“I’ll deal with it.”
He marched back to the hostess station as Miranda announced she had to go to the bathroom and disappeared down a hall at the far end of the restaurant opposite the entry.
“I’m sorry, sir,” intoned the hostess, “but we don’t have a table for four available for the rest of the evening. The next thing available, in fact, is a table for two at nine. Would you like that?”
Prent’s eyes fell on the hostess’s reservation list and, reading upside down, saw Cord Bilton’s name listed beside a reservation for four in fifteen minutes.
Cord was Commonwealth Cooperage’s local counsel as well as the closest thing Prent had to a best friend. He’d managed to get Prent out of more than one nasty little scrape over the years although Prent was proud to say that those incidents had dwindled to naught since he’d fallen for Miranda.
He thanked the hostess, backed away, and pulled out his phone.
“Cord? It’s Prent. Listen, I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you call Maggioli’s right now and give me your reservation for tonight.”
“How did you know that—”
“I’m here and desperately need the reservation,” Prent said, his eyes watching for Miranda’s return.
“No way! I’m taking my parents and my girlfriend there tonight!”
“You have a girlfriend?”
“I won’t if I cancel my reservation.”
“A thousand,” Prent offered.
“Just what is the deal with you? Are you nuts? Why are you so hot to—”
“I’ve got Miranda here,” Prent said through clenched teeth, smiling at some people he recognized as they entered the restaurant. “And there’s no way she’ll stay unless I can get a table for four. Got it?”
“Make it two grand,” Cord said.
“What the f—”
“I gotta make this good with my parents and girl. So I’ll need a nice bit of cash to do something special and make it up to them.”
“You’re an extortionist.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“No difference.”
“Didn’t say there was one.”
Prent saw Miranda coming out of the hall at the opposite end of the restaurant.
“Okay, two grand and a case of Old Garnet! Just do it! Now!”
“You’d better pay me, or I’ll tell your uncle about this,” Cord warned and hung up.
“Definitely an extortionist,” Prent muttered under his breath after the call ended.
“I can’t believe there was a cancellation!” gushed Davina minutes later as the hostess showed the group of four to a new table at the front of the restaurant.
“Yeah, what a coincidence.” Minerva glared at Prent in a manner that warned she expected a full explanation at some future time and outside Miranda’s presence.
Prent held the chair out for Miranda and then took a seat beside her at the round table. His mother sat to his left, and Minerva was across from him. Despite the fact that he’d just paid dearly for this table and had gotten precisely what he wanted—dinner with Miranda—the reality that he was surrounded by the three most important women in his life suddenly hit him.
Was this really the best idea even if it did get him a few extra hours with the object of his affections?
“So!” Davina said, squirming happily in her seat. “Miranda says that you two will be working together! Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asked her son.
“We’re not—” began Miranda.
“I just found out this morning,” he interrupted, looking at Miranda, then to his mother, “that Miranda is going to be the rotating clinic doctor for Old Garnet, GarnetBrooke, and Commonwealth Cooperage. She’ll only be down once a week, on Saturday mornings. We won’t be working together.”
“And just how did this come about?” Davina asked.
Prent explained how the Davenports had recruited Miranda to be the clinic doctor. That information gave his mother an opening to start questioning Miranda, not only about the Davenports but about her work, her life, and in particular the Mack Blanton concerts over the past summer.
“Prent told me that you two went to almost every concert together,” she said, picking up her wine glass.
“Well, not that many times—”
“Oh, did you go with someone else?”
“No, but we often sat with the Davenports. It was really a group outing and—”
“I just love that Mack Blanton. Those wonderful love songs!” Davina interrupted. “He’s such a sweetheart.”
“I’m sure his fiancée agrees with you there,” Miranda said.
Davina gasped. “He’s engaged? I didn’t know that!”
“It’s true. Saw the bride-to-be, Jorrie Jones, this morning at the meeting with Prent. She’s an attorney in Bourbon Springs. Does legal work for GarnetBrooke.”
“Well, don’t you know everything!” Davina leaned closer to Miranda and lowered her voice. “I heard a crazy rumor that Lucy Davenport got remarried. Is that true?”
Miranda confirmed the veracity of the tidbit and that she had married Mack’s grandfather.
Abundant wine helped assist with the continuous flow of gossipy information from both Davina and Miranda, and the group giggled and laughed its way through an entire bottle of house red before salads were served. Only when Davina asked about Kyle Sammons, the Craig County sheriff, was there a notable change in mood. Silence fell as Prent revealed that Miranda had been on the scene the previous fall when the sheriff had been shot and nearly died.
“Miranda saved Sheriff Sammons’s life,” Prent said.
“I did not save his life. I still can’t explain what happened,” Miranda protested.
Prent opened his mouth to object to Miranda’s assessment, but she warned him from further comment with a look. No need to push his luck on that topic tonight. He’d already been more fortunate than he could’ve imagined by having Miranda as a dinner partner.
But how much longer would his lucky streak last?
7
“Would you look at that! It’s snowing.” Minerva pointed behind Prent and toward the windows fronting Main Street as the main dishes were served.
Davina chattered about how much she hated snow and admonished her son to get home as soon as possible.
“I hate that you live out so far on that winding road,” she huffed. “Like you need that big old house to yourself.” She cast a quick glance at Miranda before digging into a large bowl of ravioli.
Prent watched Miranda as she ate her fettuccini, happy in the knowledge she was enjoying what had been one of her favorite meals at Maggioli’s. From the contented sigh she emitted after taking her first bite, he concluded her opinion of the restaurant’s fare had not been altered by time.
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“I guess it’s been—well, a few years,” she muttered.
Her hesitant answer revealed that she’d probably not been to Maggioli’s since they’d broken up. His mind started wandering back to some of those meals—and how they had ended up back on his office couch more than a few times afterward.
The meal progressed with amiable conversation, and Prent said very little, allowing his three companions to catch up. Other than the brief mention of the incident involving Sheriff Sammons, the only time Prent sensed any unease was when Davina asked about how Miranda’s practice was going. Miranda’s answer seemed stiff although she professed all was well.
“I can’t believe I ate all that,” Miranda said into her emptied bowl.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” Minerva asked before she took another sip of wine.
“I hope you saved room for dessert. I saw that they had the bourbon cheesecake today,” Davina said.
“I don’t know. I’m so full,” Miranda said and fell back into her chair. But she didn’t put her napkin on the table.
“Decision time,” Minerva announced as the waiter returned to the table. “Besides, it’s
not like you have to eat the whole thing tonight. Just order it and get a little taste and take the rest home.”
Prent caught Miranda staring glassy-eyed at him, making him think he had a big dollop of marinara sauce on his shirt. Yet when he looked down, his chest was clean.
He lowered his head to meet her unfocused gaze.
“So you’re going to get the cheesecake?”
Miranda blinked, snapping out of a temporary trance.
“Oh… yes.” She turned to the waiter. “I would like the bourbon cheesecake.”
“Sorry, but we already ran out tonight. It’s so popular that you have to get here early to get some.”
Davina let out a dissatisfied sigh and asked for the remainder of the dessert menu. The server handed her a small list and waited.
“Hot fudge sundae… chocolate pie… tiramisu—oh, all those things would keep me up all night, I’m afraid,” she muttered to herself. “Bourbon bread pudding,” she said with hope, and handed the menu to Minerva, who immediately passed it to Miranda. “What kind of bourbon do you use?” Davina asked.
“Buffalo Trace,” the server replied.
“But Old Garnet’s just a few miles up the road. Don’t you use the local stuff?” Davina asked.
“Well, the owner likes Buffalo Trace,” the waiter said. “Never had anyone ask before.”
“I don’t think I want anything,” Davina declared as she turned to the waiter. “You be sure to let the owner know that some people around here prefer Garnet.”
The waiter promised to pass on the information, then looked to the others.
“Nobody wants anything?” he asked, looking disappointed that his tip might not be further expanded.
“I had my heart set on that bourbon cheesecake, sorry,” Miranda said. “And I agree with her about the Garnet.”
The waiter left with a sour look, saying he’d return with the bill.
“Just as well,” Minerva said. “I’m so full I wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe I’ll walk down here next week and grab a slice to go.”
“Yes, you can do that, but who knows when Miranda will get back here?” Davina pointed out.
“Well, I know I’ll be back in about two weeks when the clinic opens, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get the chance to swing by here.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get a slice soon,” Davina said. She looked at her son expectantly as Miranda finished the last of her wine.
The waiter came with the bill, and Prent handed him a credit card.
“Thank you,” Miranda said. She was staring at him and smiling.
And that was definitely a blush.
“You’re welcome,” he said and felt butterflies in his stomach.
After lingering a little longer while he dealt with the check, the party departed. Prent and Miranda walked Davina and Minerva to their respective cars, parked in the small lot adjacent to the restaurant. Minerva was anxious to leave, and after quick hugs and thank-yous, made her departure. As Minerva’s car pulled onto Main Street, Davina pulled Miranda into another big hug, nearly knocking the latter off her feet.
“I do hope I get to see you again soon, dear,” she said into Miranda’s ear as Prent looked on.
Prent held the door open for his mother and stood with Miranda to watch her leave.
“You really did make her year by showing up tonight,” Prent said.
“And you really should’ve called ahead to let her know I was tagging along,” Miranda said as they headed for the crosswalk. She zipped her parka up to her neck and pulled on her gloves.
“It was much more fun this way. And you weren’t just tagging along. I’d say you were the guest of honor tonight. Sorry you didn’t get the cheesecake.”
“I’ll be back for that,” she said as they perched on the curb and waited for the light to turn.
Although they could easily jaywalk across the deserted street, they huddled together on the curb since the night was cold and dark. Prent nudged Miranda to offer her his arm.
As she hesitated in that split second, with the snow falling and the light from a solitary streetlamp shining down upon her, Miranda looked ethereally beautiful in the soft gloom of that late December night. Large snowflakes clung to her dark hair in feathery clumps, crowning his companion with a wintry and spectral veil.
There she was: the bride in winter he had lost in summer, an icon for his personal torment.
Was this the only time he would ever see her like that? He’d never glimpsed her in her wedding dress. Prent briefly wondered whether she still had the gown but doubted it. Why keep such a memento of misery? She’d probably sold it, just like the engagement ring.
With a nervous smile, Miranda slipped her arm into his and then shyly averted her eyes. Prent pulled her close as the light changed, and they ambled across Main Street.
He didn’t want this to end.
He’d been with her that morning and for a good chunk of the afternoon. Was it too much to hope for another kiss—or more—before they parted that evening? If he had any hope of such a happy ending, he needed to think of another way to keep her around a little longer.
“Want to go get some dessert and coffee?” he asked hopefully.
“I need to get home,” she said, leaning into him.
“But you had your fair share of wine.”
“You think I’m not good to drive?”
“Might be a good idea to wait a bit, don’t you think?”
“And put even more in my tummy?”
“But I saw how disappointed you were by no dessert.”
“So what’s your idea? Where else could we go?”
He hadn’t quite thought that far.
“My place?” he ventured.
“That would require me to get in my car.”
“Not if I drove.”
“No. Has to be somewhere we can walk.”
“What about some ice cream back at the cooperage office kitchen?” he asked.
“Sounds cold for a night like this, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”
“That’s my thought.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head, feeling the light veil of snow melt against his face as his skin touched her hair.
“Prent…,” she said warningly as she stiffened.
“No one’s around if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she said as they reached the edge of the cooperage properties.
“Then let’s get inside and talk about what does worry you, Miranda Chaplin, because you’ve given me such new hope tonight that I’m desperate to discover what’s still in my way to winning you back.”
Miranda stopped as they reached the concrete path that led to the cooperage doors.
“That’s a tall order for one evening. And I’m not going to lead you on tonight.”
“Too late for that,” he laughed ruefully. “So let me lead you on.” Prent took her by the hand and tugged, trying to pull her toward the building. She remained fixed in place for a few seconds, the snow delicately covering her head once more.
“I think I need to get home.”
“And I think you need to get inside where it’s warm, wait until the wine buzz is gone, and let me give you a surprise dessert.”
“I do not have a wine buzz,” she insisted, “and I’m a bit worried about the kind of dessert you have in mind.”
He took her gloved hand but did not try to tug her toward the building.
“The ice cream I have is something special.”
“Do tell,” she said, suspicion and doubt layered in her voice.
“How about some Cinnamon Garnet? I know you love it.”
“You really expect me to believe you have Cinnamon Garnet? You can only get that at Old Garnet.”
“Goose himself gave me some when I was up at the distillery a few weeks ago delivering the cooperage’s Christmas basket.”
“So why didn’t you take those little pints of gold straight home inst
ead of here where anyone could get them?”
“I had to get back here for a meeting. I stuck them in the freezer and forgot about them. They’re still there because I labeled them so no one would be tempted.”
“How did you label them?”
“Chopped okra bits.”
Her smirk told him she thought he was pulling her leg.
“I’ll give you a whole pint,” he said, knowing how much Miranda loved the flavor. He’d bought her plenty of cones at the Mack Blanton concerts over the past summer.
“You’d better not be bluffing.”
He offered her his hand again, and she took it. Prent had them inside in the next minute and bade her to follow him down the long hall to the small kitchen beyond his office.
After removing his coat, Prent walked to the fridge and opened the top freezer compartment door. He pulled out three small white containers and placed them in front of Miranda for her inspection.
“Go ahead. Open them.”
She did, smiling as she popped off the lids.
“You haven’t touched it?”
“Forgot they were here until our walk back. And very glad I did,” he muttered to himself as he took one of the containers.
“Wait a sec—I thought one of those was for me.”
“Certainly. You can take one home with you.”
She held out her hand.
“Then just give me one, and I’ll eat out of it.”
“Let’s eat out of one together, and I’ll give you a full one to take home.”
“You’re really falling all over yourself, aren’t you?” she asked with a smile.
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged as he turned to put the container back in the freezer.
“Just to be nice, to impress me.”
“To court you, to win you back,” he amended. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing—have been doing for months and years now. No secret about it. And I see that it’s working because you’re still here,” he said, looking over his shoulder as he rummaged around in a cabinet and extracted a jar of instant decaf.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 35
