"Okay?" he asked softly, his eyes watchful, concerned.
She couldn't look away from him. He hypnotized her. "Yes. I'm fine, thanks."
His fingers contracted on her waist. She was wrapping silken bonds around him. He didn't know if he liked it, but he couldn't quite resist her.
Her heart hammered crazily. He looked odd; totally out of humor, but fascinated at the same time.
In fact, he was. His own helplessness irritated him.
Neither of them moved, and he almost groaned out loud as he forced himself to turn and walk on down the street.
Miranda felt the strength in his powerful body and felt guilty for noticing it, for reacting to it. She walked beside him quietly, her thoughts tormenting her.
The restaurant wasn't crowded. Miranda settled on the day's special, while Harden indulged his passion for sweet-and-sour pork. When he reached for the hot mustard sauce for his egg roll, she shuddered.
"You aren't really going to do that, are you?" she asked. "You might vanish in a puff of smoke. Haven't you ever heard of spontaneous combustion?"
"I like Tabasco sauce on my chili," he informed her, heaping the sauce on the egg roll. "I haven't had taste buds since 1975."
"I still can't watch."
He smiled. "Suit yourself."
He ate the egg roll with evident enjoyment while she sipped more hot tea. When he finished she stared at him openly.
"I'm waiting for you to explode," she explained when his eyebrows lifted in a question. “I think that stuff is really rocket fuel."
He chuckled. It had been a long time since he'd felt like laughing. It surprised him that Miranda was the catalyst, with all the grief she'd suffered so recently. He searched her eyes curiously as a new thought occurred to him.
"You forget when you're with me, don't you?" he asked. "That's why you came back to the hotel night before last instead of insisting that I take you home."
She stared at him. Finally she nodded. "I stop brooding when I'm around you. I don't understand why, really," she added with a quiet sigh. "But you make it all go away."
He didn't reply. He stared down at his cup with eyes that hardly saw it. She attracted him. He'd thought it was mutual. But apparently he was only a balm for her grief, and that disturbed him. He should have followed his instincts and gone home this morning.
"Did I even say thank you?" she asked.
"You said it." He finished his tea and studied her over the rim of the small cup. "When do you have to be back?"
She glanced at the big face of his watch. "At one- thirty." She hesitated. "I guess you think I'm only using you, to put what happened out of my mind," she said suddenly. "But I'm not. I enjoy being with you. I don't feel so alone anymore."
She might have read his mind. The tension in him relaxed a little. He finished his tea. "In that case, we'll go the park and feed the pigeons."
Her face lit up. That would mean a few more precious minutes in his company. It also meant that he wasn't angry with her.
"No need to ask if you'd like to," he murmured dryly. "Finish your tea, little one."
She drained the cup obediently and got up, waiting for him to join her.
They strolled through the park overlooking the lake. The wind was blowing, as it always did, and she enjoyed the feel of it in her hair. He bought popcorn from a vendor and they sat on a bench facing the water, tossing the treat to the fat pigeons.
"We're probably giving them high-blood pressure, high cholesterol, and heart trouble," she observed as the birds waddled from one piece of popcorn to the next.
He leaned back on the bench, one arm over the back, and looked down at her indulgently. "Popcorn is healthier than bread. But you could ask them to stop eating it."
She laughed. "I'd be committed."
"Oh, I'd save you." He tossed another kernel to the pigeons and stared out at the lake, where sailboats were visible in the distance. "Jacobsville doesn't have a lake this size,” he murmured. "We have a small one on the ranch, but we're pretty landlocked back home."
"I've gotten used to seeing the sailboats and mo-torboats here," she sighed, following his gaze. "I can see them out the office window on a clear day." She tucked loose strands of hair back behind her ear. "The wind never stops. I suppose the lake adds to it."
"More than likely," he replied. "I used to spend a good bit of time down in the Caribbean. It blows nonstop on the beach as well."
"And out on the plains," she murmured, smiling as she remembered her childhood on a ranch in South Dakota. Something she hadn't told him about.
"Pretty country," he said. "We had an interest in a ranch up in Montana, a few years back. It folded. Bad water. Salt leaching killed the land."
"What kind of cattle do you raise?" she asked.
"Purebred Santa Gertrudis mostly. But we run a cow-calf operation alongside it. That means we produce beef cattle," he explained.
She knew that instantly, and more. She'd grown up in ranching country and knew quite a bit about how beef was produced, but she didn't say so. It was nicer to let him explain how it worked, to sit and listen to his deep, quiet voice.
Her lunch hour was up before she realized it. She got to her feet with real reluctance. "I have to go," she said miserably.
He stood up beside her, his pale blue eyes on her downbent head. He rammed his hands into his pockets and glowered at the dejected picture she made. He knew what he had to do, though.
"I'm going home, Miranda," he said shortly.
She wasn't surprised. He'd acted as if he was here against his better judgment, and she couldn't blame him. Her conscience was beating her over the head, because it didn't feel right to be going on a date when her husband was only dead a month.
She looked up. His expression gave nothing away, but something was flickering in his eyes. "I don't know what would have happened to me if it hadn't been for you," she said. "I won't forget you."
His jaw went taut. He wouldn't forget her, either, but he couldn't put it into words.
He turned, beginning the long walk back to her office. It shouldn't have felt so painful. In recent years, there hadn't been a woman he couldn't take in his stride and walk away from. But Miranda looked lost and vulnerable.
"I'm a loner," he said irritably. "I like it that way. I don't need anyone."
"I suppose I'm not very good at being alone," she replied. "But I'll learn. I'll have to."
"You were alone before you married, weren't you?" he asked.
"Not really. I lived with Sam and Joan. Then I decided that enough was enough, so I improved myself and found Tim." She sighed wearily. "But I guess I was alone, if you stop and think about it. Even after Tim and I got married, he always had someplace to go without me. Then I got pregnant, but that wasn't meant to be." She felt her body tauten. It was still hard to think about the child she'd lost; about her part in its loss. She felt a minute's panic at losing Harden, now that she'd begun to depend on him. She glanced at him. "I married too quickly and I learned a hard lesson: there are worse things than your own company."
"Yes." He let his pale eyes slide down to meet hers. "You've given me a new perspective on women. I suppose there are some decent ones in the world."
She smiled sadly. "High praise, coming from you."
"Higher than you realize. I meant it. I hate women," he said curtly.
That was sad. She knew it was probably because of his mother, and she wondered if he'd ever tried to understand how his mother had felt. If he'd never loved, how could he?
"You've been very kind to me."
"I'm not a kind man, as a rule. You bring out a side of me I haven't seen before."
She smiled. "I'm glad."
"I'm not sure I am," he said. "Will you be all right?"
"Yes. I've got Sam and Joan, you know. And the worst of it is over now. I'll grieve longer for the baby than I will for Tim, I'm afraid."
"You're young. There can be other babies."
Her eyes turned wistful. "Can there? I'm not
so sure."
"You'll marry again. Don't give up on life because you had some hard knocks. We all have them. But we survive."
"I never found out what yours were," she reminded him.
He shrugged. "It does no good to talk about them." He stopped in front of her office building. "Take care of yourself, Miranda."
She looked up at him with quiet regret. He was a very special man, and she was a better person for having known him at all. She wondered how different her life would have been if she'd met him before Tim. He was everything Tim hadn't been. He was the kind of man a woman would do anything for. But he was out of her reach already. It made her sad.
"I will. You, too." She sighed. "Goodbye, Harden."
He searched her eyes for a long minute, until her body began to throb. "Goodbye."
He turned and walked away. She watched him helplessly, feeling^ more lost and alone than ever before.
Harden was feeling something similar. It should have been easy to end something that had never really begun, but it wasn't. She'd looked so vulnerable when he'd left her. Her face haunted him already, and he was only a few yards away.
If only his mind would stop remembering the softness of Miranda's silver eyes, looking up at him so trustingly. He'd never had a woman lean on him before. He was surprised to find that he liked it. He felt himself hesitating.
His steps slowed. He muttered a harsh curse as he turned. Sure enough, Miranda was still standing there, looking lost. He felt himself walking back to her without understanding how it happened. A minute later, he was towering over her, seeing his own helpless relief mirrored in her soft gray eyes.
Her eyes searched his in the silence that followed.
"What time do you get off—five?" he asked tersely.
She could hardly get the word out. "Yes."
He nodded. "I'll pick you up."
"The traffic is terrible..."
He glared at her. "So what?"
She reached out and touched his arm. "You came back."
"Don't think I wanted to," he told her flatly. "But I can't seem to help myself. Go to work. We'll find some exotic place for supper."
"I can cook," she volunteered. "You could come to my apartment."
"And let you spend half the night in the kitchen after you've worked all day?" he asked. He shook his head. "No way."
"Are you sure?"
He smiled faintly. "No. But we'll manage. I'll be out front when you get off. Are you usually on time?"
"Always," she said. "The boss is a stickler for promptness, even when it comes to getting off from work." She stared up at him for a long moment, ignoring passers-by, her heart singing. "Oh, I'm glad you stayed!" she said softly.
"Even if it was against my better instincts?"
"Will it help if I tell you that you might have saved my sanity, if not my life?" she replied.
He studied her for a long moment "It will help. I'll see you later."
He watched her go inside the building, his face still taut with reluctant need. It surprised him that he could feel at all, when his emotions had lived in limbo for so long.
After he left her, he spent the rest of the day getting acquainted with the city. It was big and busy and much like any other city, but he enjoyed the huge modern sculptures and the ethnic restaurants and the museums. He felt like any tourist by the time he'd showered and changed and gone back to pick up Miranda.
She was breathless when she got to him in the lobby.
"I ran all the way," she panted, holding on to the sleeves of his gray suit coat as she fought for breath. "We were late today, of all days!"
He smiled faintly. "I would have waited."
"I guess I knew that, but I hurried, all the same."
He escorted her to the car and put her inside. "I found a Polynesian place. Ever had poi?"
"Not yet. That sounds adventurous. But I really would like to change first..."
"No problem." He remembered without being told where her apartment was. He drove her there, finding a parking spot near the house—a miracle in itself, she told him brightly.
He waited in the living room while she changed. His curiosity got the best of him and he browsed through her bookshelf and stared around, learning about her. She liked biographies, especially those that dealt with the late nineteenth century out West. She had craft books and plenty of specific works on various Plains Indian tribes. There were music books, too, and he looked around instinctively for an instrument, but he didn't find one.
She came out, still hurriedly fastening a pearl necklace over the simple black sheath dress she was wearing with strappy high heels. Her hair was loose, but neatly brushed, hanging over her shoulders like black silk.
"Is this all right?" she asked. "I haven't been out much. Tim liked casual places. If I'm overdressed, I can change, but you're wearing a suit and I thought—!"
He moved close to her during the rush of words and quietly laid his thumb square over her pretty lips, halting them.
"You look fine," he said. "There's no reason to be nervous."
"Isn't there?" she asked, forcing a smile. "I'm all thumbs. I feel as if I'm eighteen again." The smile faded. "I shouldn't be doing this. My husband has only been dead a few weeks, and I lost my baby. I shouldn't go out, I should still be in mourning," she stammered, trying to make sense of what was happening to her.
"We both know that," he agreed. "It doesn't help very much."
"No," she replied with a sad smile.
He sighed heavily. "I can go back to my hotel and pack," he said, "or we can go out to dinner, which is the best solution. If it helps, think of us as two lonely people helping each other through a bad time."
"Are you lonely, Harden?" she asked.
He drew in a slow breath and his hand touched her hair very lightly. "Yes, I'm lonely," he said harshly. "I've never been any other way."
"Always on the outside looking in," she murmured, watching his face tauten. "Yes, I know how it feels, because in spite of Sam and Joan, that's how it was with me. I thought Tim would make it all come right, but he only made things worse. He wanted what I couldn't give him."
"This?" he asked, and slowly, slowly, traced around the firm, full curve of her mouth, watching her lips part and follow his finger helplessly. She reacted to him instantly. It made his head spin with delicious sensations.
She caught his wrist, staying his hand. "Please," she whispered, swallowing hard. "Don't."
"Does it make you feel guilty to let me pleasure you?" he asked quietly. "It isn't something I offer very often. I meant what I said, I detest women, as a rule."
"I guess I do feel guilty," she admitted. "I was driving and two lives were lost." Her voice broke. "It was my fault...!"
He drew her to him and enveloped her in his hard arms, holding her while the tears fell. "Give yourself time. Desperation won't solve the problem or stop the pain. You have to be kind to yourself."
"I hate myself!"
His lips brushed her temple. "Miranda, everyone has a secret shame, a searing guilt. It's part of being human. Believe me, you can get through the pain if you just think past it. Think ahead. Find something to look forward to, even if it's just a movie or eating at a special restaurant or a holiday. You can survive anything if you have something to look forward to."
"Does it work?"
"It got me through my own rough time," he replied.
She drew back, brushing at her tear-streaked cheeks. "Want to tell me what it was?" she asked with a watery smile.
He smiled back, gently. "No."
She sighed. "You're a very private person, aren't you?"
"I think that's a trait we share," He drew back, pulling her upright with him. The neckline of her dress was high and very demure and he lifted an eyebrow at it.
"I dress like a middle-aged woman, isn't that what you're thinking?" she muttered.
He laughed out loud. "I'm afraid so. Don't you have something a little more modern in your closet?"
She shifted her shoulders. "Yes. But I can't wear low necklines because..."
He tilted her chin up. "Because...?"
She flushed a little and dropped her eyes. "I'm not exactly overendowed. I, well, I cheat a little and if I wear something low cut, you can tell."
He pursed his lips and dropped his eyes to her bodice. "Now you've intrigued me."
She moved a little away from him, feeling shy and naive. "Hadn't we better go?"
He smiled. "Nervous of me, Miranda?"
"I imagine most women are," she said seriously, searching his hard face. "You're intimidating."
"I'll try not to intimidate you too much," he promised, and held the door open for her. As she passed him on the way out, he wondered how long he could contain his desire for her without doing something irrevocable.
Chapter Five
For the next few days, Harden tried not to think about the reasons he shouldn't be with Miranda. She was in his blood, a sweet fever that he couldn't cure. The more he tried to resist her, the more his mind tormented him. Eventually, he gave in to it, because there was nothing else he could do.
Work was piling up back at home because he wasn't there to help Evan. His mind was anywhere except on the job these days. More and more, his waking and sleeping hours were filled with the sight of Miranda's lovely face.
He hated his obsession with her. He was a confirmed bachelor, well able to resist a pretty face. Why couldn't he escape this one? Her figure was really nothing spectacular. She was pretty, but so were plenty of other women. No, it was her nature that drew him; her sweet, gentle nature that gave more than it asked. She enveloped him like a soft web, and fighting it only entangled him deeper.
During the past few days, they'd been inseparable. They went out to dinner almost every night. He took her dancing, and last night they'd gone bowling. He hadn't done that in years. It felt unfamiliar to be throwing balls down alleys, and when he scored, Miranda was as enthusiastic as if she'd done it herself.
She laughed. She played. He was fascinated by the way she came out of her shell when she was with him, even if he did get frequent and disturbing glimpses of the anguish in her silver eyes.
He didn't touch her. That was one luxury he wouldn't allow himself. They were too explosive physically, as he'd found out the morning he'd taken her home from the hotel. Instead, they talked. He learned more about her, and told her more about himself than he'd shared with anyone else. It was a time of discovery, of exploration. It was a time between worlds, and it had to end soon.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 59
