She pinched her nose. “I talked him out of it.”
“The shooting happened on the ride home?”
She stared into the fire. “Yes. An attack by gang members after Jacob pulled off the highway.”
Grant gripped the doorframe. Poor Miranda.
“Random violence,” Kyle said.
“No,” Miranda stated. “The police considered it mistaken identity by the killers. I don’t buy it. Jacob had started hanging with creeps.”
“How horrible.” Kyle shook his head.
She put her head in her hands. “Thirty-one bullets and they murdered everyone I loved. Because of me.”
Grant’s mouth fell open. Not untypical for family members to blame themselves and not the damn perps. He stared at the freezer, stocked with Mom’s meals. How would you handle the guilt of thinking you’d killed your family?
By shutting down and attempting invisibility, her exact M-O in the Justice Building. He thrust his fingers between two frozen packages, tossed one in the microwave, and punched reheat with his fist.
“I can’t imagine your pain.” Kyle managed a comforting tone. He touched her hand. “I hope you realize they made choices, too.”
Good response, bro. Grant kept still.
“No one can understand.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t burden you with my history.”
“An important part of grieving is sharing your feelings. I have a sense of your loss. My mom passed away from a curable illness, if only I’d diagnosed it earlier.”
Grant grabbed the counter. Kyle shouldn’t carry guilt from his mother’s death.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
Kyle’s chin dipped to his chest. “I’d recommended she go into Billings where they had better equipment for tests, but she put me and my dad off.” He turned toward her, his eyes moist. “I insisted too late.”
Not your fault, Kyle. Grant stared at his feet. Damn, he should’ve been there.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “So many should haves.”
“Are you close to any other relatives?”
“No,” she said flatly. “Lonely’s a dictionary word until you live it. Cherish your father.”
“I do treasure Dad.” Kyle handed her a business card. “Call me anytime you need to talk.”
The timer dinged. Grant blinked. Had he offered the same willingness to listen to her? He punched the reheat button.
Kyle never voiced shouldering the blame of his mother’s death. Damn, maybe he’d missed subtle hints. So, so sorry, bro. He stared at the microwave’s rotating glass tray.
His parents were a phone call away or a long car ride if he needed their company. He ate and slept alone by choice.
Miranda had no one.
He lifted a handmade potholder from his mother. Women created perfect nests for their kids, even adult ones. He rubbed his neck.
His career path would involve many moves, likely crisscrossing the country. Too tough for nest building?
“Your mom’s cooking is worth a trip out here,” Kyle called to Grant. “Need help?”
“You deserve a break.” Grant entered the living room. “Mom’s famous Wagyu stroganoff is on our menu tonight.”
“I appreciate eating here,” Kyle said. “I’ll have delivered a baby by tomorrow, if my prediction’s right. The mother wants a home birth.”
“Never understood the fascination about babies. They cry and stink.” Grant smiled at Miranda.
Her eyes blinked with incredulity.
Hadn’t she recognized a joke? “Just kidding.”
“When you hold your own little bundle, your tune will change,” Kyle said.
Miranda nodded.
“You play the lullaby song first, Doc, and I’ll see how it works out.” Big-mouthed idiot. He returned to the kitchen, jammed three slices of frozen bread into the toaster, and set the table.
He set out dinner and approached the couch. Miranda’s eyes held a sorrowful look when she declined the arm he offered her. His chest tightened. “Okay, make your way to the table for your first real Morley dinner.”
She carefully slid into a chair and spooned a tiny bite of noodles and mushrooms. “I’m pretty full.” She put down her fork. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Take your time Miranda, you need to eat more. Right, Doc?”
“Correct,” Kyle agreed. “Your body needs sustenance to heal that wound.”
“Doc’s patient care is his life, 24/7.” Grant fidgeted in his chair. “He’s memorized every vital statistic of the populace living within a fifty-mile radius of Emma Springs.”
Kyle’s eyes widened, then flicked from Grant to Miranda. He sat back. “Interesting comment coming from the guy who knows the muzzle velocity of each gun in his prized Winchester collection.”
“Hey—my weapon knowledge has saved many lives.” He slathered butter on a piece of wheat bread. “Dip this in gravy, and eat at least four more bites of meat.”
“I prefer mushrooms, and I’m not your toddler,” Miranda declared.
“Nope.” He smiled. “You’re my responsibility. Four bites and we’ll talk full.” He placed the bread on her plate and caught his mouth opening while she lifted a forkful to her pouty, oh-so-kissable, lips.
She ate half the bowl, then her hand struggled to hold her water glass.
He pushed his plate away. “Let’s get you to your bedroom. Want a bath first?” He pulled out her chair and helped her to her feet, squelching mental images of Miranda surrounded by bubbles.
Clear, bursting bubbles.
~ ~ ~
No way would she risk falling asleep in the bathtub. Miranda choked on a spurt of psycho laughter at how bedraggled she must appear and smell. Maybe stinky like a toddler in Grant’s mind.
A dull, empty ache gnawed at her soul. “I’ll shower first thing tomorrow. Promise.”
“Your choice,” Grant said.
“I bet your host can find you something better than an old T-shirt to wear while I clean the kitchen.” Kyle grinned.
Color rose from under Grant’s collar. “I’ve ah, got pajamas which shrank in the wash.” He bent toward her.
“I’m not an invalid.” She stalked off. Half-way to the stairway landing, her toe caught the edge of a rag rug, flinging her forward.
Grant caught her wrist and rocked her into his arms in one effortless motion. “Nice try.” He carried her to the stairs. “Your body’s spent after the uncomfortable ride. Kyle will boot me if you hit the floor.”
“I tripped. Put me down. He’ll think I’m faking to get your attention.” Words tumbled out.
“You’ve got my attention, and I don’t care what Doc thinks. I do care if your pride prevents healing.” He eased onto each step, as if she’d break from a sudden movement.
She rested her head against his solid torso, absorbing his heartbeats and the last fleeting moments spent intimately with her hero. After the trial, they’d part ways, and their shared time together would fade to memories, unless one of them convinced the other to compromise. “After I’m better, you’ll see I’m no shrinking violet.”
“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” He pulled her closer while fumbling for a hallway light switch. “I’m holding you to the promise of dinner and maybe dessert after the tool comment you threw at me.”
Her pulse jumped. “I didn’t know you’d be so sensitive about owning a rolling pin. I offered coffee.”
“Coffee follows a meal.” His breath quickened. “Served with dessert.”
Chapter 10
Grant slowed his ragged breathing. He stopped inside his guest bedroom and gently set Miranda down. “Here you go.” He turned on the light. “Bathroom’s next door, I’ll find those pj’s and hang them on the h
andle. Leave your clothes outside, and I’ll throw a load in the washer.”
“You’ve done enough.” She looked down, her lashes dark against pale skin. “Please don’t worry about my clothes.”
“No trouble. And listen, you made the right choice coming to me for help. With your testimony, we’ll lock up Maneski and Venom.”
A frown creased her brow. “I know.” A yawn brought her lips close to his.
He backed into the hall. “I’ll fix a good old Montana cowboy breakfast in the morning.”
She nodded, her hair tousled and her eyes sleepy. “Guess I’ll wash a layer of dust off my face.” She headed to the bathroom while he gathered the pajamas.
He hung them outside and knocked. “Laundry service.”
“Thanks again. Good night,” she called through the bathroom door.
“Night.” Miranda would soon be asleep. Alone and safe. He checked the locks before he moved to the living room.
Kyle eyed him. “I’d bet you’d welcome a Scotch, and I won’t let you drink alone. Bad habit. Make mine a soda and I’ll keep you company.”
Grant pulled a can of cola from the shelf and the Johnnie Walker bottle from the cupboard. “Notice any strange cars in your wanderings to patch and prescribe the locals?” He threw in ice and poured the drinks.
“Nope, the town’s quiet today. I did notice you locking the place up Seattle style.”
“I winged a guy skulking around the cabin. Could be her assailant.” Grant sank onto the couch. “Please check bullet wounds within a hundred-mile radius. Upper leg.”
“I’ll access records from my home computer.” Kyle fingered the ridges in his cut-glass tumbler. “Miranda’s special. She’s the kind of woman who’d keep a man on his toes until he drew his last breath, and then she’d kiss him to revive him for another round.”
Grant nodded. “Yeah. She would. And much more.” He turned to face Kyle. “Hey, I’m really sorry I wasn’t more supportive when your mom died.”
“I knew you were there if I needed you.”
“I appreciate how you got Miranda to talk about her family. I guess my witness-grilling skills scared her.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “You used to be the one in school kids spilled their guts to.”
Grant stared into the fire. “My consoling techniques are rusty. Miranda had only turned twenty the day her family died. She breaks out in a cold sweat if she sees my gun.” He took a long swig of amber liquid.
“I read where the FBI charged Maneski with a list of white-collar crimes. Maybe you won’t need her testimony.”
“Maneski’s been nicknamed ‘The Butcher’ for the way he chops his victims and takes one body part. He’s trying to one-up his old man, the most brutal crime lord in Seattle’s history.” Liquor burned a path down Grant’s throat.
“Well hell. Didn’t know the grisly details.”
“On the stand, she’ll face Venom first.” The Scotch was having no impact on his taut nerves. “We’ll need her for both trials. She saw him holding the gun and heard his reference to Maneski.”
“Viewing photos at the trial will be a trigger to her.”
Grant took another swig. “It gets worse. Maneski’s goons stormed the judge’s hospital room and shot my partner, Bo. Protecting her scares the hell out of me.”
“With reason.” Kyle straightened. “You’ve become close to her.”
He raised his chin. “They’re sending sharp shooters to our mountain. They don’t realize I have her, or we’d be dead.”
“She was followed to the ranch, and hunted on the mountain. Insider help?” Kyle’s voice was no longer in comfort-a-patient mode.
“Yeah, quite a coincidence.” His fist clenched. “Sam’s worried more crooked cops are involved.”
Kyle downed his soda and stood. “You’re chugging Scotch, and I heard you speak the word scared. So, my old friend, is the crack in your steel demeanor due to protecting a witness, or finding your perfect woman?”
“I’m tired, not cracking, and it’s a heck of a time to question my alcohol consumption or my love life. Your point?”
“I’m considering what’s best for the patient. Miranda might be safer in town, staying at my clinic.”
Grant squeezed his glass until he identified the indents carved into the pineapple pattern.
The fire crackled.
He reined in the urge to shout his response and pushed up from the couch. “Won’t risk moving her tonight unless it’s a medical necessity. My guest bedroom’s safer than yours. I’ve got motion lights, and my Glock. You’re unarmed.”
Kyle slapped his back. “I sense unnecessary irritability in those words.”
“Quit the psychoanalyzing. And quit grinning.”
“Bro, I’ve been ready for years for a woman to look at me the way she looks at you.” He lifted his black satchel. “You taught me outdoors survival. I’m returning the favor. I treat married couples in my practice. Miranda strikes me as the life partner my best friend deserves. Don’t screw it up. See if she has a single girlfriend for me.”
A shred of hope grew in Grant’s tight chest. He sheepishly grinned. “She’s got one who’s a legal eagle. Ripped me a new one on the phone.”
“I can handle attorneys.” Kyle stepped beside him and wrinkled his nose. “Appears horses, or mules, work well for bait. Maybe I should borrow your Mustang convertible to scout for my dream woman.”
“Yeah, smartass.” Grant’s muscles relaxed. “Anytime. Take the car now and freeze the smile off your face.” He pretended to flick a speck from Kyle’s coat. “Wouldn’t want to dirty those doctor duds on a live horse.”
“I’d bet Miranda’s glad you ride.”
“We’ll see.” Grant grinned. “Hey. I owe you for opening my house and checking out her injury.”
“You’ll never owe me. But you can bank on there being a snowstorm if I’m going to be delivering a baby tonight.”
“I hope not.” Grant stepped into the mudroom and tossed a set of keys from the pegs to Kyle. “Seriously, bro. Take the Mustang any time. I won’t be back soon.”
“Sorry to hear that. Miranda was, too. I should head out.”
“Be careful. Killers are lurking out there somewhere.” Grant eased open the door. Frosty air filled the room. “I smell a snowstorm’s crisp dampness.”
“You always predicted storms,” Kyle said.
“Drive safe. And if you see any unfamiliar cars, text me.”
“Drive safe? For five minutes?” Kyle tilted his head, studying him. “Take a breath. You’ll protect Miranda. It’s what you do best.”
“Until I fell under her spell. Thanks again.”
“Anytime.” Kyle waved and left in his Jeep.
Grant threw on the dead bolt and followed the taillights out. What had him on edge? His reaction to Kyle hinting at interest in Miranda? Maybe. They’d never competed for a woman in college. And he’d never brought a girlfriend to Montana. None would’ve fit in.
Until now.
He dimmed the kitchen lights and walked to the sink, where the window offered a view of the woods.
At the far corner, the motion-activated floodlight flashed on.
His heart pounded. He unholstered his gun and peered out from each window in the house.
No branches stirred. Fluffy flakes meandered to the ground.
A Swift fox dashed toward the barn, its black-tipped tail dancing between snowflakes.
The light flicked off.
He made one more round, then tread lightly upstairs and twisted Miranda’s doorknob.
Waning moonlight illuminated her serene face.
She’d piled her clothes outside the door. He pulled them to his chest, and inhaled a faint scent of lavender.
&nb
sp; His mom insisted they all needed the plants by their back doors to keep bugs away.
No repellant worked on hitmen.
~ ~ ~
Three loud knocks jolted Miranda awake.
“Twenty minutes for a shower.” Grant’s voice boomed through the bedroom door. “New plans.”
“Yes, sir,” she yelled back and stretched. Her muscles ached a reminder of the events of the last few days.
Sunlight blazed through panes of glass near the ceiling.
Clean clothes sat in a pile inside the door. Bonus scout badges went to Grant for cooking over an open fire and handling the laundry.
She wrinkled her nose and hustled into the bathroom. The warm water pounded her back to life. She toweled off, braided her damp hair, and pulled on jeans. No gravy stain remained on the fisherman knit sweater.
Wearing his T-shirt last night under the pajamas had been a comfort. She rubbed her palm across the soft cotton, then placed it on the dresser next to a framed photograph.
Three people posed in front of a Christmas tree. A man with Grant’s square jaw and broad shoulders stood on one side of an older woman, a younger Grant stood on her other side. His Dad and Mom? Both men had their arms outstretched, wearing sweaters like the one she’d borrowed. The cuffs on Grant’s came to his forearms, while his dad’s fingers were covered. The woman wore a huge grin and a look of undisputed love.
And he planned to sell his home. Miranda jerked open the bedroom door.
Which way was his parent’s place? From the top of the stairs, a panoramic view of the countryside stretched endlessly. The ice-rimmed lake bordered a pasture, with Mt. Hanlen in the distance. A sight more beautiful than she’d ever imagined, and she’d imagined a lot.
She looked down. Each wooden stair tread contained tiger stripes or burls created by nature’s paintbrush. How could he sell such a treasure so close to his family?
Grant’s voice drifted from the dining room. She padded down to the landing. He faced the mountain, his fingers gripping his cell phone.
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