Guarding Miranda (30 page)

“No...” She beat him to the punch, kissing him pertly before stepping away from his embrace. “An evening of fishing.  We can go fishing tonight.”

“Fishing?” He had been hoping for a few hours of one-on-one in the bedroom upstairs. “I haven’t been fishing since I was a boy.”

“We’ll lower the boat after supper and stay out ‘til it’s dark.” She concluded. “I know how to drive the boat – my uncle used to have one just like it at the time share up in Montana.”

He laughed and it was delightful music to her ears. “You know how to drive a boat?”

“You find that funny?”

Man, did he ever have some misconceptions about the spoiled little rich girl.

“I just didn’t think that you of all people would know how to drive a fishing boat.”

“I can bait my own hook and filet fish too,” she sniffed, as though insulted. “I’m going to be worth my weight in gold when the zombie apocalypse happens.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Aren’t we just full of surprises...”

“You haven’t seen anything yet...” Their eyes locked at the sultry promise of her tone.  Miranda swallowed nervously and forced herself to look away. “You simmer your chicken breast?”

“With a lemon juice broth and the lemon pepper I found in the cupboard.  It’s healthier for you that way.” He stirred the chicken a bit. “Tastes better than frying, too.”

“Smells good.” Her stomach rumbled.

“Tastes even better.”

“You’re quite the chef.”

“I believe your words were:
who died and made you Chef Boyardee
.”

They shared a laugh.

“Can I help?” She mused, watching him work.

“You can set the table.”

“And I’ll do the dishes afterwards,” she offered, with a smile.

“Deal.” He grinned. “I hate doing dishes.”

Selecting two plates from the cupboard, she brushed passed him, to put them on the table.  Cutlery followed from the drawers and they already had their glasses. 

All while she moved about, she felt his eyes upon her. 

She turned and caught him staring at her, a lewd grin on his lips.

“What is it, Brian?”

“What are you wearing under that blanket?”

“Under this sarong?” Her eyes boldly met his. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He swallowed.

“Nada. Zippo.  Nyet.  Nothing.”

For a long moment, his glance hungrily raked her body. 

Once his grey eyes were satisfied with what they had found, he turned them back to preparing the salad.

“You look even better in that than you did in the bikini.  Leaves a lot to the imagination.  Very sexy.”

There was not even the slightest trace of hostility in her voice as she graciously said, “Thank you.”

Brian tossed large chunks of lemon marinated chicken with croutons, rings of Spanish onion, light Caesar dressing and the lettuce greens, creating a salad that promised to be as delicious as it was appealing to the eyes.

“Looks great.” Miranda poured herself a vodka and ginger ale. “Anything for you from the liquor cabinet?”

“No, thank you. I’m not really much for spirits.  That and I’d like to stay sharp.” He indicated the meal. “Let’s dig in.”

The chicken breast is juicy and has just the right amount of zip
, Miranda thought and delighted in the way it excited her palate.

The salad was easily the best she had ever tasted, with just the right amount of crunch, texture and flavor to satisfy her cravings.  What made it even more delicious was the fact that she had seen it prepared by the man who had stolen her heart.

After they ate, she cleared away his plate and was running water for the dishes when he joined her there. 

He was holding up the dishcloth, positioned before the drying rack, ready to dry anything she might wash.

“I thought you hated doing dishes?” She teased, washing their cutlery.

“Maybe I’m trying to score brownie points with you.”

“For what nefarious purpose?” She challenged, with a slow, sexy smile.

The mischief in his eyes excited her.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, love.”

The promise of adult undertakings in his voice caused her to shiver with anticipation.

“Why don’t you give me a hint?”

“All I can say is, it involves the removal of that blanket.”

“It’s called a sarong, love,” she mocked him, with his accent on her tongue.

The dishes done, she went alone to her room and changed into loose fitting pants and a light green Windbreaker.

She came back down the stairs and was confused by the look of dismay on Brian’s face.

“What’s wrong, Brian?”

“I was hoping to assist you with the removal of your sarong, that’s all.”

“There’s always later,” she replied, in as husky a tone as she could manage.

As she neared him, she decided that there could be no harm in a kiss.  The peck on the lips she had given him while he had prepared supper hardly constituted a kiss...

“There’s mischief in your gorgeous green eyes,” he said, as she placed her hands on his shoulder. “What brought this about?”

“Let’s just say I’m showing you my appreciation, for supper.”

She tilted her mouth up to his and moaned as he hungrily took her lips. 

His mouth was fierce and demanding, exploring her with unashamed attention. 

She kissed him with everything she held dear, right up until the doorbell rang. 

It sounded distant to her but intrusive all the same.

“Coming!” She called. “It must be Tommy.”

 It was.

“Good evening, Miranda.” Behind the boy was a battered blue ford truck, with a push mower sticking out the back. “Sorry I’m late. My dad just got back from Winnipegosis.”

“And how’s your grandmother doing?”

“It was a bad fall,” said Tommy, concern marking his freckled young face, “But she didn’t break anything.  The last time she fell, she broke her hip.  This time, she walked away with just a few bad bruises.”

“Well, that’s good.  Would you like to come inside?  Brian made some lemonade...”

“No, I’d better not.  I’m due at Wayne Morgenson’s at seven o’clock and it’s six fifteen now.”

“Let me get my purse...” She left Brian and Tommy talking at the door and came back with a green twenty dollar bill in her hand, the one printed with the queen who wore Mona Lisa’s smile. “Will twenty be enough?”

“I usually only charge ten,” replied Tommy.

Miranda tucked the green bill in his hand.

“It’s a large yard.  I’ll leave the cabin unlocked, in case you need to use the phone or the bathroom.  Brian and I are going fishing.”

“Yeah, the fish are really catching right now,” said Tommy. “And it’s only June nineteenth!”

“Thanks for doing the lawn,” said Miranda, as she began to close the front door.

“No problem.” Tommy abruptly left to cut the lawn.

“Are you sure that’s wise, leaving the place unlocked?” Brian asked, as they walked back up the stairs to the kitchen. “You barely know the boy...”

“The people around here are different than what you and I are used to,” she told him, with an amused grin. “Trustworthy, for one thing.”

“People are people the world over,” said Brian, unconvinced. “I, for one, am hiding my gun in the bottom of my duffel bag.  Wouldn’t want the lad to shoot himself in the foot.”

“Really, Brian – you think he’d go snooping around?”

“He’s a teenage boy.  Teenagers are naturally quite curious.”

“Well after you’re done hiding your gun, come out to the boat house.” She took the fishing bait from the fridge.  Tiny minnows peered up at her with dead eyes through the clear plastic top of the container. “Grab the ginger ale and two glasses on your way out, okay?  I’ve got our licenses, the bait and the bug spray.”

She watched Brian walk up the stairs and left the cabin for the boat house. 

The fishing boat was suspended out of water in the boathouse by a pulley system and manual crank.

She opened the boathouse door, in preparation of leaving.

Sleek and powerful, with a forty horsepower motor, the white fishing boat was the twin of the one her uncle had maintained in Montana. 

She lowered the boat to the water and added the dip net, two fishing rods, the tackle box and the things she had brought with her.  Donning a life jacket, she stepped in the boat and checked the fuel gauge. 

Her uncle had left the boat with a full tank of gas. 

She wouldn’t have to fuel up...

She heard Brian approach at about the same time that Tommy fired up the lawn mower. He put on the life jacket that he had used the day before and carefully got into the boat, the ginger ale in his large hands.

“This is a very nice boat,” he said, appreciatively. “Your uncle has some taste.”

“Yes, he certainly does.” Miranda fired up the motor and was pleased to see that it did not stall, even after a long winter of dry docking.

Slowly, she steered the boat out of the boathouse and through the shallow marina. 

She carefully avoided the rocks she came upon and soon, they were in the main channel of the Waterhen River, the one that Ben had directed her to follow.

“You look good behind the wheel.” Brian called over the drone of the motor.

“What?” She called back.

He got up and joined her at the helm of the boat. “I said, you look good behind the wheel.  Very sexy.”

“Sex,” she laughed. “Is that all you have on your mind?”

“Guilty as charged.” He confessed, placing a hand possessively at the small of her back.

She increased the speed of the boat, since they were in deeper water and steered clear of the floating Javex bottles she saw along the waterway, remembering Ben’s warning that they served as markers for the large rocks in the channel. 

Soon, they were gliding smoothly past the Clarions’ long white farm house and yard, seen from a distance, as they were in the middle of one of the wider parts of the river. 

The wall of reeds marking Balkan’s Hole loomed ahead in the distance.

Miranda could see that a red boat was already there, with a single occupant wearing a bright orange life jacket.

She slowed as they approached the hole, slowed even more as the boat neared.  There was a reef to her right side and deeper water beneath them as she pulled up next to the boat.

“We’re looking for Balkan’s Hole,” she called out to the lone man.

She recognized him from the potluck supper but his name escaped her.

“You’ve found it.” The man replied cheerily. “Drop your anchor up there a few yards and let the current pull you back here.  It’s the perfect spot.”

Miranda did as the old man told her, heading the boat further upstream.

Brian grabbed the anchor and dropped it with a splash when the old man called: “Right there, sonny!”

The anchor caught and they drifted back a few yards, until they were parallel with the man’s smaller boat.

“Catch any fish today, sir?” Brian called, readying his fishing rod.

“I’m almost at my limit.” The man lifted his stringer from the water, revealing a number of dangling fish. “Five pickerel on my stringer so far. Threw two of the smaller ones back, so seven in total, an’ I’ve only been out here two hours.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,” began Miranda, “But we met at the potluck?”

“Alex Chamberlain, m’girl,” said Alex, reeling in his fishing line. “Will you look at that?” He laughed, indicating the large green weed on his fishing line. “I got me a whole salad this time.”