The mattress shifted beneath her as Spencer sat next to her. She shrank from him, wanting to avoid the slightest contact.
“Miranda.” His voice was a raw whisper. “I don’t even know myself anymore.”
Wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her face against her knees, Miranda kept her eyes closed, too desolate to listen. Yet, she sensed him leaning closer, felt the warmth from his body.
“Please forgive me. That was a deplorable remark.” He paused. “I don’t know what made me say it.”
She continued pressing her cheek against her knee until it hurt, recoiling from him and longing for him in the same moment.
“Miranda,” he said softly. “Please look at me.”
Swallowing, she lifted her face and opened her eyes. His features slowly took shape in the low light. He looked about as crummy as she felt. Miranda glanced away, trying to slow her hitched breathing.
He touched her arm, wrapping his fingers around it and gently tugging it away from her knees. Without quite knowing how it happened, he had her sitting next to him, hip to hip, with his arms around her in an obvious gesture of comfort. Miranda couldn’t stay angry with him. She knew firsthand what it was like to act or speak without thinking.
She thought of his words, about not knowing himself anymore. I can understand that. It seems like I’ve spent my entire life ricocheting from one failure to another. If that’s the way she made Spencer feel, she was sorry. He deserved better. No matter how upset she became with him, there was no denying he was a good man. And she loved him. For what that was worth, anyway.
In that moment, Miranda felt more connected to him than ever. They were two people frustrated beyond belief by the circumstances they found themselves in. But Spencer was stronger, and right now, she craved his strength. She nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his breath in her hair, and the warm, soapy scent of his body.
Miranda couldn’t sit passive in his embrace for long. Need for his sympathy evolved into something more compelling. She had to touch him, had to feel his lips against hers. She slowly raised her head and ran her hand across the side of his face. He started to speak but she brushed her lips against his, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the feel of him.
His pulse beat rapidly at the base of his throat where her fingers came to rest. Miranda continued to whisper soft kisses against his mouth until he began to respond, kissing her back in a slow, lazy manner somehow more disarming than passionate fervor.
A rare feeling of contentment stole over her in the simple pleasure of being in Spencer’s embrace. They went on kissing as if they had all the time in the world. The darkness and dim contours of light muffled any awkwardness. This was where she belonged—expressing her affection in the most natural way with the man who held her heart.
He said her name like a sigh. She slid her arms around his neck, sensing his emotional withdrawal.
“Miranda,” he said, lifting his lips a breath away. “We need to stop.”
She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Why?”
“Because.”
Miranda angled her head for better access to his lips, hoping to prolong the contentment for as long as possible.
His hands skimmed up her arms to her wrists. He lowered them from around his neck. Miranda considered embracing him once again, but worried she might anger him. That didn’t stop her from kissing him once more. Spencer responded for the barest moment, then pulled away.
“Why are you doing this?” he groaned.
Miranda eased back and looked at him, seeing the low light shine in his eyes as he regarded her. When he began to move away, she caught his face in her hands. “Because I love you.”
Spencer went very still, his gaze searching hers as if for confirmation. Outside, the sounds of distant nightlife wafted through the balcony doors.
She rested her forehead against his jaw, unable to look him in the eye, but unable to break contact altogether. That moment would come soon enough.
The seconds ticked past and Spencer remained silent. Miranda felt his breath feather along her collarbone. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the rising feeling of dread when he didn’t respond.
Finally, he slowly extricated himself from her embrace and stood. Miranda gazed up at him, unable to discern his expression in the shadows.
“I think,” he said quietly, “you need to have your own room.”
Twenty-Eight
Spencer pulled the pillow over his face to block out the light streaming through the balcony doors. Something terrible hovered at the edges of consciousness, overshadowing him, making him want to plunge back into the oblivion of sleep.
He squeezed his eyes closed as realization came to the fore.
Miranda.
Spencer groaned and struggled to a sitting position. Leaning forward, he pressed the heels of his hands in the sockets of his eyes. Outside he heard the chug-chug of relentless traffic, the sounds of a city in full swing despite the early hour. Regardless of what happened the night before, life went on the next morning. Right?
Spencer rose from the bed and considered taking another shower, wanting to wash away the residual feeling of failure that had dogged him on this trip. In the end, he settled for a shave and hasty grooming routine. Half an hour later, dressed in a pale blue cotton shirt and khaki Dockers, provisions for Jesús’ family in hand, he left his room and approached the room he’d obtained for Miranda last night.
It was situated on the same floor, but down the next hall. Blocking the events of the previous evening from his mind, he strode to her door and knocked. When he received no response, sweat broke out on his brow. If she ditched him—
Spencer didn’t finish the thought. Before turning away, he gave the doorknob a hard rattle for good measure. Locked.
Muttering imprecations under his breath, he headed for the staircase that led down to the lobby. Stomping down the steps, narrowly avoiding bumping into other people, he came to an abrupt stop at the bottom. Miranda, seated on a bench in the lobby, stood quickly at his arrival. She wore a turquoise blouse and black pants with her ubiquitous leather sandals. But what he noticed was the blue of her eyes, and the flash of bewilderment in their depths.
She offered a hesitant smile before averting her gaze. Spencer approached her, having no idea what to say. Good morning, Miranda. How did you sleep? For the record, I happen to love you, too, but because of some spiritual conflicts of interest, I cannot pursue a relationship at this time. Breakfast?
He heaved a mental sigh and opened his mouth. Miranda put up a hand.
“I think we should have breakfast and then head to the neighborhood.”
He nodded, knowing he was a wimp for taking the way out she offered. After they were seated in the restaurant, she ordered and snapped her menu shut. Spencer ordered the first thing he saw on the menu, knowing he wouldn’t be able to taste anything anyway.
Miranda gazed out the window next to where they were seated, and for all intents and purposes, ignored him.
For that he was glad. And ashamed. But he needed breathing space. Last night, after getting Miranda settled in her own room, he’d returned to his own, and found he couldn’t sleep. Guilt consumed him. Guilt for giving into Miranda’s heady persuasion—for not having the guts to set things straight between them. Now he was faced with his chronic failure to find her sister. No doubt Miranda intended to return to Neza and hunt down the little boy who apparently held the key to their success.
After the waiter returned with their orders, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, determined to get the day off to the right start. No prayers, eloquent or otherwise, rose to his mind. Instead, only a silent plea of help! echoed within his heart.
He opened his eyes and glanced up at Miranda. She slid her gaze away, her cheeks pink. It dawned on him that by not including her in the prayer, he’d shut her out. Great. Way to get off on the right foot.
Spencer picked up his fork and started eating,
unwilling to think about another failure to add to his growing collection.
When Miranda set her napkin on the table about fifteen minutes later, Spencer was ready to go as well. They walked out onto the street without speaking. He got a cab, and together, they climbed inside. Miranda kept her face turned toward the grimy window on her side.
Spencer glanced down at the seat and saw her hand resting there. He stifled the overwhelming desire to take it in his own. He had to put a stop to all physical contact. It sent the wrong message.
The driver slowed in the old neighborhood where they’d waited endlessly the day before. Before he could take a deep breath to face another disappointing day, Miranda suddenly cried out and scrambled out the door of the cab.
Alarmed, Spencer craned his neck to see where she went. He shoved some money toward the driver and grabbed the bags of food and medicine. Diving out onto the sidewalk, he stumbled around the front of the cab, trying to see Miranda amid the traffic and crowded sidewalks. Where in the world is she going?
Spencer saw a flash of her blue shirt across the street. Dodging the cars, trucks, and motorbikes, he weaved his way across the street and jumped onto the opposite curb. He scanned the direction he’d seen her hurrying in, but only saw dark-haired natives going about their business. Miranda had disappeared.
He started running, his pulse pounding in fear. Past women carrying baskets on their heads and several strident shoeshine boys, he threaded his way down the sidewalk.
Spencer nearly stumbled over the top of Miranda. He stopped just short of crashing into her crouched form in the middle of the sidewalk. She held onto a little boy.
Jesús.
When she became aware of his presence, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.
“He’s been waiting here for some time this morning, wondering where we’ve been.”
Spencer smiled. It didn’t do any good to become annoyed by the fact that it was they who’d done most of the waiting. Jesús was here now, albeit a day late, and Miranda’s eyes were lit once again with hope. At this point, it’s all that matters.
The little boy made excited motions, indicating they were to follow him. Without thinking, Spencer transferred the bags to one hand and offered Miranda his other as they started down the sidewalk.
She made a move as if to accept, but turned away. She took the little boy’s hand, and together, the two walked in front of him. Spencer made a noise of disgust. Replaced by a grubby, skinny kid. It serves me right.
After obtaining another taxi, they arrived in the boy’s neighborhood half an hour later. Not much had changed, and the morning light was even less forgiving. It was still as depressed, dusty, and stark as Spencer remembered.
Miranda seemed, as usual, unaffected. She took the bags from him as they neared the shack. He envied her ability to zero in on a goal and pursue it to the uttermost. Had he ever felt so strongly about anything in his life?
The low growl of a dog put a stop to his thoughts. Spencer saw the same cur he’d seen last time they were here. Only this time it wasn’t tied up outside the shack. Fastening its mean, yellow eyes on him, the dog curled back its lip in a snarl.
Oh, great.
Spencer saw a stick on the ground and edged down to pick it up. He was aware of Miranda and the boy entering the structure, though they apparently didn’t realize the danger he was in.
Spencer noticed the thin, heaving sides of the dog and wondered if it considered him its next meal. He took slow, measured steps backward toward the doorway, noting with dismay that the dog followed him pace for pace.
Adrenaline surged through his body. The foul air made his stomach turn as he gulped in deep breaths. The stick in his hand shook.
He wanted to go home.
From inside the shack, Spencer heard raised voices. He couldn’t tell if the sounds were mournful or joyous. All his attention was claimed by the stalking hellhound.
He could almost feel those stained yellow teeth sinking into the muscles of his leg. Doubtful the thing has had rabies shots. Is that foam around its mouth?
Spencer scanned the nearby structures, hoping for the presence of another human to pull this dog back. The neighborhood seemed like a ghost town. The dog’s growl deepened.
“Miranda, hurry up!” he muttered.
The dog lunged. Spencer swung his stick. It snapped in half against the dog’s chest as it dove for him.
Spencer stumbled backward, struggling to keep upright. He backed into the side of the shack. The dog advanced.
Spencer’s stick was little more than a twig. He waved it at the dog’s face. The dog grabbed it in its jaws and bit it in two.
Spencer cast about for another stick. He saw only a scrap of chicken wire and a stack of corrugated roofing next to piles of rubbish.
He grabbed the chicken wire and threw it at the dog. The dog snapped at it, snarling. Spencer stretched for a piece of the roofing.
The dog leaped forward.
It landed on his chest, knocking him backwards, forcing the air out of his lungs. It lunged for his throat.
Spencer grabbed the ruff of fur around its head, just able to keep the spitting, snapping jaws away from his face. Its rank breath sickened him.
“Somebody get this dog off me!”
The muscles in his arms strained against the writhing creature. Drool from its mouth splattered on his face. He wanted to throw the animal off but knew it would only lunge again.
Suddenly, the dog collapsed on top of him before scrambling to the side. Something scratched Spencer’s face. He clawed it away.
A woman’s voice shrieked amid the terrified yelps of the dog. A cloud of dust choked him as he struggled to a sitting position, gasping for air.
When the dust dissipated, he saw the boy’s mother chasing the dog with a broom and beating it when it was within reach. Tail curled between its legs and eyes rolled back in its head, it scurried away from the woman.
Spencer glanced down at his filthy shirt. Red scratches from the dog’s paws zigzagged up and down his arms. He looked around, blinking myopically in the confusion.
Miranda erupted from the shack, his name on her lips. She fell to her knees and grasped him around the neck. Her nearness made the terror drain away. She was concerned for his welfare. He squeezed her tight, burying his face in her hair.
She pulled back from him, her eyes glittering. “Oh, Spencer, I talked to the old woman. We have the name of the orphanage where Soledad was placed as a baby!”
She lowered her arms, her eyes widening at his appearance. “Good grief, what happened to you?”
Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but knew his words would be unpleasant, to say the least. She didn’t hear a man being savagely attacked by a mangy cur mere feet away?
He eased away from her and rose to his feet, dusting off his pants. It was useless. The filth clung to his clothes, blood ran from the scratches on his arm, and sweat, mixed with dirt, stung his eyes.
Miranda’s expression of sympathy angered him. It came too late. He avoided her outstretched hand. “If you have the information you need, then let’s get out of here!”
***
Miranda peered up at Spencer’s flushed face. She nodded. “Let me just say goodbye to the family.” Before he could respond, she dashed inside the shack. In the dim light from a bare bulb suspended from the ceiling, she grasped the old woman’s hand.
“Gracias, señora, gracias, por todos las informaciones.”
The woman smiled weakly, her milky eyes shiny with the gleam of tears. She patted Miranda’s hand. “Que le vaya bien.”
Miranda fought back her own tears at the well-wishing sentiment. How miraculous that she’d found her!
She glanced at Jesús and reached out to him, pulling him into a hug. When she released him, his big brown eyes shone with delight. His mother walked in the door, blocking the light for a moment, before coming to sit by the side of the old woman.
“Tell your man,” she said in Spanish,
“that I’m sorry for the dog bothering him. It’s tied up now and shouldn’t cause any more problems.”
Miranda thanked her over and over for everything, worried that she was taking more than she was receiving. Remembering poor Spencer waited for her, she backed out from the structure, reluctant to say goodbye so soon.
Miranda couldn’t bear the thought of leaving this family in their predicament. How could she be sure they’d always have enough food and medical care? How could she continue on with her life of ease knowing they’d never experience the same comforts?
Outside, in the midday glare, she saw Spencer kicking at a clod of dirt. She glanced at the dog, tied up several feet away. With its exposed ribcage and sycophantic sneer, the thing looked too skinny and wretched to be much of a threat. Spencer turned at her approach looking grim, his hands in his pockets. “Ready?”
Miranda nodded, then hesitated. “Spencer—”
He looked at her with a detached kind of expectation, as if to say what now?
“I feel uncomfortable leaving them like this, not knowing how they’ll do when we’re gone.” She twisted her hands together, struggling to phrase the question just right. “If we could leave them a little money, I’d feel a lot better—”
He pulled his wallet from his pocket and tossed it at her. Miranda caught it against her chest, lowering her gaze from his cool expression.
Before she lost her nerve, she turned back to the boy and his mother in the doorway. She approached, wanting to be discreet, in case someone watching might rob them later. Opening the wallet, she found it jammed with several hundred pesos. Extracting the money, she handed it to the woman.
“A small gift for your family,” she said in Spanish, hoping the gesture wouldn’t be seen as offensive. “You’ve helped me so much, I cannot thank you enough.”
The woman nodded solemnly. Another round of hugs followed. Miranda wondered how she could keep in touch with the family, maybe send them help at another time. She said her final adios and rejoined Spencer.
Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love) Page 20
