That Reckless Night

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “I think you know me well enough,” she muttered. “The way I see it, we already know each other too well.”

  Jeremiah caught her gaze briefly but it was long enough for Miranda to see the heat smoldering behind those beautiful eyes and she knew in an instant that he was thinking of all the ways they’d spent the evening worshipping each other’s bodies. Her cheeks flared and her breath hitched in her throat as words escaped her. Jeremiah saved her from further embarrassing herself by speaking first. “I’m trying to operate as I’ve always done with employees. I’m trying to forget our first encounter.”

  “How’s that working out for you?” she asked, unable to help herself.

  “As well as it is for you,” he retorted drily. “But I’m going to keep trying and I suggest you do the same. In the meantime, if I don’t treat you the same as I treat everyone, it will look odd. So...I will ask you about your family, your pets and your hobbies just as I would for Todd or Mary or anyone else on my team. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” She didn’t like it, but Jeremiah’s statement made sense even if the idea of giving up more personal information, however superficial, made her squirm. But she had to admit, having a boss who actually cared about things wasn’t entirely bad. “You’re a good guy, Jeremiah Burke,” she decided with an irritated sigh. “Things would’ve been a lot easier if you’d been a total ass. And ugly.”

  She was pleased when he simply acknowledged her grudging compliment with a slight head nod. If he’d mucked up the sentiment with more words, it would’ve ruined the good feeling she had about him. And she was glad that he hadn’t.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JEREMIAH WAS NO STRANGER to a beautiful landscape but the Alaskan wilderness took his breath away. Nearly literally.

  He shrugged and shifted in his down jacket, shuddering as the cold jarred his bones, reminding him with an icy touch that he wasn’t as young as he used to be. An old skiing injury always flared up in the winter, aching and protesting when the temperature dropped, just like it was now. Miranda caught his subtle wince as they climbed the trail winding deeper into the Kenai Mountains and stopped with a frown. “You okay? If you aren’t up to this, we can turn around.”

  “I’m fine,” he answered, determined to keep going. He didn’t want Miranda to see him as a weak desk monkey, though he knew it shouldn’t matter what she thought of his masculinity. He gritted his teeth and ignored the dull pain throbbing in his knee. “Show me the way. I’m right behind you.”

  “If you say so, but the trail gets pretty rough up ahead,” she warned as she turned and kept trudging along the trail that was clogged with deep foliage and ruts caused by snow runoff. The bite in the air smelled sharp and clean even if it cut through his bones. He probably should’ve picked a warmer clime—like Arizona or Nevada—but if anything said “you’re old and can’t take it” faster than a move to Arizona, Jeremiah didn’t know. Besides, he hated the extreme heat even more than he hated the idea of being thought of as a soft-handed desk monkey.

  They came to a ridge overlooking a meadow that bumped up against the edge of a lake, and the beauty filled him with joy. “Pretty as a postcard,” he murmured in appreciation. “This is definitely God’s country.”

  “Yeah, nothing is better than Alaskan wilderness to remind us just how small we really are.” She drew a deep breath. “I’d match up the glory of Alaska to any place in the United States.”

  “You love Alaska.”

  “I do,” she admitted softly. “I don’t know why—by all rights, I ought to hate this place—but I can’t imagine my life anywhere but here. Guess I have Alaskan ice flowing through my veins.”

  “You couldn’t pick a more scenic place to call home,” he said. “It’s no small tragedy to wake up to this every day.” She smiled and agreed. A moment stretched between them and Jeremiah wondered if he ought to ask about her cryptic comment about her past but he sensed she wouldn’t share and so banked his curiosity for the time being. “Are we close to the spot where the first bear was found?”

  “Yes, just around this bend in the trail and up about a mile into the trees.” She sent him a short smile. “Think you can handle it?”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Don’t feel bad if you’re not accustomed to this much physical activity. Most administrators never leave the comfort of their office.”

  “Thank you for your concern but I stay pretty active. My stamina is just fine,” he said, hoping with an almost-wicked grin that she recalled in vivid detail how he’d propped her against the wall without issue, without once wincing at the strain. Her cheeks colored prettily and he knew his wish had been granted. His grin widened just a tiny bit and she firmed her mouth, eyes flashing, before turning on her heel and quickening her pace. Yeah, she definitely remembered. Was he a bad person for delighting privately in that knowledge? Maybe a little...but it was worth it.

  Miranda stopped at a copse of dense trees that spiraled into the frigid sky and pointed unerringly at a spot that otherwise appeared the same as the spot of dirt beside it, but it was as if Miranda could still see the blood splatter from the mutilated bear. “I’m not sure what upsets me more, the cruelty or the disrespect.”

  “Disrespect?”

  “Yes, disrespect. The indigenous people believe that when a bear gave up its life to sustain another, it was the ultimate sacrifice and deserving of gratitude. Poachers don’t give a damn about the bear, just the cash it represents. The greed sickens me.” Her voice rang with passion and he knew that until these poachers were caught she’d bear the weight of their actions as some kind of punishment.

  “You’re an intriguing woman,” he admitted, earning a sharp look from Miranda, but he shrugged, emboldened by the privacy of the mountains. “Tell me why you’re so unlike any woman I’ve ever met?”

  “Not sure how to answer that,” she murmured, glancing away but not before he caught the sudden flush in her cheeks. “Are you asking about my passion for my job or my personal life?”

  “Maybe a little of both but I suppose we should stick to the job. I’d be a liar, though, if I didn’t admit that I’m drawn to the woman behind the uniform. In my experience people don’t just spring out of the mud as complex as you unless life has thrown them a few hardballs.”

  “I’m complex? I never considered myself particularly hard to figure out.”

  “You want to know what you remind me of?”

  She hesitated but curiosity won out. “Sure.”

  “Nothing bad so wipe that look off your face. You remind me of one of those thousand-piece puzzles.”

  “A puzzle?”

  “Yeah, because most people get halfway into the puzzle and realize there are too many pieces and give up. However, those who don’t give up and actually finish the puzzle discover something pretty worthwhile for their effort.” The pink in her cheeks deepened and she seemed at a loss for words. Jeremiah had to pull himself back from the ledge he was tottering too close to before he tumbled over. “All I’m saying is, I’m guessing when people don’t give up on you, good things happen, but I suspect plenty of people have, which is why you keep people at a distance.”

  At that Miranda stiffened. Either he’d hit the nail on the head or he’d completely insulted her. “As entertaining as your philosophies about me are, I’d rather we keep our conversation to those appropriate to our jobs. Okay?”

  “Right. I’m sorry,” he said, biting back a sigh. Way to go. But even as he knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut, he couldn’t let go of the feeling that he’d been correct in his theory about her. Not that being right gave him any leverage—if anything, the knowledge may serve to deepen the chasm between them as Miranda scrambled to keep him at arm’s length at any cost.

  Miranda placed her hands on her hips, surveying the land, her breath pluming before her. “You say I’m com
plex? But really, I’m not. I care deeply for the land, my family and the animals. What fries me is that poachers don’t care about anything or anyone but themselves. They certainly didn’t care if anyone came across the carcass because no attempt was made to bury the evidence. What if a kid had come across the bloody, eviscerated mess they’d left behind? It’s not only disgusting but horrifying.”

  “Were the other carcasses found in the same general area?”

  “No, there’s a twenty-mile radius. But they were definitely tracking the migration from the higher elevation knowing that the bears were going to follow the food and water source. These poachers are seasoned hunters.”

  “Have you checked the local hunting tags? Maybe it’s someone who’s pretending to abide by the law so as to avoid notice.”

  “I did a check on the tags but it’s really difficult to run down every single tag purchase because we have so many out-of-state tourists who purchase big-game tags when they come up here.”

  “How many big-game outfits are operating in Homer?”

  “Just one, but in the state of Alaska? Plenty more. There’s no guarantee the poachers are from Homer. I’d like to think that they aren’t but I can’t ignore the possibility.”

  “True. Have you talked to the local owners of the big-game outfit?”

  “Yes, Rhett Fowler has been running Big Game Trophy for as long as I can remember and he runs a decent operation. I’d be willing to stake my livelihood on the belief that he’s not a part of the poaching ring. Besides, he makes plenty of money with his business, so he doesn’t need to supplement his income with black-market goods.”

  “Someone infected with greed doesn’t have to be starving—in fact, usually, it’s the opposite. Even when people have enough, they still want more.”

  She nodded, a frown marring her face. “I’ll do another round of checking and asking questions.” Miranda regarded him with a dubious expression. “Do you want to keep going? It’s going to be dark soon, and if you think it’s difficult terrain now, wait until you can’t see what’s in front of you.”

  “This is sufficient. I just wanted to get a feel for the area so I have a visual in my mind.”

  They started back down the mountain trail and for a while there was nothing but the sound of their feet hitting the ground as they traversed the uneven terrain. Jeremiah enjoyed the silence and the company and he wasn’t above hoping that he and Miranda could build a solid friendship, though at this point he was being realistic about the chances of that happening. As much as he talked a good game about putting the recent events behind them and starting fresh, it was hard as hell not to stare at her backside and remember how it felt to have that pert, rounded flesh gripped in his palms. Sweat popped along his brow that wasn’t caused by the exertion, and as he wiped it away, he half growled at himself to keep his thoughts on the straight and narrow before he ended up twisting an ankle and looking like a total fool.

  He managed to fill his thoughts with the paperwork he needed to go through when they returned, but about halfway down Miranda asked, “So what’s the real reason you came to Alaska?” and he lost control of his thoughts again.

  The question hung between them as if it were a living breathing thing, and Jeremiah supposed the truth would come out sooner or later, but he wasn’t quite ready to talk about Tyler. “Needed a change of scenery.” He flashed her a bright smile. “Alaska seemed like a good place.”

  She accepted his answer and they kept walking, but her question rang in his mind and dampened his good mood. The urge to tell her about Tyler was an irritant in his mind. It niggled at him and dragged his thoughts into dark places. By the time they reached the car his mood had dipped into melancholy.

  * * *

  MIRANDA SENSED THE ENERGY change between them, and while she desperately wanted to know what had triggered the change, that small voice inside of her warned it wasn’t her business. The man was allowed his secrets. He was a virtual stranger; there was probably plenty she didn’t know about him, nor did she need to know.

  “Have you found a place to stay?” The inquiry was meant to be polite—wasn’t that the sort of thing people talked about in superficial circles?—but she really should have thought her question through before asking. She should’ve asked something more vague, more impersonal. Perhaps, was he enjoying the weather? But the question was out there and she couldn’t very well take it back, so she simply waited for his answer.

  Jeremiah bit off a short sigh. “No, not yet. Seems there is a shortage of rentals. I’m staying at a small motel that’s more of a tourist trap than something suitable for my needs.”

  “I can ask around for you,” she offered. Without connections the man would likely be sleeping in a hotel bed until spring. “Any preferences?”

  “Anything fully furnished would be great. When I left Wyoming, I left everything behind.”

  “You didn’t bring anything with you?”

  “Just a suitcase full of clothes and shoes. I figured anything I needed I could find here.”

  Miranda’s mind picked at his statement. She appreciated the benefit to packing light, but when you uproot your entire life to move to another state wouldn’t you want to bring some mementos of your previous life? Unless whatever he was leaving behind was something he didn’t want to remember. Damn. She hated that she wanted to know more, almost needed to know more. “I’m guessing a one-bedroom studio would work?”

  He nodded. “That would be perfect.”

  Mary’s brother, Otter, dabbled in real estate. He fancied himself an investor and had a few rentals. Seeing as Otter had always had a thing for her, Miranda might be able to put in a good word for Jeremiah.

  They reached the car and climbed in, made small talk that was nearly excruciating as Miranda hated useless chitchat, and by the time they were returned to the office, it was time to go home. She wasn’t surprised when Jeremiah went to his office with the plan to work late. She admired his dedication, his drive. Virgil had been a clock puncher. Not that she’d blamed him entirely. He’d been an older man who enjoyed his recreation more than the time spent at the office. Mary always liked to point out that no one had the same kind of passion that Miranda did. As Miranda shut down her computer and saw the light burning in Jeremiah’s office, she realized Jeremiah was probably her work twin.

  She chuckled at the irony and headed to the after-school day care to pick up Talen.

  Later that night after she’d scrubbed the mud from behind her son’s ears, she was grateful for the distraction of his usual bartering for a later bedtime because otherwise Jeremiah’s voice remained in her thoughts.

  He’d compared her to a difficult puzzle that most people gave up on. How had he managed to find such an apt way to describe her life? Maybe it wasn’t that people gave up on her, but rather, the other way around? She kept people at a distance for a reason—no one could hurt her if she didn’t stand within their swinging radius.

  “Mama, Brandon said he gets to stay up until ten o’clock, even on a school night! How come I can’t stay up until at least nine?” Talen’s voice cut into her thoughts and she shook her head at her son’s argument.

  “Well, I’m not Brandon’s mother, and I’m not saying that Brandon’s mother isn’t a good mom, but obviously, his bedtime isn’t the only thing she doesn’t adhere to a strict schedule. The boy has enough dirt behind his ears to grow corn.”

  “It’s too cold to grow corn,” Talen countered grumpily. “It’s not fair. I’m not a baby anymore.”

  “Life’s not fair, my sweet boy. That’s the honest truth and anyone telling you different is selling you something. And I hate to break it to you but you’ll always be my baby no matter how old you get.” She smiled and ruffled his hair, but he wasn’t having any of her usual ways to cheer him up, which bothered her a bit. “Hey, buddy, is there something aside from your b
edtime bothering you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Miranda frowned. “Talen, what’s wrong? Tell me, son. Whatever it is, I promise not to be mad or anything.”

  Talen regarded her with his impossibly dark eyes that reminded her so much of Johnny, and she swore sometimes when she looked at her son she felt as if her kid’s spirit stared back. Mamu always said Talen was an old soul, and while Miranda respected Mamu’s ways, there were times when she experienced a full-body shudder, particularly when she spoke of Talen, that made her wonder if Mamu was right.

  “Sometimes I wonder if things might be different if I had a dad.”

  Miranda drew back, surprised. “What do you mean?” Oh, God, she wasn’t ready to talk to Talen about Johnny. Not yet. She hadn’t yet figured out a way to sugarcoat the truth.

  “You make all the rules. Maybe a dad would have different rules. That’s all.”

  “Like different bedtime rules?” she said, holding her breath, hoping against hope Talen was still pouting about his bedtime rather than something deeper. To her immense relief Talen nodded. “Well,” she said as she tucked Talen into his bed, “I imagine even if there was a dad around, I would still make the rules because everyone knows that the moms are the best at making rules.”

  “What do dads do, then?” Talen asked, perplexed.

  Uh...she didn’t know. She pulled a memory from her own childhood. Her father had been the muscle around the house whenever something needed muscling. “They open pickle and jam jars,” Miranda answered, hoping her young son didn’t see right through her lame answer. “Anyway, sorry...all you have is a mom but a pretty good one, right?”