Love with the Proper Stranger (14 page)

She was talking about the kind of passion that flared to life between them even when they did no more than sit and quietly talk. It was a one-of-a-kind thing, and Miller hated the fact that he couldn’t take it further—push it to see where it would lead.

Mariah was quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

Miller tried not to watch her. Tried, and failed.

“Mariah!” One of the little girls—one of Thomas and Renee’s young daughters—came skidding into the room. “Jane Ann climbed way,
way
up into the big ol’ tree in the backyard and now she can’t get down!” the girl wailed. “Papa says he’s too big—the branches up that high won’t hold him. And Mama’s got no head for heights. And Janey’s crying cause she can’t hold on much longer!”

Mariah scrambled to her feet and ran.

Miller was right behind her.

A crowd had gathered beneath the shade of the monstrously large tree that dominated the quarter-acre plot. It was a perfect climbing tree, with broad, thick branches growing well within even a child’s reach of the ground. But the branches became narrower as they went up the trunk. And up where Janey was sitting and howling like a police siren, way up near the top of the tree, the branches were positively delicate-looking.

Mariah moved quickly, navigating her way up
through the branches effortlessly and efficiently. But she was no lightweight herself. Despite the fact that she’d told him she was good with heights, good at climbing, this was going to be tricky.

“Mariah!” Miller called. “We can call the fire department for help.”

She only glanced down at him very briefly. “I think Jane Ann wants to come down right now, John,” she told him. “I don’t think she wants to wait for the fire truck to arrive.”

He didn’t know what to do—whether to climb up after her, or wait there on the ground, hoping that if she or the child slipped, he could somehow cushion their fall. He turned to the girl’s father.

“Thomas, didn’t I see some kind of tarp out front? Thick plastic—it was blue, I think—the kind of thing you’d use to cover a roof that’s not quite watertight, in the event of rain?”

Thomas didn’t understand.

“If we stretched it tight, it could break the girl’s fall,” he explained. “We could try to catch her if she slips.”

Thomas gave a curt order and two teenaged boys ran quickly to get the tarp.

Miller looked up into the tree. Mariah was moving more slowly now, more carefully. He could hear the soothing rise and fall of her voice as she spoke to the little girl, but he couldn’t make out the words. But the girl was finally quiet, so whatever Mariah was saying was working to calm her.

The boys came back with the tarp, and everyone but Miller took an end, pulling it taut, ready for disaster. Miller, instead, started up into the tree.

Mariah had climbed as far as she dared and she held
out one hand to the little girl. Her other arm was securely wrapped around the rough trunk of the tree. Miller knew she was willing the child to move closer, just a little bit closer, so that she could grab hold of her.

Slowly, inch by inch, Jane Ann began to move.

There was an audible sigh of relief from the ground as Mariah pulled the child close to her and the girl locked her arms around Mariah’s neck.

But the worst was not yet over. Mariah still had to get back down—this time with the added weight of an eight-year-old girl threatening her balance.

Mariah stepped down, one branch at a time, testing its strength before she put her full weight upon it.

And then it happened.

Miller saw the branch give before he heard the rifle-sharp snap. In nightmarish slow motion, he saw Mariah grab for the branch above her, holding them both with only one hand, one arm. He could see her muscles straining, see her feet searching for a foothold.

And then he saw her fingers slip.

“Mariah!” The cry ripped from his throat as she began to fall.

But somehow, miraculously, she didn’t fall far. She jerked to a stop, still holding tightly to the little girl in her arms.

Her tool belt. Somehow the back of her belt had gotten hooked upon the stub of a branch—a branch sturdy enough to hold both of them. They hung from the tree, facing out, dangling like some kind of Christmas ornament.

Miller raced up the tree, the bark rough against his hands and sharp against his knees, even through his jeans.

As he drew closer, he could see that Mariah’s elbow was bleeding. Her knees, too, looked scraped and the worse for wear. The belt was holding her not around the waist, but rather around the ribs. Still, she managed to smile at Miller. “That was fun,” she whispered.

“Are you all right?” He saw them then—bruises on the insides of her upper arms. The tree hadn’t done that to her—
he
had. That night that he’d fallen asleep on her couch. He’d grabbed her, thinking she was Domino. God, he could have killed her. The thought made him feel faint and he brought himself back to here and now. He’d have enough time to feel bad about Mariah’s bruises
after
he got her down from this tree.

“I think I may have rearranged a rib,” she told him. “I had the breath knocked out of me, too. Take Janey. Please? Jane Ann, this is John. He’s going to take you down to your mommy and dad, okay?”

The little girl looked shell-shocked. Mariah gave her a kiss on the cheek and Miller lifted her out of Mariah’s arms without a fuss. “Let me get you down from there,” he said to Mariah.

“Take Janey down first,” she told him, still in that odd, whispery voice. “I think you’re going to need two hands for me.”

Miller nodded, moving as quickly down the tree with the child as he dared. He looked back at Mariah, but she’d closed her eyes. Rearranged a rib. He knew she’d put it that way so as not to frighten Jane Ann. Her tool belt had slammed into her ribs with the full weight of her body against it. And it wouldn’t take much for a broken rib to puncture a lung.

Miller felt a flash of fear as he glanced back up at
Mariah. Had she simply closed her eyes or had she lost consciousness?

He practically threw Jane Ann into her father’s waiting hands, then swiftly climbed back up to where Mariah was still hanging by her belt.

She opened her eyes as he approached, and he nearly fell out of the tree from relief.

“Ouch,” she said. “Can I say ouch now?”

Miller nodded, looking hard into her eyes for any sign of shock. “Can you breathe? Are you having trouble breathing?”

She shook her head. “I’m still a little… squashed.”

“Can we unfasten your belt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I already thought of that, but the buckle seems to be in the back. And it’s not easy to undo even in the best of circumstances.”

They were going to have to do this the hard way.

Miller braced each foot on a separate branch, pressing his body up close to Mariah’s. “Hold on to me,” he ordered her. “I’m going to lift you up and get your belt free.”

She hesitated.

“I’m a little sweaty,” he apologized. “I’m sorry. There’s not a lot I can do about that. Lock your legs around my waist.”

“Maybe I should wait for the fire department.”

“Put your legs around my waist,” he said again. “Come on, Mariah. Just do it.”

She did it.

Miller refused to think about anything but getting her down from there. Yes, she was soft, she was warm, and yes, she smelled delicious. Yes, she was everything
he remembered from that night on her couch, but she was also in danger of falling and breaking her neck.

“Hold me tighter,” he commanded as he tried to shift her up, one hand reaching behind her, searching for the stub of the branch that had hooked her tool belt and saved her and Janey’s lives.

He found it. He found the wetness of blood, too—Mariah’s blood—where the sharp edge of the branch had scratched and scraped and stabbed into her back. Her ragged intake of breath told him how much it hurt.

“Try to lift yourself up,” he told her. “Help me get you free.”

Her legs tightened around him as he pushed her up, every muscle straining. His head was pressed against the soft pillow of her breasts, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Finally,
finally
, with a strength he didn’t even know he possessed, he got the tool belt free. His muscles tensed as he held Mariah’s full weight. She clung to him now, more tightly than he’d ever dreamed she’d hold him.

“I’m not feeling very secure here,” she told him.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “I won’t let go.”

And he wouldn’t. At least not until they reached the solidness of the ground.

He helped her find her footing, helped her down to the larger, sturdier branches, but still she held on to his hand.

Her face was still mere inches from his, and her eyes were swimming with unshed tears.

“I think I have to cry,” she told him.

“Can you wait just a few minutes more?” he asked. “Until we get you down onto the ground?”

She forced a wavery smile. “Yeah.”

One branch at a time, they moved slowly down the tree. When they got to the bottom, Miller knew he was going to have to let her go.

Sure enough, Renee and Thomas were there, reaching out to help her, along with the entire rest of the site crew.

But she still didn’t cry. She smiled at them. She made light of her scrapes and scratches. She pooh-poohed the angry-looking cut on her back. And when Jane Ann and the other little girl, Emma, leaped at her, nearly knocking her over, she hugged them back, hiding the fact that she was wincing.

Miller approached Laronda, the site coordinator. “I want to take Mariah over to the hospital,” he told her quietly. “I think she might’ve broken a rib and she’ll probably need stitches for that cut on her back. Can someone give us a lift, or do you want to give me the keys to the van?”

“I was going to have Bobby take her over, but if you’re thinking about going, too…”

“I
am
going. Definitely.”

Laronda nodded. “Show me your driver’s license, Mr. Mills, and I’ll let you take the van.”

Miller took out his wallet and within moments had the keys to the van in his pocket. He briefly went inside to get his T-shirt. Pulling it over his head, he intercepted Mariah. He took her arm and led her toward the van.

She protested. “I want to wash up.”

“You can wash up at the hospital.”

Mariah nodded. “All right.”

The fact that she didn’t protest further was not a good sign. She
was
hurt worse than she was letting on.

Miller helped her up onto the hot vinyl of the bench seat in the front of the van, then went around and climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine and pulled onto the street, moving carefully over the potholes so as not to jar Mariah.

He glanced at her as he pulled up to the stop sign at the end of the street. She was sitting very still, with her eyes closed, arms wrapped around herself.

“You can cry now,” Miller said softly. “No one’s here but me.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him and he put the van in park. It was crazy and he knew he shouldn’t do it, but he held out his arms and she reached for him as she burst into tears.

“I thought that little girl was going to fall,” Mariah sobbed as she clung to him. “I was sure that I’d killed her—and myself, too.”

“Shhh,” Miller whispered into her hair, holding her as close and as tightly as he dared. “It’s all right. It’s all right now.”

What was he doing? This was sheer insanity. Holding her this way, giving her this kind of comfort… His body responded instantly to the sensation of her in his arms, his wanting all but overpowering his sense of right and wrong.

He couldn’t kiss her. He
would not
kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, half laughing, half crying as she lifted her head to look up at him. “I’m getting your shirt all wet.”

He wanted to kiss her. Her mouth was right there,
inches away from him. Her lips would taste so soft and sweet….

Miller clenched his teeth instead. “Don’t worry about my shirt.”

A new flood of tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid. But I didn’t drop her. Even when all the air was knocked out of me, even when it felt like that branch went into my back like a knife, I didn’t let go.”

Miller smoothed her hair back from her face, knowing that he shouldn’t touch her more than was necessary. Except, this felt very necessary. “You did great,” he told her. “You were amazing.”

“I was stupid not to wait for the fire department.”

“You were brave—and lucky.”

She nodded. “I
was
lucky, wasn’t I? Oh, God, when I think about what might’ve happened…”

She held him tighter, and he felt his arms closing around her, too.

Think about what might’ve happened…
He couldn’t think about anything else—except maybe how much he wanted to kiss this woman.

It was not the right thing to do. He knew that, but he did it anyway.

She met his lips eagerly as if she, too, was as starved for his kisses as he was for hers.

God, it was heaven.

And it was hell, because he knew it had to end.

He forced himself to lift his head. He made himself pull back as he gazed into Mariah’s whiskey-colored eyes.

“I need to get you to the hospital.” His voice didn’t come out more than a whisper.

She nodded, a flare of embarrassment in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m… doing it again, aren’t I?”

“Doing what?”

She pulled away, moving back to her side of the bench seat. “Kissing you,” she told him with her usual blunt honesty. “I seem to be unable to keep myself from kissing you.” She wiped her face with her hands, pushing away her tears. “Come on. The hospital’s not far from here. I drove José over a few weeks ago when he stepped on a nail.”

Miller put the van into gear, uncertain of how to respond. He’d made another mistake by kissing her, yet she seemed to think it was
her
mistake.

He took a left out onto the main road, wishing not only that he’d been strong enough to keep from kissing her again, but that he was weak enough to be kissing her still.

* * *