by Judy Duarte
Miranda blew out a soft sigh. How could she dash a dream that had carried the Contreras family through two generations?
Before she could ponder the answer, Matt returned to the counter. “The pharmacist is sending the stock clerk over to serve us.”
“This place used to be a big tourist draw back in the day,” Miranda said. “I remember when they served food here. They had these really cool plastic menus that offered hot dogs, burgers and fries.”
“They still have them, although they don’t use them anymore.” Matt slipped around to the back of the counter and found where a couple of old menus had been stored. He handed one to Emily, then took a seat next to her, placing the child between them. Whether she was a wall or a connection was left to be seen.
Miranda scanned the nostalgic setting. “I imagine it would still be a big draw.”
“You’re right.” Matt looked over Emily’s head, which was bent so she could study the menu, his gaze on Miranda. “But Ron Jorgenson, the original owner, passed away a few years back, leaving it to his wife Hazel. His death was unexpected, and Hazel took it hard. The manager has been running things, so I have a feeling Hazel has lost interest.”
“For a guy who’s been away a lot and on the rodeo circuit, you seem to know a lot about what’s going on in Brighton Valley.”
“I stay in contact with Bullet and Poncho, who keep me updated. My info comes from a cop and a Life Flight pilot, so it’s pretty solid.”
“Hmm.” She tossed him a playful smile. “So in some ways, you’re able to keep your ear out for local gossip—like Margie at the diner.”
“Whoa!” He lifted his index finger and moved it back and forth, like a windshield wiper. Yet, a glimmer in his eye told her he’d taken her teasing for what it was. “I wouldn’t go that far. I like being in the know, but I’m discreet. My buddies know that I can be trusted not to spread gossip.”
“Hey, y’all,” a teenage boy said, as he approached the counter. “My name’s Danny. What can I get you?”
“We’d like ice-cream cones, unless you still have banana splits.” Matt nodded his head at Miranda and winked.
Talk about nostalgia and memories... She and Matt had shared a banana split at this very counter that first day, and he’d taught her how to tie a cherry stem in her mouth—without using her hands.
“We don’t have any bananas, whipped cream or cherries,” Danny said, “but I have chocolate sauce.”
What a shame. Miranda had been prepared to show Matt that she still remembered how to do that amazing trick.
“Sounds like we’d better stick with three cones,” Matt said.
At that, Emily looked up and grinned. “What flavors do you have?”
“Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and black cherry. We can give you different flavor combinations if you order a double or triple scoop.”
After they placed their orders, Danny got to work making their cones.
“I was talking to the pharmacist,” Matt said, “and he told me they’ve lost a lot of business to that big super pharmacy that opened up on the border between Brighton Valley and Wexler.”
“That’s too bad. This place has an amazing small town appeal. Their customers like having the personal attention they can’t get at one of the big chain stores.”
“I agree. I’d hate to see it go.”
Miranda again scanned the setting, then placed an elbow on the counter and turned to Matt. “You know, it might turn out to be a moneymaker and a good investment if Hazel refurbished it.”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure if she’d be interested in doing anything other than selling it outright.”
Danny handed Emily a strawberry cone, the top scoop tilted slightly off center. “Here you go.”
Emily thanked him, then began to lick the side.
As Danny returned to make the other two cones, Matt said, “From what I heard, the woman who used to manage the soda fountain retired.”
“And the one before that got pregnant with triplets,” Danny added. “For some reason, people who work at the counter keep leaving. My friends and I call it The Curse of the Drug Store Soda Jerks.”
“What happened to them?” Emily asked, her lips parted, her eyes open wide.
“They didn’t die or anything.” Danny carried a single-dip black cherry cone and handed it to Miranda.
“I don’t believe in curses,” Matt said. “People don’t always stick with a job that doesn’t pay a lot. But I have to admit, it’s kind of weird. About forty years ago, Uncle George dated a woman who worked here. And she not only quit her job, she broke up with him and left him high and dry.”
“Why’d she leave?” Miranda asked.
“She ran off with a musician bound for Nashville, and it really messed up George. He’s sworn off women ever since—at least, when it comes to romance.”
“Poor George.” So that’s why the man had never married. Miranda nibbled at her cone, then turned to Matt, caught a glimpse of his profile, saw his eye twitch.
He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. Miranda had run off, too.
As Danny handed Matt a double-deck chocolate cone, Emily got off her swivel seat. “Can I look around the store?”
“I suppose.” Miranda could see why the child would be curious. “But don’t touch anything.”
“I won’t.”
As Emily stepped away, leaving the two adults at the counter, Miranda made a quarter-spin in her swivel seat and turned to Matt.
“I had a good reason for leaving,” she said, her voice soft, hesitant.
He zeroed in on her for a couple of beats, then broke eye contact to study his chocolate cone. “It doesn’t matter.”
Actually, it did. To her, anyway. And while she felt compelled to insist that he listen, Emily chose that moment to approach a display of colorful refrigerator magnets that was only a few steps away and within earshot.
So it wasn’t the time for Miranda to either defend herself or to apologize for breaking his heart.
* * *
The afternoon they’d spent at Rick’s clinic had turned out even better than Matt hoped it would. And they topped off the day with a simple but filling dinner Miranda had fixed them.
While they munched on baked chicken, rice pilaf and a tossed salad, the adults remained quiet, but mostly because Emily chattered up a storm, rehashing the things she’d seen and learned on her tour and sharing her plans to open her own veterinary hospital and rescue center someday.
Needless to say, no one else had been able to get a word in edgewise. And that was just as well. Matt hadn’t known what to say anyway. Spending time as a family had been pretty surreal.
His mom had died when he was in kindergarten, and since his dad’s job required him to travel, Matt had spent a lot of time with babysitters or else he’d been placed in day care for hours on end. Then, when his stepmother and her son had eventually come into his life, she rarely included Matt in those kinds of activities. And that often left Matt alone.
“It’s my turn to clean up,” George said, as he got up from the table.
Matt didn’t argue. Instead, he poured a cup of decaf and slipped out the front door, where he took a seat in one of the rocking chairs.
He’d no more than taken a couple of sips when Miranda opened the screen door and stepped into the soft yellow glow of the porch light.
“There you are.” She smiled sheepishly, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Is it okay if I join you for a few minutes?”
You’d think that he’d resent having an interruption to his solitude, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to bother him a bit. “Sure, go ahead.”
She took a seat in the rocker next to his. “It’s nice outside this evening.”
That’s why he’d come out here. Well, there was that. But he’d also wanted some time to thin
k. About life. About parenthood.
About her.
“I really appreciate how kind you’ve been to Emily,” she said.
How could he not be? He was her father. “She’s an amazing kid.”
Matt would never turn away from Emily, like his old man and his stepmom had done when they’d both favored her bratty kid over Matt.
Much to his stepmom’s aggravation, the house became a battlefield, with Matt getting into trouble for starting the fights even when he wasn’t to blame.
His father traveled on business and was gone most of the time, which was nothing new. But each night, when his old man called home, his stepmom would complain about Matt picking on her son or giving her a hard time. You’d think the guy would have at least listened to Matt’s side of the story, but he hadn’t. And by the time Matt was fourteen, his dad had gotten tired of hearing about every little thing he’d done wrong and shipped him off to live with Uncle George.
But hey. Things had worked out. And in time, Matt had put it all behind him.
He stole a glance at Miranda, who peered up at the sky. He assumed she’d come out here to talk to him, so he waited for her to broach whatever she had on her mind. But she continued to sit in silence.
Apparently, like him, she’d only come outside to enjoy the peaceful sights and sounds of the ranch at night. So he leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath of night air, picking up the ever so soft scent of night-blooming jasmine, listening to the evening breeze rustling the leaves in the maple tree and watching the occasional cloud hide the waning moon as it moved across the starlit sky.
“I enjoyed getting to know Rick a little better,” Miranda finally said. “He’s a great guy.”
“You’ll like his wife, too. Mallory is a social worker at the Brighton Valley Medical Center.”
Miranda set her rocker in motion, the chair runners creaking against the wood-slatted floor. She seemed especially pensive tonight. When she looked out into the distance and bit down on her bottom lip, he realized that she actually did have something on her mind, something she found difficult to say.
“What’s bothering you?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “When I called everyone in for dinner this evening, your uncle came in a bit winded. Did you notice?”
Now that she’d mentioned it... “Yes, but he’d been outside and had probably hurried to the house. He always used to fuss when I came in late at mealtime.”
“That’s possible, I guess.”
Her concern for Uncle George didn’t surprise Matt. Back in the day, the polished college-bound teen and the gruff old rancher had grown surprisingly close. In fact, his uncle had really taken a shine to her. He’d claimed that was because she kept Matt out of trouble. But it was more than that. George had never married or had kids, and having Miranda around seemed to make them a family.
You be good to that little gal, George had once told him. She’s got a sweet disposition and a great sense of humor. But she’s also got a good heart.
And more than once, after Matt’s recent arrival at the Double G, when he’d seen the two of them together, George’s words had again rung in his ears: If I’d had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be just like Miranda.
And Miranda had felt the same way about him. I love your uncle. He might have a rough exterior, but he’s a real softy, too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m close to my father, but sometimes George is a lot easier for me to talk to.
Miranda stopped rocking and turned her head toward Matt. “I don’t doubt that he has an infected toenail, but I haven’t seen him limp or heard him complain.”
“You think he lied to me when he claimed that prescription I picked up for him was an antibiotic?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that...” She let out a soft sigh. “I think he’s having some health issues... Maybe his heart. Or possibly his lungs.”
At that, Matt stiffened. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s obviously seen a doctor recently. And he’s had two different prescriptions. Would they both be for his toe?”
“Maybe.”
“I also caught him stroking his left arm the other day. So when he seemed to have trouble catching his breath this evening...? It’s probably nothing, but I’m a little concerned.”
Matt hadn’t noticed anything unusual, but it had been a long time since he’d been home, let alone spent any quality time with his uncle. Once he went back on the circuit, he’d have to make a point of coming around more often. That is, if he went back.
“You know,” Matt said, “if he’s actually having health issues, I don’t think he’d ever admit it. Maybe I should talk to his doctor.”
“You won’t find out anything by talking to his doctor. The HIPAA regulations won’t allow him or her to discuss your uncle’s health with you.”
“Then I’ll just have to ask George and not settle for a nothing’s wrong answer.” Hopefully, if there was anything to be alarmed about, the feisty old codger would open up and level with him.
“Good.” Miranda set the rocker in motion again, as if that was settled, but then she looked into the darkness again and began to nibble on her bottom lip.
“What else is bothering you?” he asked.
She didn’t respond right away, either to admit or deny it. After a few creaks of the rocker, she stopped the motion completely and turned to him. “I’ve tried to tell you several times why I left town.”
“And I’ve told you it doesn’t matter.” Her father had had a strong hold on her back then—and he probably still did. “You were a minor. You had to do what you were told.”
Even though she’d returned to the ranch, which showed that she’d grown up and had more gumption, she still hadn’t told her father where she was. Nor had she revealed her pregnancy.
“Do you remember that trouble you and your friends got into at the beginning of your senior year?” Miranda asked.
How could he forget? They’d tried to play a trick on the football team, but it backfired and the janitor was seriously injured.
“You were on probation,” she added.
And he’d been damned lucky, too. If Poncho’s foster dad hadn’t gone to bat for them, they could have faced time in juvenile hall or in jail.
“And remember that day things blew up?” she asked.
“When your dad showed up at the ranch?” What a disastrous day that had been. They’d been making homemade ice cream with an old hand-cranking machine on the front porch when her father had arrived, along with a private investigator. Her old man had pitched a real fit.
Matt had tried to tell the berry king that he was in love with his daughter, that he’d never hurt her, but that only seemed to make things worse.
I don’t know what kind of picture you’ve painted for Miranda, Carlos Contreras had said, but I’m not about to let my daughter waste her life by hooking up with a footloose cowboy hell-bent on trouble. She’s destined for bigger and better things.
Matt had expected Miranda to object, to stand up to her father, to defend their relationship, but she’d buckled instead and had gone home with him.
It had been a crushing and demoralizing confrontation, and in the midst of his anger and resentment, Matt realized that, even if he didn’t understand why, Miranda loved and respected her father. So, for that reason alone, he’d been determined to win the guy over, although he hadn’t had a clue where to even start.
Matt chuffed. And how had that wild plan worked out?
“When we got home,” Miranda said, “my dad accused me of...”
She didn’t have to say it. Matt had a pretty good idea what Mr. Contreras had said.
Miranda cleared her throat, then continued with the story that he’d already pieced together on his own. “I swore up and down that we’d never slept together. He eventually believe
d me and mellowed out some. That’s when I called you and suggested that we take a break from each other. And you agreed.”
Matt hadn’t had any choice other than to go along with the decision her father had made and forced onto her. So he didn’t call her for a few days, thinking her father would chill and that he’d talk to her at school. But she never returned to Brighton Valley High. Nor had she called him again.
Later, he found out that she’d left town, and no one would tell him where she went, leaving Matt feeling abandoned yet again.
Miranda might think she’d had a good reason for leaving without a trace. And she probably thought he understood. In a way, he supposed he did, but it was too late to go back in time. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. Yet, one thing hadn’t.
He stole a glance at her and saw the way she bit down on her lip, the crease in her pretty brow. He could have reached out to her, taken her hand, given it a forgiving squeeze. Because, in a way, he did forgive her. At least, his anger and resentment had eased. But she’d always be her father’s princess, under his wing and under his thumb.
Matt was no longer a footloose cowboy hell-bent on trouble, but he doubted that made any difference. The berry king wouldn’t find a broken-down bull rider any better suited for his princess.
So he fought the urge to say or do something stupid. Instead, he let Miranda continue with her confession and the apology he couldn’t quite accept.
* * *
Miranda had no idea whether her words were having any effect on Matt or not, but it helped her to unload the guilt and the painful memories that had plagued her for the past nine years.
“In order to keep us apart,” she continued, “my dad pulled me out of Brighton Valley High and sent me back to the private school I used to attend.”
“His plan certainly worked. I never saw you after that.”
“True. And things only got worse. When I got nauseous several mornings in a row, he realized I was pregnant and that I’d lied to him.” Miranda closed her eyes, hoping to blink back the memory, but it didn’t work.
