Page 110 of Kiss of Wrath

“Oh? Were there no phones where you were making those plans?”

“Yes, there were phones, but I wanted to have our future mapped out before I spoke with you.”

“Are all Vikings so dumb, or is it just you?”

“Probably just me. What did I do wrong?”

“You were mapping out our life, as if I had no say in it.”

“Of course you would have a say in it. After I decided what it would involve. Must you always be at cross-wills with me? A man takes care of those—”

“If you say, ‘those under your shield,’ I am going to scream,” she interrupted. “I never asked to be under your frickin’ shield, nor do I want to be.”

“Where do you want to be?” he asked with a grin, probably thinking he was making inroads with her.

“Far away from you,” she replied, and tried to shut the door.

He stuck his flip-flopped foot in the space to prevent the door from shutting. After the first day, he’d given up on the dressy duds and was back to shorts and a T-shirt, this one proclaiming, “Got Viking?”

“How are the children?” he asked to keep her talking.

“Fine. And Roger’s going to be in jail for a long time. So, no problems there, either. Good-bye.”

“You prayed for me,” he pointed out, as if that meant she should welcome him with open arms . . . and legs.

“The children did.” That was only a half lie.

“Miranda, I love you.”

Her heart about melted, but she had to be strong. “Too late. Mordr, go away. I appreciate all you’ve done for me . . . for us, but we’re better off without you.”

He flinched at her harsh words. But then, he asked, “Can you say that you do not love me in return?”

When she didn’t reply, he smiled. “I give you fair warning, m’lady.” He took out his sword and planted it in the wooden threshold of the door frame. “I do now declare war against you, heartling. Raise the drawbridge, build a moat, bar the doors, I will be assaulting your defenses forthwith. You will surrender, or I am not Mordr the Brave.”

She smiled inwardly. That had been his name before he’d gone berserk, according to his brothers. “And I am Miranda the Stubborn.”

He put a fist to his heart and extended the open palm toward her before turning and walking away.

If he’d only known, that heart sign would have won him entry in a nanosecond.

And thus the mighty do fall . . .

A week went by with no sign of Mordr.

Did he really give up so easily?

She suspected something was up when Jack Trixson convinced her to let the children go on a weekend camping trip with his family. Even Maggie had developed a sudden interest in outdoor living.

And Darla had talked her into a day at the Mecca Hotel health spa for the two of them. Massages, facials, manicures and pedicures. Followed by dinner and entertainment at a male revue called Thunder From Down Under. While definitely hot, those Aussie hunks had nothing on Mordr.

She almost expected to see him parked on her doorstep when she got home. But no. No vehicle in her driveway or garage. No extra lights on in the house. Not even a love note in her mailbox.

The next morning, a Saturday, she dragged herself to work, where she had three group therapy sessions scheduled. Staff psychologists alternated who would supervise these weekend clinics.

It was contrary of her, Miranda knew, but she was disappointed that Mordr had followed her orders to go away and stay away. And she hadn’t even built a moat. So much for his declaring war against her!

After two cups of coffee, she managed to lead the first session on addictions, primarily gambling. It was a successful meeting with a dozen clients, even though half of them would probably head for a casino afterward. She considered it progress that they continued to show up.