Miranda's Outlaw. Katherine Garbera
Today, his hair was held off his neck in a ponytail and his Stetson was nowhere to be found. The bill of a faded baseball cap was tucked into the back pocket of illegally tight jeans. A small hoop earring hung through his ear, enforcing his outlaw image, and the pungent scent of a cigar lingered on his clothes. He looked like a pirate who had been at sea for too long.
He freed her line and joined her on the ground. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said, watching his large hands move carefully over the hook, freeing bits of greenery from its teeth. She wondered if they’d handle a woman with the same attention.
“No problem,” he said.
He handed the fishing pole to her, before pulling the baseball cap out of his back pocket and putting it on.
“Thanks for the cookies.”
Miranda blushed, wondering if he’d actually eaten one. “Did you try them?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning suddenly. “Well, you know, they weren’t the greatest cookies I’ve ever had.” His voice was so soft she had a hard time hearing the next words. “But no one’s ever baked anything for me before.”
Miranda felt a tiny clenching around her heart and all her maternal instincts urged her to reach out to the boy inside of Luke and comfort him. Maternal instincts, she thought with a touch of sadness. Was it possible for a woman who couldn’t have kids to be maternal? She’d never thought so until that very moment.
His gaze met hers, his brown eyes full of emotion and pain. She started to touch him, then stopped. Her hand hung awkwardly between them. The tanned shade of his skin made hers look pale.
“It was a first for me, too,” she said at last, dropping her hand.
He smiled. Miranda felt something open up inside of her that she’d thought she’d lost. Something rare and fragile that reminded her of childhood and the days of wonder. Something beautiful and scary but she refused to analyze it now.
Miranda’s soft laughter echoed the sound of the water tripping over the rocks downstream. The rippling effect spread slowly throughout his body. He’d warned himself to stay away from her. Knew that he shouldn’t have left the safety of the north face of the mountain where she would never wander. Knew that he should’ve gotten on the Harley and gone to town. Knew that this was the worst possible thing for him to be doing, but he stayed all the same.
The sunlight dripped through the leaves of the trees that surrounded the bank, bathing Miranda in its golden light. Her skin had the same hue as orange-blossom honey. Soft, light and tempting as hell. The urge to taste her was overwhelming, to lick at her skin until the essence of her was imbedded in his senses. But he fought it.
He groaned, picking up the fishing pole he’d set aside a half hour earlier. Time to put things in their proper perspective. He’d known he was in trouble when he opened the lid on that basket and seen the cookies lying inside. No one ever made cookies for him.
His mother died long before he was able to chew them on his own and his dad’s girlfriends weren’t the type to spend time in the kitchen. The cookies were definitely the worst he’d ever tasted but that didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.
“Ready to catch your supper?”
She nodded. “I’m guessing you don’t need the magazine to show you how to stand.”
“What magazine?”
She lifted a new issue of Field and Stream, showing him the marked page. “It’s just as well, these instructions got me into trouble the first time.”
“Darlin’, that man is fly-fishing.” The picture reminded him of years earlier when he and his estranged brother Jake had spent a weekend at the river. Luke scowled and pushed the memory aside, ignoring the remembered camaraderie. Jake’s betrayal was all he wanted to associate with his brother.
“I know. I figured I’d better use this pole. Fly-fishing looks very complicated.”
“It is. But you have to use a different stroke with this pole.”
She flushed. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman color at a suggestive remark. He pretended that her reaction didn’t warm his heart.
“What kind of stroke?” she asked, her voice husky with suppressed emotion.
“A delicate stroke, one that builds anticipation. A teasing stroke that makes the fish think you’ve been there all along. A tempting stroke that’ll lead her right into your trap.”
“Stop it,” she said.
He showed her how to fish, leaving off the words he’d been using to entice her. He demonstrated the casting technique before handing the rod to Miranda. She reeled in her first catch of weeds a few seconds later. The lady simply didn’t have the right swing.
Luke stepped behind her. Her floral perfume wrapped around his senses like a warm breeze on a cool day. He cursed himself as a fool but reached around and took the fishing pole from her hands. She started as his chest brushed against her back. The soft, rounded curves of her hips were a temptation he couldn’t ignore. The urge to drop the fishing pole and sink his fingers into her flesh almost overpowered him. Instead, he forced himself to strip the weeds from the hook.
“Do you really want to learn how to fish?” he asked, hoping for a negative answer. Yet, at the same time he knew he didn’t have to stay. That the only reason he was still here was because she’d given him those rotten-tasting cookies. A sweet gesture from a prickly woman.
“Yes.”
Damn, he cursed silently, then took a deep breath. Inhaling more than air, inhaling the very essence of the tiny woman standing next to him. So close, but farther away than Miami at the moment. “I’m going to put my hands over yours and show you how to cast.”
“Okay,” she said, turning to face him with her hands extended.
Great idea, he thought. Perfect way to avoid his raging hormones and her sweet curves, but it wouldn’t work.
“Turn around, darlin’. You’ve got to face the stream to catch fish.”
She followed his directions, standing stiffly in front of him. “What now?”
He walked closer to her, allowing only an inch of space between them. “I’m going to put my arms around you. Place your hands on the pole so that you can feel the flow of the cast.”
He demonstrated the overhead motion of his arm, releasing the line slowly as it came over their heads. The lure landed in the middle of the stream without so much as a ripple.
“Now, comes the tricky part,” he whispered, directly into her ear. “Waiting. Stay perfectly still.”
A lone trout swam close to the lure. “Watch carefully. This is where luck doesn’t count. It’s just you and the fish and you have to be patient...until... Come on, baby. That’s it, take the bait, you know you want it.”
Luke continued talking in that low modulated tone. The way his daddy had taught him to, years before when he was more a boy than a man. Back when his father had still respected him. Miranda relaxed against him, letting his body direct hers. Her hands still held ready over his and then slowly the speckled fish took the bait. He felt her backbone stiffen with excitement.
“Don’t lose it now with impatience. Let him get a good hold on the worm and pull it in slowly. Now.”
Luke reeled in the fish. Miranda ducked under his arms and grabbed a net to put the trout in. He unhooked the fish and placed him in the net Miranda held.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Did you bring a cooler?”
“I thought that was only used to hold beer, so I left it at home.” Her brow wrinkled as she searched her meager