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Miranda’s mouth curved in a sweet smile that she couldn’t hold back. And for a long moment Jeremiah fought to keep from closing the distance and sealing his mouth to hers. The one saving grace was that she was still driving and he didn’t want to distract her but, damn, the urge to touch her was overwhelming. Electricity sparked between them and it seemed the cab of the vehicle had become unbearably hot. He broke the spell when he pulled away and cracked the window. “Just be careful out there.”
Miranda didn’t protest this time and simply nodded.
“We make a good team,” Jeremiah said. “I wish things were different.”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Me, too.”
At least they were on the same page of a banned book.
* * *
THAT NIGHT MIRANDA couldn’t sleep. A combination of the information Rhett had shared and the knowledge that Jeremiah was going to admit to Stuart his involvement with an employee had her head in a chaotic tangle. Why did Jeremiah have to be so damn noble? He didn’t need to admit to anything. There was no real proof of anything inappropriate. Even as she justified his need to lie to his supervisor, she was a tiny bit proud of his stalwart insistence on telling the truth, no matter the cost.
Johnny had been such a pathological liar that she’d never trusted a word that had come out of his mouth. Jeremiah would never be like that. Not that they were anywhere near similar to one another, but Johnny was the last man she’d shared time with and her relationship with Johnny was the only thing she had to compare to.
How sad was that? Miranda grimaced and flung her arm over her eyes as she lay in the darkness. She missed Jeremiah beside her. When exactly did she become this person who missed cuddling? She shuddered at her own ridiculousness, but even as she derided herself, she longed for Jeremiah’s comforting warmth beside her.
She’d slept so soundly next to him, curled into his body like a matching puzzle piece. Miranda groaned and kicked her feet a little in frustration. Stop. Just stop. Focus on what’s real.
There was no future with Jeremiah. No matter that they were good together, both in bed and in the office. The odds were stacked against them so high that they towered into the sky and touched the clouds.
Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep. Tomorrow was a big day—for her and Jeremiah.
She could only hope he was getting more sleep than she was at the moment; he was going to need his wits about him when he talked with Stuart.
Please let everything work out for once, she said in a silent prayer. Please. Just this once.
She’d never put much store in prayer. After Simone had died, praying to a higher power had seemed a useless waste of time.
But here she was, fervently praying for the first time in eight years that a higher power of some sort would take pity on her and turn everything to her advantage. If her mother knew, she’d scold her for being selfish. She’d say, God had bigger priorities than the mundane details of Miranda Sinclair’s life. Maybe that was so, but Miranda didn’t know what else to do and she had to do something.
When her cell phone trilled to life on her bedside table, she snatched it up, only too eager to do anything aside from try to force sleep. She’d half hoped it was Jeremiah, but when she heard her brother Trace’s voice on the line, she was both relieved and irritated.
“Why can’t you call at a normal hour?” she groused.
“Were you sleeping?”
“No.”
“Then what does it matter what time I call?” It was hard to argue with Trace’s logic and he knew it. “You sounded pretty upset with the last message you left. Sorry I was out of range and didn’t get your message until I came down from the mountain. What’s going on?”
Miranda sighed. “Trace...I visited Mom the other day in the hopes of talking to her and mending some fences but when I went into the house I couldn’t believe how much worse it’d gotten in a matter of weeks. I could barely get the front door open there was so much stuff in there but that’s not the half of it. The kitchen has something rotten and dying in there—I’m sure of it—and she swears she can’t smell anything. I’ve never experienced anything so disgusting but she won’t listen to me. She’s going to die in there.”
“What does Dad say?” Trace asked.
“Nothing. He’s completely in his own world.”
“Selfish asshole,” Trace muttered, and Miranda winced. At one time they’d all been so close in their own way; their dad had been their hero. Things had changed and not for the better.
“I need you, Trace. I really do. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was imperative. I need you to see what I see.”
