Miranda's Outlaw. Katherine Garbera
shifted the overnight bag to his left hand where he held the flashlight. He reached back to help Miranda over a fallen log. She glanced at his hand, then at his face before placing her hand in his.
She would be happy to be rid of him. But he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. He’d take care of her, whether she wanted him to or not. The thought of her lost out here haunted him like the memory of past mistakes.
A quarter of an hour later the ramshackle old hunting cabin came into view. The lack of light made the small wood structure look like a fright house at the fair. Luke knew from experience that it didn’t look much better during the day. But it was fairly sturdy.
He played the light over the front porch, checking for rodents. He glanced at Miranda wondering if she’d change her mind now. If she’d agree to go back to his place and then let him escort her off the mountain in the morning. He expected to see some sign of disappointment or revulsion.
“At last,” she said. “Just dump that bag inside the door.”
Luke was sure that the fatigue from the long day must have caught up with her. She’d brought a sack of junk food and had only two bags of possessions with her. She stared at that damned eyesore as though it was...home.
He didn’t think the run-down cabin was much of anything, but if his alternative housing was a small convertible he guessed he’d be more excited about the shack in front of him.
“Let me check inside,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want to like her, but he admired her grit. It was the one city trait he could relate to. He figured it was a kickback to Neanderthal times when humans had been forced to carve a place for themselves in the world—only the trappings had changed and the corporate world demanded as much from its challengers as Mother Nature did.
“That’s okay. I’ll take care of it. I’m sure you want to be on your way.”
“This place has been empty since last June. There could be all kinds of critters inside.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said firmly.
He gritted his teeth. Luke had the feeling he’d just been dismissed. God save him from bossy women, he thought.
“Fine,” he said, but hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
Common sense to kick in, he thought wryly. “You to go inside.”
She frowned at him—an intimidating expression that made him want to grin. If he’d learned one thing about Miranda, it was that the woman liked things to be her way. He waited, living on the mountain had taught him patience.
“Very well. Thank you again for your help, Mr. Romero.”
“No problem, darlin’.”
He waited until she disappeared inside through the front door and he saw her light come on. He walked away knowing that it was the sensible thing to do.
A stubborn woman as a neighbor and raging hormones he’d thought he’d finally mastered. He wanted her and he damned himself for it.
Three
Luke’s cabin was deserted when Miranda arrived three days later. She left a basket of chocolate chip cookies on the front porch. She’d scraped all of the black burnt stuff off the bottoms and they looked pretty good. Her mother had been so excited when she’d called to get the recipe from her. She’d baked eight dozen cookies, but had only been able to rescue a few.
Determined to tackle nature and take control of her surroundings, she stepped off his porch and retrieved her fishing gear from the ground. She planned on catching dinner today. The thought of eating another peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made her cringe. She’d eaten so much junk food in the past two days that she’d had trouble sleeping. Focusing on the disturbing images of those chocolate brown eyes or that twinkling stud earring hadn’t helped.
She picked her way across the meadow. The mountain that seemed so malevolent toward her that first night, now apologized with a beautiful spring day. The air still had a chill to it, but the sun promised warmth. She spread her arms and lifted her head, drinking in the beauty that surrounded her.
The tow-truck driver who had dropped her car off this morning had talked endlessly about the weather, the tourist season and the wildflowers blooming in the meadow. Friendly chitchat that had no point. She’d been at a loss as to what to say. Miranda wanted to ask questions about Luke but knew in a small community such as this one the gossip would flow steadily out of control. So instead she’d held her tongue, leaving her imagination free to create whatever images it wanted to.
The detailed tattoo danced through her mind. The tanned skin underneath the hawk made her fingers long to caress him. She wanted to test the resilience of the padded muscles on his back.
Enough, she thought. Her laptop computer and modem would be installed tomorrow afternoon. She wanted something to occupy her time. The mountain, though pretty, still wasn’t an environment she felt comfortable in. Her adjustment time was taking longer than she’d expected, but the only obstacle she’d been unable to conquer was her own body’s weakness. She knew in a few weeks she’d find the balance she was seeking and she’d have something familiar to concentrate on instead of Luke Romero and his disturbing sensuality.
She found the stream and spent a few minutes picking through the grass and debris left by the storm until she found the perfect spot.
Clean, clear water rustled softly, winding its way downstream. The fish swimming at the bottom were visible and a crisp fresh scent of wildflowers filled the air. She stood perfectly still for a moment letting nature’s beauty soak into the fabric of her being.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself.
The Field and Stream magazine she’d purchased before leaving Atlanta had a few pictures of fishermen—all of them standing in the middle of a stream in hip-high waders. She wanted to cast from the relative safety of the bank.
She’d baited the hook easily, having no trouble imagining the squirmy little worm as her ex-fiancé. It was petty and spiteful, but worked dam well.
She glanced at the book on the ground and then back at her rod and reel. It should be easier than this, she thought. Children do this every day.
She stood, mimicking the stance she saw on the magazine’s glossy page. She raised her arm over her head and tried to copy the wrist-snapping motion she’d seen others use. She hooked something before she landed the line in the water. She started to reel it in, but the line grew taut and wouldn’t budge.
Miranda set the pole on the ground and grimaced at the branch of the tree holding her hook captive. The lowest branches were too high for her grab hold of and swing herself into the tree. She doubted she’d be able to scale the trunk without help. But what kind of help?
She was alone in the forest, miles from civilization and her only neighbor was a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Besides, the role of helpless woman wasn’t one she wanted to play. She tugged on the line, hoping to free the hook, but the lure tightened its grip on the small branch and hung on.
Jumping, she latched onto a sturdy branch and tried to wiggle her way up the trunk. Her sweaty hands slid on the bark and she slid back toward the ground. She hung suspended.
“Great,” she muttered.
“Need some help?”
Miranda screamed and fell to the ground. She braced herself, ready to do battle. Luke Romero stood there looking... she struggled to describe the expression in his eyes. He looked as if he didn’t want to be at this place at this time.
“Can you free my line?”
He rocked back on his heels, staring up at the large tree. The fishing pole swayed with the branches.
“Maybe.” He paced under the branches for a few minutes. “Stand back.”
He