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“It will if we make it work.”
He dropped his arm and regarded her intently. “I want you, Miranda. There’s no getting around that fact.” He swiveled his head straight to stare at the ceiling. His mouth curved in a fatalistic smile. “I’m not going to delude myself into thinking anything different.”
“You make it sound like a death sentence,” she groused, taking another swig of her water. “And maybe I don’t want you, so your angst is unwarranted.” His sigh told her he didn’t believe her for a second and he was right; she wanted him like a little kid wanted cake. What a mess. “Let me save you the trouble. I’m not the right girl for you.”
“I already know that, but for the sake of argument, what are your reasons?”
She grabbed her discarded clothing and began dressing. “Because I’m an emotional mess. My ability to screw up my own life is directly proportional to how quickly I could screw up yours if we were to try and make something real out of this.”
“What makes you think you cornered the market on screwed up?” he asked with a sad but wry grin. “I know it won’t work out between us. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop wanting you. That’s where I’m at right now. I’m trying to find a way to deal with what I know to be true and what I know to be the worst decision I could possibly make for my career and my life.”
She nodded. “Me, too.” Well, not so much the career part but definitely her life. “Maybe we could see each other on the side?”
“Meet in clandestine hotels out of town and hope and pray no one recognizes us?” His dark chuckle was answer enough to his own hypothetical. “That’s not my style.”
“Me neither.”
“This is rich. The solution is staring us right in the face but neither wants to admit it.” He met her stare and waited but she wanted him to say it first. He exhaled loudly. “We simply can’t see each other. This has to be it. We’ll have to chalk this up to an extreme situation and forget it ever happened as well as vow it will never happen again. I’m crazy attracted to you, Miranda, but I’m not going to jeopardize both our careers over something that neither of us is ready to entertain.”
She nodded in agreement but felt hollow inside. Everything he said made perfect sense. So why did it feel wrong? It was official: she had a backward way of thinking. When she ought to feel solid about making the right decision, she felt cheated; when she ought to feel guilty, she felt a sense of freedom. She’d make some psychiatrist rich trying to unravel the yarns of thread in her head. “Okay.” She supposed he was right. No sense in making bigger messes by trying to make something work that neither of them understood. She watched as he dressed, silently mourning the loss of all that smooth, muscular skin on display.
After dressing, they put together a makeshift breakfast on the shelves and rekindled the fire in the grate. They ate in silence, both processing their own thoughts until Miranda broke the quiet with a question she couldn’t quite stop wondering about.
“You were crying in your sleep. Before you deny it, I have to say I’ve figured out long before this moment that you’re probably running from something. Why else would you uproot yourself and bring nothing from your previous life with you aside from a few clothes and shoes?”
Jeremiah stared, something flickering in his gaze that alternately frightened and drove her to know more, but he slammed the door on the conversation before she could press. “There are some things I’m not going to talk about. I left it behind in Wyoming and that’s where it will stay. Please leave it there.”
Miranda nodded. “Okay,” she murmured, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t let it go. Not now. She had to know.
* * *
THE CABIN WALLS were closing in on Jeremiah. He didn’t blame Miranda for her curiosity but he couldn’t bring himself to share that deep, dark pain lurking inside him. He could make love to her every day and night, sharing the utmost intimacy, but he couldn’t share his grief over losing his son. He knew she wouldn’t judge him—hell, no one’s judgment weighed heavier than his own—he just couldn’t allow himself to break down, because if he did, he didn’t know if he’d be able to put himself back together again.
“We need a game plan. If we don’t show up at the office today people are going to worry.”
“The storm isn’t letting up, but maybe if we could get to the vehicle, we could use the radio to call the station to come and get us.”
“People are going to talk,” she said, shaking her head as if there were no help for the questions they were going to face. She swore under her breath. “Damn freak storm.”
