That Reckless Night

by Kimberly Van Meter

  After dressing, they put together a makeshift breakfast on the shelves and rekindled the fire in the grate. They ate in silence, both processing their own thoughts until Miranda broke the quiet with a question she couldn’t quite stop wondering about.

  “You were crying in your sleep. Before you deny it, I have to say I’ve figured out long before this moment that you’re probably running from something. Why else would you uproot yourself and bring nothing from your previous life with you aside from a few clothes and shoes?”

  Jeremiah stared, something flickering in his gaze that alternately frightened and drove her to know more, but he slammed the door on the conversation before she could press. “There are some things I’m not going to talk about. I left it behind in Wyoming and that’s where it will stay. Please leave it there.”

  Miranda nodded. “Okay,” she murmured, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t let it go. Not now. She had to know.

  * * *

  THE CABIN WALLS were closing in on Jeremiah. He didn’t blame Miranda for her curiosity but he couldn’t bring himself to share that deep, dark pain lurking inside him. He could make love to her every day and night, sharing the utmost intimacy, but he couldn’t share his grief over losing his son. He knew she wouldn’t judge him—hell, no one’s judgment weighed heavier than his own—he just couldn’t allow himself to break down, because if he did, he didn’t know if he’d be able to put himself back together again.

  “We need a game plan. If we don’t show up at the office today people are going to worry.”

  “The storm isn’t letting up, but maybe if we could get to the vehicle, we could use the radio to call the station to come and get us.”

  “People are going to talk,” she said, shaking her head as if there were no help for the questions they were going to face. She swore under her breath. “Damn freak storm.”

  “We can handle the gossip as long as we don’t give it power. Don’t act guilty.”

  “I’m not guilty. I don’t regret anything,” she said with a shrug, and he envied her attitude. She might not care what others said, but he had to care. If Stuart found out...his job could be on the line. His concerns must’ve become apparent in his expression for she softened and said, “I’ll play it cool. Don’t worry. I understand what’s on the line. For what it’s worth...” She hesitated as if unsure whether she wanted to share or not, and as he waited, she smiled, then said, “If there were a whole lot of different situations at play instead of the reality...you and I might make a decent couple. I mean, we’re obviously compatible in bed and we share the same work ethic.”

  He agreed with a cutaway glance. “If only those were the only factors to consider.”

  “Yeah.” She seemed disappointed in his answer. Had she been expecting something more romantic...more declarative? Before he could clarify, she’d moved quickly to the window, exclaiming with excitement, “The snow is slowing down. I think if we strike out now, we could make the car and radio for a pickup.”

  “Let’s do it, then,” he said, quickly donning his coat, gloves and gear. “The sooner we return to base, the better.”

  Miranda nodded and headed for the door but suddenly stopped and turned to face him so fast, he nearly bumped into her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Loaded question. Kiss me.”

  He stared into her eyes, questioning the smarts of such a move, but as her lips parted, ready and waiting, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled her to him and swept his tongue inside her mouth, loving the tiny gasp she made that seemed so incongruous with her tough exterior. His touch gentled her wildness and he took pride in that it was his touch and no one else’s that she craved. When he released her, they were both breathing heavy and heated from the inside out, tempted to touch each other intimately just one last time, but they both knew it wasn’t wise and withdrew.

  She opened her eyes and smiled warmly before turning on her heel and pushing out into the snowy landscape without looking back.

  Jeremiah couldn’t help the smile that followed even though he suffered a great sense of loss. He’d get over it just as he got over every great tragedy in his life—by burying himself in work. Getting over Miranda would be no different.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MIRANDA AND JEREMIAH reached Miranda’s vehicle and both groaned when they saw they had their work cut out for them. The road wasn’t ordinarily maintained as a major thoroughfare and the freak snowstorm had done its best to bury the Range Rover. They started digging the car out using their gloved hands, working as quickly as possible so they could reach the radio. “This will teach me to run off half-cocked without checking to make sure my phone is well charged,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  “You and me both,” he agreed, clearing away enough snow to crack the door open and slip inside. Miranda followed, and as soon as she could get her keys in the ignition, she revved the engine and turned up the heat while Jeremiah worked the radio. “This is Jeremiah Burke. We’re at the base of Woodstock’s Trail and we’re snowed in. We’re going to need a plow out here to free the vehicle. Over?”

  “10-4. Everything okay? Rangers hauled the bear carcass away but there was no sign of you or Miranda.”

  “We’re all right. Just cold and ready to go home.”

  “Copy that. We’ll send a plow ASAP.”

  Jeremiah sighed and returned the radio handset. “Now we just have to sit tight. It shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Yeah. Maybe an hour, tops, assuming the grade isn’t too iced over. Commence with the awkward silence while we wait.”

  At that Jeremiah laughed and she grinned, too. “So...what do you think of Alaska so far?” she asked with mock politeness and a sweet, fake smile.

  “Aside from the occasional wiseass in the form of a beautiful woman, it’s been great.” The mood light, Jeremiah countered, “My one complaint...there seems to be a whole lot of yoga studios around here. Everywhere I look, there’s some kind of überflexible person looking zen and mocking my stress level. It’s a bit rude, if you ask me.”

  “What do you have against flexible people?”

  “Nothing. Pure jealousy,” he admitted. “And I hold true to the belief that nothing good comes from being able to fold in half. It’s just not natural. Same rule of thumb applies to men and the splits. Just shouldn’t be done.”

  Miranda laughed. “True. I’ve always wondered how male dancers manage it without losing something valuable down there.”

  “Just not natural,” he repeated with a shake of his head and a grin. “Now, a woman who can do the splits...”

  “Hey now,” she warned, and when he laughed his handsome face changed into boyishly cute, something she’d never noticed before. “You should show your sense of humor more often. It’s a good look on you,” she said.

  “I have to give my employees something to complain about,” he joked, then turned it around on her. “The same goes for you. You could show your lighter side now and then. You have a stellar smile.”

  Even though the compliment was benign, she blushed. She caught herself and rubbed at her cheeks as if she could rub away the evidence that his comment had flustered her. “I’m sure you say that about all the girls,” she said.

  “No. Not really.” And just like that the conversation turned serious. It was as if there were two threads running parallel to one another—one was surface playfulness; the other was the deeper meaning behind the words they couldn’t say. “You’re hard on yourself. In the short time I’ve known you, you haven’t given yourself an inch of slack. You work long hours—you probably work on your own time, too, so as not to burden the OT budget—and you’re passionate about the things most people simply don’t have the energy to tackle, which shows that you’re driven by something. Who is Miranda when she’s not a federal employee?”

  Miranda paused, a
pithy answer on her tongue. Who was she? Good question. “When I figure that out, I’ll let you know,” she answered.

  “I know you don’t go home to anyone,” he said, pressing a little harder. “What are your hobbies? What do you do for fun?”

  “I do go home to someone,” she contradicted him. “My son.”

  “Right, of course,” he said, forcing a smile. Miranda sensed his immediate withdrawal even before she saw his gaze shutter and slam shut. “It’s hard for me to switch gears and see you as a mother,” he said quietly.

  “Why?”

  “Selfish reasons,” he admitted, looking away.

  “Do you have something against kids?”

  “No.” But he seemed to choke on the words. “Kids are a blessing.”

  Miranda suffered the distinct impression Jeremiah was only feigning interest but she didn’t want to insult him by stating as such on the off chance that she was wrong. “I never would’ve believed that until Talen came into my life. I know I’ve done a lot of screwed up things in my life, but when I look at my son, I know he’s the one thing I did perfectly right.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Eight. And the love of my life. He’s the biggest reason I don’t allow anyone to get too close. He doesn’t deserve a parade of different men in and out of his life as I try and get my life together.”

  “Admirable.” He forced a smile. “If only all single mothers were so accommodating of their children’s feelings and well-being.”

  What was wrong with Jeremiah? He was suddenly colder than a polar bear’s paw. In fact, it might be warmer outside than sitting beside the glacial chill coming off Jeremiah. “You don’t like kids,” she said flatly, unable to hold back her disappointment.

  He looked at her sharply, yet his gaze was distant. “I like kids just fine,” he said, glancing at his watch. “What’s taking that plow so long?”

  “It should be here soon. Wow. Talk about running hot and cold,” she groused. “You’re worse than a PMS-ing woman. One minute you’re all laughter and jokes, and the next, you’re just a jerk.”

  “Our conversation was probably getting too familiar as it was. It’s good to remember that we’re colleagues, not friends.”

  “Well, we’re sure as hell not friends with benefits, because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you into my private life again.” She crossed her arms, angry. No, not angry—insulted. And strangely hurt for Talen’s sake. He didn’t even know her son and yet he was acting as if she’d just told him that she’d caught a disease and it might be contagious. “What is your problem?”

  “Nothing. Drop it.”

  “No. I’m not going to drop it. You’re being rude.”

  “So be it. I’m rude and I’m also your boss, so drop it.”

  “You’re my boss, but not the boss of me, so stick it up your keister.” If she didn’t think he might freeze to death, she’d kick him out of her car to wait for the plow. The idea of staying another minute in a confined space with the man seemed a fate worse than death. Or at the very least plain annoying. “Just when I was beginning to think you were different...”

  Jeremiah closed his eyes, patently ignoring her dig, which only further incensed her, but she chose to swallow the rest of the tirade she felt brewing. Good, she told herself. This simplified matters by half. She’d been worried how she was going to deny herself his company when they’d plainly been so good together between the sheets, but now he’d taken care of that problem quite nicely. Thank you very much.

  She certainly agreed with Jeremiah on one point—that stupid plow couldn’t get here soon enough!

  * * *

  HOW COULD HE let his libido get in the way of the facts? They weren’t two consenting adults without obligations and responsibilities and she wasn’t available to him in any way possible. He should’ve been stronger than his desire and put a kibosh on the heat level between them the minute he felt it spark to life.

  Miranda had a son. He couldn’t imagine a bigger obstacle between them, and yet, in the moment, he’d completely blitzed past the fact because he’d been crazed with lust for the woman. He didn’t want her to have a son and, therefore, his brain had conveniently shelved that information in the far back recesses of his mind.

  He’d seriously screwed up this time. The rules had been tipped upside down and backward. Sleeping together the first time had been an innocent mistake, and the knowledge that she had a son hadn’t come into play because they’d both agreed it couldn’t happen again. Now he couldn’t deny the attraction burning between them, which was a bigger problem than dealing with an unfortunate error in judgment.

  He bracketed his forehead with his fingers, squeezing. Talen was younger than Tyler but close enough in age to have commonalities. He couldn’t handle being around kids right now. Just couldn’t face them knowing his was gone.

  It was why he’d left his last job. A fresh start was a bonus and a really good excuse. The fact of the matter was, Jeremiah had been charged with overseeing the Junior Ranger program that his old boss had engineered knowing full well about his tragedy. He’d hated himself but he’d practically begged to be let off that assignment, to hand it off to someone else, but she’d been adamant. A part of him wondered if she’d hoped that he would quit, because immediately after he’d accepted the position in Alaska, the man she’d been seeing had been selected as his replacement. Jeremiah hadn’t cared, though. He’d been ready to escape and he was glad to put Wyoming behind him. Besides, he figured the evil hag would realize soon enough that she’d been used to get the job and that would be punishment enough.

  But now the woman he was insanely attracted to—that he’d harbored secret thoughts about pursuing in a legitimate fashion—posed a bigger issue in his life than he was ready to admit.

  And she thought his attitude was because he hated kids.... If it were that simple, he’d just admit it, but he couldn’t actually share the true reason. Literally. His mouth simply wouldn’t open and allow the words to spill. His grief over Tyler had taken a toxic turn and he knew it was festering inside of him but he was helpless to stop the spread of infection. And he really didn’t want to drag Miranda into his quagmire. It wasn’t fair to her.

  Yeah, try and act as if you’re being altruistic in your cold rejection.

  Disgust at his own pathetic weakness choked him until he was blinking away panic. She was peppering him with short, angry comments, but even as he sensed the hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to explain.

  It was better this way. They shouldn’t be temping fate anyway. From this moment forward, no more inappropriate mental walkabouts where Miranda was concerned. No more thoughts or actions that weren’t completely grounded in professionalism.

  Miranda, realizing he wasn’t going to take the bait, quieted and the silence cut deeper than her anger, but he withstood it with stoic resolve. In time, they’d both see how he was doing them a favor.

  By the time the plow arrived and cleared the road so Miranda could pull free, Jeremiah escaped the confines of the Range Rover with a flimsy excuse that he would ride with the plow driver. Miranda cut him a short glance and didn’t say a word.

  She didn’t have to. He could read her feelings in the windows of her eyes and it wasn’t pretty.

  He deserved this.

  He’d been beyond reckless and foolish.

  He might’ve just screwed himself all over again. Was Miranda so hurt and offended that she’d go to Stuart and rat them both out? She’d get a reprimand—but he’d get the pack-your-desk letter. And if by some chance she did rat them out, Stuart wouldn’t turn a blind eye. No, he’d be furious. And rightly so. If the shoe were on the other foot, Jeremiah would deem it a firing offense, as well. Ah, hell.

  He’d know by tomorrow.

  Bad news traveled extraordinarily fast.

 
CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MIRANDA WALKED INTO Mamu’s house and within two seconds the anger she’d been carrying on her shoulders dissolved into bewildered hurt. Why would Jeremiah react so negatively the minute she mentioned her son? Even as Talen leaped into her arms and she twirled him around, happy to see him, her mind was still working overtime to solve a puzzle without all the necessary pieces.

  “What happened to you, Mama? You didn’t come home last night and I had to stay with Mamu.”

  “I got stuck in a snowstorm and had to wait it out until it was safe to leave. Besides, I thought you liked staying with Mamu?”

  “I do,” Talen said, nodding his head, but he pursed his lips and said in a grumpy voice, “She made me take a bath and brush my teeth.”

  “Good. Because you probably stank,” Miranda said, scrunching her nose playfully at her son. He laughed and she put him down. She stretched and realized her days of picking up her boy were growing short. Talen ran off to get his stuff in the spare bedroom and it gave Miranda a few minutes alone with Mamu. “Thanks for keeping him. I couldn’t get to a phone or a radio until after the storm had passed. It was a rough night but at least I didn’t worry about Talen because I knew he was with you.”

  “You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, child. What happened?”

  Where to start? “Long story. Not fit for young ears.”

  “He’s not in here. Give me the shortened version of events.”

  Miranda didn’t want to share that she’d slept with her boss but she did want some advice, so she sanitized the details. “There’s a guy that I think I really like and I thought he felt the same—or at least I know he did—until I started talking about Talen. Then he turned into a cold fish. He hasn’t even met Talen. Who is he to judge me or my son?” Mamu’s brown weathered face crinkled into a smile and Miranda stared at the older woman, bewildered. “Mamu, how can you find this funny?” she asked. “I’m really upset about this.”