She held out her palm and he placed the dog in it. Their fingers brushed again. On purpose. This time, Will was responsible.
Her insides fluttered.
“Mrs. Litey’s resting,” he said, his voice low and appealing. “In her chair.”
They were so close. Mere inches apart. Miranda watched in fascination as a small muscle in his jaw jumped. Was he nervous?
“She got sleepy after we ate.”
“I should check on her.”
“I think she’s okay in the chair for a while.”
Good, because Miranda was quite content to remain right where she was. “Thank you for your help. With Mrs. Litey and this.” She set the dog figurine atop a pile of fake snow, next to a little boy pulling a red sled.
Will climbed nimbly to his feet and extended a hand. She hesitated only a second before taking it, noting again the calluses of a working man. How would it feel to have those working man’s hands skimming over her bare shoulders? Down the length of her spine?
When he drew her to a standing position, their eyes met. His were guarded. Hers probably revealed far too much.
“We have to talk,” she blurted out.
His eyes went from guarded to wary. “Not now.”
“Will.”
“Talk to the girl,” Arthur insisted.
Miranda suppressed a groan. Will was already shy enough. The last thing he needed was an audience. Yet when would she have another chance?
“We can’t pretend...”
“Yes, we can.” He turned on his boot heels and, snatching his hat and jacket from the coatrack, strode out the front door.
Miranda remained rooted in place, torn between annoyance and frustration, much too stubborn to chase after him a second time.
Chapter Six
Nell balanced her fists on her plump hips. “What’s wrong with you? Go after him.”
“The man’s impossible.”
Miranda had retreated to the kitchen to lick her wounds after Will had left. She’d been there less than a second when Nell butted her nose into what was none of her business. Served Miranda right for residing in a house bursting with people.
“He’s also getting away.” Nell opened the dishwasher and began unloading it. “You want to have that chat with him, you’d best hurry.”
Miranda hesitated only briefly before taking the advice. Grabbing her jacket off the kitchen chair, she shoved her arms through the sleeves. “Be right back.”
“That’s my girl.”
She caught up with Will at his truck. He was just sliding behind the steering wheel. His dog stuck his head out the open passenger window and yipped hello. Miranda scurried to the driver’s side of the truck, praying Will wouldn’t start the engine.
He didn’t. Neither did he close his door. She hung on to it, hope surging inside her.
“Don’t go.”
“It was a mistake,” he ground out.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Her breath came quickly. “You should accept the town’s offer and train to be an EMT.”
His brows slammed together, shouting his displeasure louder than any words. He probably thought she’d been referring to their kiss. She sort of had—at first.
“Mayor Dempsey told me this morning that you turned them down.”
The creases deepened.
“I realize you might consider the topic personal...”
He shrugged as if he didn’t.
“Regardless, it is personal. In my opinion, the mayor mentioned it because she thought I might be able to influence you.”
“Influence me?” That clearly surprised him. And bothered him. Enough that he reached for the door handle.
She wedged herself between him and the door. “Not because of the kiss. She doesn’t know. No one does. Unless you told them.”
“I didn’t.”
“Right.” She pulled the flaps of her jacket together, refusing to let his adamant denial hurt her more than she already was. “It’s not as if you talk much at all. Which, I guess, is part of the problem. Hard to have a relationship with someone who doesn’t communicate.”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“Oh, yes, we do, Will. After that kiss, you can’t deny we’ve got something going. And there could be a whole lot more going if you weren’t so stubborn.”
“I’m not seeing you.”
“Why? Because of your anxiety issues?” She almost chuckled at his startled reaction. “Don’t freak out. I worked in a hospital. I specialize in elder care. I’ve seen patients with all types of anxiety disorders. Yours, I think, is the post-traumatic stress kind.”
His eyes widened, confirming her suspicions.
“I’m not sure what caused it. Your parents’ death, the army, maybe. But you’re obviously struggling.”
“My condition is under control,” he answered tersely.
“Then why did you run off the other night? That wasn’t the reaction of a man controlling his PTSD.”
“This topic is personal.” He jammed the key in the ignition and then removed it when the door alarm began dinging.
“Yes, it is, and I’m interfering. But you need to know, your PTSD makes no difference to me. I like you. Just as you are, quirks and all. I think you like me, too. And Lord knows I have my share of quirks.”
“It makes a difference to me.” He again reached for the door.
She didn’t budge and sent him a reproving look. “Is this how you deal with all your problems? By running away?”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Such a convenient excuse.” She exhaled wearily, secretly surprised he hadn’t left yet. “You didn’t come to Sweetheart because of a job with High Country Outfitters. You were escaping. And you’ve been escaping ever since. What are you afraid of, Will?”
Oh, did that hit a nerve.
“I should have kept my damn mouth shut.” This time when he jammed the key in the ignition, he turned it. The engine roared to life.
What had she expected? That he’d admit he cared for her and take her in his arms for a repeat of the previous night? Hardly.
With little choice, she backed away. On the sidewalk, she paused to watch him drive off. The mailman took Will’s vacated spot and popped out of the truck, a stack of mail in his hand and a Santa hat on his head.
“Morning, Miranda. Have a registered letter for you.”
“Thanks.” She automatically signed the return slip without looking at the sender, her mind stuck on Will and their disagreement. Maybe she should have left well enough alone.
No doubt about it. But he’d become too comfortable in his isolation and could use someone breaching the defenses he had so rigorously held in place.
Only when she was making her trek up the front walkway did she start sifting through the mail. Spotting the registered letter from Northern Nevada Savings and Loan, she tore it open and came up short.
Each sentence she read caused her heart to pump faster. By the end of the letter, she was shaking. The total payments and accumulated late fees due staggered her. At the front door, she pressed the letter to her chest and mentally calculated her income over the next and past few days.
Including yesterday’s tips and her first paycheck from the Paydirt, she could cover one full mortgage payment and the late fees. God willing, that would be enough to satisfy the savings and loan company. For three days. Until her grace period for December’s payment was up.
Other than Mrs. Litey’s mood swing from dour to docile, Miranda’s day was nose-diving and couldn’t possibly get worse. One step at a time, she told herself, as her cell phone started ringing. She’d forgotten it was in her jacket pocket.
Recognizing Mr. Lexington’s son’s number, she pulled herself
together and answered with a bright, “Hello, Miranda Staley speaking.”
“Miranda, hey. It’s Gary. Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
“Not at all. Did you want to speak to your dad?” Miranda had a landline for the house, but sometimes family and friends of the residents called on her cell.
“Actually, no.” There was a long pause before he continued. “It’s you I want to speak with.”
The seriousness of his tone unnerved her as much as the letter from the savings and loan company had. “Is something wrong?”
“We, my brothers and I, are concerned about Dad.”
“How so? He’s doing great.” Miranda respected her residents’ privacy and waited outside the front door. It was her practice to never discuss them in the vicinity of others on the chance she was overheard.
“That’s what he tells us,” Gary said. “And we know he loves everyone at Harmony House. Especially you. But we miss him.”
Mr. Lexington was a lifelong resident of Sweetheart. His three sons had each moved away decades ago. When the time came that he needed assistance, he’d chosen to remain rather than impose on them.
“Why don’t we arrange for an extended visit? A week. Two weeks. You’re only a couple hours away.”
“That’s an idea. Another is to...move him. My brother Sal and I both have room, what with the kids all gone.”
Miranda’s stomach dropped to her knees. “H-he’s happy here.”
“Which is why we’re not rushing the decision.”
Thank heavens.
“But we are seriously considering it and wanted to put you on notice. In case there are any...changes you want to implement.”
Such as renting out his father’s room?
Miranda had been wrong. Her day not only could get worse, it had. By leaps and bounds. “I don’t think your dad wants to move.”
“No. And he can be very stubborn. If we decide to go ahead with this, we’d like your help and support.”
Help and support? How could she give that when it would plummet her into financial ruin? “Of course, I’ll make the transition as easy as possible.” The words were flat. Like Miranda’s morale. “When might you be making a decision?” Her contract required a minimum notice of thirty days.
“By the end of next week. Of course, we’ll pay you for the full month.”
The rest of what Gary said was drowned out by the roaring in Miranda’s ears. She was barely squeaking by with four residents. No way could she survive past January with just three. Even if she included her part-time wages from the Paydirt Saloon.
She had to hope that Gary and his siblings would reconsider or that Mr. Lexington dug in his heels and refused to leave. Though limited physically, he was sound of mind and still in charge of his own decisions. Miranda had learned the hard way, however, that family members could—and often did—exercise a great deal of influence.
“Keep me posted,” was the most she could choke out before issuing a polite goodbye.
Tears pricked her eyes. She didn’t try to stem them. Miranda was a crier. And she was a laugher and a smiler and a bit of a grouch if she was feeling out of sorts.
It was her personality. She didn’t hold her emotions in check. Unlike Will, who excelled at it. Honestly they couldn’t be more opposite.
She had to stop thinking about him. After the phone call with Mr. Lexington’s son and the letter from the savings and loan, she had far more pressing problems to address.
Wiping her eyes, she went inside—and was immediately met by a gathering of her residents, including Mrs. Litey, out from her room for a change. Nell acted as their spokesperson.
“We were talking while you were outside,” she said. “Been a while since we’ve had any kind of an outing.”
Before Miranda could respond with a resounding no, she just wasn’t in the mood, Mr. Lexington boomed, “We want to go to the Gold Nugget. See all the changes.”
“Hmm. You don’t say.” She tapped her chin with her index finger.
If that was what he wanted, who was she to say no? Especially when his contentment might be the only thing standing between her and losing her home and business.
* * *
“EASY GIRL,” WILL crooned.
Rocket Dog flinched and attempted to pull her hoof away. She didn’t want anyone messing with the soft underside. A possible injury had left her even more sensitive.
Anchoring the heavy hoof more firmly on his bent knee, Will told the mare, “Something’s caught in there,” as if she could understand him. Maybe she did, because she relaxed. Marginally.
Using the pointed end of the pick, he dug around in the narrow area between the metal shoe and her hoof. Rocket Dog had been limping since yesterday, and Will was determined to discover the cause. The next instant, the pick struck a solid object. The instant after that, Will dislodged a pebble and sent it sailing to the ground. Rocket Dog snorted lustily.
“That wasn’t so bad.”
She shook her rangy head as if to disagree.
Will inspected the rest of the hoof, satisfied he’d found the only culprit. Hard to believe something so small could cause such pain, and yet it had. He could sympathize. He’d squeezed his pain into a compact ball and had been carrying it around for years.
“We have a group arriving shortly for a tour of the ranch.”
At the sound of Sam’s voice from behind, Will dropped Rocket Dog’s hoof and straightened. “That so?”
“They’ll be here at one.”
Will had assumed the afternoon was his to catch up on work around the barn and corrals. The winning couple’s wedding ceremony was scheduled for two and their family and friends had left for town hours earlier, including Will’s newest sidekicks, Trevor and Demi. The Gold Nugget looked like a ghost town.
Bad for business, easy on the nerves, Will thought selfishly. The two days since his quarrel with Miranda had been hard on him, and he craved solitude.
“Where are they from?” Not the ranch. Will knew darn well no new guests were scheduled to arrive until next week.
“They’re locals.”
His curiosity was roused, but he didn’t ask. Sam would tell him in due time. “Thought you and Annie were headed to the wedding.”
“We are.”
Will leaned back on his heels and leveled his boss with a you’re-not-wearing-that look.
Sam tugged self-consciously on the hem of his Carhartt jacket. “I’m changing first. Annie and the girls have been hogging the bathroom all day.”
“Hmm.”
“Consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to share your trailer with anyone.”
Will recalled his family’s comfortable suburban home where he had spent his childhood and most of his teenage years. Before a blowout in the left front tire had sent their vehicle careening off the road and into a gully. His next memories were of his grandmother’s farm, with the big rambling house he’d grown to love almost as much as the cattle she’d raised and the horses she’d kept.
He would give anything to see that place again, to wander the hundred-plus acres. He’d rarely left the farm, completing his last semester of high school on campus only after a year of homeschooling and intense psychotherapy. At his grandmother’s insistence, he’d attended the nearby community college. The week following his graduation, she’d dropped dead.
Her sudden and fatal heart attack wasn’t his fault, yet he had been plunged into the same emotional abyss as when his parents had died. Another year of therapy pulled him out of that slump. It was his counselor’s suggestion that he leave Kansas and strike out on his own.
The army might seem to be an odd choice for someone with PTSD, but it had turned out to be Will’s salvation. The routine, the structure, the companionship, the environment, comple
tely different from what he was used to, quelled the triggers that brought on his attacks. When he had met Lexie and fallen in love for the first time, he had thought his demons were completely exiled.
Stupid and naive of him. Fate wasn’t done making him pay for being the sole survivor of that car crash. One day, an incident at the hospital had been too reminiscent of the car crash, and his demons had been unleashed again. Lexie had looked at him as if he were a stranger, then bolted, never to be seen or heard from again save that final, gut-wrenching email.
Instead of admitting to Sam how profoundly he missed his loved ones and what he’d give to return to those days, Will muttered, “Don’t lie, you like being overrun by women.”
“It has its moments.” Sam’s dour expression didn’t fool Will. Given the opportunity, his boss would gladly add to his family and made no secret of it. “You should give togetherness a chance.”
Will would if he could. But that came with a price: letting people get close to him.
A part of him envied Miranda and missed his visits to Harmony House. Granted, the place was occupied by elderly, cantankerous and demanding seniors. It was also cozy and warm and full of good feelings. Just the same as both the homes Will had grown up in.
“You’re a lucky guy,” was all he said to Sam.
“Tell me about it.” The man’s pleasure was almost contagious. “By the way, have you thought any more about the town’s offer?”
“Don’t you have a wedding to attend?”
“I can spare a minute to talk about this.”
“My answer hasn’t changed.” Will propped an arm on Rocket Dog’s hindquarters. She shifted to accommodate the extra weight. “I like this job just fine.”
“I make it my practice not to pry into people’s private business—”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Sam wasn’t put off. “Something’s bothering you. If you need help, even if it’s just an ear to bend, all you have to do is ask.”
“Who says anything’s bothering me?”
“People are loners for different reasons. Hurt. Anger. Guilt. I was one myself after my late wife died and I nearly lost the love of my daughter in the process. I hate seeing you go through the same thing.”
His Christmas Sweetheart Page 8