Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love)

by Bonnie Blythe

Nineteen

  Miranda emerged from the shower, in no better mood this morning than she’d been in last night. She scowled at her image in the mirror. How could Spencer be so dense? That nightmare had terrified her. When she’d opened her eyes to find him hovering over her, she nearly cried out in relief.

  And yet did he take her in his arms and comfort her? Of course not. Sitting there wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants, he had to lecture her with that arrogant tone in his voice, making her feel like an imbecile. She was surprised he hadn’t stopped to dress in a business suit before coming into her room. Miranda tried to erase the image from her mind of the moonlight tracing silvery lines along the contours of his chest and arms.

  The man was clueless. Then, when he totally blew the comforting thing, he had to top it with questions about her spirituality! She shook her head at her reflection. Her reflection responded likewise. See, someone agrees with me.

  Miranda yanked a lavender sundress over her head and straightened it with jerking motions, deciding to treat him with as much disdain as he treated her with. Teach him a lesson. Give him a taste of his own medicine. Does he have any idea how it feels to be treated like a pariah?

  Miranda squeezed her eyes shut to block the wave of sadness threatening to wash over her. The desire to be in his arms had not abated. She thought of last night, when he’d been so close—with his hands on her arms. Did he regret touching her? Last night, she wanted nothing more than to experience that feeling of safety and security of his embrace. But he’d kept his distance.

  Maybe I’m against his religion.

  Miranda swallowed. I’ll always be a second-class citizen in Spencer’s eyes. Not quite measuring up to his standards. A burden he resents.

  Well, she had no intention of searching through another list of churches for information that wasn’t there. She’d tried Spencer’s plan. Now it was back to her original idea. She'd take the Metro to the end of the line like last time. From there, the neighborhood in Neza shouldn't be all that hard to find.

  She hoped.

  Miranda strode to the tiny closet and pulled out a light cardigan. After tugging it on, she grabbed her purse and unlocked her door. Once in the hall, she slammed the door behind her—and felt a little better.

  Until she turned and saw him standing three feet away. Miranda’s breath lodged in her throat. She lifted her chin and gave him a measuring look. He returned the favor, with a cool, heavy-lidded gaze.

  Miranda couldn’t help noticing the clean-shaven lines of his face, the strong column of his throat visible from the unbuttoned top of his Madras shirt, the—

  She mentally slapped herself to stop her wayward thoughts. Remembering her earlier decision to be aloof, she turned and headed down the flight of stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  Miranda stopped, her hand gripping the iron railing. She forced herself to turn around. “To get breakfast from a street vendor, if you must know. I prefer the low, common flavors of the street compared to those found in pricey restaurants.”

  Spencer furrowed his brows. “Excuse me?”

  Miranda continued down the steps. “Breakfast,” she said over her shoulder. Flashing a smile at the staff behind the counter, she sailed out the door into the hazy morning sunshine.

  Miranda strolled along in the direction of Centro Histórico until she located a vendor selling pan dulce and hot café con leche. The smell of hot sugar and exhaust assaulted her nostrils. Ranchera music blared from a beat-up radio perched precariously on the edge of the food cart. Handing over a few pesos, she took the sweet roll and coffee and continued on down the street.

  If the wind blew in a certain direction, she imagined she heard her name called out behind her. She ignored it and headed toward the Metro station, gingerly sipping her coffee. A few moments later, she joined the crowd going down the stairs to the Metro. Finding herself in the midst of the commuter crush, she had to toss her coffee in a trashcan to avoid being jostled and spilling it everywhere.

  Miranda glanced around at the murals on the Metro walls, which contrasted with the efficient steel girders above. She regretted her impulse to take the train. She’d forgotten how crowded the conditions were. After withdrawing two pesos, she tucked her purse under her sweater and stood in the queue to buy her boleto at the booth.

  Passing through the turnstile, she edged forward in the multitude of businessmen, tourists, and other travelers. Her plan to go where she found her mother suddenly seemed an unwise decision, especially going alone. Without Spencer.

  The crowd surged forward as passengers readied to board the train just pulling into the Insurgentes station. The shiny red cars appeared packed to capacity and she dreaded the push and shove to get on board.

  “Miranda!”

  She twisted her head and saw Spencer making his way through the crowd to her side. When he stopped in front of her, she felt as if she’d conjured him up by her imagination. He was out of breath, his hair disheveled.

  “Why didn’t you stop when I called you?” he asked, sounding peeved.

  “I didn’t know you were calling me. Besides, if you were following me, why did it take you so long to catch up?”

  He grimaced. “I tried. But I bumped into an Indian woman carrying baskets on her head and knocked them down. I had to help her pick them all up again.”

  Miranda glanced at the woven plaid shopping bolsa he clenched in his hand. “Did she give that to you?”

  “No, I purchased one from her, to make amends for the trouble I caused.” He shoved it toward her. “Do you want it? It’s really not my style.”

  Miranda accepted the basket, her heart touched by his attention to the woman more than she wanted to admit. Most people wouldn’t have taken the time to help.

  Suddenly the crowd shifted and Miranda stumbled. Spencer grabbed her and pulled her against him to steady her. Passengers streamed around them to climb aboard the train, roughly pushing their way past.

  Spencer held her tighter, in an apparent effort to protect her from the worst of the jostling. Well, I’m in his arms. She fought back an unexpected heat behind her eyes.

  “Where are you headed?” he shouted above the noise.

  “Direccíon Zaragoza.”

  “I’m coming with you!”

  She shook her head, pointing toward a lane with a sign that said Solo Mujeres y Niños. “Women and children only on this car. You’ll have to get on the next one.”

  With that, she pulled herself from his embrace and joined the flow through the special lane. A moment later, she was on board just as the buzzer sounded. Threading her way to the end of the compartment, she looked out the window to see Spencer boarding the car behind hers.

  Miranda grabbed hold of the bar and looked out the back window to the connecting unit. Suddenly, she saw him through the throng. He walked to the front of his car and stood by the window, watching her. She held her breath, wondering what he was thinking as he stared at her through the glass.

  Miranda was unable to tear her gaze away. The pungent smell of bodies pressed close together and sound of babies crying amid the rattle of rapid Spanish seemed far away.

  She bit her lip, angry with the man who vexed her beyond belief. What did he want from her? What did he expect? What did she want from him?

  Miranda turned away to seek respite from Spencer’s gaze. She found several people staring at her with solemn expressions on their faces. She clutched the basket to her chest and blew out a breath, desperately hoping today would be the day she found out information about her sister.

  ***

  After taking the line as far east as possible, Miranda disembarked from the Metro and debated on whether to wait for Spencer. It would be rude to leave, but she didn’t know if she could bear his company at the moment.

  Before she could make up her mind, he appeared beside her. Miranda lowered her gaze and started up the stairs that led onto the street, aware that he walked alongside her.

  When they�
�d gone a block without speaking to each other, Miranda stopped and turned to him. He stopped as well, regarding her with a speculative expression. A brisk wind made the short strands of his hair stand straight up. The diffused sunlight picked up silver flecks in his eyes. She shifted her gaze away.

  After sorting through several ideas, Miranda decided to be blunt and bring this farce to an end. She squared her shoulders and faced him. “I don’t think this is working.”

  He remained silent.

  Miranda looked up and down the street, noticing the rough quality to the neighborhood. A group of young men loitered around a cantina. Somewhere she could hear American country music blaring. People walked by, staring openly at the couple standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. Better get this over with before they were mugged. Spencer was a walking advertisement for rich American with his designer attire and fancy watch.

  “I think we should part ways,” she said, watching his expression for any hint of his thoughts. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but we’ve been working at cross-purposes and neither of us is happy.”

  “What’s happy got to do with it?”

  “What?”

  Spencer crossed his arms. “What do our emotional states have to do with accomplishing a goal? I said I’d help and I’ll help until we have your sister.”

  Miranda felt her patience wearing thin. “Well, maybe if you wouldn’t act as if helping me was as distasteful as seeing your favorite 401K take a dive, I could handle it better.”

  Something flashed in Spencer’s gaze. Regret? Disappointment? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter anyway. Her stomach twisted itself into a pretzel.

  “I’m sorry if my presence offends you, Miranda. But I mean to stay until this endeavor is completed.”

  She planted a hand on her hip. “Why don’t we make a deal? You’re set on helping me, right?”

  He inclined his head.

  “Well, the thing I need most help with is the money. Why don’t you just give me some money, and I’ll finish the job myself. That way, you can go back home and not have any misplaced pangs of nobility. I get my mission accomplished. We both go home happy.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “You didn’t even consider it! You’re just making a rash judgment like you do about everything else.” Miranda stifled the urge to whack him over the head with her bolsa.

  “No amount of time will cause me to change my mind.”

  “Why? Do you not trust me with the money? Is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it. I made a commitment to help and I’ll keep my promise, even if it kills me.”

  “Curse your commitment! Do you have any idea how egotistical you sound?”

  When he didn’t answer, she took off her sweater and opened the top two buttons of her dress. “I don’t need you anyway. Money isn’t the only thing that works in this world.”

  Miranda turned and began walking. People stood aside to let her pass. She sensed their curious gazes follow behind.

  Spencer’s hand hooked around her arm. He spun her around to face him.

  “I don’t understand what your problem is. Why can’t you just accept the help I have to offer and for once act like a lady!”

  Miranda shook his hand off. Spencer’s image wavered in a white hot haze. “Like a lady? You want to explain that? Exactly what lady am I being compared to?”

  “Forget I said it,” he said, sounding disgusted.

  Miranda began to tremble. “No, let’s hash this out right now. There’s someone you’re comparing me to, isn’t there? How is she different from me, Spencer? How is she better?”

  Spencer’s gaze flicked up and down the street. He edged her toward a building, blocking the sun as he stood over her. “Stop trying to act like your mother,” he hissed. “Stop equating yourself with a prostitute.”

  Miranda drew her hand back and slapped him hard. His eyes widened, his face emptied of color. Only a lurid red hand print remained.

  She covered her mouth with her shaking hands and backed up until she ran into the brick wall of the building behind her.

  Spencer moved toward her, his breathing erratic. He reached out to her. Miranda flinched at the movement. His hand touched her hair before sliding down to rest on her shoulder. She saw the muscle jumping in his jaw. She closed her eyes for a moment. What have I done?

  It seemed like an entire lifetime passed before he spoke. When he looked at her, his eyes seemed sad. “I have never behaved so badly in all my life, Miranda. Can you ever forgive me?”

  His words surprised her. There was no mistaking the brokenness in his voice. But it was she who should apologize. When he pulled her toward him, Miranda didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight. Pressing her face against the hollow of his shoulder, wave after wave of remorse washed over her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” he said, his breath fluttering her hair. “I’m the one’s who’s at fault. What I said was unforgivable.”

  “I deserved it.”

  Spencer nudged her chin up with his finger and shook his head. “No. I spoke in spite. I can’t believe I said it.” He paused. “I’ve let my own confusion and anger cloud my judgment and I took it out on you. You have every reason to hate me.”

  Miranda knew she could forgive him of just about anything when he looked at her with his heart in his eyes. She’d never seen a man so vulnerable and sincere. “Of course I don’t hate you. Let’s just forget about it.” She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry for slapping you—”

  Spencer hushed her and pressed his cheek against her hair. Miranda closed her eyes and sank against him, grateful, so grateful for his strength. They stayed that way a long time. It distressed her to think they’d ever have to end the embrace.

  Finally, Spencer lifted his head and looked down at her. She saw that the mark on his face had faded somewhat, but the fact that she’d acted so horribly smote her conscience. Not caring what he might read into her action, she put her hands on the sides of his face and drew his head down to her. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his injured cheek.

  Spencer seemed to understand her sentiment. He smiled at her and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Can we start over?”

  She nodded, resting her hands on his chest. “I’d like that.”

  “How about this time we start out right, the way we should have at the beginning?”

  Miranda gazed up at him, not understanding his meaning, but not anxious to press him for an explanation. Anything to keep him close.

  “Pray with me, Miranda,” he whispered.

  She hadn’t expected that. “Right now?”

  He nodded. “We’ve already given the passersby a show they’ll never forget. We can’t do anything worse to shock them.”

  She smiled her assent, a curious feeling bubbling up inside her.

  He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Miranda let her eyes drift closed, enjoying the intimacy of the moment more than she’d imagined.

  “Father,” he prayed quietly. “We come before You and ask You to forgive us of our harsh words against each other. We’re striking out blindly because we lack direction. Please give us that direction. I believe You brought us together to locate Miranda’s sister, but we don’t know where to find her. You know where she is. Lead us to her. We need a miracle, Lord, and that’s what You do best.”

  The soft reverence of Spencer’s words fanned out over Miranda’s cheek and touched her heart. Somehow she knew God heard his prayer. For the first time in ages, she felt a spark of hope. If not for her, God would do this thing for Spencer.

  He breathed an amen and hugged her before releasing her.

  Miranda looked up at him, only dimly aware of the endless stream of traffic, the pulsating crowds, and the rancid, suffocating air. While hand still stung from the delivered blow, she suddenly realized she’d fallen in love with Spencer Meyers.

  Twenty

&n
bsp; Spencer lifted his face to the bleary sun struggling through the haze. For the first time during this endeavor, he felt he’d done something completely right.

  Praying should have been his first priority, but he was ashamed to admit, it had gone by the wayside during the tyranny of the urgent. Now they could have a fresh start, with the search and with each other. He looked down at Miranda, noticing the soft way she gazed up at him.

  He still felt a sting of shame for what he’d said, but he felt sure she forgave him. Maybe from here on out, their relationship would take on a calmer tone. No more tumultuous and chaotic scenes.

  Spencer felt a tugging at his wrist. He looked down at Miranda, whose face registered shock.

  “What a rude little boy!” she cried. “He pinched me and hid behind you before running away.”

  Spencer glanced at his wrist. “My watch. It’s gone!” His gaze raked the crowds, seeking out the form of a boy. Just ahead, he glimpsed a small black head weaving and bobbing among the pedestrians. He took off at a dead run, fueled by fury. That watch had been a gift from his mother.

  “Spencer!”

  He ignored Miranda’s outburst and threaded through the crowd as fast as he could run. Spencer cringed when the boy approached a tented market area, crowded with hundreds of shoppers. He saw the boy slip beneath the red and orange canopies. Spencer plunged after him, ignoring the stifled exclamations of people in his way.

  Stalls filled with barrels of brightly colored legumes, vanilla pods, and peanuts, food carts emitting oily heat, stacks of woven baskets passed by in a blur as he dodged the shoppers. Several times, Spencer lost sight of the child, but angry shouts ahead, he assumed caused by the boy, guided him through the maze of vendors and merchandise.

  As the close air burned his lungs and he felt his strength waver, Spencer ran even harder, almost insane with the desire to catch the little thief.

  ***

  Miranda watched the retreating figure of Spencer with dismay. She felt like she’d been slapped herself, going from the sweetness of his arms to the realization that he’d abandoned her on the street. There was no way she could keep up with him. And he was insane if he really thought he could catch that little kid. Why couldn’t he just buy another watch?