter materials, I could cut my shipping costs.

  “I said, how long do you think it typically takes for a man to ask a girl to marry him.” Natalie reached across and poked Miranda’s arm. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Miranda lied. “I was picturing you in your cream-colored dress. What was your question?”

  “Parton. How long do you think it’s going to be before he asks me to marry him?”

  Miranda’s foot twitched enough to earn a slap from the woman painting her toes. “You want to marry him? For God’s sake why?”

  “Because that’s what people do! I’m already twenty-four. Do you realize there’s only three girls in my entire pledge class who aren’t either married or engaged already? There’s no way in the world I’d be able to stand being the last person in my class to land a man.”

  “How about you’re only twenty-four? Natalie, inheriting your mother’s copper hair and green eyes isn’t the only way you’re lucky. You got a college education.”

  “You have a college education. Miranda, you must conjugate your verbs correctly.”

  “Whatever. You have two parents who adore you. Money will never be a concern. Why tie yourself to some man? There’s a big world outside of Ann Arbor. Go see it.”

  “Parton and I can see it together. I’m sure Daddy would send us wherever we’d like for our honeymoon.
And once our children are born, I can imagine Mother keeping herself busy showing them all the sights.”

  “Now you’re planning your kids? Are you serious? Natalie, you don’t need a man. You can do whatever you want.”

  “I want Parton!” Natalie crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “And I want you to want it for me, too. Why do you have to rain on my big night? This is the first time Parton’s coming with Daddy and Mother to the club. Everyone will see us there. They’ll all assume a wedding isn’t far away.”

  “Parton Jennings is a weak-chinned mama’s boy who couldn’t save you from a mouse in the corner.”

  Natalie’s eyes widened. “How can you say that? His father is a captain of industry. Parton will step right into his shoes.”

  “Parton’s dad makes milk cartons. Milk cartons, Natalie. Sure, he’s made a shit-ton of money…”

  “Never swear, Miranda! The working class swears. Not us.”

  “Parton’s father has made a lot of money. Is that better? All I’m asking is that you see things how they are. The man makes milk jugs. Are milk jugs Parton’s driving passion in life?”

  “He likes golf. Oh! And that speedboat he has. Parton loves that little boat. I keep asking him to take me out in it, but so far, no luck.”

  “Is that what you want? Someone who doesn’t think enough of you to take you out in his precious boat?”

  Natalie’s cheeks reddened. “Stop it! I’ll not have you ruin this day. I’m going to marry Parton Jennings, and I want you to tell me how to get him to propose. You have had a man ask you to marry you, right? I mean, you’re twenty-six.”

  Miranda remembered Clay on his parents’ front porch. She’d just told him she was pregnant. He’d stood there. So long and so silent. She’d had to ask him if he’d heard her. His answer was simple.

  We need to get married, Miranda. Soon.

  “Yes. I’ve had a man ask me to marry him.”

  “Why’d you say no?”