by Gina Wilkins
“It sounds as though she was lucky to have you.”
“We were lucky to have each other.”
“You didn’t mind taking care of your younger sister when you were fresh out of college?”
“No. I was all she had,” he answered simply.
“Mr. Dependable,” she murmured, then speared a tiny herbed carrot and lifted it to her smiling mouth.
He didn’t appreciate the slight mockery he thought he detected in her tone. “The foster workers who labeled me a troublemaker would find it amusing to hear you call me that.”
She swallowed too fast, then reached for her water glass. “You?” she asked a moment later. “A troublemaker? My buttoned-down, conservative, single-dad accountant?”
He wasn’t sure why he was revealing so much of his past to her. Maybe it was because he hadn’t engaged in much adult conversation lately, and he’d forgotten how to make small talk. Or because Miranda had looked so troubled when she had spoken of the call from her sister that he’d felt she needed a distraction. Or maybe he simply wanted her to see him as something more than her “buttoned-down, conservative, single-dad accountant.”
“My mom got very sick the year I was fourteen and Terry was nine. Mom spent thirteen months in a hospital while Terry and I were sent to separate foster homes. We lived in Texas then, just outside of Dallas.”
“And you didn’t like the foster home where you were sent?”
“Hated it. I was determined to get back to my mom and sister. I thought they needed me to take care of them, you see. I ran away twice from that home, and then I was sent to another one, but I ran away from there, too. That’s when I was labeled a troubled youth and sent to a ranch that specialized in taking in at-risk boys, no more than one or two at a time. I was the only one there during my stay.”
At least they were keeping a conversation going now. Miranda seemed genuinely intrigued. “How did things work out for you at the ranch?”
“Very well, actually.” He picked up his water glass as he thought back to a time he hadn’t consciously remembered in years. “The couple who owned the ranch—Jared and Cassie Walker—were really good people. They had a son who was in college and a cute little red-haired daughter just a year younger than Terry. Jared was a no-nonsense cowboy who had a knack for asserting his authority without ever raising his voice. I pretty much idolized him by the end of my stay there.”
Miranda propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. “So you lived on a ranch for a year. Did you ride horses and rope cows and stuff?”
“Mostly ‘stuff,’” he replied wryly. “I mucked out the stalls a lot.”
“Eww.”
“My sentiments, exactly. You’ll notice I didn’t pursue a ranching career, though I enjoyed my time there for the most part.”
“Do you ever see your foster family now?”
“I haven’t seen them since I was returned to my mother and sister when I was fifteen.” He still clearly remembered that tearful reunion. His mother had been overjoyed to have her children with her again. She had been so devastated to be separated from them that she had burst into tears every time Mark had mentioned the ranch from that day on.
He had felt vaguely guilty that he had bonded with the Walker family during his stay there. That guilt had compelled him to put his memories of the ranch away. He hadn’t responded to the Christmas or birthday cards Cassie had sent him, and eventually they had stopped coming. He had no idea if Jared and Cassie still lived on the ranch or if they remembered him. But the memories he had tucked away so deeply still warmed him on the rare occasions when he pulled them out.
“You’re an interesting man, Mark Wallace,” Miranda said, setting down her fork and pushing her plate away. “Darned good-looking, too. It’s rather a shame that we won’t be having a teeth-rattling affair. It might have been a memorable experience.”
He refused to let her see that she had disconcerted him with her intentionally outrageous comment. Instead he looked her right in the eyes and spoke confidently, “Trust me, it would most definitely be a memorable experience. And you would get more than your teeth rattled.”
He saw speculation enter her eyes, as if she were contemplating the same sort of images filling his mind at that moment. And then she smiled crookedly and shook her head, dropping her hand to her lap. “Maybe they were right to label you a troublemaker, after all. But as it happens, I’m not looking for trouble in my life just now.”
“Nor am I,” he said with a touch of regret. “So how about if we indulge in dessert, instead?”
She smiled at him from across the table. “Let’s make that a truly sinful dessert. Since it’s the only sin we’ll be committing tonight.”
Mark wasn’t so sure about that. Not if she counted the dreams he would undoubtedly have about her as sinful, which he had no doubt they would be.
Mark drove Miranda straight home after they finished dinner. He said nothing about seeing her again during the brief drive, and she assumed he considered this outing a one-time event.
She wasn’t sure what had prompted his invitation. Simple curiosity, perhaps. An impulsive gesture by a man who had been working too hard and spending too much time with preschoolers. She had found the evening both entertaining and illuminating. Who would have thought her accountant was a former bad boy?
Still, it was probably for the best if they kept their future encounters strictly business. Maybe Mark had been a rebel once, but he was Mr. Responsibility now. The most important women in his life were named Payton and Madison, and Miranda had no intention of competing with them for his attention.
No kids, she reminded herself. She had very good reasons for making that her number one rule when it came to dating.
He parked his family-sized SUV in an empty space at her apartment complex and turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“I had a nice time tonight,” she told him as they ambled toward her ground-floor apartment. “Thank you for the dinner.”
“Was it really necessary for you to ask the restaurant staff to sing happy birthday to me when they delivered our desserts?”
She laughed at the embarrassment still lingering in his voice. “You must admit they were very enthusiastic about it. Their voices carried quite well, didn’t they?”
Mark groaned. “Much too well, actually. I was ready to sink beneath the table.”
She couldn’t resist reaching out to take his arm in a companionable manner. “You were so cute. Your face was as red as the cherries on your cheesecake.”
The wry look he slanted at her made her giggle, especially since his cheeks had turned a bit dark again. “I’m so glad you were entertained.”
So maybe this was their one and only date. Maybe they were a mismatched couple. Still, the night wasn’t quite over yet—and if it was their only outing together, they should definitely take a few memories away with them.
She paused in front of her door and turned to smile invitingly up at him. “There’s one more birthday tradition I haven’t taken care of yet.”
“Yeah?” He looked suddenly wary. “You don’t have a crowd of people waiting in the bushes to jump out and yell ‘surprise,’ do you?”
She laughed again and slid her hands up the front of his buttoned-down green shirt. “Actually I was thinking of the traditional birthday kiss.”
“Were you, now?”
Oh, yeah, he was interested. She could see it in his narrowed gray eyes.
“Mmm. Just a little taste—” she walked her fingers up his chest “—to see what it might be like—” she moved a step closer to him “—if things had been different for us.”
His mouth lowered slowly toward hers. “And what if that taste leaves me hungry for more?”
Their lips were almost close enough to meet when she murmured, “I’ve heard that self-denial builds character. But what harm can come from just a little taste?”
Their lips touched.
“Miss Ma
rtin? Miranda Martin?”
Both Mark and Miranda froze. And then Mark stepped back as Miranda turned to face the man who stood behind them on the sidewalk. The parking lot lights illuminated the hesitant expression on his broad, plain face.
“Yes, I’m Miranda Martin. Who are you?”
“My name is Jack Parsons. I’m an acquaintance of your sister’s.”
“Lisa?” Remembering the disturbing telephone call, Miranda felt her heart jump. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to her?”
“No, she’s okay. She wanted me to give you this.” The man held out an envelope, his big hand not quite steady. “And I have a delivery for you in my car.”
“A delivery?” Totally confused now, Miranda tilted her head to study him, trying without success to read the expression on the man’s face.
“Yeah. I’ll go get…I’ll be right back,” he stammered, moving backward.
Miranda turned to Mark. “This is weird, even for Lisa. I have no clue what’s going on.”
“I’ll hang around until you find out,” he said, frowning after the man who had interrupted them. “I’m not sure I trust that guy.”
Miranda wasn’t about to argue with him. She wasn’t sure she trusted the man, either, even if he did claim to be a friend of Lisa’s—or maybe because of that fact.
She was looking down at the envelope in her hand, tugging at the glued-down flap, when she heard Mark say in a rather odd voice, “Um, Miranda? Take a look at what the delivery is.”
She looked up at him, frowned at the strange expression on his face, and then turned to see what he was staring at so intently. Her own jaw dropped. “Oh, no.”
Jack Parsons was on his way back to her, dragging two large, wheeled suitcases behind him. And tagging behind those suitcases like little ducklings were a couple of sandy-haired boys with rumpled clothes and identical faces.
“No,” Miranda said again, more firmly this time. “Surely you aren’t…”
“Your sister asked me to bring them to you,” Jack said, setting the suitcases down and nodding toward the twins. “They aren’t any trouble. They’re kind of quiet, actually.”
Panic was beginning to build in her throat. She swallowed to clear her voice. “I don’t understand…”
“Lisa explained everything in her letter. She said you would understand after you read it. And she told me to tell you she’s sorry, and she thanks you for helping her. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a long trip ahead of me tonight.”
“Wait a minute.” Miranda moved after him when he turned to walk away. “Where are you going? You aren’t just going to leave them here.”
Without slowing down, Jack looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’ve got to go. Read the letter from your sister. That’ll explain everything.”
Openmouthed in disbelief, Miranda watched the man climb behind the wheel of an extended cab pickup truck and drive away without even looking back. Only then did she turn, very slowly, to face the reality of two young, somber faces gazing expectantly up at her.
“Are you our aunt ’Randa?” one of the boys asked in a quavering voice while his twin hovered shyly behind him.
“Yes,” she answered in a near groan. “I suppose I am.” And heaven help them all, she almost added.
“We’d better get them inside while you read your letter,” Mark murmured, breaking into her momentary paralysis. “It’s cool out here tonight, and they aren’t even wearing jackets over those T-shirts.”
“Inside?” Miranda turned to him, feeling as though she were seeing him through a sudden fog. “My apartment?”
Apparently assessing the situation and deciding that someone had to take charge, he reached out his hand. “Give me your key. I’ll unlock the door.”
She shook her head in an effort to clear her muddled mind. She didn’t need anyone taking charge here, she assured herself. She had just needed a moment to recuperate from the shock. “I’ll do it.”
After opening the door, she reached in to turn on a light, then moved aside and motioned toward the boys. “Come on in. We’ll try to straighten this out.”
Mark dragged the suitcases in behind him as he entered. Miranda closed the door, then turned to find the twins still staring at her with those huge, unblinking brown eyes. “Uh, do you guys need anything?”
“He’s got to pee,” one of them said, pointing to the other.
She didn’t have a clue which boy was which. They looked so much alike she couldn’t imagine anyone being able to tell them apart. Not to mention that they hadn’t even been able to talk the last time she’d seen them.
“The bathroom is through there,” she said, pointing to the bedroom door. “Um, do you need any help?” If so, she was sending Mark, she decided. He had experience at this sort of thing, even if his kids were girls.
But the boy shook his head, turned and hurried toward the door as if he really couldn’t wait a moment longer. His twin continued to stare at Miranda.
“Okay,” she said after taking a deep breath. “I need to read this letter. You can go sit on the couch until your brother comes back,” she told him.
“I’ve got to pee, too.”
“Then go wait at the bathroom door until he’s finished and then you can both sit on the couch until we figure out what’s going on. And both of you wash your hands,” she called after him when he turned to follow his brother. It seemed like something she should say, since she seemed to be in charge of them at the moment, she thought with a gulp.
“Maybe it would be better if I leave now,” Mark suggested, making a slight movement toward the door. “This seems to be family business.”
She reached out to grab his sleeve. “Don’t you dare,” she told him, not even bothering to try to hide her desperation. “You can’t just walk away and leave me alone with them.”
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Read the letter, Miranda. Let’s find out what’s going on.”
She ripped into the envelope, hoping without much optimism that the contents would reveal that Lisa was on her way to pick up her sons. Maybe she had simply been detained for an hour or so, and she had asked her friend to bring the boys ahead for some reason. Lisa probably just needed another loan, and then she—and her twins—would be on their way to the next adventure, leaving Miranda contentedly alone in her tiny apartment and her comfortable, self-centered routines.
But she knew after reading only the first line of the brief letter that nothing would ever be quite the same after this. And she didn’t for the life of her know what she was going to do about it.
Chapter Four
Mark could tell by the look on Miranda’s face that the letter from her sister did not contain good news. “What does it say?”
Miranda’s amber eyes held a stunned expression when she looked up at him. “Lisa has gone into protective custody. She sent the boys to me because she can’t take them with her. Or to be more specific, she doesn’t want to take them. She says she’s tired of trying to be a good mother and failing miserably at it.”
“Oh, man.” The words were a groan as Mark pictured the two cute little boys in the next room who’d been deserted by their mother.
“Mark, she says she can’t ever see any of us again—that she knows things that could be detrimental to some very powerful people in the government, so in return for her cooperation and her future silence, she’s being given a new identity and a new start in a secret location. She got permission to send the boys to me, but I’m instructed never to try to find her or make contact with her at the risk of getting both her and me into big trouble.”
“Damn. What has she gotten herself into?”
“She’s pretty vague about it, but it has something to do with…with murder and racketeering. She blamed it all on a man, of course; said he got her into a dangerous situation against her better judgment. As if she has any better judgment,” she added bitterly. “And as if you can ever believe everything my sister says. She has a habit of wildly em
broidering her stories.”
He heard the anger and disappointment in her voice, and he couldn’t blame her for either. The repercussions of Lisa’s poor judgment affected more people than just herself—most notably the two children who had just returned from the other room and now stood gazing somberly at Miranda.
She looked back at the towheaded duo with an expression of near panic. Mark couldn’t fault her for that, either. Anyone would be stunned to suddenly become responsible for five-year-old twins who were basically strangers. He would feel pretty much the same way—and he had experience at single parenthood. Miranda must feel completely out of her element.
One of the boys yawned and rubbed his eyes. Poor kids had to be wiped out—not to mention scared and confused. And since Miranda still seemed gripped by the paralysis of shock, someone needed to take charge here, at least until she recovered enough to think clearly.
“My name is Mark,” he told the boys. “I’m a friend of your aunt’s. What are your names?”
“I’m Kasey,” one of the boys replied. “This is Jamie.”
Mark tried hard to find any distinguishing feature between them, but as far as he could tell they were identical, right down to their white T-shirts, faded blue jeans and white-and-black sneakers.
“Have you boys had anything to eat?” he asked, earning a startled glance from Miranda—as if it had never occurred to her that children needed to be fed.
“Jack got us hamburgers,” the same boy who had spoken before replied. Kasey, Mark reminded himself. Jamie seemed to be the shyer of the two. As long as they remained standing exactly where they were, he knew which was which—but once they moved, he would be completely clueless again.
“Either of you want a drink of water or anything?”
They shook their heads, the movements so perfectly coordinated that Mark had the unsettling feeling he was seeing double. “Okay, then,” he said, “we need to find you a place to sleep. You both look tired.”
Jamie moved a step closer to his more-confident twin. Reading the body language, Mark assured him, “Don’t worry, you can stay close together. Maybe you can both sleep in your aunt’s bed for tonight and she can take the couch?”
