by London, Cait
Two days later, the sound of snowmobiles tore through the mountains’ morning silence as Miranda and Gabriel were hiking. Feeding on her growing sense of reclaiming herself, Miranda had wanted to push her strength, building it. Gabriel wouldn’t let her take the snowshoe hikes alone and they usually moved in silence, his long legs taking shorter strides to accommodate hers. “My parents,” Gabriel announced in a nettled sound like a growl.
“I haven’t seen anyone for weeks. I’m going to enjoy visiting with your parents,” Miranda said. She had decided that the Deerhorns were sensitive people—they would not press for details.
“They weren’t invited,” Gabriel reminded her darkly.
“My future in-laws?” she teased, enjoying his frustrated mood. Usually silent and controlled and incharge, Gabriel settled for a burning glare at her. She smiled brightly at him, enjoying his discomfort.
When they arrived at Gabriel’s cabin, Juanita and Carl Deerhorn were already inside, the scent of brewing coffee filling the house. Carl was an older version of Gabriel, tall and lean and weathered. Gray threaded Juanita’s dark red curls, her light complexion still bearing freckles from summer sunshine. Slightly rounded now, Juanita hugged her son warmly, then Miranda. Juanita ignored her son’s frown and placed a cookie in his mouth. “Brought your favorite. Dad wanted to eat them on the way, but then what reason would I have to come visit my son, hmm?”
“Yes, what reason,” Gabriel murmured, eyeing her warily. “No Clarissa? My nosy sister decided to stay at home?”
“You know your mother,” Carl said. “I suppose the ‘pigeon boys’ sent you warning she wanted to come. Those teenagers love their message system.”
“What could I do? Run? Hide? She’d find me. I’m a grown man now, and questions about my life aren’t appreciated, especially when asked by a nosy sister.” Gabriel’s grumbling wasn’t in anger, rather the sound of doom, as he reached for another cookie. He placed it between his teeth, lifted the plastic container of cookies and his coffee cup and eyed his father. In silent agreement that retreat was safer than arguing with Juanita, the men walked out the door.
“Stop grumbling. Clarissa loves you.” Juanita looked around Gabriel’s house, clearly noting the items marking Miranda’s presence. “It looks like a home now. Not so barren. I see you’re working your mother’s crochet hook.”
“I’m not very good. I miss her.”
Juanita’s slight Southern drawl softened. “I miss her, too. She was one of my best confidantes when Carl was battling marrying me. He had some notion that we didn’t belong together—just as Cynthia Whitehall did not belong with his ancestor. I had to fight for him, though he is certain that he is responsible for our marriage. It’s a battle we have often, and one that used to be ferocious in our early days. But I knew from the moment I saw that tough cowboy that he was mine. Don’t tell anyone, but he cried when Gabriel and Clarissa were born—simply came apart with pride and happiness. I’ve never looked back to the arguments my family tossed at us, or the threats of being disinherited from my family. They mellowed with age, especially with their grandchildren on their laps. My parents absolutely doted on them, and Carl was eventually, albeit reluctantly, admitted to be a good husband and a match for me.”
Juanita shook her head, her blue eyes softening as she spoke of her husband. “Oh, he was a hard case to break, and I knew that I was just the woman to match him. White Fawn would later tell me that she knew no other woman would do for him, once we’d met and tangled. Your mother listened to me cry and whine and plot to have that stiff-necked, arrogant cowboy. She would want you to go on, and do what you’re doing—healing and getting strong. You’ve always been strong.”
“Not now. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”
“Everyone has, but to put a life back together, to make it stronger, takes a special courage.”
“Gabriel was kind enough to offer his home—”
“You think he thinks only of you? I think he’s a little selfish, wanting you for himself. My son is very old-fashioned, it seems. To offer for you at the Women’s Council, to protect you from gossip in his own fashion,” Juanita said, her blue eyes warm with affection. She lifted the whistling teakettle to pour water into a crockery teapot. With experienced hands, she wrapped a dishcloth around it to keep it hot, letting it steep. “Little Miranda. Gabriel’s little Miranda. That’s how he used to speak of you when you were dating all those years ago, and now you’re back.”
Miranda took the mug of hot tea from Juanita. She didn’t want to mislead his mother. “You know the circumstance. He’s explained?”
Juanita turned slowly to her, her expression serious now. “Perhaps he should explain to you. About the woman who has his heart.”
Outside, Gabriel’s father leaned back against the log wall and said, “I see you cleared more of the pasture. The grass should be perfect for stock this year…. It’s a good sound, the women talking. Peaceful, isn’t it?”
He smiled, tilting his head closer to the door. “Listen. Your mother’s voice has that sound—she’s talking about me and how hardheaded I was, determined not to love her. I didn’t think a lady, with her soft voice and dainty ways, could fit into a Montana rancher’s life. We fought early on, before you came. But I think a woman has steel in her when she wants to change a man’s mind and have her way. I was helpless against her.”
Gabriel tossed the last of his cookie to Fletcher, who caught it in midair. A midwife, his mother would be talking to Miranda about her body and her moods. The silent weeping was the worst for Gabriel. “Miranda misses her baby. I cannot help her.”
“Give her another one. She has always had your heart. You will not give me grandchildren, if not with her. My mother told me that on her deathbed. She was never wrong about such things.”
Gabriel tried to dismiss the burn of jealousy. It wasn’t his right. “She chose another man.”
“Because you denied her. Her woman’s time had come upon her, and she wanted a child. Nature puts that in them, the same as in men, who want their song to be carried on long after they are gone. Her mother’s death turned Miranda’s mind and body to life and how it must go on.”
Gabriel shook his head. “She was so young and bright. I could not bear her looking at me years later, feeling trapped and angry that her song had been taken away from her too early.”
“She is your vision. If you do nothing but dream of her, life can be long and empty.” Carl inhaled the fresh, crisp air. He was silent as Juanita’s lilting laughter carried out into the sunshine. “Listen to that. When I first heard that sound, I knew it would be the music of my heart. I knew that I could not be as noble as our ancestor who turned away from Cynthia Whitehall. But I tried.”
Carl studied his son. “How long do you think you can keep her here without revealing yourself?”
Five
Most women can draw upon a strength men know little about.
Anna Bennett’s Journal
Gabriel didn’t think; he acted. In the barn, with the third week of February cold and misty, he placed aside the cup of early-morning coffee Miranda had brought to him. He threw the lariat he’d been rewinding toward the loft above him, and the loop slid smoothly around her. Her arms pinned at her sides, Miranda stood on the loft above him, her broom in hand. She frowned down at him and in a restricted movement sent the broom across the boards. Bits of straw fell into his face and he blew them away.
Above him now, tethered by his lariat, Miranda had just served him a notice he didn’t like. “What do you mean, you invited the Women’s Council on Bride Courting here—to my ranch?” he asked very carefully.
The broom swished again, sending more straw bits onto his face. “It’s what they do, inspect how you’re treating me and how we’re getting along. I’ve been here almost a month now and that’s time enough for us to get settled. Unless you want to call this whole thing off—cancel our supposed arrangement, or tell the truth about why I’m here, it’s the custom that th
e Women’s Council visits and inspects.”
Gabriel tried to ignore how her denim jacket had gapped over the lariat. A button slid open on her blue flannel shirt, revealing a beige lace bra. One look at her underwear drying on the shower curtain could wipe his thoughts clean. Now her lingerie was on her and all he could think of was taking it off, pressing his lips to the smooth flesh below. A man used to control, his lack of it where Miranda was concerned disturbed him. In the house this morning, the chill had hardened her nipples beneath the form-fitting thermal top. His mouth had dried instantly and he’d had to turn away to shield his hardening body. Then she’d bent over to take biscuits from the oven, and the curve of her hips…Her soft, feminine scent could distract him too easily, riveting him, blocking everything from his mind but the need to hold and touch her. Unused to his body’s instant and obvious reaction to Miranda, the sensuous desire locked in his body, Gabriel was not a happy man. “I’m not a side of beef for women to inspect. I’m up here for the peace and quiet, not to have women nosing all over my place.”
“Spoken like a true hermit. Pray for a blizzard then, because I used one of your pigeons to get the message to your cousin, who called Fidelity Moore, president of the Women’s Council. According to the returning pigeon, Fidelity accepts our invitation.”
“Our?” he underlined darkly. Still holding the lariat, Gabriel climbed up the wooden ladder to Miranda. He tugged her closer to him. “I asked you to leave the barn alone. It’s enough that everything in the house is moved around so I can’t find it.”
Oh, he knew how to find her well enough—that feminine scent haunted his senses every moment of the day. He’d been stunned at her “getting in shape” exercises, hurriedly excusing himself. Now, he listened at the house door for the music she used, rather than entering at will. That body-clenching exercise and leg lifts carried the impact of a thousand-watt jolt. He’d always controlled himself and his thoughts, but he wasn’t certain he could keep his composure when he’d reached to steady her. She’d stood on the kitchen counter, dusting the ceiling beams and Gabriel had seen her lose her balance—his hand had shot straight to that round, soft bottom. The touch burned him, and he mumbled a quick excuse to exit the house for more wood. At night, he heard her stirring on her bed, and hot, sweet images flew into his mind, devastating him.
“Take this rope off me,” Miranda ordered fiercely and with her arms tethered, swished the broom at him.
Gabriel held the lariat firmly, not enough to hurt her. He tilted her face up with his fingertip. “Now get this. You are going to cancel.”
Fire shot into those green eyes, burning him. “This is all part of the deal, Gabriel. Take it or leave it. My mother treasured these women and the customs of this valley.”
He leaned down to her. “You’re getting awfully bossy lately. You must be feeling better. Have you sent a message to your lover as well? Did you change your mind about him? Is he coming for you?”
Gabriel cursed himself and his fears that Miranda would leave him, returning to the man who left her. Miranda’s expression was blank for a moment, and then furious. “You think I’d want him? Take this rope off.”
He shrugged, uneasy with revealing his jealousy into the barn’s air. He hadn’t been vulnerable, and emotions were tricky and slid from his keeping too easily now. He lifted the lariat from her and she flung herself at him, sending them tumbling back against the wall of hay bales. Gabriel turned, placing his hands on either side of her head. He didn’t know how to handle her now, those green eyes lashing at him, her mouth tight with anger—
Her mouth…
Her anger slid into another emotion he could not define. Though they were not touching, he sensed that her body was less tense. She had that curious, soft look, tracing his features, looking too closely into the passion he would shield. With Miranda, he sensed that need would be tender and growing like forest tinder ignited by a lightning bolt.
There with the barn’s cold air churning with the scent of horses and hay and leather, golden bits of dust swirling on the shaft of sunlight between them, Miranda slowly lifted her lips to his.
He held very still, fearing a movement would send her away. Against his, her mouth was soft as a buttercup’s glossy petal, tasting of curiosity and warmth. He inhaled her breath, took it into him, just as he wanted to make her a part of him, of his heart and soul, so that she could never leave him again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered breathlessly. Before she hurried away from him, Gabriel took her shy blush into his heart.
On the floor level, she turned, her legs braced apart and her fists curled tightly. She slowly looked up at him. “You were wrong, Gabriel. Admit it. Our paths could have been the same all those years ago.”
“That time is ended,” he said, uncertain of her now. What did that kiss mean? Did her heart beat as wildly as his?
“You just make certain that you look like a happily tended man when the committee arrives, Gabriel Deerhorn. They’re coming next week. Work on a real glow, will you? Meanwhile, I’m going for a ride.”
She walked toward the bridles and saddles and fear leaped into Gabriel. She still seemed too fragile and tired easily—if she hurt herself…“Do not lift a saddle. If you want to go for a ride, I’ll saddle the horses and ride with you.”
“No, thanks,” she returned lightly, shoving open the barn door to enter the corral. Outlined in the brilliant sunlight, she turned to him again. “You’re not invited and stop giving me orders. Don’t forget that I was raised in this country, too, Gabriel, and I’ve saddled horses. I’ve ridden in snow…I’m smart enough to know that I shouldn’t go too far when I have an afternoon appointment with the doctor. You’re a snob in your own way, you know.”
Snob. The word stopped him cold. That was the second time she’d labeled him with the unattractive name. He opened his mouth, then closed it, too aware that when Miranda chose to fight, she was very effective.
Hormones, Miranda thought late that evening as she sat next to Gabriel. The Jeep’s headlamps shafted through the bluish shadows of the narrow road leading to his home. Gabriel was silent, as usual, a man who said little and yet who seemed to have a river of understanding inside him.
She wanted Gabriel to hold her, and to make love to her. This morning, she shouldn’t have kissed Gabriel’s hard, set mouth, reacting to her unsteady emotions. But just then, suddenly nothing had changed in all those years. He was still Gabriel, tall and strong and safe, and she still adored him. But the underlying current between them had shifted into a primitive beat she didn’t understand. Or was that the heavy pounding of her heart? Was it her body changing, coming to life after trauma? Could she trust her emotions now? When she’d taken her lonely ride, she had been so angry with herself. Gabriel hadn’t touched her, except in a friendly way. He’d given her no encouragement and yet every nerve in her told her to lift her lips to his and feel.
She looked out into the pines bordering the narrow, winding road. She hadn’t felt for so long, life moving in fast motion after Scott left. She’d been consumed with making her future baby’s life safe and now—A pine bough swished along the window, hissing against the glass. Her thoughts danced between a man whose face she couldn’t remember, whose voice she couldn’t remember, and the babies rounding Gwyneth’s and Kylie’s bodies.
In Freedom, Gabriel had made a point of squiring her to the Wagon Wheel for lunch and then to the doctor’s office for her checkup. He’d paid for her bill, despite her hushed protest as the nurse looked on with interest. They’d shopped for groceries together and from obligation more than need, she’d visited with Gwyneth and Kylie. Kylie had just happily confirmed that her baby had been created on her January honeymoon. Miranda had tried to be natural, to show them that she felt only happiness for them, but she couldn’t help feeling so utterly empty. Later, at her baby’s grave, Gabriel had placed his arm around her.
They’d stopped at Anna’s house and Gabriel had gathered the bulbs and clay pots and
the flat window beds used to start tomato seedlings for her garden. The errand-day had exhausted her, new situations springing at her from every direction. Never far away, Gabriel was quiet as usual, those dark eyes quick to note her uneasiness. He seemed to steer her through the day, deflecting any hardships. At her mother’s, she’d leaned her forehead against his shoulder in that old familiar way, using his strength as her anchor.
The flower bouquet Gabriel had purchased at the grocery store rattled within the paper sacks, the scent filling the Jeep’s cab. He glanced at her, shifting easily into another gear over a small mound of snow. “Hard day, hmm?”
“Very hard.”
“It will get easier.”
“Will it?” she asked dully. “I feel as if I’m a robot winding down.”
“You’re shifting gears is all,” Gabriel noted, scanning her face. “Getting ready for the rest of your life.” He brushed the hair back from her cheek, his thumb circling her ear. The gesture seemed so intimate, far from sensual, and she leaned her face into his hand. When her lips brushed his palm, Gabriel’s indrawn breath hissed through the small enclosure. His hand eased away, clenching the knob on the floor shift until his knuckles were white.
She shook her head. She’d made him uncomfortable, a man who ignored everything to help protect her from gossip. “I never should have involved you. This whole situation—”
“Is what I want.”
“You should be role-playing the would-be husband for a woman you love.” Miranda didn’t like the thought of Gabriel loving another woman, as his mother had said. Yet Miranda had no right to be so curious, to want to know more about the woman he loved.
Gabriel was silent, his profile hard in the dim light. He inhaled roughly. “Is it a hardship, being with me? For only this short time while you heal?”
