by Gina Wilkins
As for anything else—well, he’d been married to a woman who had valued entertainment above the daily responsibilities of family life. Even if he were in the market for a long-term relationship, it wouldn’t be with a party girl like Miranda Martin.
Besides, he had seen the way she’d looked at his kids on the rare occasion when she’d seen them. As if strange and somewhat intimidating aliens had wandered into her field of vision. Even if he tried to delude himself into thinking he and Miranda could form a personal bond, he had a feeling that she considered there to be two very prominent obstacles in their path.
“Who was that lady in your office today, Daddy?” Payton asked over dinner that evening.
“You mean the one you so rudely interrupted when you burst in without knocking?”
She sighed—something she did with innately expressive skill. “I already said I’m sorry,” she reminded him. “Who was she?”
“A client. Her name is Miranda Martin.”
“She was pretty.”
Mark glanced across the table. “Madison, don’t give your peas to Poochie. Eat them yourself.”
Three-year-old Madison, a smaller, blonder duplicate of her sister, obligingly stuffed a spoonful of peas into her food-smeared mouth, leaving Poochie, a rather ragged stray mutt Mark had rescued six months earlier, to wait beneath the table in hopes of dropped scraps.
Payton, who liked to tell everyone she was four-going-on-five (in just four months), and whom Mark thought of as four-going-on-thirty, wasn’t finished asking questions. “Don’t you think she’s pretty, Daddy?”
Mark was still keeping a watchful eye on his youngest child. “Mmm? You mean Madison? I think she’s very pretty.”
Payton groaned. “Not Madison, Daddy. That lady. Miranda Martin.”
That reclaimed his attention. “Yeah, sure. She’s very pretty.”
“Can I get my ears pierced? I want some of those big gold circles like she had.”
Picturing his four-year-old in gypsy hoops, Mark stifled a smile. “Not until you’re older.”
“Nicola Cooper got pierced ears. She gets to wear little silver circles.”
“When you’re older, Payton.”
Another sigh, and then, “Are you going to take her on a date?”
“No.”
“Nicola Cooper’s mother goes on dates. She gets all dressed up in pretty clothes and takes Nicola to her grandma’s house. Sometimes Nicola gets to stay all night at her grandma’s house.”
“Yes, well…eat your chicken, babe. It’s getting cold.”
Two hastily swallowed bites later, Payton was at it again. “Why aren’t you going to take her on a date if you think she’s pretty?”
“Just because.” As an answer, it was pretty lame, but the best he could come up with at the moment. “Tell me more about your field trip,” he said, making an attempt to change the subject. “When did you say you’re going? Next Monday?”
He remembered perfectly well that it was Tuesday, but at least the question distracted Payton from his social life—or lack thereof. She started chattering about the planned outing, seeming to forget all about Miranda Martin.
Mark wished he could forget her as quickly. Payton’s innocent questions had made him think of things that would be much better left alone.
Though Little Rock was the capitol and the largest city in Arkansas, it was still small enough that Miranda could hardly go anywhere without running into someone she knew. Especially at the local music clubs where she liked to hang out in the evenings; she only had to walk in for someone to call out to her to join them at their table.
Tonight that table included three other women and two men, all of whom Miranda knew at least in passing. She considered them friends, though she doubted that any one of them would be of much use if she found herself in trouble. Not that it mattered to her, since she considered herself a fiercely independent woman who took care of her own problems and expected others to do the same.
“Miranda, you look amazing,” Oliver Cartwright pronounced, studying her outfit with a critical eye. “Not many people can get away with that color, but it looks fabulous on you.”
“Coming from you, that’s a high compliment,” she assured him.
She had paid a little extra attention to her appearance tonight, pairing a flirty gold top with a pair of low-slung dark jeans and strappy heels. The top was cut just low enough at the neckline to give a glimpse of cleavage and just high enough at the hem to reveal an inch of spray-tanned abdomen. Modest compared to what many of the young women in the club were wearing, but still eye-catching, which had been her intention.
If Oliver, the local fashion cop, approved, she must have done something right, she thought with satisfaction.
“Lucky you,” a busty bottle-blonde in a clingy red dress said with a pout. “Oliver said I look like an over-ripe tomato.”
“You insist on wearing clothes that are too tight for you,” he pointed out to her. “I keep telling you that subtlety is sexier than a desperate play for attention.”
“Miranda’s wearing a shiny gold top. Isn’t that a play for attention?”
“Note that Miranda’s boobs aren’t trying their best to escape the fabric that covers them. You’ll certainly get attention with your dress tonight, Brandi, but don’t come crying to us again when the Mr. Right Now you take home disappears with the sunrise.”
Brandi, who made no secret of her desire to get married—preferably to someone with money—flounced discontentedly in her seat. “You’re so mean, Oliver.”
“Yes, darling, but I’m always right.”
The rest of the party laughed at his droll retort, though no one dared dispute it.
A cocktail waitress appeared at the table and Miranda ordered a Manhattan while several of the others requested seconds of their own drinks. She would allow herself only a single drink tonight, but she would thoroughly savor that one indulgence.
Having grown up in a home where alcohol was synonymous with sin—as were dancing, cursing, television, movies, fiction, vanity, frivolity and any sexual activity, including handholding and kissing, outside of marriage—she had vowed to be answerable to no one but herself when she escaped, which she had done after graduating from high school at seventeen. That was ten years ago, and she hadn’t looked back since.
Oliver turned back to his friend Randall, and Brandi strutted off to the ladies’ room, making sure she caught plenty of male attention on the way. An attractive woman Miranda had met a couple of times before leaned over to ask quietly, “Do you think he hurt her feelings?”
“Brandi? Hardly. She’ll sulk awhile, then she’ll go home with some guy who’ll treat her exactly as Oliver predicted, and next week she’ll start the whole cycle again. She always insists on asking Oliver what he thinks of her clothes, even though she has to know what he’s going to say.”
Someone else interrupted that conversation. “Hey, Miranda, what do you know about entertaining kids?”
She turned to the brunette on her left. “As little as possible. Why do you ask, Bev?”
Bev shrugged. “My brother’s bringing his three kids to visit Mom next month, when school’s out, and she’s asked me to help entertain them. You always know something fun to do. I thought you might have some ideas.”
“Honey, my ideas never involve children,” Miranda returned with an exaggerated shudder.
A round of laughter answered her words.
“What?” someone asked. “No nieces or nephews?”
She started to shake her head, and then she stopped herself. “Oh, wait. I do have a couple of nephews.”
Oliver raised his carefully arched blond eyebrows. “You forgot you’re an aunt?”
“I don’t think of myself as an aunt,” she said with a slight shrug. “I haven’t seen the kids more than a couple of times in their lives—my sister doesn’t stay in one place for very long.”
“My brother’s the same way,” someone else said. “I wouldn’t mi
nd seeing my nieces, actually, but they’re living in Singapore now, if you can believe it. My brother has a fabulous job there. He—”
Not particularly interested, Miranda tuned out and took a sip of her drink, thinking about her older sister for the first time in ages. She wondered where Lisa was these days, and whether she was taking any better care of her five-year-old twins than she had been the last time she’d breezed through town, hoping to bum a few dollars from Miranda.
The idea of having her own children made Miranda practically choke with claustrophobic panic. Nothing would be more certain to put an end to the carefree, independent lifestyle she had spent her entire youth plotting to achieve.
Maybe Lisa didn’t mind dragging her conceived-by-accident twins around on her own reckless adventures, but Miranda had always firmly believed that if someone was going to bring children into the world, the kids’ well-being should come first—unlike her own parents, of course. Being childless, she could be as self-centered and irresponsible as she liked, and no one would have to suffer for it.
She couldn’t help thinking for a moment about her sexy accountant. Mark Wallace seemed like a good father, stable and loving and dependable. She didn’t know what had happened to his kids’ mother, but Mark seemed to have committed himself completely to making sure his girls had a happy childhood and a decent upbringing, even if it meant his own life was a bit dull, in Miranda’s opinion. Still, she had to admire his dedication.
Unfortunately for the twins’ sakes, Lisa had a different view of parenting than Mark, or even Miranda. Lisa saw no reason for motherhood to interfere with her lifestyle in the least.
There had been no fun in their own childhoods, Lisa had reminded Miranda the last time they had seen each other. Her kids were going to have fun. No horribly restrictive rules, no rigid schedules, no harsh punishments if they didn’t toe some arbitrary and impossible line.
The boys were probably monsters, but that was Lisa’s problem, Miranda thought with a shrug. Miranda had an evening of music and camaraderie to enjoy, and she was wasting time thinking about serious matters.
Chapter Two
By Thursday of that week, Miranda was uncharacteristically restless. There wasn’t much going on at the moment in her job as an assistant buyer for Little Rock-based Ballard’s Department Stores. She had been to a club nearly every night for the past two weeks, and she wasn’t in the mood that night. But she didn’t want to sit in her tiny apartment and watch TV, either.
She checked the messages on her machine when she arrived home from work, hoping maybe someone would have an idea for an evening’s entertainment that intrigued her. Brandi’s was the first voice she heard. “Hi, Miranda, it’s me. There’s going to be a new band at Vino’s tonight and I heard the lead singer is really hot. Some of us will be there around eight if you want to join us.”
“I don’t think so.” Miranda erased that message and moved on to the next.
“Yo, ’Randa, it’s Robbie. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What, did you drop off the face of the earth or somepin?” He chuckled at his own wit, then continued, “Anyway, babe, I’d love to see you again, so why don’t you give me a call and we’ll go party, yo? You’ve got my cell number.”
“No, actually, I tossed it.” Miranda punched the erase button again. She had gone out with Robbie once, but she had no interest in seeing him again. Last time he’d been so grabby she’d finished the evening with unwelcome fingerprints all over her body. She didn’t care for the steamroller approach to seduction, and she had made it quite clear to Robbie that she would be the one to decide when—or if—their casual dating took the next step.
She had decided it wouldn’t. Robbie was history.
The next male voice that issued from her answering machine was as brusquely businesslike as Robbie’s had been presumptuously intimate, but this time Miranda’s knees showed a distinct inclination to jellify. “Hi, Miranda, it’s Mark Wallace. I have your tax returns ready. You can stop by my office anytime tomorrow to sign them. If I’m tied up, my assistant can take care of everything for you.”
Lordy, but Mark Wallace had a voice that could make a woman’s heart get an aerobic workout, Miranda mused, her finger hovering over the erase button. Warm, deep, with just a faintly rough edge, his was a voice that made her fantasize about sweet nothings and pillow talk. Okay, so the man was off-limits—but there was nothing wrong with a little fantasizing, right?
She indulged herself for a few minutes in a pleasantly naughty daydream involving his big, glossy desk. And then she sighed regretfully and made herself push the erase button.
She finally decided to take in a movie—alone. There were times when she just didn’t feel particularly social, and this was one of them. She would be surrounded by people, but she wouldn’t have to make conversation with any of them. Perfect for her mood tonight.
There were only a few theater choices in Little Rock. She drove to the one she usually patronized, since it provided stadium-style seating and what she considered the best popcorn in town.
She wanted a film that was mindless, noisy and action-filled, with a high pretty-boy factor. There was just such a movie playing this evening. She stood in a line filled mostly with teenagers and bought her ticket, then joined another line to buy popcorn and a drink.
Clutching her snacks, she turned away from the counter and almost ran smack dab into Mark Wallace. Talk about coincidences…
Holding a blond toddler on his left hip and the hand of his older daughter in his right hand, Mark looked as surprised as Miranda was to see him.
“This is really freaky,” she said. “I just heard your voice on my machine less than an hour ago.”
He smiled. “It’s certainly a coincidence. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” Feeling herself being studied by two pairs of curious blue eyes, Miranda looked warily at the girls. She should probably say something to them, but she wasn’t sure what. She settled for a smile and a “hi.”
“Miss Martin, these are my daughters, Payton and Madison.”
Miranda smiled at the toddler who gazed so intently back at her, one forefinger stuck in her mouth. “Hello, Madison.”
Madison buried her face in her father’s neck.
Not as shy as her younger sister, Payton piped up, “You were in Daddy’s office.”
“Yes, I was. You came in to tell him about a field trip.”
“I got in trouble for not knocking,” Payton said, not looking particularly perturbed by the memory. Apparently the punishment hadn’t been overly severe. “I like your earrings.”
“Um, thanks.” She was wearing a pair of her favored gold hoops. “I like your shirt,” she said, nodding toward the sparkly butterfly on the girl’s pink T-shirt.
“It’s new. Would you tell my daddy to let me get pierced ears like you and Nicola Cooper?”
Miranda didn’t have a clue who Nicola Cooper was, but she knew better than to interfere in a parental decision. “You’re on your own with that battle, kiddo.”
“Your hair has stripes in it,” Payton announced, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“They’re called highlights, and before you ask, I can’t help you there with your father, either.”
“I don’t think I want stripes. Just earrings.”
Miranda laughed at the kid’s candor. “I really should introduce you to my friend Oliver sometime. I think the two of you would get along very well.”
Mark abruptly cleared his throat. “We’d better be going. It’s Madison’s bedtime.”
“You’ve already seen a movie?”
“Yeah. We do the early showings. The kids brought me to see the new animated film that came out today.”
“It’s his birthday,” Payton confided. “Daddy’s thirty. We had cake.”
So Mark had spent his thirtieth birthday watching a cartoon movie with two kids under five. She wondered wryly how he could stand the excitement. “Happy birthday, Mark.”
“Thanks. But don’t let us keep you any longer. I’m sure your companion is waiting for you.”
“No companion tonight. I came stag.”
He lifted an eyebrow as he glanced at the big tub of popcorn and large diet soda in her arms.
“All mine,” she informed him loftily. “When I splurge, I go all out.”
“So I see. Well…enjoy.”
“Thanks.”
“Bye, Miss Martin,” Payton called over her shoulder as her father led her away.
“Goodbye, Payton. And Madison,” she added, earning a quick, shy smile from the smaller girl before she promptly ducked into her daddy’s shoulder again.
Very strange encounter, Miranda mused as she settled into a theater seat and placed her soda in the cup holder. It was pretty startling to see Mark in his role as doting dad right after he’d played the part of hunky accountant in her erotic daydream.
One would think she would find him less appealing in that light, considering the way she felt about kids. Funny thing was, she had been just as strangely drawn to him as ever.
When it came to Mark Wallace, Miranda couldn’t even predict her own reactions. There was nothing wrong with a little fantasy, she reminded herself. She just had to remember not to get those harmless daydreams mixed up with reality.
Mark had half hoped that Miranda would pick up her tax forms while he was occupied with another client. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sight of her. Seeing her was always like having a few extra rays of sunshine brighten his day.
Yet it was that very type of imagery that made him increasingly wary of seeing her too often. His life wasn’t what anyone would call exciting, but he had been content with it for the past couple of years. He didn’t need anyone messing with his mind, making him wish for something more than what he had now.
A caregiver. That was what he had always been, and what he would likely always be. From the time he was just a kid, taking care of his chronically ill mother and his little sister, he had been compelled to help people who needed him. Too many times he had reached out a hand and pulled back a bloody stump—at least that was what it had felt like to him when people he’d tried to help had turned on him with a vengeance. His ex-wife, for example.