Guarding Miranda

by Amanda M. Holt

  Why was he being so… doting?

  “Really.” Betty stored the receipt in a folder marked R. Gundy. “Tommy, help Miranda take these groceries out to her car, will you? Russ said she’s got a bum arm.”

  With a nod, the boy lifted the largest box of groceries and carried it out of the door, with barely more than a grunt. Miranda knew that she was going to have a more difficult time than that once she got to the cabin.

  Her left arm was already pretty tired.

  Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she picked up the remaining bag of groceries with her strong right arm.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you Betty.”

  “Likewise, Miranda. I’ll see you at the potluck supper.”

  “Sure thing,” she said and left the store.

  Tommy was just putting the groceries in the back seat of the car when Miranda appeared at his side.

  Setting the bag of groceries in the front, she helped him maneuver the box into the back.

  Once finished, she withdrew a five dollar bill from her purse and handed it to Tommy.

  “Thanks for all your help.”

  “Thanks. But you don’t have to tip me.”

  “I insist.” She pressed the bill into his palm.

  “I should let you know, I mow lawns on weekend. I bet you have a lot of growth out at the cabin by now. You can call me here at the store if you want me to do yours this weekend. Look for Tyson, we’re in the phone book.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she told him. Uncle Gundy had warned her that the lawn would need maintenance and she was in no shape to push the lawn mower. “I bet there’s lots of grass. Will I see you at the supper?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Her uncle’s map was easy to follow.

  She slowed as she approached the lone driveway indicated on the map.

  There was no other driveway for at least a mile down the road but there was no mistaking who owned the property.

  The gate of the entrance had a sign with Gundy across its front in big wrought-iron letters.

  The gate was locked, as her uncle had left it over the previous October’s hunting season and so she left the car, unlocked it and swung the gate wide open.

  She drove down the long, winding driveway, past bright yellow daisies and crimson wildflowers and towering poplar and evergreen trees. As she rounded the last bend in the road, she could see white light flashing through the trees.

  Silver and gold sunlight glistening off of a body of water.

  The wide, swift-flowing Waterhen River.

  She found herself gazing at the scene in awe, slowing the car to slow her admission to the timeless beauty of the place.

  Through the boughs of lush green poplar leaves, at the bottom of the small hill she was now ascending, was a two story log cabin of ski chalet design, with a high, dramatic roof and long, narrow windows.

  The river behind the cabin flowed slowly, sparkling brightly beneath the sun, reflecting in its placid surface the dark green trees and lighter green rushes on its opposite bank.

  The grass of the lawn, she noticed with a small frown, was indeed unkempt and quite long, with yellow dandelions throughout.

  Miranda was glad that there would be someone to mow the lawn, as Tommy Tyson had offered.

  One weekends, he had said.

  She resolved to call and book his services at the earliest convenience Saturday morning...

  As she pulled up to the cabin, which she had seen before in pictures, her eyes were again drawn to the lush green of the forest surrounding it and the welcoming look of the Waterhen River and the lush forest on the other side of the river.

  She had twenty acres of river front privacy, so her uncle had claimed and by God, she was going to enjoy the privacy.

  Her nearest neighbor was a good mile down the road and it delighted her, to think that she could walk around naked if she so wished and she wouldn’t have to worry about tabloid reporters sneaking up to take pictures of the bold act.

  Not that she’d be wandering around naked any time soon.

  It simply wasn’t her style.

  Still, there was a freedom to the idea of being skyclad that appealed to her...

  The cabin itself was more of an estate than a cabin, made of logs, though and darkly varnished wood at that.

  The bag of groceries in tow, she unlocked the front door and let herself in to the big cabin.

  She disengaged the security alarm and gazed about the interior that was familiar to her from photographs her uncle had shown her.

  Here, the walls of log were stained a dark reddish brown, in contrast to the broad red brick fireplace that adorned one wall.

  Directly before her, past the sunken living room and stainless steel kitchen were French doors leading to a covered balcony facing the wide river.

  She gazed out at the river with a sigh on her lips, looking forward to the canoeing she would do once her shoulder was properly rested...

  She glanced about her surroundings and duly noted the racks of deer horns and stuffed fish on many of the walls.

  All were trophies from her Uncle’s hunting and fishing adventures.

  On her left was the black leather sectional of the living room, placed before the big screen TV and the high tech entertainment center.

  To her right was the kitchen and its stainless steel appliances, yet another stroke of male genius in the ambiance that was decidedly influenced by her uncle’s testosterone and lacking her aunt’s feminine touch.

  Setting the groceries on the counter, she decided to investigate.

  The floor beneath her feet was earth colored, in stone-textured tile. On this floor, through the first door on the right, past the kitchen, was the large bathroom with its full sized Jacuzzi tub.

  Of course, Jacuzzi.

  Uncle Russ was very fond of his hot water soaks and sauna therapy, recommended to him by a doctor of Chinese Medicine to bolster his sluggish liver function.

  It was his favorite prescription for the fatigue that plagued him.

  Miranda knew that she would enjoy a little Chinese Medicine herself.

  Further down, the second door on the right, was the second guest bedroom, which seemed larger than the one up top.

  On either side of the fireplace, on her far left, was the stuffed head of a moose, complete with horns.

  “Morbid, Uncle Russ.” Her soft laugh echoed in the cabin. “I’m finding all these inanimate animal carcasses just a little bit creepy.”

  Between these trophies of her uncle’s hunting excursions was a print of Claude Monet’s Waterlilies, Uncle Gundy’s favorite painting the world over.

  Beyond the fireplace, flanking the left wall, was the lacquered staircase that would take her to the second floor, the master bedroom and the other one of the two guest rooms.

  As was her uncle’s taste, the master bedroom was sparsely furnished but with class. A huge antique boudoir occupied one of the walls, with smaller dressers on either side of it. The closets weren’t large enough to be walk-in but still generous of space, with mirrored sliding doors.

  The French doors that let in a grand amount of daylight could be opened unto a small private balcony, with a varnished timber and wrought-iron railing overlooking the river.

  She knew it would be a breathtaking sight whether at sunset or sunrise...

  The bed was huge, king sized, covered with a large handmade quilt of a stunning blue and white star-patterned design.

  She sat for a moment on the large bed and studied her reflection.

  Her twelve hour day of intense travel had left her none the worse for wear: her dark green eyes were relaxed, rather than stressed, for the first time in the two months following her ordeal.

  A few strands of her long dark hair had worked its way loose from her ponytail, framing her unmarred ivory face.

  Her small nose shone a little, as often it did from heat and fast food.

  It was quite warm in the cabin...

  Her uncle had
already warned Miranda that there was no air conditioning, except in the rec room in the basement, which was closed off from the rest of the cabin. Normally, the air conditioning would be installed in the kitchen window but according to him, he had left it out for the winter.

  He claimed that her neighbor, Ben Clarion would be more than glad to install it for her.

  Until then, she hoped it would not get too hot in the cabin.

  There was no breeze outside, from the look of the still river, so she left the French doors closed and went downstairs to bring in the rest of the groceries.

  She returned to the car and opened the back door.

  The box would be far too heavy for her to lift, in its current condition, so she removed the four liter jug of milk and the other of water and took them into the house first.

  She returned for the box and was surprised to find that her left arm did not give out, as she had been expecting: pleased with the result, she was soon lugging her luggage into the house.

  “I’ll wash an ibuprophen down with that water, just in case,” she decided.

  The door closed behind her, she began to put the groceries away, only to find Brian once more in her thoughts.

  What on earth was he doing there, in the forefront of her mind?

  Would he give her no peace?

  For God’s sake, she’d only met him once formally and yet, once had been enough to get him under her skin, like a bad itch.

  Determined to put him out of her mind, she busied herself with the groceries... and thought instead of Richard, the man who had died before her very eyes.

  The man she had loved with all of her heart and still loved, even in absence.

  The tears came suddenly.

  Swiftly and mercilessly.

  She crumpled into a heap on the floor and sobbed, freely and with great agony until her throat ached and she could cry no more.

  Chapter Seven

  The break-in at the Gundy residence had occurred sometime Tuesday evening while Russ and Nancee were at the Carlson’s playing bridge. Lynn had been away at a bridal shower for a friend, with the Gundys absent the cook and housekeeper had the night off so the house had been empty.

  It seemed that the burglar had known that and chosen the perfect opportunity to strike...

  Russ and Nancee had returned from the Carlson’s to find the alarm disarmed and the front door wide open, the hall light on.

  Fearing the worst, they had done a quick inventory of damages incurred and losses sustained.

  They checked the safe: nothing had been stolen.

  Nothing had been taken from Nancee’s jewelry chest, either.

  The TV, computer and entertainment systems were intact.

  Confused, they checked Lynn’s rooms.

  It too, was untouched.

  They went across the hall to Miranda’s rooms and were horrified by what they found.

  Both her sitting room and bedroom had literally been torn apart, whether in rage or search one could not readily discern.

  “Someone was looking for something,” said Nancee fearfully, picking up a family picture that had been knocked over and cracked in the invasion.

  “Or for Miranda.” Russ growled. “Whoever it was, it looks as though they’ve gone berserk.”

  “Miranda’s going to be so upset.” His wife was trembling visibly as she looked about the ruined room. “Her things… her photos… Russ, she loves those photos!”

  “There might be some footage of them coming in on the surveillance cameras.” Russ mused aloud.

  Nancee shuddered. “It’s a good thing Miranda wasn’t here. Imagine if she had been here alone, Russ. Imagine if she had…”

  Nancee’s voice drifted off.

  The possibilities were too horrible to consider.

  “Call the police on the house line,” said Russ, taking out his cell phone. “Tell them to get over here.”

  He dialed a number from his phone’s recent memory.

  “Who are you calling?” Nancee was pale with fright.

  He glanced up at her with firm resolve. “Brian Logan.”

  * * *

  Brian took the first flight out to Winnipeg from San Francisco on Wednesday, the morning of June sixteenth and then the same path Miranda had taken, from Winnipeg to Dauphin. Like Miranda, he too had an encounter with Earl at Mountainview Rentals, only his Ford Focus was green in color and a year older than hers. Like her, he followed a map that Russ had drawn out, detailing the turns he would have to take once he got to the small town of Waterhen.

  It was a little after six thirty that night when he passed her burgundy rental car on the North Mallard Road.

  He was certain it was her.

  There was no mistaking that striking beauty, even in spite of the large sunglasses she wore. He tried to glance at her in his rear view through the dust cloud that her passage had created on the gravel road.

  He wondered where she was going – to the store, perhaps?

  He fought the urge to follow her, heading instead to Gundy’s cabin.

  Wherever she was going, she would be back soon.

  His instincts told him that he was right.

  His instincts were almost always right.

  What his gut was telling him now was that he was crazy to have answered Russ Gundy’s pleas with an affirmative yes, I’ll leave on the first morning flight out...

  Even crazier to be looking forward to seeing Miranda again, when all he had to deliver to her was bad news and badgering.

  Badgering, that’s what his last unwilling assignment had called his guard detail.

  Incessant badgering, if he remembered correctly.

  He knew with near certainty that Miranda was going to be unwilling. She was known to be an independent woman with a stubborn edge to her that had amused him from a distance but would be an obstacle for him to deal with, first hand.

  It was thankless work, being a bodyguard.

  You were damned if you did your job right and damned if you didn’t.

  Not that he was going to mind guarding Miranda.

  She was very, very easy on his eyes.

  And ears.

  And general disposition…

  And the fragrance she wore – damn, how feminine...

  Hell, his whole body warmed with the thought of how much he looked forward to being reunited with her!

  He approached the lone driveway slowly and noted the Gundy sign, in wrought-iron letters on the open gate.

  Perfect.

  He’d made it.

  Slowing the car, he turned down the driveway and it wasn’t long before he spotted the cabin through the trees.

  Grand eloquence, the place was, especially for a cabin.

  But then, Gundy did like his expensive toys…

  It was a grand complex of tasteful design, reminding him of a ski chalet he’d seen in Colorado.

  Two levels worth of stained wood and windows.

  He got out and opened one of the doors of the two car garage and parked his Focus on the left, leaving Miranda ample room on the right.

  It might alarm her, seeing a second car there but from the lack of trail up to the garage he was certain she wasn’t using the garage.

  Yet.

  The task of parking finished, he decided to let himself into the house.

  Miranda hadn’t left the cabin’s alarm armed.

  Which apparently had also been Lynn Gundy’s bad habit, which was the reason the alarm hadn’t been triggered during the break-in the previous night: it couldn’t be triggered if it wasn’t set.

  “Women,” he muttered under his breath.

  There was enough light coming from outside that he didn’t have to flick on the lights to see more of the expensive masculine taste in the interior of the cabin.

  Noting the door near the closet at the entrance, that would no doubt lead to the basement, Brian instead followed the stairs that would lead him up to the second level.

  He was no more surprised to see the
trophies of dead animals on the walls than he was by the huge Jacuzzi tub in the large bathroom. It was more of a hot tub, really, with room for two adults...

  He couldn’t help the adult notions that crossed his mind at the thought.

  He tried to dismiss those notions as soon as they bubbled to the surface of his mind.

  As much as he liked her, he was a professional, here to do a serious job and he knew that he was much better off remembering that.

  He went to the kitchen and checked the stainless steel fridge.

  She had stocked it with only a few items.

  Meat, milk and some vegetables, a dozen eggs, yogurt...

  Was she perhaps gone to the small store he had seen on the way in, to get more supplies?

  It was a possibility.

  Had she already made friends here, gone for a visit?

  Perhaps...

  Or had she found herself another boyfriend, so soon after Richard?

  Some local yokel farmer type with tight denim jeans, plaid work shirt unbuttoned to his navel and a green John Deere cap who used “Howdy ma’am?” and “Yes ma’am!” generously?

  Somehow, that didn’t seem likely...

  But who could say for sure?

  Miranda was a beautiful girl, intelligent enough and from the sounds of Russ’ warnings as stubborn as a mule when she had her mind set on something...

  From the conversation Brian had with Russ, it seemed like Miranda was going to hate being guarded.

  Russ had hoped she would see the sense in it and see the truth in what Brian had to tell her.

  The break in at the Gundy residence had changed Nancee’s mind and sobered Lynn to the situation.

  Brian was to show Miranda the photographs and DVD he had made, revealing the true nature of her former fiancé. Russ had balked when Brian suggested that he be the one show his own niece the pictures, rather than Brian.

  Brian’s suggestion was that it would be better for her to hear it from family, rather than a stranger.

  Russ had countered that it would be more painful to hear it from the family that had deceived her for so long. Better to hear it from the horse’s mouth, the man who had uncovered the grim details himself.

  And so, without enthusiasm, Brian had agreed.

  He’d be the one to tell Miranda.

  He just didn’t know how to do it.