Miranda leaned into me and rested her head on my chest. We no longer moved with the music, we just stood together. I dropped her hand and wound my arms around her waist. It was dangerous, but I couldn’t stop myself. The smell of mint tickled my nose when I tucked my head next to her ear to whisper, “Let me take you home.”
She nodded against my chest, yet she didn’t break away. For a bit longer, we lingered in a moment I had thought would never come. The grudge I’d held for six painful years no longer seemed relevant. There were questions I needed answers to, but as drunk as Miranda was, tonight wasn’t the time to ask.
* * *
Getting Miranda to the truck hadn’t taken much effort. She had followed willingly, and I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of her fingers laced with mine when I pulled her out to the parking lot of The Hut. It was hard not to acknowledge how it felt to have her back in my arms on the dance floor, or how much I’d missed holding her hand. And when she climbed into the cab of my truck, it took effort not to focus on the sway of her hips or her tight ass. There had never been another woman who did for me what Miranda Adams did, and that clearly hadn’t changed. If it hadn’t changed in six years, it wasn’t going to in sixty.
The ride back to Cross Acres proved uneventful. Country music played on a low volume, and Miranda stared out the window. I snuck glances at her and noticed she didn’t even mouth the words. “Do you not listen to country anymore?”
“Hmm?” Not only did she not appear to listen to country music, she wasn’t listening to me, either.
I pointed toward the radio. “You can change the station if you want.”
But she was a million miles away. I wondered what she thought about and if she were reminiscing as we drove down Main Street or past fields we’d played in as kids. She didn’t give any indication, so I let her be.
I turned off the county road and rolled down my window as the truck tires hit the gravel.
Miranda leaned back and angled her body toward me. “What’d you do that for?” It was the first time since she’d been home that I had heard any hint of a Southern drawl, and it made my heart race to realize she hadn’t completely washed away her Mason Belle roots.
“Do what?” I asked.
Her eyelids were parted in nothing more than slits, and she appeared half asleep. “Roll down the window.”
The likelihood she’d remember anything I said tonight when she woke up tomorrow was slim, so I chose to be honest. “To hear you.”
“To hear me?” She giggled, and the sound was magical. “What does that mean?”
I shrugged and kept my hand on the steering wheel. Without glancing at her, I answered—not that I believed she’d ever understand. “I spent my life loving the sound of tires on this driveway, because it meant you were less than a mile away.”
The laughter died, and while I knew she hadn’t, she appeared to have sobered. “How long have you been doing that?”
“Since I was a kid.” I didn’t remember the first time I’d done it or when I associated that noise with seeing her. It had just happened, and now I couldn’t undo it if I tried.
Thankfully, I pulled into the circle in front of the house before she could pry any further. I put the truck in park, tossed the driver’s door open, and then rounded the front of the vehicle to help her. The last thing I needed was for her to bust her ass on the steps and wake Jack. Miranda had the door open on her side, and she’d turned to hop down when I stopped in front of her. She took the hand I offered and slid off the seat and to the ground.
There wasn’t an inch of space between our chests, and every time she breathed in, her taut nipples teased my pecs. She hadn’t let go of my hand when she stood on her own, and I couldn’t look away. The gleam in her eyes awakened parts of me that hadn’t been roused in years. A lot of men would have used it to their advantage, especially one who hadn’t touched a woman in as long as I had. My fingers craved the heat of her bare skin, and my lips were desperate to taste hers. I couldn’t even acknowledge the stiff pull below my waist. Randi Adams was just as intoxicating today as she had been in high school.
“Let’s get you inside. I need to get home.” Before I did something stupid. “I have to be back here at five.” I wrapped my arm around her waist and eased her away from the truck to close the door.
She let me lead her up the stairs, and she used my side to steady her path toward the porch. “You could stay here.”
I couldn’t tell if she was flirting or offering me the couch. Both were tempting, neither would happen. “My house isn’t far from here.”
“Do you live alone?”
I took the hidden key out of the light fixture on the porch. “Yep.” I would never understand why people locked their doors around Mason Belle. The last time I’d checked, coyotes didn’t have opposable thumbs, and cows didn’t steal.
“So, no one would notice if you didn’t come home?” Her innuendo and coy grin could no longer be passed off as anything other than lust.
“No.”
She kicked off her shoes in the foyer, all while keeping a tight grip on me. Her foot slipped on the hardwoods and almost took us both to the ground. It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t quit laughing, and I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face while I watched her.
Her eyes flicked to mine, and her rich-brown irises hid beneath hooded lids. The air became thick, and time slowed. I needed to get her to her room, and then I needed to leave before the art of seduction became an act. My resolve waned, and I refused to be that guy. I slipped my arm behind her knees, shifted the one around her waist to cradle her weight, and lifted her into my arms. Miranda was piss drunk, and I doubted she’d remember anything that happened tonight, but I would. And I’d be damn sure she never questioned if I’d changed, not in that regard.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and lay her head on my shoulder. I focused on each step in front of me and wished I’d switched on a light before climbing to the second floor. Miranda hadn’t so much as shuddered since I picked her up, and I thought she might have passed out. Even when I pushed open her bedroom door, she didn’t budge.
The light from the moon that came through the window illuminated the room enough to see that her bed remained unmade from where she’d gotten out of it this morning. I didn’t bother with the lamp and gently put her down on the mattress. When I brought the comforter to her chin, she fisted my shirt in her tiny hand and drew me close.
Her eyes were obscured by the shadows, and darkness blinded my view, but every nuance, every detail, every thing about Randi Adams remained etched into my brain. And when her nostrils flared, I pulled back before our mouths met. I stood, and she lost her grip, at least the physical one she’d had on my T-shirt. I’d tried for six years to break the hold she had on my heart, and it was a battle I’d never won.
“I still love you, Austin,” she whimpered.
My chest ached to repeat those words, but I couldn’t do it. If they passed my lips, I’d end up stripping the clothes from her body, removing my own, and then crawling on top of her to reclaim her. That couldn’t happen. Her dad was down the hall. She was drunk. And I was sober.
I did the only thing a Southern gentleman could. I bent down, kissed her forehead, and then I left. Miranda didn’t call after me. She didn’t beg me to stay. And that was for the best, at least for tonight. God knew, there was no way I could have said no had she asked.
My heart, my brain, and my dick all fought a mental and physical war inside me. Each stair I descended put more distance between where I wanted to be and where I should be. The last thing I needed was for her to wake up with regret.
If she still loved me, then we’d do things the right way, and that didn’t include me sleeping with her tonight. I took a deep breath when I reached the kitchen. The fixture above the sink provided enough light for me to rummage around in the drawer to find a pen and a piece of paper. I stared at it for an eternity, or maybe it seemed that way because I was exhausted a
nd had to be back here in a handful of hours. There was so much I wanted to say, but all I needed to say could be summed up in three words.
I refused to give those to her on a piece of paper with my phone number after six years.
So, I scrawled my name in black ink and left a way for her to reach me. I crept back up the stairs, slid the paper under her door, and walked out, hoping to God tonight hadn’t been a drunken mistake…on her part.
14
Miranda
The sun that came through the slats in the blinds might as well have been a wrecking ball. The light hit my eyes with a blinding blow that amplified my hangover. I jerked the blankets over my head in search of darkness, but it didn’t help. Last night was nothing more than a fuzzy memory at the moment—well, other than the whiskey—and then it all started to come back, bit by painful bit. Each scene that played out in my mind sent a zing of agony to my temples, and the moment I remembered telling Austin that I still loved him, my stomach lurched. Then it rolled.
With one hand over my mouth and the other flinging the quilt back, I then took off toward the bathroom. My foot slipped, and I found myself scurrying across the floor like a monkey. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet and lifted the lid to purge. I didn’t need a reminder of how much alcohol I’d consumed while I sat at The Hut, but in case I’d forgotten, I now had a visual.
Even after I had flushed the toilet, the vile stench remained. I didn’t have the energy to get up from the cool tile floor, and instead, I pressed my heated cheek to the surface and closed my eyes. I’d never been so hung over that the room spun the next day, but here was living proof that it could happen. I propped one foot flat on the floor in hopes of stopping the virtual merry-go-round; unfortunately, unless my eyes were open, it didn’t do any good. And if I could see light of any kind, my head throbbed instead of the dull ache in darkness.
Another wave of nausea had me clutching the porcelain bowl. I didn’t care that my face hovered inches from the water or that my hands were covered in germs from the rim. I desperately wanted the comfort of the bed. I just didn’t have the strength or the confidence in my ability to keep from retching to actually move. The toilet seemed an appropriate place to reflect on the current state of affairs in Mason Belle, or rather, my state of affairs here.
Last night was a culmination of my time here: lonely at the bar, screamed at by an old friend, rejection from an old love…it couldn’t get any worse. Until it dawned on me that I’d practically begged Austin to spend the night. My groan echoed off the sterile tiles with nowhere to land. There wasn’t a soul alive who cared about my well-being—other than Eason. Gah, Eason. I hadn’t talked to him in almost a week. I’d add that to my list of things to atone for. It was too bad I wasn’t Catholic; confession and some Hail Marys would do me good, even if they wouldn’t fix anything.
When I was confident my stomach was empty, I crawled across the bathroom to my bedroom. It was there I came across the paper I’d slipped on, and I almost cried when I recognized the handwriting. I’d told him I loved him, and he’d left me his phone number. Great. He hadn’t even acknowledged that he heard a word I said, he hadn’t stayed with me, and I was quite certain he hadn’t taken me up on my implied offer and then gotten up before the rooster crowed.
The only other man I knew who could resist a woman throwing herself at him with zero expectation for anything further was Eason. Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better. I missed my best friend. I missed New York. And I needed to get out of Mason Belle before I made an even bigger fool of myself. Charity had made it clear last night that I wasn’t welcome here. Austin reminded me he’d given up on me long ago. And with Daddy turning over the ranch, there was nothing left. Not even hope. I didn’t know my nieces and nephew, I hadn’t even seen my brother-in-law, and my sister didn’t need my help.
Some small part of me had hoped this would be a reckoning, even if I had refused to admit it. And although I’d anticipated every reaction I’d received since I arrived, it still hurt to actually experience them instead of just worry over it. It was time to move on from Mason Belle once and for all.
I clutched the slip of paper and used the handles on the dresser drawers to pull myself upright long enough to slap the phone number on the top, and then I used the top for leverage to stand. It was a gutsy move, considering how volatile my stomach and head were, but it made progress back to the mattress easier—and it wasn’t so hard on my knees.
Once I tucked myself in, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and sent Eason a message. I could only hope that he would book a flight and not ask for details. But, I could never be that lucky. The continuous ding of my cell promised a litany of questions that I didn’t have the energy to deal with. The last thing I wanted to do was discuss my embarrassment with my best friend.
I cringed when I picked up the phone. The light from the screen was almost as damning as the sunshine. I found Eason’s name on my favorites list, tapped it, then touched the speaker icon and turned down the volume. Once he answered, I pulled the blankets over my head and closed my eyes.
“Hey, stranger.” Any other time, his voice soothed even the worst ache. Today, it amplified it.
I winced and pushed the phone farther away. “Shh. You don’t have to talk so loud,” I whispered in hopes that he’d get the hint of what an acceptable decibel level was.
“Why are we whispering?” he cooed into the phone.
If I’d been in a better frame of mind, then I would have recognized I had given myself away. Had I merely told him that I wanted to come home, Eason would have booked the flight. My desperate text threw up red flags, and then my perceived secrecy raised more.
“It’s a long story that I prefer to rehash from the comfort of our couch when I’m not hung over and praying for death.”
Silence held the line. “I’m afraid to ask.”
It proved easier to give him a brief overview and gain his sympathy than resist and be stuck here until I came clean. I talked. Eason listened. And when I finished, he didn’t throw open his arms for me to rush into.
“Maybe you should give it a little more time, Miranda.”
More time. “What else do I need? My childhood best friend called me every name she could think of last night, the love of my life rejected me, and my dad gave our family ranch to someone not in our family. It’s the start of every horrible country song.” Each word only served to increase the pounding in my head. “Should I wait for them to escort me out of town? I’d like to have some semblance of dignity remaining when I get on a plane.”
“Have you talked to your sister?”
Ugh. “About leaving?”
“No, about why you left to begin with.”
I would never understand Eason’s need for my reconciliation with people who, up until recently, he hadn’t met. “Sarah and I are fine.” Fine was relative. We were status quo.
He made no attempt to hide his frustrated sigh. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do about getting your return flight booked.”
I should have figured out how to do it myself and shown up at the brownstone. In my current condition, Eason seemed an easier route to the end result I craved. In hindsight, a nap would have cured the hangover, and then I could have called the airline to get it taken care of. Now, guilt weighed my conscience down into slumber. And when I woke, I’d have no other choice than to come to peace with my sister before I left.
* * *
It didn’t take long to pack my bag. I’d bought more at Walmart than I’d actually brought, and none of that needed to go back to New York. I folded it all and neatly put it into the drawers in my old dresser. It seemed silly since I doubted I’d ever be back to claim any of it, but it belonged here; I didn’t.
With my suitcase in tow, I glanced back one final time at the bedroom I’d grown up in. It was bittersweet, but at least now I wouldn’t have regrets. I had come back. I’d tried to face the demons, even if I hadn’t righted any of the wrongs. There was no se
nse in lingering. Nothing would change, regardless of how long I stood there.
And for the second time in my life, I walked away. There were some decisions in life that couldn’t be undone. I couldn’t make reparations in this town for a choice I’d made years earlier. Teens everywhere disobeyed without the consequences my actions had brought. That wasn’t my fate; this was.
Daddy sat in the kitchen with Sarah when I reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Sarah tried to jump up and had to brace herself on the counter. She wasn’t agile the way a thirty-one-year-old mother of three should be, and I was responsible for that.
I glanced down at my bag and scrunched my nose when I faced her again. “I think it’s time for me to go.” This didn’t need to get heavy. “Daddy’s home and on the mend. You’re here. Austin’s got the ranch under control.”
Daddy swiveled the stool my direction to keep from having to look over his shoulder. “Sugar, you don’t need to rush off.”
If only I believed that. I wanted to. “You guys have it covered. I need to get back to work.” Part of that was true. Eason didn’t care when I came back to the firm; he’d hold my job for a year if I asked.
“Miranda, come on.” She eased between the two stools to come toward me. “You haven’t been here that long.”
Two and a half weeks seemed like an eternity to those of us who didn’t fit in. “Eason’s already booked a flight.” I hated to ask her for a favor, but taxis didn’t exist in Mason Belle. Calling one from Laredo would cost a small fortune just to take me to the bar to get my rental. “Would you mind running me up to The Hut to get the car?”
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