Cowboy Defender Page 11

  “Dishes all done,” he said as he walked into the living room and sank down onto the chair opposite her. He smiled. “The bruise on your forehead is turning an interesting shade of pale yellow.”

  “I saw that this morning. I’m hoping in another week or so it will be gone completely. At least I’m starting to feel better.”

  “I’m glad. It hurt me to see you in so much pain.”

  Was he just that practiced at saying nice things? Certainly his soft expression as he gazed at her made her want to believe there were genuine feelings behind what he said.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Another cup of coffee or a glass of juice?”

  “No, I’m fine. All I want is a little conversation. I feel like for the last couple of days I’ve done nothing but sleep my life away.”

  “You needed the rest. Now, conversation I can do,” he replied. “What would you like to talk about?”

  Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. Clay jumped out of the chair, his hand on the butt of his gun, opened the door and visibly relaxed as Dillon walked in.

  “Good morning,” Dillon said. “I figured it was about time for me to update you on what I’ve been doing.”

  “Please, sit,” Miranda said. She sat up so that Clay could sit on the sofa next to her.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Clay asked.

  Dillon hesitated a moment and then nodded his head. “A cup of coffee would be great. I only got down one cup this morning before I left the house.” He sat in the chair Clay had vacated. “How are you feeling?” he asked as Clay disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Better every day, but I still have no memory of the accident,” Miranda replied.

  “Don’t stress about it. Even if you remembered it, your memory probably wouldn’t help in the investigation. Thanks,” he said to Clay as he returned to the room and handed Dillon a cup of brew.

  “So, what’s new in the investigation?” Clay asked as he sat next to Miranda.

  Dillon released a deep sigh. “I’ve interviewed most of the staff at the school to see if anyone there knows anything about somebody who might have an issue with you.”

  “And?” Clay leaned forward.

  “And nothing.” Dillon took a sip of his coffee and continued. “Everyone I spoke to at the school praised Miranda for being a great coworker and teacher. Nobody had any idea why somebody would be after you.”

  “I still don’t have a clue who might be behind the attacks,” Miranda said. She felt as if she was in a horrible nightmare and she couldn’t wake up. She didn’t even recognize her life right now. “I’ve thought and thought about it, but nobody comes to mind.”

  “I have to admit the investigation is at a standstill at the moment,” Dillon replied with a deep frown. “Part of the problem is the car was obviously tampered with in the school parking lot. That means it could be any student or teacher who attends the high school or somebody just walking onto the lot off the street. There’s no kind of security there.”

  “So the pool of suspects is huge,” Clay said.

  “Exactly.” Dillon took another drink of coffee. “It’s the same with the carnival,” he continued. “Half the town was there when you were attacked. I’m hoping somebody will eventually show their hand, but until that happens, I don’t know where to take this investigation.”

  “What about the car? Could you pull any prints off the brake line or the airbag?” Clay asked.

  “None. Whoever tampered with it apparently wore gloves,” Dillon replied.

  Miranda frowned and looked thoughtfully at Clay. “Maybe we’ve all been looking at this from the wrong angle.”

  “What do you mean?” Dillon asked.

  Miranda looked at Clay once again and then back at Dillon. “Maybe it isn’t about somebody from my life. Maybe it’s about somebody from Clay’s.”

  “Why would anyone in my life want to hurt you?” Clay asked in obvious bewilderment.

  “Maybe it’s one of the women you dated who doesn’t realize you and I are just friends and she now sees me as a rival,” she said. There could be all kinds of women who might not like the fact that she was occupying all of Clay’s time.

  “I can’t imagine anyone I’ve ever dated going after Miranda,” Clay said. “None of them would feel that way about me.”

  “I figured if there was anyone who might have an issue with you, you would have told me already.” Dillon set his cup on the coffee table and withdrew a small pad and pen from his pocket. “Maybe I should take down the names of the women you’ve dated in the last six months or so.”

  Clay looked at her and then gazed at Dillon. Miranda was surprised to see the dusty color of a blush filling his cheeks. “Tanya Baker, Christi Landon, Mary Jo Atkins, Kelli Carson and Bonnie Abrahams, but they’ve all moved on, like I have.”

  The information fell from his mouth in a rush, as if this was the last thing he wanted to speak about. As he talked to Dillon about each of the women he had dated, it only reminded Miranda of why she didn’t want to get involved with him in any romantic way.

  “I only dated each of them a couple of times,” Clay continued to explain. “And when I stopped seeing them, each one of them were cool with the decision to go our own way. It was all pretty casual. I just can’t imagine any one of them being behind the attacks on Miranda. Things weren’t that passionate or deep with those women.”

  “Still, it wouldn’t hurt for me to talk to each of them,” Dillon replied. He stood. “I’ll get back to you if anything breaks, and thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem.” Clay stood, as well. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He probably wanted to tell Dillon more information about his relationships with those women, Miranda thought. Not that she cared. Not that she cared one little bit.

  Clay returned and sank down in the chair facing her. “I dated them, but I didn’t sleep with any of them.”

  “It’s really none of my business,” she replied.

  “But it’s important to me that you know I didn’t jump into bed with any of them. I don’t do that.”

  “Duly noted,” she replied.

  They fell into an awkward silence. “Henry has his practice ball game tonight. I need to figure out how to handle it,” he finally said.

  “What do you mean?” She looked at him curiously. “What’s to handle?”

  “I need to be in two places at one time. I have to take Henry to the ball field and I need to be here with you.”

  “There’s nothing to handle. I planned on going to the ball game tonight. I want to go.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “My ankle is a lot better and my brain won’t overwork itself watching a ball game. I want to be there and he’ll want me to be there.” There was no way she was going to miss her son’s very first baseball game. Surely it wouldn’t be dangerous for her to go as long as Clay was by her side.

  “Okay, then we’ll all go.”

  Before either of them could say anything else the doorbell rang once again. This time it was Mary and Halena, who wore a feathered purple hat and carried a casserole dish. “We brought food,” she said and handed the dish to Clay. “It’s a chicken and corn casserole with some of my special seasoning. When you eat it, you will be so happy you’ll start wearing hats.” Both Miranda and Clay laughed as Mary rolled her eyes.

  “We just wanted to see how you were doing,” Mary said. “We’ve been so worried about you since we heard about the accident.”

  “I’m doing much better than I was a couple of days ago,” Miranda replied.

  “That’s a nasty bruise on your forehead. A hat would hide it,” Halena said as she sat in the chair opposite Miranda. “Maybe when I go home I’ll make you one.”

  Miranda gestured for Mary to sit next to her on t
he sofa and Halena sat in the chair. Clay disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them all to visit.

  They stayed for almost an hour and after they left Mandy Booth arrived bearing four big cupcakes from her shop.

  It was a day for people stopping by to check on her, and before she knew it, the kids were home from school. They ate Halena’s chicken casserole for dinner. The woman might be a unique character, but she definitely knew how to cook. The casserole was delicious and by the time Clay cleaned up the kitchen it was time for Henry’s baseball game.

  “I’m going to remember everything you taught me, Mr. Clay,” Henry said once they were in the car and headed to the ball field.

  “That’s good, but now it’s important that you listen to your coach,” Clay replied.

  “Is Dad coming?” Jenny asked.

  “I don’t know. I told him about it,” Miranda said. She doubted very seriously that Hank would show up, but it would be nice if he did.

  Despite the fact that she knew about all the women Clay had dated in the last six months and despite the fact she told herself she had no romantic interest in him, she couldn’t help the butterflies that took flight in her stomach when she looked at him.

  He looked so darned handsome in his jeans and a light blue T-shirt that displayed firm biceps and his muscled chest. His slightly shaggy hair made her fingers want to dance in the blond strands. His scent filled the interior of the truck and pulled forth a yearning inside her.

  And suddenly she was thinking about their kiss. She was immersed in memories of how his lips had warmed her from head to toe and how his strong body had felt against hers. It had been a brief kiss and she hated that it had left her wanting more.

  Maybe her concussion had really addled her brains. Surely that was the only reason that during the past three days she’d found herself longing to be in his arms, longing for his lips to once again be on hers.

  It had to be gratitude that she was feeling. He had kept things running smoothly at the house with the children and that alone made her more than grateful for his presence. He had stood by and helped the kids with their homework and hadn’t blinked an eye when they got out their messy finger paints to make him a picture.

  There had been a few times in the mornings before the kids had come down for breakfast that she’d heard him muttering curses right before the garbage disposal ran. She suspected he’d had a few issues with cooking breakfast. But he didn’t mention it and neither did she. Secretly she found the whole thing charmingly amusing.

  Thankfully they arrived at the ball field and her only thoughts were for her son, who was clad in a red T-shirt with the team’s name emblazoned across the front.

  There was no kiss from her son as he left their sides and raced toward his team members on the other side of the ball field. Miranda’s heart squeezed.

  Her little boy was growing up so fast. Today a baseball game...tomorrow driving a car and then getting married. She inwardly laughed at her maudlin silliness but sobered as she thought of the very real possibility that somebody would kill her and she wouldn’t be here to see her children grow.

  She couldn’t imagine it...she didn’t want to imagine her children being raised by Hank. She didn’t want to imagine her not being here to teach them to drive, to see them off to their first proms, to kiss them good-night each and every night.

  How could somebody want to take that all away from her? Who would be heartless enough to leave her children motherless? Was it somebody she saw in school every day? Was it a fellow teacher? Maybe somebody she ate lunch with every day? Or shared hall monitor duties with?

  As they settled on the wooden bleachers, she couldn’t help but feel the tension that radiated off Clay. His eyes seemed to shoot in all directions and a new energy wafted from him.

  She realized he was on duty as her defender, eyeing everyone around them with suspicion. She couldn’t help the gratefulness that filled her once again. For the first time since the acid attack, she acknowledged to herself that she was scared.

  She was scared because she knew another attack was coming. She just didn’t know when or from where it would come.

  Chapter 8

  They were all still cheering when they returned to the house. Henry’s team had won the game 5–3 and Henry had been responsible for two base hits and a spectacular catch that had ended the game in success.

  They celebrated by eating the cupcakes Mandy had brought and then, before Clay knew it, it was bath and bedtime for the kids.

  Sitting next to Miranda and Jenny on the bleachers and cheering for Henry, feeling like part of a unit instead of a single man, had felt so good. It was what he craved at this time in his life. He’d always wanted a real family to fill the spaces of loneliness and heartache that his mother’s absence had left behind.

  They said familiarity bred contempt, but he’d been in close quarters with Miranda for days now and there wasn’t even a hint of contempt in his heart. The exact opposite was true.

  She charmed him with her smiles. Her laughter made his heart feel lighter. Her love for her children awed him. And he had a wealth of desire for her.

  He’d learned she wasn’t a morning person, that she liked her coffee with cream and no sugar. He also had discovered that when she got overtired she got a little crabby, but he simply considered that part of her charm. Yes, Miranda was definitely getting under his skin like no other woman had before.

  Unfortunately, she seemed stuck in the friendship zone where he was concerned and had given him absolutely no indication that she wanted anything more from him.

  He now went into the living room where she was seated on the sofa. On all the other evenings he’d been here she’d gone to sleep almost immediately after the kids were tucked in, but tonight she didn’t appear to be in a big hurry.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “Actually, I think cheering for Henry gave me a second wind.” She patted the sofa next to her. “Why don’t you sit and entertain me for a little while.”

  “Entertain you? Are you expecting me to juggle oranges or maybe dance on the coffee table?”

  She smiled at him, the first real, warm smile he’d seen from her in days. Instantly an explosion of heat swept through him. “I was actually thinking maybe you could tell me some more funny stories about you and your friends at the ranch, but if you want to dance on the coffee table, I will be a rapt audience of one,” she said.

  He sank down next to her on the sofa. “Do you like to dance?”

  “I used to love it, but I haven’t danced in years,” she replied.

  “Maybe when you’re back on your feet we can go dancing at the Watering Hole.” The vision of holding her close and moving to a ballad warmed him once again.

  “Maybe,” she replied. “Now, entertain me with some stories.”

  For the next half an hour he told her more about the antics of the young runaway men who had found their home at Cass’s ranch. A couple of his stories included Adam Benson, the man who had become ranch foreman and had been discovered to be a serial killer.

  “You must have been shocked when you found out about Adam,” she said.

  He nodded. “Almost as shocked as I was when I found out I wasn’t so ugly that I’d scare young children who happened to look at me.”

  “Why on earth would you ever think that?” She gazed at him with open curiosity and a hint of astonishment.

  Clay fought against a swell of emotion that suddenly rose up inside him. He’d never talked about this before. He’d never shared it with any of the other men at the ranch or anyone he’d ever dated. It was at the very core of who he was...a piece of himself he’d never given away.

  However, he suddenly wanted to share it with her now. For the first time in his life he felt safe baring his deepest secrets with another person. He realized it might give her a better understanding about who he was and w
here he’d been.

  “From the time I can remember, my dad told me I was ugly. When anyone would look at me, he’d whisper in my ear that they were staring at me because I was so ugly. He told me when my mother left that she left me because she couldn’t love me because I was so damned ugly and those words hurt more than any physical beating he ever gave me.”

  Memories cascaded through his head, bad memories that he knew would always be with him. His childhood had left scars, not only on his heart, but also on his very soul.

  “Oh Clay, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. She reached out and touched his arm.

  “Thanks. You know, people don’t realize the power of their words. Trust me, words can hurt far more than fists. I grew up believing I was the ugliest kid on the planet, that even my own parents couldn’t love me.”

  “No wonder you wanted to run away.” She withdrew her hand from him, but her eyes continued to be filled with compassion.

  “I was about nine when my dad took me to my first carnival. At that time they had a tent of human abnormalities. You know the kind...there was a little person and a woman eight feet tall. There were people with horrible birth defects, and I figured if I did run away, then I would find a carnival and could be the ugliest kid on earth.” The emotion he’d tried so hard to contain made his voice crack. He quickly cleared his throat.

  “I... I don’t even know what to say,” she said softly. “Saying I’m sorry for you just seems too inadequate. Was it that way when your mother was there?”

  “Yeah, he’d say hateful things, but then at night she would come to tuck me in and would tell me I was her handsome little man and I shouldn’t take to heart the things he said to me. But then she left me. She was my only source of softness, of love, and she just walked away.”

  He stared at her as a hollow wind blew through him. He hadn’t been able to understand why his mother had left him when he’d been eight, and he didn’t understand it now that he was thirty-three years old. It was a question that would haunt him for the rest of his life.