by Gina Wilkins
He nodded and turned back to his younger daughter, but Miranda noted that he looked a bit concerned. Was he worried that Payton was being a nuisance? Or was there some other reason he didn’t want them getting too cozy?
Payton snuggled into her shoulder. “You smell good,” she murmured. “Like flowers.”
“Thank you.”
“When can I get my ears pierced?”
“That’s not up to me,” Miranda reminded her with an amused smile. This kid certainly took advantage of every opportunity. “You’ll have to ask your father.”
Payton sighed gustily. “He’ll just say no again.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until he says yes.”
“Maybe you could tell him all girls wear earrings. He probably doesn’t know.”
“He knows. He’s just not ready for you to grow up too quickly,” Miranda replied quietly.
“You think he’ll ever let me go on a date?”
Miranda was startled into a laugh. “How old are you?”
“Four-going-on-five. Nicola said she’s going on a date when she’s twelve. You think I can go on a date when I’m twelve?”
“Let’s just say I’m beginning to understand why your father looks so worried sometimes.”
“Shh,” Madison chided from Mark’s lap. Sending a frown their way, she pointed a chubby finger at the television. “Movie.”
Mark reminded Madison about her manners, but Payton’s attention had turned toward the video now. Curling her feet beneath her on Miranda’s lap, she sat quietly and watched. It wasn’t long before her deepening breathing let Miranda know that she had fallen asleep.
Miranda looked around the room again. Kasey was watching the TV intently, petting a blissful Poochie’s ears at the same time. Jamie’s eyelids were beginning to droop visibly as he lay on the couch, fighting to stay awake. Madison was also on the verge of sleep, one finger in her mouth as she lay back against Mark’s arm.
Whee, Miranda couldn’t help thinking. Another exciting Saturday night in her new life. Sitting in a chair with a sick child in her lap, surrounded by other sick kids, watching an animated, talking fish swim across a large-screen TV. She thought of her friends at various clubs and parties around town, and she knew they would be appalled at the very thought of such a sedate Saturday evening.
Carefully she shifted Payton’s weight to relieve the pressure on her chest. But, unfortunately, not even that change in position helped.
By the time the video ended, Kasey was the only child awake to watch it. His left arm numb from the shoulder down, Mark held his heavily sleeping younger daughter and took a quick survey of the others.
His gaze lingered on Miranda. Still holding Payton, she seemed to be watching the television, but Mark would bet that she had no idea what was taking place on the screen. Her thoughts were obviously far away.
His attention focused on the lines of strain around her mouth. He had always thought of Miranda wearing a perpetual smile, amused at everything around her even when no one else got the joke.
She wasn’t smiling now.
In fact, he thought with an ache in his chest, she wore much the same expression his ex-wife had just before she had taken off in search of a more adventurous and exciting life. One that didn’t include a man who came irrevocably bound to two vulnerable little girls.
Chapter Thirteen
Mark usually took the girls to church on Sunday mornings, but that was out of the question today, since Madison and Jamie still weren’t feeling quite up to par. Payton said she was feeling better, and Kasey showed no signs of catching the virus this time, fortunately. Since there was plenty of time, Mark prepared a nice breakfast of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and blueberry muffins.
Miranda was the last one into the kitchen. Everyone else was already seated at the table. Though she was fully dressed, she looked a bit harried when she came in. “I’m sorry. I overslept.”
And yet she didn’t look as though she had slept well at all, Mark decided, discreetly studying the purple smudges beneath her eyes that her makeup could not quite conceal. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have any specific plans for the day.”
“You made this nice breakfast. I’ll clean up afterward.”
He shrugged slightly to indicate that he wouldn’t argue with her. “Help yourself to coffee or juice—whatever you like.”
She stopped first by Jamie’s chair, resting a hand on the boy’s forehead. “You still feel a bit warm.”
“I feel better,” Jamie assured her, anxious, as always, not to cause her any concern.
She smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in no time. How do you feel, Payton?”
“I feel better, too. Will you paint my fingernails red like yours?”
“Maybe we’ll find a pretty pink, if that’s okay with your dad.”
“Sure,” Mark replied, figuring nail paint was preferable to earlobe punctures. “If Miss Martin has time.”
Carrying a cup of coffee, Miranda took her seat at the table. “I’ll make time. I’d also like to get some lists made today—everything I need to do this week in preparation for our move.”
“When are we going to move, Aunt ’Randa?” Kasey asked.
“As soon as we can. I bet Madison would love to have her bedroom back—and you two are going to have a new room of your own.”
From what Mark could tell, Kasey had no problem with the prospect of moving. He knew the boys had moved frequently with their mother, so maybe Kasey simply didn’t expect to stay in any one place for long.
Jamie, he noted, looked less enthusiastic—but perhaps that could be attributed to the fact that he still wasn’t feeling well.
“Is there a swimming pool?” Kasey wanted to know.
“A nice, big swimming pool,” Miranda assured him. “And a playground with swings and a jungle gym.”
“Can I come swim and play on the playground?” Payton asked, worried that she was being left out of the plans.
“You will be welcome to visit us,” Miranda replied without looking at Mark.
Mark reached over to wipe Madison’s runny nose with a tissue. Miranda wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well. He had lain awake trying to come to terms with the fact that she was going to move out and go on with her life.
He had known all along that she would, he reminded himself. Wasn’t that why he’d kept telling himself not to get too involved with her? Not that he’d paid the least attention to his own advice.
He had waded in without hesitation, opening his home—and his heart—to her. What kind of masochist was he, that he kept letting himself care for the wrong people? He could only hope that Payton and Madison hadn’t had time to become too fond of Miranda and the twins. Maybe his would be the only heart that was bruised this time.
It was midafternoon before Miranda got around to painting Payton’s fingernails—and toenails, too, while she was at it. “Be still, kiddo, or you’re going to make me mess this up. You want pink polish on your ankles?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Holding her little painted fingers fanned out beside her, Payton stopped wiggling her feet.
Wearing a brightly patterned T-shirt and khaki shorts, Miranda sat cross-legged on the den floor, bent over the chubby little toes she was decorating. She had spread a towel on the floor between them, just in case there were any accidents with the bright pink enamel. “You’ll have to wear sandals to school tomorrow so everyone can see your pedicure.”
“What’s a peddy-cure?”
“A manicure for your feet. Remember I told you what a manicure is?”’
Payton nodded, watching the tiny brush intently. “That’s a pretty pink. I like your red, too.”
“The pink’s better at your age. Goes better with your blond hair and blue eyes, anyway.”
Payton batted her long lashes. “My daddy said I have bee-yoo-tiful eyes.”
“Your daddy is right. But be careful not to act too conceited about it. Every t
ime you pay yourself a compliment, you get just a little less pretty.”
“Really?”
“To other people it seems that way. Don’t you know kids who brag all the time about how great they are?”
“Jessica Green. She always thinks she’s better than everyone else.”
“And do you enjoy being around her?”
“Yuck. No.”
“There you go. She lost her appeal to you because she’s too full of herself.”
“So, even if you think you’re the best at something, you shouldn’t say so, right?”
“I’m sure your daddy has told you that before.”
“I guess so.”
“That’s what I thought.” Miranda leaned back to admire her handiwork. “There. All the little piggies are painted. When they’re dry, you can go show your dad.”
“But I can’t tell him how pretty I look?” Payton asked with a frown.
“No. You let him say it. And then you give him a flirty smile and say, ‘Aren’t you sweet to say that?’ Trust me, you can use that trick for the rest of your life.”
Jamie looked around from a card game he and Kasey were playing on the carpet nearby. “That looks good, Payton,” he said, polite as always.
She beamed at him, fluttered those impossibly long lashes, and said charmingly, “Well, aren’t you sweet?”
She then turned to Miranda. “Like that?”
Miranda blinked. “Um—yeah. I think you’ve got it down.” Even Jamie looked a bit dazed.
She felt a tap on her shoulder. She was surprised to see Madison standing there. Shy Madison usually avoided her. “What is it, Maddie? Do you need something?”
The little girl held out her hands. “My turn.”
“You want me to paint your fingernails?”
Madison nodded. “Pink.”
“Oh. Okay.” She supposed it would be all right with Mark. “But you can’t put your fingers in your mouth until they’re dry.”
“’Kay.” Madison settled on the carpet next to Payton and stuck out her hands.
Smiling, Miranda cradled one little hand carefully in hers and applied the brush. Their heads were very close together as they bent over the task. As tiny as the brush was, it still completely covered Madison’s little nails in one swipe.
Madison looked up and gave Miranda a bright smile. “Pretty.”
Darn it, now she had a lump in her throat. She swallowed and murmured, “Yes, Madison. Very pretty.”
A faint sound from the doorway made her glance in that direction. Mark was standing there, watching them with an expression that made her heart race.
She should make a clever remark to break the tension, but her mind had gone completely blank when their eyes met across the room. Fortunately Payton was never at a loss for words.
“Daddy!” she all but shrieked. “Look what Miranda did. She said I could call her that.”
Pulling his gaze away from Miranda, Mark smiled down at his daughter, who was waving her hands in front of him. “You look very pretty.”
“Aren't you sweet?”
Mark chuckled. “Who’s been giving you Southern belle lessons?”
“Miranda,” Payton replied promptly.
Miranda shrugged when Mark looked at her. “I hope you don’t mind, but Madison wanted her nails painted, too.”
“Very nice, Maddie.”
The child nodded. “I’m pretty, too.”
Miranda almost sighed. Neither of Mark’s girls suffered from a lack of self-esteem, apparently.
She was blowing on Madison’s fingernails to help them dry more quickly, and eliciting a burst of giggles in response, when the doorbell rang.
Judging from Mark’s curious expression, he hadn’t been expecting anyone. He turned to go answer the door, leaving Miranda to convince Madison that she didn’t really need her toenails painted. But Madison simply extended her bare feet in front of Miranda’s face and wiggled her toes expectantly. If Payton’s toes were painted, Madison wanted hers to be, too.
Resigned, Miranda bent over the task, warning Madison that she would have to be still until the polish dried. The small girl agreed contentedly.
Miranda had just applied polish to the last little piggy when Mark returned to the den, followed by a couple Miranda had never seen before. Replacing the cap on the polish, she smiled at the newcomers, who appeared to be in their mid-to late-thirties, though she had never been good at guessing ages.
The woman was a petite strawberry-blonde with wide-set green eyes and a smattering of golden freckles over fair skin that was still firm and smooth except for a few smile lines she’d made no effort to hide. Miranda’s gaze lingered appreciatively for a moment on the handsome cowboy who accompanied the woman. Tousled dark hair, narrowed blue eyes, a tan that hadn’t been acquired in a booth. A long, lean body encased in a denim shirt, well-worn jeans, and work-scuffed boots. Nice.
Spotting her on the floor, he smiled, and she felt her pulse rate accelerate slightly in response. Oh, yeah. Very nice.
Mark made the introductions as Miranda rose to her feet. “Miranda Martin, I’d like you to meet Shane Walker and his wife—I’m sorry, is it Kelly?”
The woman nodded, not looking at all offended that Mark had almost forgotten her name. Because it seemed uncharacteristic, Miranda glanced at him curiously. Mark was definitely rattled, she decided. Something about these unexpected visitors had obviously caught him off guard.
“These are my daughters, Payton and Madison,” Mark continued, motioning to each as he spoke. “And Miranda’s nephews. Kasey—” Kasey nodded to indicate that Mark had correctly pointed him out. “And Jamie.”
Shane smiled at the boys. “Twins run in my family, too. I have two uncles who are identical twins, and no one can ever tell them apart. And one of my uncles has twin sons of his own.”
“Do you and Kelly have children, Shane?” Mark asked. Miranda decided he was making innocuous conversation to give himself time to recover from the surprise of finding this couple—whoever they were—at his doorstep.
Shane smiled proudly. “Like you, we have two girls. Annie’s seven and Lucy is four.”
“Did they come with you?” Payton asked eagerly.
“They’re at my aunt’s house tonight,” Shane replied. “But I’m sure they would love to meet you sometime.”
“Payton, why don’t you take Madison and the boys and go have a snack while I talk to my visitors?” Mark suggested, his voice still sounding a bit strained to Miranda. “I’m sure you can find something in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get them settled,” Miranda offered, motioning the children toward the doorway. “May I get any of you anything? There’s a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”
“I’d like some tea, if it’s not too much trouble,” Shane accepted.
“I’ll bring some for everyone.” With one last, searching glance at Mark, Miranda followed the children to the kitchen.
Sitting with his guests in the now-quiet den, Mark studied Shane Walker with a renewed sense of disbelief at the unexpected visit. Although it had been almost fifteen years since he had seen Shane, he had recognized him as soon as he had opened the door. The good-looking teenager had grown into a handsome man who bore an almost uncanny resemblance to his dad, Jared Walker—Mark’s long-ago foster father.
“I’m really surprised to see you,” he said, though he was sure Shane had already assumed as much.
“I know we should have called before we showed up at your doorstep, but it seemed too complicated to explain over the telephone. I figured it would be easier to talk face to face.”
“Shane has always believed in taking shortcuts,” Kelly said with a shake of her head. “I told him we should call.”
“No, it’s fine. So, how did you find me?”
“Maybe I should tell you why we found you first,” Shane answered.
Mark nodded. “I’m listening.”
Before Shane could speak again, Miranda returned carrying a tray hold
ing glasses of iced tea and a plate of Mrs. McSwaim’s homemade cookies. She served the drinks, set the cookies on the coffee table, and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re fine.” Mark patted the couch beside him. “Have a seat, Miranda. The kids will come get us if they need us.”
She looked uncertain about joining them, as if concerned that she was intruding.
“Please join us,” Kelly seconded with a warm smile. “We can all have a nice visit.”
“You remember I told you about the ranch where I stayed the year my mother was ill?” Mark prodded when Miranda took a seat beside him.
“Yes, I remember. Outside of Dallas, right?”
He nodded. “Shane’s parents own that ranch. He was a college student the year I was there, but he came home nearly every weekend to help out around the ranch.”
“I never actually wanted to go to college,” Shane admitted in his deep drawl. “My dad and stepmother insisted. I majored in business, but I never aspired to do anything but run the ranch with Dad.”
“So you’re still there?” Miranda asked.
“Yep. Kelly and I have a house next to Dad and Cassie’s. We still raise horses and a few cattle, and we still take in at-risk teenagers. We have a social worker on staff now, in addition to Dad, Cassie, Kelly and me. We usually have between five and eight boys at a time in residence.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “There were only one or two boys at a time when I was there.”
Shane nodded. “We just became a full-time residential facility about five years ago, after Dad finally admitted that he was as interested in training kids as he was horses.”
Mark thought of the quiet-spoken, work-toughened man he had both feared and idolized during his stay at the ranch. “Your father and stepmother are well, then?”
“Oh, yeah. Dad can still outwork me any day and Cassie’s still a bundle of nonstop energy.”
“And your little sister? Molly. She must be—what? College age now?”
Shane chuckled. “Molly’s twenty-four. She’s been out of college for a couple of years.”
“Hard to imagine. What’s she doing now?”
