Guarding Miranda

by Amanda M. Holt

  A toothpick adorned one corner of his frown, drooping for a moment, only to peak skyward as he smiled.

  There were a few crooked teeth in his smile but the smile was a friendly one. She noticed the man had grey eyes.

  Eyes not nearly as grey as the ones that had haunted her dreams the past two nights but grey eyes the color of mercury.

  They seemed silver as his smile broadened.

  Smiling back, she set down her luggage.

  “Yeah, that’s right, Miss Fowler.” He lifted a pair of keys from behind the counter. She was glad to see that there was a keyless entry remote attached to them. “There’re some things I need you ta fill out.” There was a soft thud as the pages of the rental agreement hit the counter. “And o’course I’ll need to see some ID.”

  “Of course.” Once she had finished filling out the forms, with little help from the friendly eyed man, she produced her California driver’s license and noticed his smile deepen.

  “You’re the first Californian I’ve ever seen without a tan,” said the man, handing back her ID. “Some girls don’t look good, with ivory skin, makes ‘em look sick, like the underbelly of a pickerel fish. But on you, it looks good.”

  “Thank you.” She managed a smile as she acknowledged the strange compliment and slipped her ID back into her purse.

  “My name’s Earl.” He handed her the copies of the forms she would need. “You run into any trouble on the road, get lost on your way to Waterhen, you call on yer cell phone and let me know. Mind you reception cuts out a little further down the way but I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

  Her green eyes widened with alarm. “How did you know I was going to Waterhen?”

  “Yer Uncle Russ called this morning, said for sure you’d be coming today. Asked me to put a spare map of Manitoba in the car you’re renting. Nice guy, yer uncle. His given me lots of business in the past, him and his company men.” He paused, to point out of the window, at the short row of rental cars parked there. “Yours is the burgundy one. She’s got a full tank of gas.”

  “Thanks, Earl.” She gathered up her luggage.

  “Yer welcome. Have a nice day, Miss Fowler.”

  After wrestling her luggage with one arm out of the airport and into the car, she withdrew the hand drawn map of Dauphin her uncle had made for her and was glad to see that navigating her way through Dauphin was going to be peanuts.

  Easy as pie.

  She started the car and pulled out of the airport parking lot, heading for the one main street that cut right through the heart of Dauphin. She passed a honey farm on the way, a few restaurants and then a small shopping mall. Then she saw a familiar sight – a Boston Pizza – and decided to pull in there for supper.

  There were a few other familiar landmarks, landmarks famous the world over, she supposed: a Pizza Hut, a McDonalds, a Kentucky Fried Chicken and two A&Ws. From within Boston Pizza, as she looked toward the mall, she could see the blue of the WalMart and breathed a small sigh of relief.

  If there was a WalMart around, she’d be fine – aanything she needed would be there.

  Paranormal romance novels and pharmacy included.

  To think that her aunt and cousin had doubted her ability to survive the wilds of Waterhen!

  Ha!

  She would show them!

  Mind you, Waterhen was an hour’s drive from Dauphin.

  She thought of the tiny towns she had seen from the airplane, separated by countless miles of tree line and farmland.

  Unsure of what to expect, she found herself asking her friendly waitress, Tabby, if she knew where Waterhen was.

  “Oh, sure. It’s about an hour from here,” said the enthusiastic young brunette. “My parents have a cottage out there at Hutchinson’s Marina, I go with them sometimes.”

  “What do you think of the place?” Miranda asked, wondering what to expect.

  “It’s small but friendly. You’re headed that way?”

  “For the summer.” If it turned out to be a Hell hole, she would abandon the place for her aunt’s favorite Sicilian spa, as promised but for now she was giving it the benefit of doubt. “My uncle has a cabin there, a river front property.”

  “If you don’t mind the mosquitoes and love to fish, it’s a paradise all its own.” Tabby was kind enough to inform her. “Can I refill your iced tea?”

  “No thanks, I should get going. The grocery store there closes at eight o’clock on a weekday, I’m told.”

  “That’s Waterhen, alright. They roll up the streets at eight o’clock. And it’s just the one street, really.”

  Settling the bill, Miranda left Dauphin and was soon cruising at the posted speed limit, a hundred kilometers, passing green and yellow fields broken up only by the occasional bit of bush.

  Over the next hour of driving, her left arm began to ache.

  She tried to do the majority of the steering with her right arm.

  The farmland grew sparse, the cow herds and structures fewer as she approached Waterhen.

  The radio signal, tuned to a Dauphin station, seemed like it was getting riddled with static.

  “Not sure if that’s a bad sign or a really good one.”

  Further and further down the highway she went.

  Chapter Six:

  The further she went into the verdant growth and wide open fields of farmland, the more and more she felt like she really was on her own, getting away from it all.

  Getting away from the hustle and bustle, the madness and chaos of city life.

  She saw a sign marked Tyson Prairie Emporium - 3 KM and knew that Waterhen was nearby.

  The Tyson Prairie Emporium was the name of the store her uncle had mentioned and the place where she was going to be buying her initial groceries this very night.

  A few minutes later, she was looking at a tower-like structure that jutted over the treetops and as she neared it, noticed that it belonged to a station concerned with fire hazards or so read a warning sign.

  Shortly after the station was her turn and soon she was reading a sign marked: Waterhen.

  “Here we are!” She told her rental car.

  Her stomach fluttered with nervous, excited little butterflies.

  She couldn’t wait to crack open the paperbacks she had purchased at WalMart. Two of her favorite authors had released new titles for summer reading and she was itching to crack those spines!

  Miranda turned the rental car right, passing a small park, only to cross a bridge, a small school on her right side, a closed restaurant on her left and finally, slowed and pulled into the Tyson Prairie Emporium on her right.

  The store was smaller than she had been expecting.

  She found herself hitting the brakes, hard, not to miss the turn.

  She wasn’t surprised to see the parking lot empty of all but one vehicle as she pulled in.

  It really was a quiet little town.

  The blue half ton truck likely belonged to the proprietor.

  She checked the gas gauge of her car.

  She had nearly three quarters of a tank of gas left, so she did not worry about fueling up. Instead, she parked the burgundy Ford Focus and left it, curious to see if the residents of Waterhen would be as nice as her Uncle had foretold.

  She learned very quickly just how friendly they could be.

  “Hi,” said the auburn haired woman behind the counter, as soon as she walked in. “Nice enough for you?”

  Miranda assumed she was talking about the weather.

  “Lovely,” she replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable beneath the woman’s intense blue eyed stare.

  “You’re Russ Gundy’s niece, aren’t you?” She asked, adjusting her thick rimmed glasses.

  “I am.”

  “He called, said you’d be coming.” The woman smiled and it was a pleasant sort of smile. “I’m Betty, Betty Tyson. My husband and I own this store.”

  “It’s a nice store,” said Miranda, unsure of what else to say.

  “Your uncle said yo
u’d need quite a few provisions. That you’re staying out all summer?”

  “If I like it here,” she replied and was quick to add, “I’m sure that I will. Like it here, that is.”

  “Hmm. You weren’t sure what to expect, were you?” Betty asked, a grin on her lips. “Well, we’re a pleasant lot, us Waterheners. Very few of us are genuine hicks.”

  Miranda felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t think that you were-“

  “I’m joking, girl, joking!” Betty laughed. “We’re mostly ranchers, teachers, retirees for the most part. Fishermen and hunters by hobby, with a few artists thrown in the mix.” She paused. “We even have a novelist living out at one of the cabins.”

  “Anyone I might know?” Miranda was interested to know.

  “Alex Harrison.” Betty replied. “You probably wouldn’t know his work unless you have children. He does kids books.”

  Miranda put her purse in the shopping cart and was ready to begin her search for groceries. “I don’t suppose you could direct me to the frozen foods section?”

  Betty crooked her arm around the corner, behind the cash register. “Down there, at the end of the hallway. The fresh fruits, vegetables and dairy are down that way too.”

  “Thanks.” Mostly with the use of her right arm, Miranda wheeled the cart down the hallway and nearly plowed over a young auburn haired man who had popped out from behind an adjoining aisle. “Sorry.”

  “No worries, miss,” said the boy, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years of age. “Need help finding anything?”

  “You work here?”

  “Of course!” He grinned at her. “My parents and I run the place!”

  Miranda offered him with a grin. “Do you carry any chicken breast?”

  “As a matter of fact, we do.” He stepped past her and reached for one of the nearest freezers. “They’re from a free range farm down the way. Butchered and packed local, sorry they’re frozen instead of fresh, we don’t sell enough to keep a consistent supply of fresh.” He indicated two sizes. “Come in packs of six or twelve.” He slid open the door and held out two. “Which would you prefer?”

  “I may as well get twelve,” she supposed, rolling the cart nearer.

  He set the larger of the containers into her cart with a smile.

  “Need help finding anything else?”

  “Some ground beef, maybe?”

  “Lean or extra lean?” He consulted the freezer again and rummaged around for the packages.

  “Extra lean.” She replied.

  “One or two pounds?”

  “Two.”

  “Hey, you’re Russ Gundy’s niece, aren’t you?” He asked suddenly, a big grin on his freckled face.

  “Funny how everyone seems to know that,” she said with an awkward laugh. “What did he do, call up everyone I might bump into?”

  “The people around here are real fond of your uncle. He’s a nice man, good hunter, avid fisherman. Everyone knows he’s stinking rich but he sure doesn’t act like it, treats everyone the same.” He glanced up at her suddenly, a blush in his cheeks, his ears reddening. “You don’t mind that I called him stinking rich, do you?”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She challenged, in good nature.

  “Need help with anything else?” He asked, seeming ready and willing to help her, if needed.

  She looked around her, at the fresh vegetables and dairy. “I think I’ll be all right. But if you tell me your name, I’ll track you down if I need you.”

  “Tommy. Tommy Tyson.” He grinned. “Betty’s my mom.”

  “Well, thank you very much for your help, Tommy.”

  “No problem,” said the boy, who then dashed away.

  Consulting the list she had made, Miranda proceeded to fill it.

  Her Uncle Russ had said that there were staples at the cabin, flour, sugar, herbs, spices, liquor.

  Lucky for her, he left the power on at the cabin year round, to keep the waterlines from freezing and the sewer pump working, so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting the power activated.

  Uncle Russ said that the cabin’s phone service would be activated in a few days.

  For the moment, she would have to rely on her cell phone for communication purposes, which definitively meant that she would have no phone service until the land line was established.

  The option was to go to a neighbor’s and borrow theirs.

  That or she could use the pay phone at the Emporium.

  Her cell was not going to ring out here.

  Not once!

  Surely this was paradise!

  Finished with her list, Miranda approached the cash register and started unloading her purchases unto the counter.

  Betty motioned for her son to help her. “Give her a hand, Tommy. I’m on the phone.”

  So he did.

  “You have enough in here to feed an army,” he teased, to which Miranda grinned.

  “Yeah, that’s me all right – army of one.”

  A one armed army of one, at that, she thought to herself.

  She spotted a magazine rack near the door and left the cart a moment to pluck the most recent Cosmopolitan magazine from the rack.

  She added it to the pile of her purchases, along with a pack of cinnamon chewing gum from the display.

  Betty handed her the phone. “It’s for you.”

  “For me?” Miranda was confused.

  “Your uncle said for me to call when you got in, so I called. He’s on now.” Betty explained.

  “Uncle Russ?” Miranda greeted him.

  His voice filled her ear, “Hello my girl, find everything you need?”

  “For now, anyway,” she told him.

  “I just wanted to make sure you got in okay. Your Aunt Nancee wants you to be mindful that if you change your mind there’s always Italy.”

  Miranda smiled as she pictured him, wondering if Aunt Nancee was in the background dictating what he should say.

  He was the control freak in the family, true but Aunt Nancee was the one holding his tether.

  “I know.” Miranda told him. “But I think I might like it here. Like you said, the people seem nice.”

  “Are you heading out to the cabin now?”

  “As soon as you let me off the phone.” She teased him with a feigned urgency in her voice.

  “Call us when you get phone service at the cabin. Or your Aunt will drive me crazy with worry.”

  “I will.” Miranda promised and in ending the call, passed the phone back to Betty.

  “Find everything you need?” Betty asked, of her long line-up of groceries.

  “For now, anyway,” she said with a smile, as the other woman tallied up the goods.

  “Say, will Russ and Nancee be coming out this summer at all? He didn’t say on the phone.”

  Miranda shrugged, the gesture making her left shoulder ache. “He said he’ll be up for a weekend of fishing in August and then moose hunting season, in early October but he and Nancee are going to Cancun, I think, for their summer vacation this year.”

  “Mexico, eh?” Betty sighed. “Went there for my honeymoon. We went to Hawaii last year.”

  Miranda was slightly taken aback.

  Betty is very well-travelled for a rural Canadian grocery store operator, she figured. Either that or I just haven’t met enough rural Canadians yet.

  “Who minded the store, in your absence?” Miranda asked, curious.

  “Sara and Albert Tyson, my brother-in-law and his wife.” Betty wrinkled her nose as she looked up the price of the green peppers. “They work here, on weekends and when we’re on holidays.”

  Tommy beamed at Miranda. “Will you be going to the potluck supper this Wednesday?”

  Her Wednesday night was as yet unplanned as were all of her other nights.

  It was Monday now.

  “A what?”

  “Potluck.” Tommy repeated.

  “What’s a potluck?” It sounded like an exoti
c bird.

  “A potluck is a supper where everyone attending brings a bit to share with the rest of the community.” Betty explained. “Luck of the pot. Potluck. You eat what’s there. I’ll be making a lasagna myself.”

  “Mom’s lasagna is the best.” Tommy assured her.

  “You should come.” Betty insisted warmly.

  “I don’t know...” Miranda shifted her tired left shoulder.

  “I can introduce you to some of your uncle’s hunting buddies, if you go.” Betty continued. “Some of your neighbors, too. Ben and Mabel Clarion, for sure will be there.”

  Ben Clarion was the man her uncle had told her would show her some good fishing holes.

  It couldn’t hurt to socialize with the man a little.

  “I’ll think about it.” Miranda decided.

  Tommy glanced up at her as he set the last item – the chili powder – on the counter. “It doesn’t hurt to make a few friends, in case you should need something.”

  Miranda realized the wisdom of the young man’s words. “Wednesday at what time?”

  “At seven,” said Betty, deftly ringing up the items. “At the Community Hall. You can ask anyone for directions. We’re a friendly lot.”

  “The Community Hall?” Miranda considered her memory of the map her uncle had made her. “I think Uncle Russ marked it on the map of Waterhen he made up for me.”

  “You really should come,” said Tommy, with the enthusiasm of youth. “It’s usually a great meal. Lots of variety, lots of desserts.”

  “I think I’d like that.” Miranda conceded and considered the bill that Betty had finished tallying up. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” said Betty. “Your uncle said to put it on his account.”

  “Really?” Miranda was pleasantly surprised.

  Her Uncle Russ was certainly putting a great deal of effort into seeing that she had as smooth-sailing an escape out here as possible.

  She appreciated his token but wondered at it, nevertheless.

  She of all people could afford a few groceries.

  In her time, she had jet set across dozens of continents, with no more than a have a nice trip from his direction...

  Rural Canada was hardly going to pose a challenge.

  What had gotten into her uncle?