by Gina Wilkins
“No,” she admitted.
“Damn straight.” He nodded in satisfaction. “I’ve been pleased to be able to help you out since your nephews arrived, Miranda, but that has nothing to do with my feelings for you. I fell hard for you a long time ago, and as far as I’m concerned, the boys are just a nice part of the total package.”
Her lashes swept downward, hiding the expression in her eyes. “So maybe I was wrong about your reasons—”
“You were most definitely wrong.”
“But I’m not wrong about my feelings,” she continued stubbornly. “And I’m not ready for this, Mark. I’m sorry, but I’m just not.”
He paused, then sighed. “And if I continue to push you, I really will be as bad as your controlling father,” he said in resignation. “Do what you need to do—but I hope you won’t shut me out of your life without at least giving us a chance.”
“I—” She crossed her arms over her chest, looking atypically vulnerable—and very far away, even though they still stood quite close. “Maybe we can have dinner or something, once the boys and I are settled.”
It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—to satisfy him, but it would have to do for now.
He nodded. “I’ll continue to help you in any way I can—not because I think of you as a charity case, but because I care about you and the boys. And while I can’t promise to keep all my feelings about you to myself, I will try to give you the time you need to decide how you feel about me.”
Looking downward, she nodded.
He told himself to move away, but he found himself reaching out for her, instead. “Because I’m really not a saint…”
He was gratified that she lifted her mouth to his when he lowered his head.
Just in case it would be a while before he could kiss her again, he made the most of this embrace. He took his time savoring her soft lips before he slipped his tongue between them. His entire body ached for more, but he limited himself to no more than this lingering, emotionally charged kiss.
When he finally drew back, her lips clung to his until he reluctantly broke the contact. Her eyelids were heavy, her cheeks flushed, her breathing unsteady when she gazed up at him. She was definitely not immune to him, but he was well aware of how stubborn she could be when she thought she was protecting her precious independence.
“That was just to hold me over,” he murmured huskily, making himself release her. “Good night, Miranda.”
To give him credit, Mark kept his word not to pressure her during the next few days. Not that she should be surprised, she thought. Though not quite a saint—as he had proven during a kiss that had all but melted her from the inside out—he was still the most honorable man she had ever known. He had given his word and she trusted him. Mostly.
Even had he wanted something more to happen between them, there was no opportunity. Miranda was so busy she hardly had a moment to breathe. She enrolled the boys in a day-care center, signed the lease on the apartment she had selected, made arrangements for a moving company, took care of changing her utilities and billing addresses. And somehow she continued to do her job, working eight and nine hours a day, skipping lunches so she wouldn’t be late getting home.
She told herself she was staying busy because she had so much to do. But part of her was well aware that her frantic schedule gave her an excuse to avoid any more intimate talks with Mark.
Sometimes she caught him looking at her in a way that told her he was remembering their kisses. Their lovemaking. And every time, her heart stopped as the memories flooded her mind, too. Each time she thought of their conversation in the kitchen, she was forced to throw herself into another burst of activity to ward off a full-blown panic attack.
He had all but said that he was in love with her. He had told her flat-out that he was interested in more than a casual dating relationship with her. Mark was the marriage-and-family type. The fact that he had failed once at the attempt didn’t change his basic nature.
And she—well, she was the love ’em and leave ’em type. At least, she had always aspired to be, even if she hadn’t exactly lived up to that image in the past.
She hadn’t expected to fall in love with Mr. Respectability.
Just the thought of the L word had her packing like a crazy woman again. Anything to keep herself too busy to think about Mark Wallace.
She moved out the following Saturday. It didn’t help that Payton and Madison cried when they realized Miranda and the boys would no longer be living in their house.
Miranda still felt like a heel when she and Mark carried the last suitcases into her new apartment, having left the sniffling girls with Mrs. McSwaim. The movers had already brought her furniture and a delivery crew had set up the bunk beds and dressers she had purchased for the boys, so except for a few hours’ worth of unpacking, they were all moved in.
Leaving the boys to start putting away their clothes, Miranda joined Mark in the living room. It was another small apartment, but the two bedrooms and two tiny bathrooms made it much more functional for three.
Mark glanced at the bare white walls. “I guess you’ll be glad when you get your framed posters hung. Right now this place looks much too colorless for your taste.”
She nodded. “It will feel more like home once I’ve decorated.”
For now, it felt rather cold and sterile. She told herself that soon she would feel as comfortable here as she had in her former apartment. Or in Mark’s house.
Which reminded her…
“I’m sorry the girls were so upset when we left. I never meant to cause them any distress. I should have stayed where I was until I found this place, rather than turning your household upside down.”
“Sleeping on the sofa? Sharing a single bathroom with a couple of boys? I think it was better all around the way we handled it. The girls enjoyed having you all there, but they’ll readjust quickly. Kids do at that age.”
Miranda wished the same were true for adults. She wasn’t at all sure she would adjust so easily. And the brooding expression Mark had worn all day told her that he wouldn’t, either. But they would recover, eventually, she assured herself. With hearts intact, preferably, thanks to her refusal to be swept into an impetuous love affair.
“So, do you need me to help you unpack or hang pictures or anything?”
“No, the boys and I can handle it from here. We have all weekend—and it’s not like there’s that much more to do. It was definitely worth the cost to hire the movers.”
He nodded and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well…I guess I’d better get back to the girls, then. You’ll call if you need anything?”
“Yes, I will. But I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
He sighed heavily. “I have no doubt that you will be.”
She didn’t know what to say.
Pulling his hands free, he took a step toward the door. “Tell the boys I’ll see them later, okay?”
“Mark—” Impulse had her moving toward him, resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you. For everything.”
His brows drew down into a scowl. “Don’t treat this like goodbye. It’s not.”
Not goodbye—but it would be different now. She saw no need to point that out, since it had to be as obvious to him as it was to her. “I just want to make sure you understand how grateful I am for all you did.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m a great guy. A real pal.”
She had never heard him sound bitter before. She didn’t like it. “Mark—”
He shook his head, his smile twisting. “You know what occurred to me last night? There’s one question I’ve forgotten to ask myself too many times before I dive into something.”
She wasn’t following him. “I don’t—”
He seemed to be talking to himself almost. “Maybe I should start asking that question before I reach out to anyone again.”
“What question?”
He looked at her with a jumbled mixture of emotions seething in his eyes. “What’
s in it for me?”
A few moments later, he was gone, the apartment door closing with an angry snap behind him.
“Aunt ’Randa? Where’s Mark? Did he leave?”
She glanced around numbly, unable to force a smile even for the boys’ sake. “Yes. He left.”
Jamie sighed wistfully. “I’ll miss him,” he murmured with the fatalism of someone who had grown accustomed to saying goodbye.
Miranda rested a hand on his shoulder. “So will I,” she murmured. “So will I.”
But she still had her freedom, she reminded herself. Her precious independence. No one told her what to do. Ever. No one criticized her or found fault with her or hurt her by treating her as if she were unworthy of love or respect. Her parents had done all those things to her.
A tiny voice inside her reminded her that Mark had done none of them.
She drowned out that insidious little voice with her own. “Come on, guys,” she said briskly, turning away from the door. “Let’s have a snack and then finish getting our new home in order.”
What’s in it for me? The question haunted Miranda during the night as she lay in her old bed in her new bedroom, unable to sleep.
The cynical question had been so unlike Mark. As he had pointed out, himself, it was a question he never asked before he reached out to help anyone.
It had, however, been the motivation for Miranda’s own behavior since she had left her parents’ home. Taking in her nephews was probably the only purely unselfish act she had committed in at least ten years.
Maybe Mark should be more like her, in some ways. Anyone who did as much for other people as Mark did was bound to get hurt. He had been hurt, on more than one occasion. And yet he kept reaching out. Opening his heart. Was he incredibly brave, or just a masochist? A fool? Or simply the best man Miranda had ever known?
When it came right down to it, she didn’t think he should change at all, she finally decided. Mark Wallace was very close to perfect the way he was. He simply had a bad habit of falling for the wrong women, she reflected sadly.
He deserved better.
Miranda spent all day Sunday unpacking and arranging like crazy, keeping herself too busy to worry about the future. She needed to make the apartment feel like home.
The boys worked contentedly by her side. She had been pleasantly surprised by how much help they had been.
She was a bit dismayed when they unpacked the last of the two big suitcases they had brought with them and she realized how little the twins actually owned. Some jeans and T-shirts, one pair of sneakers each, underwear and pajamas, a very few treasured toys. And that included the die-cast cars that Mark had given them when they’d left his house, letting them choose one each from his collection.
Looking around their spartanly decorated bedroom, she asked, “This is everything?”
The boys nodded.
“Did you have to leave some things behind when you came to me?”
Kasey shrugged. “We had some video games and stuff, but Mama sold it all. She said she needed the money to move to a safe place.”
Miranda felt her jaw clench. “You’ve both been so much help to me that I think we should go do a little shopping later. We’ll pick up a couple of extra things to decorate your room. Maybe a video game system.”
She would pull out her rarely used credit card, if necessary. While she had no intention of lavishing material possessions on her nephews, they deserved some reward for everything they had been through lately. Especially when they continued to accept each new development with such equanimity.
A knock on her apartment door made her pulse jump.
“I bet that’s Mark!” Jamie exclaimed, his face lighting up. “I hope he brought Payton and Madison. We want to show them our room.”
Because Miranda agreed with Jamie’s guess about their caller’s identity, she took her time getting to the door. She wanted to make sure her expression was calm and composed, though she couldn’t resist running a hand through her hair and making sure her cotton shirt and jeans were neat before she opened the door.
But her visitor wasn’t Mark, she noted with a mixture of disappointment and relief. This was a woman—mid-twenties, choppy dark hair, brilliant blue eyes set in a rather gamine face, a boyish figure in an oversize T-shirt and khakis that were a size too large for her narrow hips. Yet, Miranda’s first impression was of almost delicate femininity—hardly the effect the young woman seemed to be going for.
“Miranda Martin?”
“Yes?”
“I’m B.J. Samples, Shane Walker’s cousin. I work for D’Alessandro and Walker Investigations. I tried to call, but your phone isn’t connected yet, and the cell phone number I was given directed me to a voice mail system. Mr. Wallace told me where I could find you.”
“I just moved in here yesterday, and the phone won’t be connected until tomorrow. I meant to keep my cell phone turned on, but I have a bad habit of leaving it in my purse and forgetting to check it. Please, come in.”
Miranda ushered the woman into her living room. “The kitchen is still pretty bare, but I have some sodas and juice, I think. May I get you anything?”
“Thank you, no. I’m fine.” B.J. perched on the edge of one of Miranda’s two mismatched wing chairs. Seeing that the visitor wasn’t Mark, the twins disappeared into their bedroom again, leaving Miranda alone with her—who hardly fit the stereotype of the typical private investigator, she couldn’t help thinking.
“I certainly didn’t expect you to come all the way here from Dallas.”
And she couldn’t help worrying about how much that trip would cost her. When she had talked to Shane’s uncle, Tony D’Alessandro, she had requested that any information they could acquire about her sister be given to her through the mail or a telephone call.
B.J. waved a dismissive hand. “I was in town, anyway. I stopped by to see my aunt Lindsay on my way to St. Louis.”
There seemed to be a steady stream of visitors to aunt Lindsay’s house, Miranda thought. Must be a fun place to visit. “Are you going to St. Louis on an assignment?”
Miranda thought she detected a gleam of excitement in the other woman’s eyes. “Molly—Shane’s sister—asked me to try to find another missing foster son and invite him to the party. We aren’t sure he’s even in St. Louis, but we have a lead that suggests I might find him there.”
“You have a fascinating job.” Miranda wanted to ask about Lisa, but she found herself stalling with small talk, almost afraid of what she would find out.
B.J. wrinkled her slightly tilted-up nose. “It is when I’m allowed to do anything besides computer searches. I work for three overprotective uncles. I’m lucky when they let me leave the office without a bodyguard. They only sent me on this assignment because everyone else was tied up with other projects, and they figured I couldn’t get into too much trouble tracking down a former foster boy.”
Miranda drew a deep breath and finally got straight to the point. “Have you found out anything about my sister?”
B.J. reached into the large canvas tote bag she had carried slung over one shoulder. “I have a letter for you. From your sister.”
“Did you talk to her? Can you tell me where she is?”
“I can’t tell you where she is because I don’t know. She moved right after one of my uncles contacted her on your behalf. He handled it very discreetly, but she didn’t want to stay where she was after we found her.”
Miranda swallowed. “Is she really in the witness protection program?”
B.J. hesitated, then shrugged. “I think it’s an unofficial arrangement. She got involved with some pretty shady characters, and it’s entirely possible that some of them have a grudge against her for cooperating with prosecutors, but we aren’t sure she’s in quite as much danger as her original note to you implied.”
“I did warn your uncle that Lisa is prone to exaggeration,” Miranda murmured, finding some measure of comfort in the information.
“Yes, well,
she seems to have a new boyfriend with her now—”
Miranda groaned. “Of course she does.”
“—and she made it very clear that she plans to start a new life with him in a new place. She asked us to assure you that she’s okay, and to request that you not try to find her again.”
“So she really isn’t coming back.” Miranda had needed to know for sure.
“It doesn’t sound like it. I’m sure she explains everything in the letter she sent.”
Miranda glanced at the thin envelope she had accepted from B.J. It apparently held no more than a single sheet of paper, probably saying little more than the first letter had.
What was it with these women who could so easily walk away from their children—Mark’s ex-wife and now Miranda’s sister—leaving other people to deal with the pain they left behind?
She could never do anything like that, she realized. Never. When it had come right down to it, she couldn’t even abandon the nephews she had hardly known at the time.
“Miss Martin?” B.J. looked at her searchingly. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thanks. I’m just— Thank you,” she finished lamely. “I needed to know for certain that my sister was all right. Will your uncle bill me for the agency’s services, or should I write you a check?”
B.J. waved a hand again. “No charge. It was a fairly simple search, really, since my uncle had a few strings he could pull to find your sister rather quickly. And since you’re a friend of Mark’s—who was like family at one time—Uncle Tony said to tell you it’s on the house.”
“That really isn’t necessary,” she exclaimed, shocked by the generous offer. “I never intended—”
“Don’t worry about it,” B.J. cut in kindly. “They do things like this all the time. Besides, your sister left you and her kids in a tough position. It seemed like the least we could do to help out.”