“What about your dad? You said he’s retired.”
“Nah, he and Mom won’t leave Reno.” Her blue eyes, the color of winter, sparkled. “My brother Nash might be interested. He’s only available in the summers, though.”
“He’s a teacher?”
“A ski instructor and wilderness guide at Diamond Peak Resort. I could give you his number.”
They continued exploring the old mining operation. Will found he enjoyed seeing it through Miranda’s eyes. Her knowledge was impressive. What took him aback the most was how easily conversation flowed between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked this much. Not even with Mrs. Litey, whom he felt more comfortable with than anyone else.
Now and then his and Miranda’s arms brushed. She ignored it while Will braced himself for a panic attack. None came. Could he be getting better? More likely he was developing a tolerance to her.
He watched her unearth a bolt with the toe of her boot and stoop to pick it up. His pulse spiked. Not from panic. Rather it was from the memory of holding her and kissing her.
Desire and alarm. Funny, he hadn’t noticed how similar the two physical responses were.
“Watch you don’t slip,” he warned when she returned to the creek to wash off the bolt. “The bank’s muddy.”
“Will you catch me if I do?”
He’d catch her, all right, and once he had her, he’d...
She tossed the bolt onto the sluice. “I can meet with you if you want.”
“Meet?”
“Talk about your guests panning for gold. How to set up the operation.”
“Sure.” The stab of disappointment he felt was acute. And wrong.
“Or we could just go out. On a date. You and me.”
Her hopeful smile almost swayed him. “Miranda—”
“Don’t say no.”
“I have to.”
“I told you. I don’t care about your PTSD.”
If he was going to take a chance with anyone, it would be her. But the risk was too great. Of hurting her and disappointing her and, worse, the very real likelihood she’d leave him when she discovered his limitations.
“I’m not like your ex-fiancée,” she said. “I’m a nurse. I could help.”
Her having familiarity with his disorder didn’t make him feel better. There would be no minimizing or glossing over the truth with her.
“You’ve seen therapists before.” She swept the debris from an overturned log and perched on it. There was room for two. “Someone taught you coping techniques.”
Will didn’t join her—he needed to stand. Their conversation was no longer easy. “A few times over the years.”
“What treatments have you tried?”
“Hypnosis. Meditation. Redecision therapy. EMDR.”
“Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. That’s pretty intense. Did it help?”
“To a degree.”
“Then you stopped all treatment when you came to Sweetheart.”
“Stopped and regressed.” He’d convinced himself he only needed a little space and solitude to heal.
But weeks turned into months and months into years. Shutting himself off had become a habit. An addiction. The fire, evacuating Miranda’s residents, had changed everything.
“Your PTSD started when your parents died?”
The last time Will had talked about this was with his ex-fiancée. So long ago. So much had transpired.
“Will?”
His jaw had frozen shut.
“There’s only us here,” she said softly. “I promise, I won’t tell a soul.”
Her words weren’t unlike those of his therapists. Did everyone in the medical profession get the same training? Putting Patients At Ease 101?
“How old were you?” she prompted.
“Sixteen.”
“Were your parents in an accident?”
“Automobile. We were on vacation.” Once started, he couldn’t stop. The story poured from him with a will of its own. “Driving through Yellowstone National Park. There’d been a thunderstorm that day. The roads were wet. A herd of elk suddenly ran out from the trees and in front of the car. Dad swerved to avoid them.”
Will covered his ears. They rang with the violent sounds of the crash. Searing pain shot through him from the impact of being slammed into the car roof. His body went rigid as he soared through the air and hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud. There was a moment of blackness, and then he could see again. Could speak again.
“Are you okay?” Miranda asked.
He cleared his throat, wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “I was ejected from the car about halfway down the ravine. Either the door sprang or I opened it. I don’t remember. When the car hit bottom about a hundred feet down, it exploded. I tried, but I couldn’t get to my parents in time.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “They were too far away, and my right ankle was shattered. I watched the car go up in flames, praying they died instantly and didn’t suffer.”
“The accident wasn’t your fault, Will.”
“I know that.”
“Survivor guilt isn’t easy to conquer.”
“Did I survive?” He looked at Miranda then, his heart in pieces. “Or did I save myself and let them die?”
“You’re lucky to have gotten out alive.”
“I don’t feel lucky. I should have done more. Stayed with them. Tried to climb down to the car.”
“And died, too? That’s not what they would have wanted.”
More familiar words. Will hated hearing them. “The panic attacks started after the funeral.”
“Is that why you don’t want to be an EMT?”
“I can’t let more people down.”
“You didn’t let your parents down. They’d tell you that if they could.”
“But they can’t. They’re not here.”
Miranda gave him a moment to collect himself. “Where did you live after they died?”
“With my grandmother.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She had a farm. Raised soybeans and alfalfa. That’s where I learned to ride. She saved me. Her and the horses.”
“Did you rodeo?”
“Some. Locally. My grandmother had other ideas for me. She was determined I get an education. I went to community college, got my associates degree in equine sciences.”
“How did you wind up in the army?”
“My grandmother died.”
Miranda made a sound of distress. “Not an accident, I hope.”
“Natural causes. A heart attack. No one saw it coming. She was in perfect health.”
“Heart conditions can go undetected for years.”
“That’s what the doctors told me.”
“You don’t blame yourself for her death, do you?”
“I wasn’t there when she had the heart attack.”
There was a pause, and then Miranda guessed, “You found her.” She was too astute for her own good.
“On the kitchen floor. She’d been gone for hours.” He shuddered, reliving that awful moment. “I should have been there.”
“You said yourself, no one saw it coming.”
“She was a good person. A kind person. She deserved more than to die alone.”
“She didn’t. You loved her and were there with her in spirit.”
Will wasn’t consoled. He missed his grandmother and his parents. He wanted this conversation to stop so he could go back to the emotional cave where the pain was bearable.
Miranda wouldn’t let him. “You joined the army to get away.”
He nodded.
“How did you manage with your disorder?”
“They kept
me busy. On track. Because of my studies, they assigned me to hospital duty. I liked it.”
“Didn’t working in a hospital trigger your PTSD?”
“At first. I got better at coping.”
“Then you met your ex-fiancée.”
“Those were the best two years of my life since my parents died. Our enlistments were due to be up about the same time. We were going to get married, move back to Kansas and run my grandmother’s farm.”
“Except you had a panic attack.” Miranda proved her astuteness once again.
“My first in twenty months.”
“What triggered it?”
“A captain and his wife were brought into the E.R. DOA. Their vehicle had gone off the road. There was no explosion—they died from internal injuries. It was still enough like my parents’ accident to set me off. I kept it together till I got off duty, then I went straight to my barracks. She was there waiting for me. Had no idea what was happening. Freaked her out. The next day she sent me an email. Said she couldn’t handle my disorder. She re-upped. I didn’t.”
“Did you see her again?”
“No reason to. A few weeks later, my discharge came through. I packed up my duffel bag, sold my grandmother’s farm and came to Sweetheart. Along the way I found Cruze and adopted him. He’s seen me through some bad times.”
“Why Sweetheart and not Kansas?”
“I wanted to start over in a place where no one knew me or my history. Someplace remote. Where a person who’s a loner doesn’t stand out.” He didn’t tell her about his inability to leave Sweetheart. She’d think him certifiable.
“Shutting yourself off from people isn’t the answer, Will.” She stood and came to him.
“It’s worked so far.”
“But are you happy?” She sought his gaze.
“I’m functioning. That’s what’s important.”
“You’re punishing yourself.”
“Don’t analyze me, Miranda,” he snapped. “I’ve had enough of that.” She was digging too deep, getting perilously close to uncovering all his secrets.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She put some space between them. “I’d still want to help if you’ll let me.”
“No offense, but your specialty is old people.”
“The elderly have a lot of issues, including stress. Often acute stress.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s also not that different. I could do some research. Contact the doctors in the Reno hospital where I worked. Ask their advice.”
She was being sweet and thoughtful. She was also interfering.
“Thanks, but no.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Hell, yes, I’m afraid. You have no idea what it’s like. Losing control. Convinced you’re going to die.”
“I do have an idea. I felt that way when my birth parents left me in a car for three straight days when I was just seven.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Let me help, Will.”
“Do you really not understand?”
“Apparently not.”
“You’re one of the triggers that causes me to lose control.”
She digested that information for a moment. “The kiss. That’s why you left so suddenly.”
He was finished spilling his guts. “It’s getting dark. We need to leave.” Will didn’t mind riding at night. Miranda might not be as keen.
Gathering the horses, he led them over to the clearing where it was easier to mount. Miranda was shivering again.
Without asking, he unbuckled one of his saddlebags and removed the rain poncho. While thin, the plastic would afford some protection. “Here.”
“I’m okay.”
“It’s only going to get colder during the ride.”
“Fine.”
He shook out the poncho and placed it over her head, then fastened the snap at the neck. Their gazes locked. Held.
“Thank you.” Her voice was low. Inviting. Was it intentional?
“You’re welcome.”
There was no reason on the face of the earth for him to continue standing there. Every reason to put distance between them. Hadn’t he just given her several?
“You don’t know how badly I wish things were different,” he said.
“Maybe they could be. If you tried.”
Lord, she was tempting. Cheeks and nose tinged pink by the cold. Lips full and lush.
Will was strong. He could resist. He’d done it earlier.
Only he hadn’t counted on what she said next.
“Are you going to kiss me?” She lifted her face to his. “Or make me stand here all night?”
Chapter Nine
“Take a chance, Will.” She clutched the front of his jacket and stood on tiptoes. Her breath was warm, her gaze hot.
Adrenaline spread through him like wildfire, setting every nerve on fire. His hands shook. His heart pounded.
Desire. Not panic. He was learning to tell the difference.
Temptation beckoned. He might have held out, but then her lips parted and he was a goner. Gripping her shoulders, he hauled her to him.
He was going to pay for this, one way or another. With luck she’d be done with him. Just like Lexie. Maybe it was for the best.
“You think too much,” Miranda said, and she was right.
Will claimed her, quickly taking charge of the kiss. Angling his head, he bent her back and plunged his tongue deep in her mouth. If he didn’t scare her off with a panic attack, he would with his ardor.
God help him, she wasn’t intimidated. Molding her body to his, she took what he gave and made demands in return. Will increased the pressure. She responded by slipping her hands beneath his jacket and circling his waist.
He was doomed. Stopping was impossible.
Cupping her cool cheek in his palm, he slid his fingers under her knit cap and into her hair. It was like silk, fine and smooth as spun gold. He’d dreamed about touching it. Burying his face in it. Watching the blond strands glide across his bare chest.
Did she know the profound effect she had on him? To erase all doubt, he showed her, and wasn’t satisfied until he’d wrenched a needy moan from her that nearly sent him over the edge.
She broke off the kiss only to speak his name against his lips. Will crushed her to him, his heart on the verge of exploding.
No, not on the verge. Already there.
He backed away as his lungs compressed, squeezing out the last molecule of oxygen. His field of vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Terror consumed him. Weakened him.
“Will, are you all right?”
He heard Miranda but didn’t answer her. Couldn’t push the words past the invisible fists strangling him. Bending forward, he hugged his middle and let the attack run its course.
Served him right for letting Miranda in.
“Will!” She shook his arm. Really shook it and barked sharply, “That’s enough.”
Enough? He’d stop this nightmare if he could.
She grabbed his chin with enough strength that pain shot through his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Stop this, you hear me?”
Not exactly the kind and compassionate treatment he’d expect from a nurse. And yet, the panic receded slightly. She didn’t let go of him, didn’t look away. She made him focus on her and kept repeating, “Stop this now.”
Eventually the air surrounding them thinned and became breathable. The fists choking him released their hold.
“Better?” she asked.
He was, his speedy recovery a complete surprise. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Her posture immediately deflated.
Perhaps his plan to discourage her had succeeded after all. She lo
oked scared to death. Who could blame her?
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“Don’t be. Parts of it were quite good.”
“Are you that tough with Mrs. Litey when she has an episode?”
“I’m never afraid she’s going to stroke out on me.”
Will didn’t return her teasing. He wasn’t in the mood. He’d just exposed his demons to someone for the first time in five years and had no idea how he stood with that person.
Fortunately the falling darkness hid his features, or Miranda would have read him like a book.
Falling darkness! Wait. How late was it?
“We need to leave,” he said. “While we can still find our way down the mountain.”
She didn’t argue. They mounted up and Will took the lead. The trail was steep in places, made more difficult by the lack of daylight. He looked back often to check on her progress but said nothing.
The horses proved their worth and carried them safely to the main road. A half mile from the ranch, Sam called Will, concerned that they weren’t home yet. Will assured his boss all was well, though it didn’t feel that way. Miranda hadn’t spoken more than two sentences on the entire return ride.
At the corrals, their conversation remained limited to the necessities. Did she require any help dismounting? Where should she tie up her horse? What about unsaddling? Will assured her he’d take care of everything.
He hadn’t thought about how she’d get home until a car pulled up with one of the servers from the Paydirt behind the wheel.
“I called Cissy when you were in the tack shed,” she said, responding to his silent question. “Asked her for a lift.”
“I’d have driven you home.”
“You have a lot to do. I didn’t want to impose.”
Or she wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.
She turned to leave, stopping after a few steps. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I apologize.”
He shrugged. “Just as you said, parts of it were good.”
“What parts, Will? Just the kiss?”
He thought carefully about it before answering. “No. Talking was good, too.” Grueling. Agonizing. Embarrassing. Depleting. But good.
“I’m glad.”
She left, the taillights of her friend’s car growing smaller before disappearing altogether.
His Christmas Sweetheart Page 11