by London, Cait
“It’s the first real peace I’ve had in years,” she said honestly, vehemently. “You must know that.”
“When the ladies come, how much of a glow are you expecting me to produce?” he asked, reminding her of the happy-husband-to-be image she’d wanted. “A small glow? A medium glow? Or just plain sappy-in-love-with-you glow?”
She stared blankly at him, amazed at the ability he had to distract her.
“You’re not going to cuddle against me, and maybe even kiss me when they’re around, are you? Yuck.” In the dim light, his boyish grin flashed at her.
She recovered enough to lightly punch his shoulder and return the grin. “I’m going to make you suffer just as much as I can. You’re enjoying this whole thing, aren’t you?”
“Sure. I need a little excitement in my old age. Get me a cookie from Eli’s Bakery sack, will you? In the back seat?”
Miranda turned to reach for the cookies and her breast brushed Gabriel’s shoulder. He seemed to tense, adjusting his body away from her, allowing her room to sift for Eli’s Bakery sack. Was her body still so sensitive that the slight contact burned?
He’d withdrawn again, his expression tight as if he couldn’t wait to get out of the Jeep and away from her. That muscle in his jaw contracted and released again as though some inner leash had been tested and denied. Whatever his dark moods were, she ached to step into them and stir them until the truth sprung free. She placed the cookie in his teeth and studied him. “Your mother said you loved a woman. Who is she? Won’t she mind me living with you?”
He chewed slowly and took his time answering her. Gabriel’s expression was closed, as if he were mulling his thoughts before expressing them. “My mother should keep her thoughts to herself…. The woman in my heart is kind and thinks of others before herself. She would protect them with all her being. She would understand that you need peace. That I have little to offer but that.”
“Where is she? Who is she?” She knew so little about him, while he knew intimate details she’d never told anyone but her family.
Again, there was that long, thoughtful silence. “She is always with me, close inside. But to see her, I go to the mountaintop and camp, waiting for her. She comes in the smoke and she’s round with a baby—my baby. Everything that I am or will be lies with her. I have tried to be with other women and still she haunts me, her eyes soft in the smoke.”
Miranda stared at him, shocked at the emotion in his deep voice. He had never revealed so much about his feelings. Gabriel’s senses had always been tuned to his Native American heritage, and now he spoke of a vision, a dream woman. Miranda settled back in her seat, slightly jealous, ridiculously so, of a woman who was fantasy and smoke.
Later that night, Miranda studied herself in the cabin window’s glass, the night freezing and yet damp outside. Then Gabriel’s face loomed in the glass above hers, his stark image familiar and yet new. His body heat licked at her skin beneath her pajamas and robe.
She ached for him to touch her, trembled with the need.
He hadn’t touched her in a way that said he felt anything for her, other than friendship. Maybe she wasn’t—“Gabriel, do you think I’m…desirable?”
“I think a man would want you,” he said very slowly, in that deep, liquid voice that curled intimately around her.
She turned to look up at him, to see if there was sensual hunger in those marvelous black eyes, but Gabriel had withdrawn behind his harsh, unreadable expression.
“So it’s working out, then,” Fidelity Moore said in her high chirpy voice. The last week of February’s bright midmorning sunlight shafted into Gabriel’s house as Fidelity scanned the mix of Gabriel’s and Miranda’s possessions. “Just as I knew it would. Your mother would be pleased that you are working with her crochet hook and embroidery hoop. She would have loved to know that you have planted seed in the kitchen window for garden plants, just as she always did. I thought highly of your mother, Miranda. She was a woman of strength and conscience, and not once complained of hard times. I see her in you. Only a strong woman would come back to find herself and her love.”
She used her cane to walk to Miranda’s bedroom and then to Gabriel’s. Gabriel slashed a dark, irritated look down at Miranda as Fidelity said, “Neat as a pin and homey. A little plain, but then a woman needs time to make a home her own. Miranda is simply blooming, young man. You must be treating her well.”
“Very well.” Miranda glanced at Gabriel, who had stiffened as he stood beside her. A private man, he didn’t like his life, nor his home, inspected, and now the Women’s Council had invaded it. She leaned against him, to comfort him, because he looked like he’d escape at any moment. His hand went to her waist and then slid fractionally lower, fingers digging in slightly where the women couldn’t see. He tugged her closer, fitting her against his lean body. The unfamiliar gesture from Gabriel surprised her.
Fidelity’s bright blue eyes warned Miranda. “The boy has a tongue and he’s spoken much about his dislike of women inhabiting his mountain retreat. Let him speak for himself and tell us why he accepts you and runs from all the other women chasing him.”
Miranda hadn’t thought of Gabriel running from anything, anyone. “Other women?”
“Of course, he’s been evidently involved with you, visiting you in Seattle, or else you wouldn’t have created a child together. You never should have skipped the customs that the Founding Mothers set up to protect and insure a good marriage, my dear. Coming to meet us outside, you two looked perfect together, ‘like a good pulling team of horses,’ my dear departed Alfonso, used to say.”
“Tracked her down and impregnated her,” Sadie McGinnis muttered indignantly. “Those Bachelor Club boys…”
Gabriel’s smile was nothing less than a roguish smirk and Miranda nudged him with her elbow, tossing him a warning look. He lifted his eyebrows, looking bland and innocent. Dahlia Greer, an experienced and outright sensual woman with several deceased husbands, laughed outright.
Fidelity’s stern look focused on Sadie, renowned for her open views on the Bachelor Club “impregnating” any and every available, vulnerable woman. Then Fidelity turned back to Gabriel. “I would have liked to have seen more courting. It is Miranda’s option to invite and court you, you know. The Founding Mothers wanted to make certain that women were active in selecting their future husbands. But with snow and this winding mountain road, I see the difficulty of her courting you. You have no problem with the isolation of Gabriel’s home, the farm life, after your career in business, my dear?”
Gabriel tensed again, looking outside the window, pulling himself away from her. His hand eased away from her as if he didn’t want to tether her. If there was anything that made Miranda want to claim him, to get his attention, it was that look.
On impulse, Miranda stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “He’s nervous,” she explained gently, delighting in riffling that cool, distant, totally arrogant look.
“We’re taking our time working things out,” Gabriel said smoothly, serving back a bit of her torment. “But I wish she’d court me. A man should have some romance.”
“Mmm,” Fidelity murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, you should. Miranda, do not let it be said that you didn’t court your man.”
“If she doesn’t nab that gorgeous hunk of man, she doesn’t deserve him,” Dahlia noted.
“I didn’t know I was so appealing, Ms. Greer,” Gabriel returned in that soft, lilting tone, his smile devastating.
“Why, you are just absolutely delicious, Mr. Deerhorn,” Dahlia returned at ease with the playful flirtation.
Miranda mentally shook her head trying to clear it. Gabriel had unexpected facets and when he wanted to, he dropped the silent leave-me-alone act and reached for the charm.
“I think that went well,” Miranda said later, as she stacked the teacups into the sink. “I don’t want any of them worrying about me. I couldn’t have done this in my mother’s home, but now that it’s over—I think I can mana
ge. We should talk about ending this, Gabriel, you have to go on with your life, and I have to go on with mine. I’m more comfortable with people now, and I’m going to take pleasure in the broods my brother and sister are creating. You’ve been so kind. However you want this handled, I will do my best to—”
“‘Kind?”’ The word cut at her, his expression fierce and angry, surprising her. “I’m checking on the horses,” Gabriel stated curtly as though he couldn’t wait to escape the house, echoing with the sounds of women’s chatter. The sound said he’d had enough of women and of her—
Miranda turned to him and his look took her breath away, staking her hotly as if he wanted—She swallowed, her hands shaking so badly that she dropped the next cup into the dishwater. Gabriel had looked as if he’d wanted her desperately, as if he wanted to make love to her. The air hummed between them and she couldn’t move. She wanted to undress, to have him undress her. To feel his lips against her skin…The silence rocked with a primitive sensual beat…and when the fire in the heating stove crackled, she jumped, because the image of his tall body, gleaming and powerful rising over hers had seemed so real. She’d never been looked at like that, as if a man could devour her, claim her, never let her go….
She was misreading him, of course. Her body was coming to life and receiving wrong impressions. Gabriel’s actions had been kind and nothing more. He was tense because of the earlier strain, his home invaded. She tried to keep her voice even, concealing her uncertainty. “Yes, you’d better do that.”
By late evening, Gabriel hadn’t returned. Miranda had prepared dinner, baked bread and had finally admitted she was afraid for him. He was an experienced woodsman, but he’d never been late for dinner. Gabriel was a man who needed his privacy. Perhaps he was using the forest to soothe him. A “chinook,” a warm winter wind, howled fiercely around the house, a lonely sound like that of a lost soul. Perhaps it was his “woman in the smoke” calling to him. Perhaps he’d gone to see her.
Fletcher paced the house restlessly, whining and looking at the door, evidently wanting to be freed. He growled, his hackles raised. Once, he lifted his head and an eerie howl that spoke of his wolf’s blood iced Miranda’s skin, lifting the tiny hairs on her nape.
Leashing Fletcher, making certain he wouldn’t tear off into a possible wolf pack, Miranda made several trips down to the barn. As restless as the dog, she watched for Gabriel through the house’s windows. His tracks led off into the woods, following those of a horse. On her last trek outside, she noted the big cat’s paw prints circling the barn and without expertise, Miranda knew they were that of a mountain lion. Fletcher continued pacing the room as if he sensed Gabriel needed him. If Gabriel were hurt…if a mountain lion…Miranda hurried to make hot tea, pouring it into a thermos. She settled the house, turned down the damper in the heating stove and quickly bundled for the freezing weather outside. With her snowshoes lashed to her boots, food and a thermos in the backpack, she released Fletcher out into the dim light, following him with a flashlight. “Go, boy! Find Gabriel!”
Six
A dash of temper fuels strength and pride. It’s good, sometimes I think, to take temper out of the drawer and let honesty clear the air. Miranda holds too much inside, but one day she’ll fight for what she wants, leaving nothing unsaid or undone.
Anna Bennett’s Journal
A clump of melting snow slid from a pine bough and plopped down beside Miranda. Fear ruling her, she jumped, the flashlight’s beam searing off into the tall pines. Fifteen minutes ago, Fletcher had raced ahead, ignoring her call. She prayed that he had found Gabriel safe. She’d lost his tracks, but continued in the same direction.
An hour in the forest worrying about Gabriel seemed like an eternity. She’d tied her snowshoes to her backpack; they were good for open country, but not for the forest’s dense brush, catching on twigs. She fell, pushed herself up awkwardly and trudged on in the snow, the chinook’s winds hurling around her.
The flashlight battery was dimming and finally there was nothing. Weary, terrified for Gabriel, Miranda threw it away and marched on, the shadows seeming to come alive. Her backpack, not that heavy at first, caused her shoulders to ache. In the night’s distance, Fletcher barked furiously and then nothing.
She ran toward the sound, dragging breath into her aching lungs. The wind swooped at her, tearing away her woolen scarf as if Gabriel’s woman didn’t want him to be found.
From behind, something grabbed her coat, immobilizing her. Terror surged through her as she thought of the size of the mountain lion’s paw prints. She turned, fists flying and a mitten glanced off Gabriel’s face, just as he ordered roughly, “Hold still. Stop fighting.”
Because he was Gabriel and she had been both terrified and angry, she hit him again, this time in the chest. He grunted, scowling down at her while Fletcher leaped and played and threw his one-hundred-plus pounds into a friendly bump against her legs. She struggled for balance and Gabriel’s fist locked onto her jacket, just beneath her chin. He hauled her up close to him. “It’s a hell of a night to be out for a stroll, lady,” he said tightly.
She was still fighting terror, her reasoning shooting between it and anger and the need to throw her arms around him. “If you can, I can.”
Gabriel raked off his knitted cap and shoved his hand through his hair. “Now that’s a childish statement.”
She had to know—“Were you with her?”
He shook his head and stared blankly at her. “Who? My mare? Yes, I was. She takes a notion to go off into the high meadow once in a while. I left a note in the barn.”
Miranda thought back to how frightened she’d been for him, disregarding the paper tacked to the door. “I was worried about you!”
“You’re tired and freezing and illogical. Did it ever occur to you that you might be that big cat’s dinner?”
Gabriel’s cool control only made her more angry and frustrated; she tossed fear away and the other two emotions swallowed her now, the chinook wind’s howl rising eerily in the night, coursing through the trees and swishing the branches. “I’m trained for logic, remember?”
“You should have stayed put. You’re not trained for night hunting in the mountains.” Gabriel’s leather glove eased her scarf away from her face. “You’re in a snit, lady, and this is no time to debate whatever mood you’re in now. You need a warm fire—”
She wrestled the backpack from her and hurled it at him. She’d come after him because Gabriel was all that mattered to her. Not because he might be in danger. Not because he had been so supportive, a strong anchor holding her in rough times, but because whatever she felt for him years ago was a shadow of her emotions now. While she stood, buffeted by fear and anger and tearing through layers of what was important in life and what wasn’t, Gabriel seemed unaffected. “‘Stayed put?’ Like in not meeting life and whatever it holds? I won’t let you do that to me, Gabriel…. That’s a thermos of hot tea in that backpack. For you when you’re lying half frozen down some ravine with one broken leg, and a mountain lion gnawing on the other and I’m tired of the subject always being ‘what I need.”’
Gabriel closed his eyes and shook his head as if dealing with a child’s tantrum. With apparent effort, he kept his uneven tone low. “The mountain lion had more sense. He’s back in his den, keeping warm. His tracks veered off mine about a quarter mile back. When I saw Fletcher, I knew you’d—”
“Who do you think you’re dealing with? Why can’t you show me what I’m showing you? You’re angry with me—well, tell me that. Don’t—”
That dark flash of anger tore across her like a sword and she reveled in the reality of Gabriel stirring past his self-protective shields. Because her emotions were flying now, out there on the howling wind, Miranda released them full force. She threw her weight into the shove, both her hands on his chest. He didn’t move, as unreachable as ever, no reaction. “It’s always about me, isn’t it, Gabriel? What about you? What is behind all those nice placid remarks, the
encouragement, the little you have to say about yourself? Just once, I’d like to hear—”
Gabriel turned from her, shutting her away, and only infuriated her more. Miranda stamped back a distance from him, then turned and retraced her path in the melting snow until she could see his face clearly. She tore off the coat hood covering her knitted cap. “I hate that—when you shut me out and when you run from any situation. Well, you’re not running from this one. You used to be so open with me—enough to tell me that ‘our life paths are different.’ Oh, you could do that well enough. What changed you?”
“It’s cold out here,” he said too coolly, too logically. “Maybe you could wait to have this tantrum or whatever back at the house.”
She jabbed a mitten-covered finger into his heavy coat. Gabriel grunted, but he didn’t move. He’d shoved that nick of anger behind his walls, and that knowledge hiked hers a notch higher. “Oh, no. You’re not running from this one, buddy.”
He smiled a little at that, watching her. “What would you do if I did? Track me down?”
Gabriel as a confident, indulging male, secure that he could protect her wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted equal terms now, not patronization. “I did it once, I can do it again. Every time I get too close to a subject you don’t want to discuss, you either throw the conversation toward me, or you’re gone, tuning me out or running away.”
“Miss me, did you? What is this? Some aftermath of staying in the house too long? Maybe you’re right. Maybe you have certain rights to know more.”
That magical deep lilt coursed through the howling wind, staking Miranda with its sensual tone. Then Gabriel’s big hands were framing her face, drawing her lips up to his. Eyes wide-open, she watched his intent expression, the line deepen between his brows, his lashes close. At first his lips were cool and firm, then they opened and played and nibbled and…
Miranda sank into the sweet kiss, tossing away everything but the magic that was Gabriel, that had always been Gabriel. He eased off her knitted cap and his hands dived into her hair, fingers splayed open, holding her as he slanted his open mouth on hers, locking the fit. The heat and hunger tore away the sweet taste and hurled Miranda into her own shaking hunger. She put her arms around his shoulders, opened her lips to his and felt the primitive beat of his passion, tuned into it so strongly that it became her own, trapping her body, pounding at her. She met him out there on that stark plane where shields were ripped away, desire burning bright. His mouth cruised her face, the kisses hard and hot and welcome, tasting of dark nights and skin upon skin. Tasting of eternity and vows and—