“Maybe,” Prent said. “I can’t find anything intrinsically wrong with the financials, but he’s just on edge. Scared.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If he’s scared of you, he’s not doing much to keep you very happy, is he?”
“No, but it’s not in his nature to be nice even to get what he wants or needs. He’d rather be a bully because that’s all he’s ever known.”
“Maybe he knows you’re the better businessman,” she suggested in all sincerity, but Prent burst out laughing. “What’s so funny? You’ve worked at the cooperage for years now. You know your business.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because Minerva adores you and respects you. Because you’re sitting here on my couch complaining about work and not just about your uncle being a jerk. You’re worried because you care. I know what that feels like.”
“I bet you do. I’ve seen it in action as recently as half an hour ago.”
“It’s not fun when you can’t fix things or think you can’t,” she said, vacantly staring into the hearth.
“Wait—are you talking about work or something else?”
“Work, definitely work.” She put a hand on his knee to try to reassure him. “Being a doctor is rough when you can’t make someone better, despite your best efforts.”
“That’s why you were so wiped out after saving Kyle Sammons’s life. And just stop that talk about not doing that,” he said before she could protest.
“I didn’t save his life—that’s what was so freaky. I don’t know what happened. If I did, I’d be a better doctor for it. I came back here that night not knowing what would happen,” she said wearily. “I thought he’d be okay, but it wasn’t a sure thing.”
“And that guy from tonight?”
“That man will live although he has a hard recovery ahead. But it’s not like he got shot at close range like the sheriff. That’s why I’m not a basket case.”
“So getting burned out is the price of caring?”
“It can be,” she said. “Anytime you care, you’re opening yourself up to hurt and loss. But I thought you’d learned that over the past two years.”
“Because you’ve taught me that.”
“I didn’t teach you anything. You just grew up.”
“So you’re saying I’m all grown up now because I care?”
Lightly stroking the top of his hand, Miranda leaned against the back of the couch and stared at him, weighing her remarks. This was probably the most mature conversation she’d ever had with Prent, and they had veered into a serious place without, as he’d put it a few nights earlier, a gropefest.
They were adults speaking as equals—adults who happened to be in love with each other. This was new, as was her entire relationship with Prent.
Because they hadn’t picked up exactly where they had left it that day in Perryville.
The bond they were re-forming was unlike the connection of their first affair. This one already seemed deeper, probably because they knew what profound loss felt like.
“You always cared. And you were always a grownup on some level. But you fought it tooth and nail for a long, long time.”
“Until you made me grow up.”
She smiled widely and laughed.
“So this is the new, mature version of Prentice Oakes?”
“Apparently so. But I have to ask which version you like better: the old one or the new one? Because you had a lot of fun with that old version.”
Miranda gripped his hand, and her eyes bore into his.
“I love the one right in front of me.”
Prent immediately gathered her to him and tilted her head back to search her face.
“I love you, Miranda. And even if you’re not ready to make love again—I know you’re mentally and physically exhausted—just let me touch you, let me feel you again.”
“Prent, I’m already in your arms.”
Needing no further encouragement or permission, Prent moved his lips to her neck, where he kissed her in soft lingering caresses until she began to sigh heavily and lean back on the couch. With one hand in her hair, Prent slipped the other under her sweater and shirt until his palm was against her torso.
When she felt his erection against her leg, Miranda wished she had the emotional and physical energy to make love that night. Yet her next thought excited her: a New Year’s Eve into morning complete sexual reconciliation with Prent.
As these sensual plans formed in her mind, Prent unclasped her bra and slipped his hands around to the front of her body and cradled her breasts. He gave her the slightest, most reverent little squeeze as he gazed down at her.
“So perfect,” he whispered, his thumb stroking the side of her right breast.
“Feel it yet?” she asked, knowing what he sought.
He grinned and moved his thumb in a familiar line along her body. “Yes.”
“Your favorite mole is still there, of course. Want to see it?”
Before he could respond, Miranda sat up and started pulling off her clothes, removing her turtleneck and sweater. She left her bra dangling along her chest, intending to give Prent the thrill of taking it from her. Prent did exactly that, his fingers moving to the loose straps of the garment and slowly removing it from her body. He dropped it on the floor while simultaneously moving a hand to the side of her breast, and finding the small mole or freckle she knew had been the object of his search.
Prent reached with a trembling hand as he put a forefinger on the small spot, and softly moved the tip of his finger across its raised surface. Miranda sighed deeply, remembering how much he loved that silly little spot on her body.
“Hello again,” he said, keeping his eyes on the speck before bringing his lips to quickly kiss it.
The feel of Prent’s mouth on her breast for the first time in ages made Miranda immediately recline into that same position she’d enjoyed before taking off her top. His lips never left her body as his tongue drew circles around the mole until he finally reached her nipple.
“Prent…”
He kept his gaze on her as his tongue dipped to flick the tip of her nipple before bringing his whole mouth down upon her.
Unable to keep her eyes open in the midst of such delight, Miranda’s world faded to darkness as Prent suckled, licked, and kissed her breast, then moved to the other. She cradled his head against her chest, and he devoured her, finally moving down to her torso and the top of her tummy where he trailed long lines of kisses across the landscape of her body. It was as though he was reacquainting himself with every little curve and, yes, bulge or mild imperfection. Miranda managed to catch small glances at his face as he made this trip, and all she saw was wonder and glee as he went about the business of pleasuring her.
When his lips brushed her waistband, she stiffened. Prent looked up at her, smiled, and moved until his face was over hers. He planted one hand on her stomach and moved it lower until his fingers slipped into her curls and he lightly brushed her folds.
She jumped a little, surprised at the brazenness of his touch.
“I know you want to wait,” he said, moving his hand until it rested half on her tummy and half in her curls, “and so do I. Anticipating New Year’s Eve with you is about the best thing I can imagine right now.”
“You have matured,” she marveled as he moved closer and his lips lingered inches above hers.
“Glad you like the new and improved version,” he said before smothering her with a fearsome kiss.
The only good thing about Monday was that Miranda knew that by the end of the day she’d be in Prent’s arms, well on her way to his bed that New Year’s Eve. On Sunday, she’d mostly stayed around the house, tidying up and exchanging flirty texts with Prent, getting more and more excited about a holiday that previously had never interested her.
At the end of a long day seeing patients (including Lila, whose blood pressure had fallen and thus no bed rest), Miranda was tired but not suffering from that painful physical and mental fatigue
that comes with the intense tasks of delivering a baby or saving a life. She expected to be a little weary that night, but making love to Prent would be the perfect prescription for all her needs.
She retreated to her office with Grace at her heels, giving her a quick breakdown of any problems or matters of which she should be aware.
“Oh, Dr. Byrd called you,” Grace said. “Said he might stop by this afternoon.”
“Here? At the office?”
“Yep,” Grace said, turning her back and snapping her gum loudly. “About now, in fact.”
Grace left Miranda in a stew. She didn’t like people dropping in on her. She had enough of that in the way of patients and babies demanding her attention. But for that part of her professional world she could manage, she insisted on appointments, patient or otherwise.
And Dr. Bradford Byrd wasn’t such a good friend that he could casually drop in and chat. He wanted something, and she suspected she knew what it was.
Five minutes later, she was leading Brad Byrd, the excellent doctor but painfully boring human being, into her office.
Miranda closed the door behind her guest, a man in his late forties, bald, slightly portly and pale to the point of anemic-looking. He was wearing a coat and tie. He had come to talk business.
She invited him into a chair in front of her desk, and he unbuttoned his jacket and made himself comfortable.
“What’s on your mind?” Miranda asked.
“I think you can guess.” He put his arms along the armrests of the chair, looking way too relaxed. He thought he was in control of the conversation and situation.
Not in her office, he wasn’t.
“Tell me.”
“Not any secret around that rent has gone up in this building, Miranda,” he said. “I’ve heard a few other doctors complaining. And it’s also not any secret that I’m still very interested in going into practice with you. I think now is the perfect time to do that. That’s why I’m here.”
“I appreciate the interest, but I’m happy on my own.”
“Even with the cost of having a solo practice in this town?”
“I’m fine.”
“Look, I’ve heard that you’re doing those little clinics or whatever,” he said in a dismissive tone. “But can that last? And will that be enough to—”
“Brad, again,” she said, standing to make it clear their interview was coming to an end, “I appreciate your interest, but I’m not looking to make that kind of change.”
He sat back in his chair, apparently intent on staying.
“If you’re worried about the financials, don’t be. We can make this work. And it would be a completely equal business, even though I think my practice is bigger.”
There was no way he was going to worm out of her just how big a practice she had. He was fishing for information, and she wasn’t so stupid or insecure to let something slip out.
Then it hit her.
He was scared of her.
Did he really think she was a threat to his practice? Or did he need her so badly that he was afraid she might reject his offer to join forces?
She felt the power of the encounter shifting and moved toward the window. Time to play along and test her theory.
“Would we have to share your offices? I don’t see how we could merge practices and stay put in your space.”
He immediately turned in his seat to face her.
“I think we actually have enough space.” He explained how he had an option at his offices to get some extra adjoining space under a new lease offer. “The cost wouldn’t be that much, and with you on board that extra bit of rent would be easily absorbed.”
“So you’d expect me to move?”
“Yes. I have the bigger offices. And this building is—”
“Do you have a deadline for an answer?”
“I was hoping that we could come to an informal understanding today—”
“I really need some time to think about this. Are you working with a lawyer? I’ll need to speak to mine, of course, when you have a formal proposal.”
“Yes, well,” stammered Brad. “My lawyer is actually in Lexington, so I’ll have to talk to her.”
“I usually use Jorrie Jones.” Miranda walked toward the door.
Brad caught a clue and stood.
“I can have my lawyer contact yours, or we can get together again and talk,” he said rapidly.
“I think I need a proposal first, then we can talk,” Miranda said, putting a hand on Brad’s back and moving him toward the door.
“Sounds good. I’ll get back with you soon because I’d really love to work with you.”
That was something he had never said to her.
He’d only dangled a partnership to her as something that he thought she should jump at as though he were doing her a favor to deign to consider working with her. Now she heard the whisper of anxiety and wondered if there was something else—an interest that went beyond professional.
Miranda again decided to test him.
“You got any big plans for New Year’s?”
“Well, no, not if you count staying at home. I thought I might go to The Rickhouse, but that place will probably be packed.” He licked his lips. “But if you—”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m going to Prent’s place. He’s having a small dinner for friends and family.”
“Prent?”
“Yes. Prent Oakes, one of the cooperage owners. We’re back together.” She was smiling and not merely for Brad’s benefit.
“Oh, that’s… that’s good to hear,” he said, looking away.
Once more, she’d been correct. Not only did Bradford Byrd consider her a professional threat, he’d had other-than-professional reasons for seeking her out that day.
She wasn’t offended—he couldn’t dictate to his own heart—although she was still insulted by his demeanor at the beginning of the meeting. He’d thought she’d acquiesce to his offer.
Now she was literally showing him the door and crushing his romantic hopes. Talk about multitasking.
After she’d seen him out, Miranda leaned back in her desk chair and closed her eyes, thinking about the evening. Although she knew she and Prent wouldn’t be alone for a while, just the thought of seeing him again in a few hours and being with him again had her excited and, for the first time in a long time, extremely aroused.
It was going to be a very special New Year’s Eve.
13
Prent toted two cases of Old Garnet into Cord Bilton’s office, wishing he’d had the smarts to get a dolly to help him with the task. At least he’d remembered to bring his checkbook because he expected Cord to hold him to his deal and make him cough up the money he owed him for surrendering his Maggioli’s reservation.
But Prent didn’t mind one bit that he had to pay up. It was some of the best money he’d ever spent. Having that table at the restaurant had proven to be the magic he’d needed to get Miranda back into his life.
And the Cinnamon Garnet had probably helped too.
When he’d called that morning to confirm he could deliver the payoff, Cord had said they had something else to talk about. Prent suspected the subject was something related to the business, but he wasn’t concerned.
Cord was a natural worrier, a trait that he’d seen in most of the attorneys he’d met in his life. Prent didn’t fault him for the predilection. It was just the kind of quality anyone would want in their legal counsel—someone to see the problems before they happened.
Prent deposited the cases of bourbon on a couch in the foyer of Cord’s office, leaving an amused and confused receptionist.
“Looks like Mr. Bilton will have quite the New Year’s party,” she quipped. She turned to her desk and called her boss.
Cord appeared in the reception area in the next few seconds, offering his hand for Prent and giving his client a vigorous handshake.
“So you finally lived up to your word and got me
my bourbon. Plus an extra case, I see,” Cord said, smiling.
About Prent’s age, the two could’ve been brothers. Cord was tall, had dark brown hair, and a lazy smile. Prent respected him in the way one respects an older sibling and considered Cord his best friend.
“I won’t have it said I don’t pay my debts. Where do you want this?” Prent gestured to the cases.
“Leave it,” Cord said. He gestured for Prent to follow him and turned to go back into his office.
“I brought my checkbook,” Prent said. “Here to completely make good on what I owe you.”
Once they were in the hall together, Cord’s face turned from pleasant to concerned.
“Keep the money.” He ushered Prent into his office and closed the door behind him. “You’re going to need it. Come to think of it, we probably should’ve snagged a bottle of bourbon from what you brought.”
Prent took a seat, his happy mood obliterated by his attorney’s words. Scowling, Cord fell into his desk chair.
“I’m about to ruin your New Year’s Eve. And probably your entire year, for that matter,” Cord said.
“Spit it out. Is this something about the business?”
“If it were only that simple. I know you won’t have any trouble remembering your old girlfriend, Ainsley Donovan?”
“Don’t tell me she called you!” Hearing that woman’s name was enough to ruin his day, but Prent feared worse was to come.
Cord shook his head and took a breath.
“No, her mother did. Ainsley’s dead.”
“Oh,” Prent said, subdued. “What happened?”
“Her mother said she was in a car accident out in Oregon.”
Prent sucked in a long breath as the news sunk in. He’d been in love with Ainsley, or so he’d thought until she dumped him suddenly and wanted nothing to do with him. Just before their break, he’d gotten a DUI, and she’d even gone to court with him, sitting in the audience as he made his guilty plea with Cord by his side. He’d thought nothing was wrong, but then she stopped returning his calls. Heartbroken and confused, he’d tried to get back together with her, but she threatened legal action if he kept trying to contact her.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 39