Justice for Miranda

by Reina Torres

  “Shut up, Hillbilly Bob!”

  The property owner’s upper lip pulled back in a sneer. “You’re the one who said you knew what you was doin’!”

  “That fucking thing is some kind of a vicious dinosaur! Get it off me!” The man on the ground was red in the face, his free hand digging into the grass at his side. “Shoot the damn thing!”

  Trace walked up on one side and Conor came up on the waterside of the man.

  “Sir?”

  Conor’s voice was steady and friendly. Trace was glad that his friend made the initial contact since Trace wasn’t sure he could have kept the censure out of his tone.

  “What!”

  “May I have your name, sir?”

  “My name,” he looked up at Trace, “is Shoot the Damn Turtle, Assholes!”

  Conor got down on his belly, his hands flat against the grass on either side of him, ready to push back if the turtle turned on him. Shaking his head Conor pushed back a few feet before he got up on his haunches.

  It was Trace’s turn to talk. “The animal is a protected species, sir. Given that you approached the animal to touch it is ‘not’ the fault of the animal, sir.” While the man was muttering a few choice swear words, he looked over at Conor. “We can try to distract him into letting go. Do you want to pull or dangle?”

  Conor shook his head. “I’m already down here, so I’ll pull.”

  Trace looked back at the man. “You got a piece of raw chicken or somethin’ in your kitchen.”

  The woman at the back-porch door unfolded her arms with a huff. She grabbed the door and pulled it open as she called back over her shoulder. “I told you I was right.”

  Shrugging the man stood at the base of the steps. “Now I’ll never hear the end of it.” As soon as his wife stepped out of the house with a chicken drumstick in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other, the man took the items from her with a question on his lips.

  She beat him to the punch. “Go get your BBQ tongs and tape the pinchers closed around the bone.”

  At the man’s confused look, she shot back at him. “I saw it on YouTube. Some numbnuts was testing the bite of an alligator snapper. I figure if the turtle went after it then, maybe it’ll get him to open his mouth long enough to pull this numbnuts’ fingers free.”

  The man who had just returned from his backyard grill gave a shrug. “Now she’ll never listen when I tell her to stop watchin’ them stupid videos.”

  She turned on her heel and jabbed a finger in the air toward him. “You just wait. If it saves his stupid fingers, then you owe me a trip to the mall.”

  The man huffed. “If it saves his fingers, woman, he owes you a trip to the mall.”

  While the husband and wife had been jawing back and forth, Trace had kept quiet, taping up the makeshift lure for the turtle. “Well I’m sure that he’ll be very grateful to you for your help, ma’am.”

  The man in question barked out an outraged laugh and turned his head toward them. “You’ll hear from my lawyer!”

  Conor blew out a breath and doffed his hat, setting it aside on the grass. “Well that’s a whole lot of gratitude for you.”

  As the man started to complain, Trace let out a huff that turned the man’s head. When he was sure he had the man’s attention, he spoke. “Sir, now all that screamin’ you’re doin’ is making my ears ring and I’m sure that it’s not doing any good for the turtle either-”

  The man drew in a big audible breath, readying himself to speak.

  Trace cut him right off. “You need to keep quiet, sir, and maybe you can help yourself out of the position you put yourself in.”

  With his face red as a fire engine, the man pressed his lips together in a thin line.

  “That’s better, sir. Now let’s try to get this guy to let you loose.” Leaning closer, Trace pushed his hat back on his head and sighed. “To tell you the truth, I was just going to rap him on the head and see if that would make him let go. I don’t deal with many of these kinds of bites.”

  Conor coughed to cover a laugh. “Well most folks ‘round here know better than to pet anything wild that’s got a mouth or legs.” His chuckle was smooth. “That’s pretty much anything. A good lesson to learn if you ask me.”

  The man turned to curse and Trace snuck in on the side and pushed the raw meat against the side of the turtle’s face.

  The turtle turned and latched onto the meat. “Well, I’ll be-”

  Conor on the other side pulled the man free and let out a laugh as the turtle started to devour the chicken, following Trace as he stepped back away from Conor and their new friend. It was when the creature was up and out of the tall grasses along the water that he saw something that might be a problem.

  “Looks like this turtle’s got an issue.”

  The injured man howled back. “I’ve got an issue. I’m gonna lose these fingers!”

  “What a wuss!” The other man’s wife leaned against the back-porch railing. “I called the ambulance already, so just pipe down!” Turning her ire on her husband she dropped her chin down so that he got the full weight of her anger. “And I hope you tell that jackass he’s not welcome to stay here, I’ve had about enough of his complainin’.”

  “Yes, Mama Bear.” The husband shook his head and then headed toward the front of the property at the first sound of the sirens from the road. “I’ll bring the EMTs over…” He jogged off and Trace shook his head knowing that the man probably wanted to get as far away from his wife and his ‘distant cousin’ as he could get.

  By the time the EMTs had carted the man away, Trace had already made a decision. He looked up at Conor when he came back from seeing the ambulance and their belligerent patient away.

  “I’m takin’ him to the rehab center at the edge of San Antonio.”

  Conor stopped up short and looked over at Trace. “Which rehab center is this?”

  Trace felt a muscle in his jaw tick. “Don’t play, Paxton. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Paxton.” Leaning back, Conor gave him a grin. “Now I know which rehab you’re takin’ our little dinosaur to.”

  Starting for his truck to get the carrier, Trace swung back around when he heard Conor call after him. “What did you say?”

  Conor moved his foot out of the way of the turtle’s mouth. “I was just saying it’s about time.”

  When Trace didn’t reply, Conor continued on.

  “Don’t give me that look, Trace. If you think you’ve been hiding that torch you’ve been carrying for Miranda, you need a visit to the optometrist. That torch is burning like Lady Liberty in New York harbor.”

  Trace felt anger and frustration pushing through his veins instead of blood. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t at all about him.

  He didn’t want anyone giving Miranda a hard time for his lack of control.

  Opening his mouth to speak, he saw Conor wave him off.

  “Go get the carrier. We’ll talk later.”

  “Oh, I’m going to get the carrier.” Trace reached back and pushed his hat forward on his forehead. “But we’re not talking about… that. Not ever.”

  When the sound of heavy wheels could be heard coming down the gravel road to ‘Totes Goats ‘n Things,’ Miranda looked up from the baby fawn she was feeding. “Jun!”

  When her cousin didn’t answer back, she reached down and picked up the fawn in her arms. Even with the jostling, the fawn had no problem rooting around to find the nipple on the bottle she had in her hand.

  “Okay, okay,” she crooned at the fawn who continued to draw hungrily on the bottle, “goodness.”

  She walked to the front of the barn-like building and peered out from the open half of the Dutch doors and felt her heart flutter in her chest.

  It didn’t help that the fawn lifted her head and flicked her ears back, batting against Miranda’s cheeks, bringing her back to the moment and focusing on the matter at hand.

  Trace Carson.

  “Oh wow.”

  He climbed
down from the cab of his truck like a legend from the Old West. Long, tall, and a gun on his hip. He lifted his hat and set it on the top of his head just high enough for her to see the silver that streaked the sides of his hair.

  Breathe, baby, breathe.

  It was a simple bodily function, one that should have been natural and automatic… but that was before Trace Carson, Game Warden, and all-around hotness was anywhere near her.

  Or in her thoughts.

  Or in her dreams.

  And he’d been in her dreams enough to make it difficult to get a full night’s rest since her party.

  “Hey!”

  She heard her cousin just outside the barn. He must have been in the main office instead of the back of the barn where she’d seen him last.

  “To what do I have the honor, guys?” Jun’s tone was easy and she saw him jog out to the center of the yard to offer a hand to the game wardens. He got to Conor first and the two met with a good shake. When Jun turned toward Trace it took a moment for her former mentor to reach out and grasp his hand. It wasn’t rude, she didn’t want to admit she saw Trace looking around before he met her cousin’s eyes. But the silly love-sick side of her brain hoped that he’d been looking for her.

  Conor set his hand on Trace’s shoulder. “My friend here wanted to bring you folks an alligator snapping turtle with a few cuts from some kind of net or line.”

  Jun nodded with a smile. “We can handle that, no problem.”

  “We?” Conor was getting on Trace’s last nerve. She could see it in the ramrod set of his spine and the concrete-set of his jaw. “I sure would like to say hello to my old friend… don’t suppose your cousin is around.”

  So much for getting some privacy to talk to Trace. Nope. She was going to have the ridiculously happy Conor Paxton pushing all of her buttons as well as Trace’s.

  Given the knowing looks that Conor was skewering Trace with, he knew something was up.

  Instinct told her to sneak back into the dark interior of the large room, but she just couldn’t leave Trace to handle Conor and her cousin all on his own.

  “Hey, guys!” Miranda stepped up closer to the Dutch doors and met both Conor’s and Trace’s eyes before she looked down at the lock on the waist-high doors. Tucking the bottle up between her jaw and her shoulder she reached down and flicked the latch up before she nudged the half-door back with her elbow.

  She heard the tight squeak of the new hinge as it stopped somewhere short of its full swing and then it came back at her. The speed was something she wasn’t expecting. Miranda turned to put the fawn out of danger and knew the door wouldn’t do much damage to her backside, but the hit never came.

  “Careful there.”

  She could only tilt her head a little to look up at him. Dropping one hand onto the Dutch doors, she still had her other arm wrapped around the warm squirming form of the baby deer and struggling to keep the feeding bottle tucked safely under her jaw.

  Miranda drew in a breath through her nose and enjoyed the clean and spicy scent that she’d always known as ‘Trace’ tickling her senses.

  He pulled the half door open and waited for her to step out. “That’s a heavy door.”

  She smiled. “We want to keep the littles inside and the weight discourages them from trying.”

  “You trying to turn this little one into the wardens?” Trace smoothed his hand over the fawn’s head and the little traitor leaned closer to him and licked at his arm.

  Lucky.

  “No, we just got her in a few days ago and I was feeding her when I heard y’all coming into the drive. I wanted to put her down before coming out, but she still has more to take before she’s done.” The fawn nosed his hand and Trace smoothed her ears back again. “And she probably won’t finish if you keep distracting her.”

  She hoped that no one else heard the wishful tone in her voice. She would have been more than happy to waste some time with Trace’s hands all over her.

  But there were witnesses.

  And even though she was sure the fawn wouldn’t gossip, she had a feeling Conor and her cousin Jun would be happy to open their yaps about anything they felt was newsworthy.

  Which in her experience, was pretty much anything.

  When she saw Trace lift his hands up and back away, she rolled her eyes at him and touched the nipple of the bottle to the fawn’s mouth. Reassured of her meal continuing, the young furry thing latched on and started to drain the rest of the bottle. “Good girl. Don’t let that mean ol’ warden distract you from your dinner.”

  When she looked up, her gaze met Conor’s startled expression and then the speculative look from her cousin, Jun Tottori. “So… an alligator turtle? Where’d you guys come up with that one?”

  Conor opened his mouth to answer, but Trace was back at her side, placing a wooden chair down so she could sit.

  “Some visiting tourist from Los Angeles thought it would be fun to pet the turtle he saw in the grasses along the water.”

  Jun’s huff of a sigh echoed the sound in her head. “He keeping any of his fingers?”

  Conor shook his head. “Sadly, all of them.”

  Trace’s mouth almost tugged up at the corner.

  Almost.

  “When we got the man’s hand free, we got the turtle further on land and saw that he has wounds that look like he might have tangled up with some fishing line or something like it.”

  From her seat, Miranda looked down at the fawn whose eyes were closed as its mouth nursed at the bottle. She wasn’t going to get up soon.

  “Whose truck is it in?” Jun didn’t wait for an answer, he just set his hand on Conor’s shoulder and the two walked to the back of Trace’s work truck.

  Even though Miranda had a free hand, she didn’t move the bottle into her palm. Instead she used her fingers to smooth the baby’s forehead and used gentle sweeps of her palm to lay its ears back against its head.

  Watching the deer’s jaw and throat work as it drew swallow after swallow of milk into its throat, she almost forgot that Trace was standing there beside her.

  “You look good like that.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked up in a shy smile. “I think I have straw in my hair and I was mucking out stalls earlier, so I guess if you closed your eyes and didn’t draw in a breath, you might be able to say that truthfully.”

  He didn’t answer her, not that he was required to. It wasn’t even a rhetorical question.

  Still, she felt like she’d shown her Freudian slip again even though she was wearing blue jeans.

  Embarrassed? Duh!

  “I meant what I said, Jimenez. You look good like that.” A soft exhale caught her ears. “You look good no matter what.”

  Her mouth went dry, her throat worked to swallow absolutely nothing, and her breath caught in her chest.

  “The night of my party…” she blinked and realized that she’d been the one to speak. Obviously, she wasn’t quite as sophisticated as much as she’d liked to be.

  As much as she knew Trace would need her to be if she wanted him to take her seriously someday.

  So, she tried again.

  “The night of my party,” she chanced a look up at him and saw the hesitant look of an animal caught in the lights and about to make a run for the trees, “you… you said something that I’ve been thinking about.” Another indrawn breath started to ease the tension in her shoulders.

  “A lot of things happened that night that I’d like you to think about, Miranda.”

  His voice was even and warm and Miranda had no idea what kinds of emotions were building inside of him.

  “You sound like we’re back in the academy and you’re issuing homework.” The words were meant to make him smile, but the only real change she could see was the narrowed look that might read as worry. “But then again, I never minded the homework you gave out.”

  “I tried not to make it busy work,” he divulged that little truth.

  “Oh, I got it,” she worked the em
pty bottle free of the fawn’s mouth and its flicking tongue, “but then again I’ve always loved homework.”

  “Seriously?”

  “My mama said it’s an Asian thing, something in our DNA that makes us want to please,” she told him. “And it didn’t hurt that you were the best instructor. I never even came close to falling asleep in your lectures, even when it was hot as hell in the room.”

  He smiled. “That’s high praise, I guess.”

  She started to shrug and thought better of it since the fawn was sleeping with her head on Miranda’s shoulder. “It is what it is, but I never wanted to tell you that while I liked the way you taught, what I liked even more was seeing you for hours at a time.”

  She watched him as he listened to her, but he wasn’t saying or doing much at all.

  He wasn’t exactly telling her to stop talking, but her playful mood floundered a bit.

  “Umm,” she cleared her throat and shifted on the chair, “I should put her down so I can help Jun with the turtle.” Her arm was nearly asleep with the weight of the fawn and while she dropped the bottle into her free hand and reached down to set it on the ground, it was suddenly taken from her.

  “I’ve got it.”

  His voice could melt her into a puddle if given the chance.

  Trace smiled when she looked up at him and she couldn’t help the confusion that came over her.

  “Here, let me help you up.”

  Miranda felt his hand on her elbow, guiding her to her feet.

  Okay then, she thought, he’s being the gentleman for now.

  Well, she could handle that, but she needed a moment to clear her thoughts. Having him this close wasn’t going to help. Not at all.

  “Need some help?”

  “Nope!” She spoke and her voice was a little too bright, but there was no way to fix it. Miranda moved away and swung open the door and stepped inside. The semi dark was exactly what she needed.

  She had the whole space memorized and could navigate well in the dark. Miranda crouched half-way down and gently set the fawn into an enclosure, barely disturbing the other two that were dozing off. Well-fed and happy, she closed them in and made her way to the front again.