by Gina Wilkins
Now his daughters needed him. He was all they had and taking care of them required all his concentration. All his energy. He did his best to help his clients with their financial needs, but he didn’t get overly involved with any of them. The only one who even tempted him to do so was Miranda.
So, he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or perturbed when she arrived at his office just after his last appointment for the day had departed.
Two years earlier, Mark had set up for business in his west Little Rock home, converting a side door into the office entrance. That door led into a small reception area that held a love seat, two visitor chairs and his assistant’s desk and credenza. Mark’s smallish, but adequate-size workspace opened off that room, with another door behind him that led into the house.
The setup worked well for him, keeping him close to his kids even during the busiest times of the year. He often returned to the office after the girls were asleep, leaving the door to the house open so he could hear them if they needed him. He would never get rich with his one-man CPA business, but he was supporting his family, and that was all that mattered to him.
“Ms. Martin is here for her returns,” his assistant announced from the open doorway very late that afternoon. “She said she would like to speak with you, if you have a few minutes.”
He resisted an impulse to smooth his hair, which was typically tousled at this time of day, thanks to his habit of running a hand through it when he concentrated on something. “Sure, Pam. Send her in.”
“Okay. And unless you need me for anything, I’m gone for the day.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
A moment later Miranda appeared in the doorway where Pam had stood. She wore a bright pink top with black slacks. For someone who had claimed to hate it when her feet hurt, she sure seemed to have a thing for trendy shoes, he thought, glancing at the heeled, narrow boots she was wearing.
Only then did he notice that she was carrying a cheerfully wrapped present in her left hand. She came in singing the happy birthday song and set the package on his desk in front of him.
A little flustered, he rose. “This wasn’t necessary.”
She dropped into a chair. “Just open it.”
Sitting behind the desk again, he tore away the wrapping paper from her gift to reveal a bottle of liquor. One glance at the label made him do a double-take. “Whoa.”
“As much as you probably enjoyed the outing with your kids, I figured you needed something grown-up to commemorate your thirtieth birthday.”
“This is too much,” he said with a dazed shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have—”
“Hey, Wallace. Just because you count my money doesn’t mean you can tell me how to spend it. Just say, thank you, Miranda.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Miranda.”
“Good boy.” She grinned at him, and it was impossible to resist smiling back.
“How was your movie?” he asked to change the subject.
She shrugged. “Loud. Predictable. I enjoyed it—but mostly I enjoyed the popcorn.”
He reached into a wire basket on his credenza and plucked out a file. “Sign where I’ve stuck the flags and I’ll file the forms electronically. You should receive your federal and state refunds within the next few weeks.”
“Oh, yeah, I can party then,” she murmured sarcastically as she flipped to the flagged pages and signed her name.
Shaking his head, he replied, “As I’ve told you several times, it’s better to pay less up-front and keep your money in the bank than overpay and get a bigger refund at the end of the year. The government doesn’t pay interest. And aren’t you even going to look those over? You can take them home, you know, though I have to have them back by closing time tomorrow.”
“I trust you,” she said, closing the file that held her copies without another glance at them. “I wouldn’t pay you to do this for me if I didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone that much with my tax forms,” he said in a chiding tone. “I’d have to check to make sure everything was done the way I wanted it to be.”
She didn’t seem at all shaken in her confidence. “Got a bit of OCD, do we?”
“Obsessive compulsive disorder? Maybe a little. Must be why I chose to be an accountant—just to make sure all the columns add up and the bottom lines balance.”
He was unreasonably pleased when she laughed.
She stood to hand the signed forms back to him, leaning slightly across the desk as she offered it. Her bright pink top gapped a bit with the movement, and he was treated to a clear view of the tops of her creamy breasts. He didn’t believe it was intentional on her part, but the fact that he was still seated put him directly at eye level with her chest. And a nice chest it was, he noted before he quickly glanced away.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It had been too long since he had spent an adult night out if he was reacting this strongly to a glimpse of cleavage.
“I suppose you have big plans for the weekend?” he asked as Miranda took her seat again, apparently in no hurry to leave.
“No, not really. I’m just going to play it by ear.”
“Maybe I could buy you dinner tomorrow night?” It had been a while since he had asked anyone out, and his awkwardness now made that painfully clear. It wasn’t as if he had given any thought to the invitation, since he’d blurted it out almost before he had realized he was going to ask.
For the first time since he had met her, he saw Miranda Martin at a temporary loss for words. “Is this like a thank-you-for-your-business dinner?” she asked after a moment.
“Not exactly. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to mix business with pleasure.” It was a risk he probably shouldn’t be taking himself, actually. Maybe it would be better all around if she turned him down. He’d have gotten the urge to ask out of his system, and she would have made it clear she wasn’t interested, putting a stop to any further imaginings on his part.
Miranda toyed with the folder in her lap, studying him with atypically somber eyes. “It isn’t that I’m not tempted. I think dinner with you could be fun. But you should know that I make it a rule not to get involved with a man with kids.”
“And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone, either,” he returned. “Precisely because of those kids. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate an occasional adult evening out.”
“So you’re just suggesting a casual date?”
“Just dinner,” he agreed. “I spent my birthday watching a cartoon with two preschoolers. It would be nice to have a conversation that doesn’t center around animated characters or talking animals.”
As he watched her mentally debate the invitation for a few moments longer, he wondered what was going through her mind.
“Okay, sure,” she said finally. “We’ll call it a birthday dinner. But in that case, I should pay.”
He tapped the bottle of expensive liquor sitting on his desk. “I’d say you’ve spent enough already. Dinner will be my treat. Dress comfortably—I have no intention of wearing a tie. I’m celebrating my birthday and the end of tax season.”
She smiled. “Fine. You can write the expense off, anyway. Remind me to ask you an accounting question sometime during the meal.”
He chuckled and escorted her out of his office, agreeing to the details of the dinner date along the way. And then he returned to his desk, where he wasted the next half hour wondering what on earth he’d been thinking when he had impulsively asked out Miranda Martin.
Miranda was almost ready the next evening when her telephone rang. Her first thought was that Mark had changed his mind—come to his senses, maybe. Her second thought was, damn, she’d spent the past hour primping for nothing.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
“Lisa?” This was more of a surprise than having Mark cancel dinner. Miranda could hardly remember the last time she had spoke
n with her sister. “Are you here in town?”
“No. But, Miranda, I’m in trouble.”
Miranda resisted an urge to groan. “How much do you need?”
“No, it’s worse than that.”
Something in her sister’s voice made a chill run down Miranda’s spine. “Lisa, what’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”
“I just—I just want you to know I’m sorry. And I wish things had been different—for both of us. I really do love you, you know. I’ve always been able to turn to you when I needed you. And since Grandma died, you’re the only one in our family I can say that about.”
Miranda was getting more anxious by the moment. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Are you ill? Is something wrong with the boys?”
“I’m so sorry, Miranda. I need you again. It’s the biggest favor I’ve ever asked of you, but I know you’ll do the right thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me—”
“Damn, I’ve got to go.” There was a new note of tension in Lisa’s voice now, which had dropped to little more than a whisper. “Please, Miranda, don’t let me down.”
“Wait, you haven’t even told me what—”
But Lisa had already hung up, and when Miranda tried the call return function, the phone number was blocked.
She slammed down the telephone receiver in frustration. Lisa had always been prone to melodrama, but this mysterious call was unusual even for her. Miranda just hoped her older sister hadn’t done anything really stupid this time, though considering the tone of that telephone call, it seemed to be a futile wish.
Now she was running late and Mark was due any minute. Growling beneath her breath, she dashed for her bedroom—not exactly a long run since her two-room apartment was somewhat smaller than tiny.
She had just slipped her feet into her shoes when her doorbell rang. Fluffing her hair with one hand, she made a quick mirror-check before heading for the door.
She had debated what to wear, wanting to dress up a bit more than her usual weekend jeans, but not wanting to look as though she had put too much effort into her grooming. She had settled on a three-quarter sleeve sunshine-yellow blouse worn open over a white tank top and a short denim skirt with a wide leather belt at the hips. Leather wedge-heeled sandals and chunky gold and amber jewelry completed the casual outfit. Now she was rethinking her choices. Maybe she should have worn—
Bringing an abrupt stop to that line of thought, she shook her head at her uncharacteristic hesitation and opened the door.
Mark looked as delectable as always in a hunter-green cotton shirt and khakis. Admittedly more conservative than her usual crowd, but sexy enough to make her pulse rate increase, anyway.
“You look very nice,” he said, giving her a smile that held just a touch of shy awkwardness. Which, of course, only endeared him more to her.
“Thank you.”
He glanced around her miniscule, thrift-store furnished apartment. “Nice place. It’s very…cozy.”
“Which is your tactful way of pointing out how small it is.” She shrugged. “I would rather spend my extra money on fun than rent.”
Because he knew exactly how much she made, and how much she stashed into savings for a future in which she intended to retire young and spend a great deal of time traveling, he didn’t seem surprised by that choice. “It’s still a nice place.”
“Thanks.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the door behind them as they headed outside.
This evening could be very interesting. Either she would find out that Mark Wallace wasn’t the stimulating company she had imagined he would be, or the night would end with her being just as fascinated by him as she had been to this point.
She figured she could handle whatever happened between them as long as neither one of them showed signs of getting too serious.
Chapter Three
Mark couldn’t remember being so nervous about a date since high school. It annoyed him that he was acting more like a teenager than a thirty-year-old father of two.
Maybe the problem was that he hadn’t dated much since his divorce just over two years ago. He had been too busy setting up his home-based accounting practice and raising two little girls, who had been barely more than babies when his ex-wife had left.
On the handful of occasions he had gone out during the past couple of years—usually at the urging of a friend who had someone he just had to meet—the women he had seen had been very different from Miranda. More subdued. More conservative. Usually divorced, themselves, and busy raising children of their own.
Mark hadn’t really clicked with any of them. As nice as they had been, he was usually relieved when the awkward evenings had ended and he’d been back at home. Was he really such a glutton for punishment that he was attracted only to women who were completely wrong for him?
“You’re kind of quiet tonight,” Miranda commented after their food was placed in front of them.
Worried that he hadn’t been holding up his end of the conversation, he forced a smile. “Sorry. This time of year, most accountants go into brain overload.”
“I can imagine. Especially if all your clients are as late getting their paperwork to you as I was.”
“Not everyone waits so late—but enough to make this season a challenge.”
“I bet.”
Mark sliced into his steak. “You’re a bit quieter than usual, yourself.”
“Sorry. Just before you arrived this evening, I had a disturbing phone call.”
He frowned. “Not bad news, I hope.”
She toyed with her lemon-peppered salmon, her expression solemn. “No. Or maybe. I’m not really sure, actually.”
Bemused, he tilted his head to study her face. “You’re not sure?”
“With my sister, it’s hard to tell sometimes.”
He grimaced. “Now that’s a remark I understand completely.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yep.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger. And if she lives to be my age, it will be a miracle.”
“And that’s a remark I understand completely.”
“Your sister’s a risk-taker, too?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Risk-taker is a bit tame when it comes to describing Lisa. Lisa takes unpredictability to extremes. She’s rarely in the same place two months in a row, she’s never with the same guy for more than a few weeks, she’s always just one step away from total financial disaster. If I didn’t…well—”
“You slip her some money occasionally?” he guessed when she stopped.
Miranda shrugged. “I do, and so do other people. She seems to attract people who like to give her things, especially men. But they never seem to stay around long. She has trouble keeping jobs. And hanging on to money. I can’t let her go hungry, not to mention her kids.”
“Kids?” At least his sister wasn’t dragging children around on her adventures. “How many does she have?”
“Two. Twin boys.”
“Yeah? How old?”
“Five. I think,” she added with a frown of uncertainty.
He felt his eyebrows rise. “You don’t know how old your nephews are?”
“I’m pretty sure they were five in February. They were born on Valentine’s Day—I remember that because Lisa made such a big deal out of it. And why does everyone act like I should know everything about my sister’s kids? I’ve only seen them a couple of times in their whole lives.”
Because she was starting to sound defensive, he held up a hand. “I didn’t mean anything by it. How could you know them if you never see them?”
“Exactly. Does your sister have kids?”
“No. Terry has never married. She’s a photojournalist who travels all over the world—generally to the most dangerous spots she can find.”
“Lisa never married, either. The boys came from an affair she had with someone she barely remembers.”
“Does he kno
w about his sons?”
“She told him. He wasn’t interested. He gave her a sizable check, then disappeared from her life. She went through the money before the twins were out of diapers.”
“It must have been tough for her, having two infants to care for. Did your parents help her?”
Miranda almost snorted. “Hardly. Our parents are the two most rigid, judgmental, dictatorial people on earth. They disowned Lisa when she left home the day after her high school graduation to get away from them. They did the same to me when I left home two years later. I was almost eighteen. Unlike Lisa, I had a college scholarship—full tuition and room and board paid. I was lucky. Between that and several part-time retail jobs, I was able to earn my degree in four and a half years. I’ve been working for Ballard’s ever since.”
“Sounds like you and your sister are opposites in many ways. She drifts, you’ve stayed in the same job. She spends money and you save. She lives for the present, while you plan for the future. She has her twins and you stay far away from kids.”
“That pretty well sums us up,” she agreed with a slight shrug. “But we have several things in common, too. Neither of us will ever let ourselves be browbeaten or controlled by anyone again. And there’s still a bond between us that was formed during those years when the only emotional support either of us had came from each other.”
“Your parents are still living?”
“Yes. They’re only in their early sixties.”
“But you never see them?”
“No.” She abruptly changed the subject to his family. “What about you? Are your parents still around?”
“My father died when I was just a kid. My mother was in poor health for many years. She died while I was in my last year of college, when Terry was a junior in high school. I watched out for Terry until she left for college. She’s been on her own ever since, though she has always known I was here for her if she needed me.”
