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His advice seemed to hit home. Miranda looked away, and he could tell she was mentally biting her tongue. Perhaps something she wasn’t used to doing. “Duly noted.” She drew a deep breath and retrained her focus. “In addition to being the best tracker in the area, aside from my brother Trace, I’m in charge of keeping on top of the poachers in the area. If you’d like I can send you a couple of the files I’ve been working on.”
“That would be appreciated.” His mind should’ve been on business, but there was something about her that made it difficult to stay focused. He wanted to know what compelled her to pick up strange men. He wanted to know how many men there had been before him. All manner of questions that he had no business thinking or wondering. “Poachers are everywhere. Same scum, different day. You say you’ve been keeping track of a few? Anyone else on this?”
“No, it’s sort of my baby. My passion, if you will.”
“Send me some of your files and I’ll give them a read. I can’t promise I’ll get to them today but I will definitely try to look over the data by the end of the week.”
She accepted his answer. “Good. I look forward to your thoughts. Welcome to the team.”
Miranda didn’t waste any time with chitchat or idle conversation. She blew out as quickly as she blew in. Jeremiah wondered just how complicated his relationship was going to be with the woman. He’d give anything to forget that last night had ever happened. But he’d long given up wishing that he could change the past. His intimate connection with Miranda Sinclair was just one more thing he would learn to deal with.
* * *
MIRANDA SAT HEAVILY in her chair and realized her hands were shaking. Damn, why couldn’t she just push him from her mind like every other man? She talked a good game, but everything was too fresh, the memories too vivid to simply move on as if it’d simply been another encounter. As if the sex had been mediocre. That probably would have made things a lot easier. A crappy one-and-done certainly didn’t compel a girl to chase after another round.
But that wasn’t the case. He’d certainly known his way around a woman’s body. He had skill. Which, of course, begged the question, why was he single? Not that she cared. But she was naturally curious. She sensed a bigger back story behind those soulful eyes. Don’t dig. She shouldn’t care what his story was.
She placed her fingers behind her head and leaned back in her chair. Maybe she needed some target practice. The familiar weight of a gun in her hand always seemed to soothe the ragged nerves. She liked to imagine she was putting that laser sight right between the eyes of the bastard who’d killed her sister. Of course, she didn’t know who that person was because Simone’s killer had never been found. So in her imagination there was always a blank face staring back at her.
The phone rang, interrupting her dark thoughts, and she picked up the receiver almost gratefully. That was until she heard her mother’s voice on the other end.
“What is wrong with you?”
“That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?” Miranda answered with just enough sarcasm to really piss her mom off. “What’s the problem?”
“Don’t play innocent with me. I know it was you who called that lady. Now I’ve got these strangers in my business.”
Miranda withheld the sigh. The organizer must have paid her mother a visit. “Mom, you need help. I thought Paula could help you get things started.” She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to slam the receiver down in her mother’s ears. “No reason to get all pissy about it.”
“Watch your mouth. And I don’t appreciate you sending nosy people into my house to tell me how I should live. And your father isn’t happy about it, either,” her mother added for emphasis. “You’re scaring away business.”
Miranda felt a flare of familiar anger bubble up in her chest. “What business? Are you talking about the nonexistent business he makes from his carvings? Or his thriving pot business?”
“You know damn well your father only uses marijuana for medicinal purposes. Stop making him sound like a criminal.”
“Mom, you know he sells his pot for money. That is illegal. And I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly while I’m at work. In case you’ve forgotten I work for a federal agency.”
“I never asked for your help. I don’t need an organizer. And I wish you’d stop foisting your ideas onto me.”
“Fine, Mom. I was just trying to help.”
Her mother, slightly mollified by the muttered apology, moved on to a different subject that was equally controversial in their family. “I don’t like Talen spending so much time with that woman.”
