by Deb Kastner
Or rather, get him out of trouble.
The nerve of the man.
“Well, thank you for working your charm on him. I was concerned there for a while.”
“You’re mistaken. This has nothing to do with me. I think Kyle admires what you’re doing here at the ranch. He’s just being nice, trying to help you fix the problem between you and old Mrs. Stanton.”
“Hmmph. Being nice? Kyle was admiring you. He asked you for coffee.”
If Miranda didn’t know any better, she would have thought she detected a note of jealousy in his tone.
But of course that was ridiculous. Why would Simon care if another man found her attractive?
“Which I turned down,” she pointed out.
He scoffed. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t answer him at all.”
She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Same difference. And honestly, does it even matter how it happened? The point is that we have a solution—and one that doesn’t require any more interactions with Officer Peterson.”
Why she thought she needed to reassure him on that point was quite beyond her understanding.
Simon lifted one eyebrow, then frowned.
“Not a viable solution.”
She tilted her head and captured his gaze. “I’m not following. When you build the fence, your problems go away—and so does your nosy neighbor. The next time Blanche Stanton phones the police, they’ll tell her to mind her own business.”
“I don’t—that is—” His face turned an alarming shade of red and he coughed as if he was choking on something.
She gave him three helpful thumps between his shoulder blades to dislodge his breath. Not exactly the Heimlich maneuver, but—
“I don’t have the money,” Simon mumbled, his voice so low that Miranda could barely hear the words.
She leaned in closer. “What did you say? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I said I don’t have the money to build the fence!” This time his voice was loud enough to be heard in the next county.
“You don’t have to shout.”
He growled. Literally, actually growled, and Miranda briefly wondered if maybe he was spending a little too much time with his canine companions.
“You don’t get it, do you? You just put my head on the chopping block, promising Officer Peterson that I will comply with something that I don’t have the resources to build. What’s going to happen when that fence doesn’t get built, huh? It won’t just be Blanche breathing down my neck. My whole operation will be in jeopardy.”
“I understand,” she said. And she did—far better than he did right now. Because happily, she had the answer to his problem tucked away in her purse. He’d be so relieved that she intended to give him his money back.
Problem solved.
“Hold that thought for a moment.”
She jogged back to her car and returned with her cute, high-end black clutch purse that was highlighted with a sparkling red rose.
“I have your remedy right here.”
Laughing, she waved the purse under his nose.
He frowned.
Of course he frowned. What else did Simon West ever do? She wanted to roll her eyes in exasperation.
But he’d be smiling in a moment.
“Ready?”
She snapped open the clutch and then paused for dramatic effect.
“Miranda,” he warned with a growl.
“Oh, fine, spoilsport. Here,” she said, pulling out the envelope he’d given her earlier. “This is the answer to your problem.”
She tried to hand the envelope to Simon but he just stared at it, unmoving, his expression as hard as stone.
“That’s for the twins,” he said after an extended pause.
“Is it?” Miranda took the blank paper from the envelope, laid the check on the table and exaggerated her examining of both blank sides of the printer paper. “I don’t see anywhere on here where this check is designated to the twins. No note or anything.”
“You know well and good that’s what it’s for. Why else would I give you money? I didn’t think I had to spell it out for you.”
“You didn’t. You don’t. And I do know what you were trying to accomplish here. That’s very sweet, and the twins and I appreciate it.
“But here’s the thing—I don’t need your money. I made a very good living as a celebrity photographer. A great one, actually. And since I’m really not the sort of woman to spend huge amounts on myself, I tucked most of that money away. I didn’t know at the time I would be able to use it raising Harper and Hudson comfortably, but God knew.”
Simon flinched but remained silent, his scowl still firmly set.
“And that’s assuming I never use my photography skills again, which I can’t imagine. Even without my savings, and even in a small town, I have a viable career.”
He grunted. She didn’t know which part of what she’d said upset him. Maybe all of it. But he should be thinking about his fence right now and not his ego.
“I’ve already set up investment funds for their college expenses. Their future is as set as their present.”
She pushed the check in his direction.
“Keep your money. Build your fence,” she urged.
He crossed his arms, and his jaw tightened until she could see his pulse throbbing at the base of his neck.
“There are lots of other ways you can support the twins besides using your checkbook,” she said, trying to soften the blow to his ego. “You can be their male role model. You know how important that is. A man to love them and give them guidance.”
He didn’t so much as blink.
“What?”
“Until some other guy comes along.”
Miranda wasn’t going to get into this with him. There was no other guy, and she doubted there ever would be.
Simon was their godfather—an important influence in Hudson's and Harper’s lives. That wasn’t going to change.
But there was no point in telling him that, because he wasn’t listening. He’d completely turned himself off to her.
She sighed. “I really, really didn’t want to have to do this, but it appears you leave me no choice.”
Picking up the check off the table, she held the top corners between her fingers and thumbs and tore it neatly in half.
He stood so fast that Miranda was glad the picnic table was secured to the ground with concrete. It was a wonder the whole thing didn’t crack into sawdust with the intensity of Simon’s movement.
He stalked away, muttering under his breath and shoving his hair back with his free hand. Miranda couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she suspected it had something to do with her, and they were probably not very nice sentiments.
Suddenly, he swiveled back on her.
“I’ll write you another one. Maybe you don’t need the money, but I want to do something concrete to support my godchildren.”
She shook her head. He wasn’t getting it. She could see that he wanted to give sacrificially, and she didn’t want to stomp on his ego, but she had to make him see her point.
“I’ll tear up any check you write. You can’t win this battle, Simon. The best thing you can do right now is build your fence so you have a business to sustain you and you can keep rescuing your dogs. That won’t happen if animal control shuts down your operation. The twins need you around as a role model, not a banker.”
“But—”
“Nope. End of subject. Now, I’m going to leave you to your nice sunset and get back home to Hudson and Harper. When you figure out what you want to do, give me a ring. You have my number.”
She couldn’t help but smile the tiniest bit as she strode up the hill. Simon might not realize it right now, but she’d done him a
huge favor, because the twins really did need their godfather in their lives.
Together, they’d find the answer to this dilemma. In the meantime, it was—
Miranda: one.
Stubborn Cowboy: zip.
Chapter Eight
The next Saturday, nearly a week after the incident with Officer Peterson, Simon was working on obedience training with some of the rescues he hoped to find forever homes for at the upcoming Christmas adoption event, but his heart and mind weren’t in it and the perceptive pups could tell. They were all over the place, just like his thoughts.
He’d reached for his cell phone to call Miranda a dozen times, and a dozen times his thumb had strayed from the call button and he’d ended up pocketing his phone.
He’d never been so frustrated in his life.
Just when he was starting to like Miranda, maybe even admire her, she had pulled the rug out from underneath him, exposing his weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
He hadn’t always been the nicest guy. As a youth he’d floundered, because he had no foundation, no family to care for him. And he would do anything—anything—to make sure the twins never found themselves in a similar situation.
While he now conceded that Miranda may have been right about the money, he had his pride, and she had popped his male ego like a blade into a balloon when she’d ripped his check in half. He’d felt every tiny tear of the paper in his gut. His emotions had warred between humiliation and anger.
Even thinking about it now, a whole week later, made conflicting feelings swirl around in his chest like a whirlwind. He wanted to be the role model the twins looked up to. But even with his new faith, could he be that man? It seemed as if it was one step forward, two steps back in his life right now, especially since Miranda had arrived.
What could he offer the twins that Miranda didn’t already provide?
And yet his concerns didn’t negate his heartfelt conviction that he needed to contribute to the twins’ well-being in a concrete way. Maybe he’d made a misstep with the check, but the reasoning behind his offering hadn’t changed.
What had she said? That the twins needed his presence in their lives more than his money, a man to love them and give them guidance.
Lord, how can I be that man?
He needed a new game plan. Something that would work for all of them.
What he had to do, he realized, was make up with Miranda, set aside his pride for the sake of the twins. Be the one to step up and make the first move. If he and Miranda spent time together with Harper and Hudson, maybe they could find some common ground and learn to get along better with each other for the twins’ sake. Certainly, there’d been moments when they’d worked together successfully, but those didn’t outweigh the number of times they’d butted heads over issues.
He needed to find things they could do together. Events that Miranda, Hudson and Harper would all enjoy. Keep it light and friendly.
He hesitated a second before dialing Miranda, and that was only because he didn’t know what kind of immediate reception he would get.
Would she hang up on him?
He snorted. What was this? High school?
He felt like a teenager phoning a girl for a first date, only in this case, he and Miranda were adults who’d gotten off on the wrong foot.
Several wrong feet, actually.
Of course she wouldn’t hang up on him. Technically, he was the injured party here. But he was going to let that go for the twins’ sake.
Surprisingly, Miranda answered on the first ring, catching him completely off guard. He couldn’t even stammer a hello.
“Simon. What’s up? Is everything all right with the doggies?”
“The dogs?” Her question confused him for a moment. “No—yeah—the dogs are fine. I was just—”
He paused and cleared his throat, his nerves tingling from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
“If you and the twins are free this afternoon, I thought we might take them to the Christmas carnival at church that the youth group is putting on. They do this every year and it draws most of the community, especially the children. They’ve got all kinds of little games and prizes, and the money goes toward feeding Christmas dinners to the homeless.”
“I heard about that during church announcements last week and I was just bundling the twins up to take them.”
Simon’s spirit dipped.
“Oh. I see. Well—”
“But why don’t we meet you there and we can hang out?”
He felt as if his heart was on a spring, popping back up again as easily as it had fallen.
“Yeah? That’d be—great.” His throat tightened around his voice.
“Wonderful. See you there in twenty?”
Simon assented, then hung up the phone and headed for the house to wash up. As he splashed cold water on his face, he stared at himself in the mirror, for once taking stock of what he saw.
Debating on whether or not to change his shirt, he wet his hands and shoved his fingers through his curls, trying to tame them, but it was hopeless, and anyway, he had permanent hat hair from his cowboy hat. He ran his palm across his whiskers, wondering if he should shave, then scowled at his reflection and snorted.
Why should today be any different than any other day?
He was five minutes early from the time they’d agreed to meet, but Miranda’s yellow convertible was already parked in the lot, sticking out like gold amongst coal. She really did need to get a more practical vehicle with all that money she’d said she had tucked away.
Miranda was waiting at the entrance with the twins in a double stroller. She waved as he approached.
“I thought since the carnival is interactive that we could leave the stroller out here and take the twins in together.”
He grinned as he unstrapped Harper and pulled her into his arms. Together sounded good. Olive branches being extended both ways, it seemed.
With Hudson in her arms, Miranda gestured for him to follow her into the fellowship hall, which had been decorated almost as obnoxiously as Miranda’s living room. Red, gold and silver garland everywhere. Wreaths at every booth, which were separated by tables.
“What should we do first?” Miranda asked. Simon wasn’t sure whether she was addressing him or Hudson, so he merely shrugged.
“No deep-seated aspiration to throw darts at a balloon? I imagine it’s quite therapeutic if you can pop one. And you get a prize.”
“Shouldn’t we walk around first?” he asked—not that he wasn’t willing to display his dart-throwing skills. He had a dartboard at home and often spent evenings playing. It was one game a man could do without a partner or challenger.
Miranda assented and they walked through the aisles, taking note of the games aimed at the youngest children, and those more suited to adults. There was even a Wildhorn version of a kissing booth, where couples donated money to kiss under a sprig of mistletoe.
Simon made a note to avoid that booth. Trouble with a capital T.
Miranda slid her free hand into the crook of his elbow so they could stay together as they walked through the crowd. It was oddly comfortable, even with the curious glances that were thrown their direction.
“Cakewalk?” she asked, her expression eager with anticipation.
“For the twins? They can’t even walk yet.”
She laughed. “No, silly. For us. I mean, for us and the twins. We can carry them with us.” She turned her attention on Hudson. “What do you say, Hudson? Think we can beat Uncle Simon and Harper?”
“So not going to happen, is it, darlin’?” he responded, directing his comment toward Harper, though his smile was for Miranda.
The cakewalk alternated between older kids and adults, so they had to wait their turn, but it wasn’t long before
they were on their spots, ready to begin walking with the music, which was, appropriately, a lively version of “Jingle Bells.”
Even laden with the babies, both he and Miranda laughingly caught chairs through the first few rounds, and before he knew it, it was just him and Miranda left, fighting over one chair. His competitive nature reared and he clutched Harper to his shoulder.
“This one’s for you, baby girl,” he whispered.
Around and around they went. The inky-haired teenage boy in charge of the MP3 player took his time about shutting down the music, but when he did, Simon leaped for the chair, which happened to be facing his direction.
He hit the seat just as Miranda rolled around, squealing in surprise as she made contact with Simon’s knee and not the chair. She tipped to the side, clearly going down, but she had the presence of mind to press Hudson into Simon’s waiting arm. He’d been reaching for Miranda but had no choice but to take the baby instead.
His pulse ratcheted as Miranda landed in an inglorious heap. For a moment she didn’t move or speak, and he wondered if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She’d landed pretty hard. But then he heard her groan as she rolled to a sitting position, favoring one knee.
He was kneeling beside her in a second, but he was limited in how he could help her with two babies in his arms—babies who were both clapping and giggling as if they wished for Miranda to do it again.
Hudson in particular thought being suddenly tossed into Simon’s arms was great fun. At least Miranda’s fall hadn’t hurt the little guy, and he had to give Miranda props for getting him to safety before impact.
Simon definitely didn’t want anything like that to happen again.
“Miranda?” he asked gently. “What hurts, honey?”
She groaned again, her face flushing. The teenage boy running the music was at her side, a concerned look on his face as he offered his hand to her.
“Only my pride. And possibly my knee, although it’s not anything major. I may have twisted it a bit as I fell.”
“Can you stand?”
She nodded and slowly came to her feet, carefully testing out her left knee before putting any weight on it.