“I sometimes wonder what adults think when they see Danfair for the first time,” she mused aloud. “It is an unusual home, to say the least. Matt, the twins and I talk sometimes about changing it back into a more traditional house, but we never do anything about it. Maybe when Matt marries…if he marries…the change will take place naturally then.”
“I, for one, would be sorry to see that happen.” Nate braced his hands on the railing, leaned forward, then rocked back. “Not for Matt to marry, of course, but for the childlike charm of your home to be replaced by layers of untouchable elegance. Give me a house with character any day.”
“Not everyone thinks the character of this house is worth preserving.”
“Don’t tell me someone has complained?” He shook his head. “When I’m elected and you’re reelected to the city council, let’s introduce a city ordinance against frivolous complaining.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those who likes to stir things up,” she said with a laugh.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those who likes to maintain the status quo.” His smile teased her in the soft night lighting. “I can see it may be a stormy couple of years for the other councilors. On the other hand, you can always count on my support if you invite me over to skate after the meetings.”
The way the moonlight teased a reddish cast into Nate’s dark hair fascinated her. “I’m surprised at you, Nate Shepard. That sort of comment could be construed as blackmail or bribery. You should watch your step. Things like that can get you into a lot of trouble.”
“Things like marshmallows can get you into a lot of trouble,” he observed blandly. “Which brings me to the question that’s been on my mind since I saw you standing outside my house this afternoon.”
Of course, he’d want an explanation from her. And she shouldn’t have made him wait so long for it, either. If she’d been in his place, she wouldn’t have been so patient about asking the question. Of course, there had been all manner of explanations from the children already. They’d turned the fire into an entertaining tale, told from different and exaggerated viewpoints, often with wild embellishment, some of it based in fact, some not. “I do feel, at least, partly responsible for what happened this afternoon,” she admitted.
His gaze cut to her. His eyebrows quirked upward. An indication that he was willing to listen to her side of the story. The story. What, exactly, had happened? Miranda was still sorting through that and just how much she wanted to confess. “I went to your house to do the landscape assessment,” she said, then paused to gather her thoughts.
“I’m relieved to know you didn’t go there to burn down my house.”
“It was a very small fire.” She mimicked the arch of his eyebrows and he subsided with a grin.
“Kali and Kori fell. In the garden. Outside.” She wanted to be sure he realized she hadn’t simply rung his doorbell, gone inside and made herself at home. “Kali scraped her arm and Kori skinned her knee and they both cried pretty hard and I…well, I think that when children are hurting, someone should do something to make them feel better. Your mother had left to run an errand, so I took them inside to clean them up.”
“Where was Cate?”
“She was there. Helping. She brought the Band-Aids and the antiseptic cream and some old wash cloths so I could clean the wounds. But, really, she’s only a child herself.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Well, she is, nonetheless, and I hated for her to have the responsibility of distracting her sisters, so I asked her to get them some Popsicles, which she did. From there…well, the marshmallow subject arose when Kali asked if I liked Popsicles when I was their age, which I did. Then Kori wanted to know if I ever liked anything better than Popsicles, to which I should have said no. But I didn’t. Then they wanted to know practically everything I’d ever tasted and how it was better than a Popsicle, and before I realized it, I was explaining how Matt and I invented popcorn baseball and the time Ainsley and Andrew decided to make cotton candy in the clothes dryer and—” She caught his pained expression and added, “Don’t worry. I told them it didn’t work.”
“But did you tell them who had to clean up the mess?” he asked. “A much more important point to make at their age.”
She laughed. “Actually, I don’t remember who cleaned up that disaster, but the clothes dryer vanished, never to be seen again. My point is, that’s how the whole discussion of, and subsequent toasting of, marshmallows came about. The consequence, unfortunately, was the fire. A small fire.”
“I’m still not clear on how exactly the flaming marshmallow set the drapes on fire…but on second thought, maybe it’s best I don’t know too many details.”
“Probably best,” she agreed. “And I wouldn’t say it was flaming, although it was definitely on fire.”
His low sound of amusement whispered through the night to caress her. “I can see that I have underestimated you, Miranda.”
She loved the flirtation in his voice, that husky note of surprise, and knew the sliver of attraction had the potential to become a chasm she could fall into. “What?” she flirted back…recklessly, as it turned out. “You didn’t think I’d try something like setting your house on fire to get your attention?”
It was the last thing—the absolute last thing—she had meant to say. But now it was out there. And he knew she’d not only noticed his lack of pursuit, she’d been just a little miffed by it. She, who was always so careful, so deliberate in what she chose to say and do, had suddenly blurted out the most indiscreet of her thoughts. She was—gasp—turning into her sister!
Nate straightened slowly away from the railing and angled, only slightly, but very effectively, into her space, interfering with both her heart rate and her breathing in one smooth move. “You’ve had my attention since the salmon incident, Miranda. Believe me, burning down my house is unnecessary.”
She drew a shallow breath, and tried to match the touch of humor that edged his smile. “It was a very…small…fire.”
“Mmm.” His hands touched hers, moved up to her arms. “But you know what they say about small fires.”
Don’t ask. Do not ask… “W-what?” It came out in a whisper, barely a puff of air from her constricted throat.
His eyes found hers in the stillness and viewed her with a tender pleasure. He breathed…and she felt the warmth of his amusement on her cheek. “They say, Miranda, that small fires spread and turn into big fires.”
She believed that. Her body offered plenty of proof. What had started as a blush of anticipation had already become a simmer of heat beneath her skin. And where his hands rested lightly—so lightly—on the sleeves of her sweater, there was a sizzle of expectation. He intended to kiss her. Again. She felt certain of his intent and knew she ought to have enough pride to put a stop to this, right here, right now. But apparently, her pride had gone the way of her senses, because she only stood, a willing hostage while the fire spread, wanting only to feel the burning touch of his mouth over hers.
Without so much as a cue, her lips parted with invitation and his gaze dropped to trace the nervous path of her tongue as it skimmed her lower lip. She had never been this anxious about a coming kiss, had never before been eager for a man to take the decision out of her hands and kiss her. Yet still he waited. As if this—the anticipation—was the best part, the moment he most wanted to savor.
“Thank you for telling me about the fire,” he said softly. “But that wasn’t the question I was going to ask you.”
She could hardly breathe for wanting his kiss. “It…wasn’t?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The thing that has bothered me all afternoon and all evening is that, when we were all standing out on the lawn while the firefighters put out the fire, I think you were wearing my shirt. Is that possible?”
Her eyelids came down on a sigh and the blush returned to her cheeks in a heated rush. “Yes,” she said a moment later. A long moment later. “Yes, I was wea
ring your shirt.” How such a simple, perfectly innocent, harmless action could suddenly sound so naughty, confused her. But there it was. She had worn his shirt and somehow, on this star-struck night, the admission felt sinfully intimate. “I…well, mine had a stain on it and…and I asked Cate to get me something to wear while I rinsed mine out. Then we started roasting the marshmallows and…”
“And the fire started.”
Her sense of pride returned. Late, but welcome. “I’ll have it dry-cleaned and back to you by Monday.”
“Keep it,” he said. “I’ll never be able to wear the shirt again, knowing it looks so much better on you.”
“You’ll have it Monday,” she promised.
“I can see that this relationship is going to be hard on my wardrobe,” he went on, ignoring her disclaimer. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I have enough shirts for both of us. I think, Miranda, that you and I are going to need to do some shopping.”
She was back and ready for him. Bring it on. Cut to the bottom line. “What relationship?”
He answered with a slow smile that on another man, a younger man, might have seemed cocky, but on Nate, simply looked confident. “I do have one other question.”
“Save it for a rainy day,” she told him, feeling she’d just stepped back from the precipice.
And then Ainsley showed up to push her over the edge.
“Miranda?” The sound of her footsteps preceded her, but Ainsley, being Ainsley, had never been particularly stealthy. “Is Nate out there with you?”
As if the matchmaker didn’t know to the second exactly how long he’d been out here with her. “We were just coming in.” Miranda would have moved toward the door then, but his hands were still on her arms, his body between her and the house, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to move. “We should go in,” she suggested, aware as she said it of a reluctance to leave, the heat of his hands made her want to run with him into the darkness, and discover if there was fire to be found within the kiss he’d denied her.
“We could make a run for it,” Nate said, reading her mind.
God help her, she was tempted. “Where would we go?”
“Walt Disney World?”
Ainsley stopped in the doorway, an angel in pale blue. “Oh,” she said, heavy on the surprise. “Hi, there. I was looking for you.”
Nate’s wry expression—all and only for Miranda—made her laugh. She would have taken the initiative then and kissed him as she’d wanted him to kiss her. But she did not want her sister—the matchmaker—to see anything remotely match-like, and besides, Nate was already stepping back, turning, and placing his hand at her elbow to draw her toward the light along with him. “Miranda and I were just talking about fire safety,” he said in a tone no twenty-something would ever dare argue with.
This time Ainsley’s “Oh” was clearly disappointed. But she recovered. “Well,” she added brightly, turning to walk with them into the room, “that’s something else the two of you have in common.”
“Fire safety?”
Ainsley nodded. “Miranda used to give us lectures on stuff like that all the time. Fire safety, auto safety, weather safety, you-name-it safety. She was very strict about safety.”
Miranda was wishing she’d been stricter about talking, when she felt Nate’s fingers brush across her hand. She looked up to see a tender regret in his eyes.
“Did you ever get to be a child, Miranda?”
A lump the size of Seattle rose in her throat then. And she had to blink back unexpected tears. No one had ever asked her that question. She’d never even asked it of herself. But Nate saw her sacrifice, acknowledged it, and felt regret on her behalf. As moments go, it was one of the sweetest she’d ever known. She offered him a soft smile in thanks and lifted her shoulder in a light shrug of acceptance. “Well,” she said, “I did invent popcorn baseball.”
“Oh, and that’s not all.” Ainsley—as match-maker—seemed intent on cataloging Miranda’s many achievements for Nate, chattering on about other games, other perfectly brilliant ideas Miranda had had over the years. She kept up a continuous stream of cute stories as the three of them walked through the study, past the game-filled dining room, crossed the croquet field, and skirted the Ping-Pong table into the East Salon.
And all the while, Nate listened politely, while behind Ainsley’s back, his fingers flirted outrageously with Miranda’s.
It wasn’t a kiss, but it had promise. Small fires, Miranda thought, gave off a surprising amount of warmth.
“MOMMY!”
Miranda was out of bed and halfway down the hall before she became fully awake and understood the cry in the night was not for her. It had been years—a great many of them—since she’d awakened to a child’s frightened call. Ainsley had often cried out in her sleep whenever their parents were away…and she wouldn’t let anyone but Miranda comfort her. Andrew, too, had gone through times when he awoke sobbing and Miranda had been the only one who could soothe him. If Matthew had ever had nightmares, he’d never let her know. But then, he was older and had always felt he needed to be the man of the family. Just as she’d always felt it was her duty to be the mother they so seldom saw.
That had been a long time ago, when she was only a child herself and she’d thought it was mostly forgotten. Until now, all these years later, when she was here again, in the middle of the night, out of bed, called out of sleep, on her way to another bedside, responding to someone else’s need without a second—or a first—thought. Miranda to the rescue, hurrying to dispel unfounded fears, conditioned by her own deep sense of responsibility to find the problem and fix it. Even when it wasn’t her problem.
The crying was muted now, no longer the frantic, frightened call of a child waking from a bad dream and into strange surroundings. Miranda told herself to turn around and go back to bed. Nate and his children were all in guest rooms, situated close together. He would have heard the cry and responded. He was their father. Any calls were his to answer. Not hers. And yet, she continued quietly padding barefoot down the hall toward the doorway of the room Kali and Kori were sharing for the night. Just to check. Just to make sure someone had heard. Just to settle her own restless worry.
How many times had she made this same journey through the halls of Danfair to the bedside of a child not her own? It felt so familiar, perhaps it had been hundreds of times. Maybe only a handful. Probably somewhere in between. She had always gone, but she had dreaded the trip. Or, more truthfully, the feeling of great helplessness that accompanied it. She hadn’t been sure what was expected, had no way of ever knowing if she’d done what her parents would have done in her place. And afterward, she’d always returned to her own bed, alone and unsettled, wondering if there would ever be anyone to comfort her.
That must be the reason she kept walking now, stopping in the doorway of the guest room only when she saw that Nate was there, already providing the security his child needed. Which was just as it should be. Just as she had hoped it would be. Kali and Kori had lost a mother, but they still had a father who loved them enough to be present, who was just down the hall when they awoke crying in the night. That, Miranda thought, must be a nice feeling.
“Shh.” Nate sat on the edge of the bed, soothing his daughter with the low crooning sound of his voice, allaying her fears by simply stroking his hand across her tousled hair. “Shh, Kali,” he murmured. “You’re okay. We’re at Miranda’s house, remember? Shh. Daddy’s here and you’re all right. Everything is all right.”
Miranda leaned her shoulder against the door frame, hugging her body with arms that felt suddenly cool and empty. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t want a child to look to her for comfort, didn’t want anything remotely resembling that kind of responsibility. Not again. And yet, she continued to stand there, observing the scene, admiring the calm, sure way Nate dealt with it, feeling a trace of irrational envy for the confidence he so easily conveyed. He was compassionate, understanding, caring, but also firm in his insistence that th
e child stay in bed, that she try to go back to sleep, that she believe the nightmare was gone and would not return. He didn’t make promises, didn’t offer empty platitudes, and he didn’t deny Kali her right to be afraid. It was, after all, a scary world and she had lost a blanket of maternal security that couldn’t be replaced. But in those few minutes of watching Nate, Miranda realized he was offering the next best thing—his presence and the knowledge that however horrible the dream or the fear of what might be hiding in the dark, it didn’t have to be faced alone. Perhaps the comfort he offered—a loving touch, the murmur of a familiar voice, the relief of having someone come when you called—was the only comfort to be found in the night. Perhaps it was the only comfort a child, or anyone else, really wanted. And maybe, all those years ago, she had unknowingly and however uncertainly, provided the one thing her little family truly needed from her…the gift of not being alone.
Nate looked back and saw her, sharing with her in that unguarded moment something she hadn’t meant to share. She hadn’t wanted to see herself as needing comfort, hadn’t wanted him to see her that vulnerable. But for the space of a heartbeat, she knew he had seen, knew she had allowed him to see, and she understood that simply by standing in the doorway, she was offering comfort to him. And receiving it from him in return. These were his children. She didn’t want the responsibility of caring for another set of motherless children, and had no intention of letting this lovely little flirtation go that far. So why was she standing here, feeling as if she belonged? As if she finally knew what to do?
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