Guarding Miranda (19 page)

He hadn’t been able to resist the invitation of her soft pink lips any more than she had been able to resist yielding to his.

“That’s a poor excuse!” She vented. “Well, maybe not for you, you – you manhandling chauvinistic pig!”

“Ouch, love.  You’ve a mouth on you that really smarts.”

“Go to Hell!” She spat but looked incredibly weary, despite the fire in her lively green eyes.

“Why don’t you come out of the water, Miranda.” He said, extending a hand toward her. “You’re clearly tired – c’mon, out of the water now.”

“Like Hell I will!”

“Suit yourself.” He sat down on the dock, in his wet boxer shorts, slapping at the mosquitoes that came to feed on his moist flesh. “I’ll just wait here until you come to your senses. Considering your current tantrum, it might take a while.”

“Ass!” She hissed, splashing him with water. “Who died and made you King of Jerks?”

He laughed at her. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand up.”

“Oh, right! I already know how that works out, thank you but no!”

“C’mon. It’ll be faster if I just haul you up.”

“I’d rather drown!” She snapped and began swimming for the shore nearby, a shoreline that was fronted by reeds. 

She balked at the thought of what kind of creatures may be in the reeds, waiting for her to step on them but thinking of the far bigger and more dense creature sitting on the dock, she hurried through the weeds and out of the water, up unto the bank and headed for the house.

He was right behind her, even as she was about to enter the cabin.

“Miranda?”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, so save it.”

“Uhm, Miranda?” He reached for her.

“No, Brian.”

“Miranda!”

“What?” She barked, reeling on him, fists clenched.

“I thought you might like to know – there’s something wriggling on your left leg.”

She paled as she looked down and saw the worm like brown creature sliding over the wet surface of her skin. 

She froze with fear.

“Oh …my …God.  What is that?”

“Clearly some kind of leech.  Just a common bloodsucker, likely.” He had a hand on the French door. “Stay here – I’ll be right back.”

He took the salt shaker from the kitchen table and was quickly back at her side. 

She was still staring dumbly at the bloodsucker, frozen with fear.

“What are you doing?” She asked, as he bent down to crouch next to her.

“I’m going to get it off of you – it’s already attached.”

“Attached?” Anxiously she insisted: “Yes, get it off – get it off.”

“This will require me touching you, you know.” He teased her.

“Then hurry up and touch me!”

He would have laughed at her request, had she not sounded so grave about it. 

He covered both sides of the bloodsucker with the white table salt and together they watched it curl away from her skin, contracting into a ball. 

Brian swept it off of her.

“Better?”

She moved her leg out from beneath his touch and glared at him. “Much.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll get a thank you for this, either.”

She gritted her teeth. “
Thanks.
”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“
Yes.”

“Quite the monosyllablist today, hmm?”

“
Quite
.”

“Well, ready to go in for breakfast?”

“You’re one Hell of a smug jerk for an Aussie, you know that?”

He reached out and brushed her kiss-swollen bottom lip with his thumb.

“Such foul language from such a sweet mouth... a shame really.” 

She turned on her heel and stepped through the French doors, only to turn to her right and stomp up the stairs to her bedroom, the door of which she slammed in protest. 

Brian smiled as he had gotten the chance to watch yet another of her retreats.

She had a very nice behind.

“And God, what a mouth!” He whispered to the cabin.

*          *          *

It was decided, much later, that Brian would join her for supper at the Clarions. 

The phone was working by noon, so Miranda looked their number up in the Waterhen Telephone Directory that had been folded neatly beneath the telephone and asked if they would mind another for dinner. 

Mabel said they looked forward to seeing who she was bringing along.

When she asked who the new guest was, Miranda had simply said, “Brian”.

“I suppose you intend to drive,” she told him, now resplendent in her olive pedal pushers and matching tank top.

She was wearing her long dark hair loose, falling in a curtain about her shoulders and Brian knew that as annoyed with him as she was, she looked more beautiful tonight than she had ever been to his eyes before.

He swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in his throat and said: “You know that I do.”

“So who do I tell people you are?” She asked, green eyes flashing with annoyance. “I can’t very well tell them that you’re my bodyguard!”

“Say I’m your boyfriend.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind!” She replied, made aghast by the suggestion.

“Then say I’m your brother.  We’re both dark haired. Good bone structure. I’ll pass.”

“Brother it is, then,” she sighed her defeat.

At her grim expression, he couldn’t resist saying, “How ‘bout a kiss on the cheek for your dear ol’ ever-loving brother?”

“Mr. Logan,” she began, tense with anger. “I think it’s only fair to warn you that I hold my first degree black belt in tae kwon do.  I’ll additionally warn you now: any move you make from here on in to kiss or fondle me will be taken as an assault upon my person to which I will retaliate in kind!”

To her surprise and annoyance, a broad smile became his lips. “I’ll be taking the test for my third degree black belt in tae kwon do this fall.  Care to spar?”

If she was any less a lady, she would have slapped the smirk off of his face.

To think there was a time when she had found him attractive!

“I loathe you.”

“You adore me.”

“That I most certainly do not.” She retorted sharply, fixing him with an angry glare.  Her stomach growled yet again. “When we get back from supper, I’m going to tell my uncle Russ exactly where he can send you!”

“To Hell?” Brian guessed.

“Directly to Hell.”

His husky laughter followed her into the waiting car.

Mabel’s roast venison and cheesy potato filled perogies all but melted in Miranda’s mouth and the young shoots of asparagus she ate were young and tender, tasting something like fresh peas. 

It was over the promised dessert of lemon meringue pie that the Clarions began to voice their curiosities.

“So if he’s your brother,” began Ben, to Miranda, “Why does he have an accent and you don’t?”

Brian looked perplexed and sought to answer the friendly mayor. “I-”

“He’s adopted.” Miranda interrupted him quickly, with an exhale of air.

“Adopted.” Agreed Brian, lifting another forkful of the tangy dessert to his mouth.

“It’s funny,” Ben continued, “But Russ never mentioned having a nephew.  He spoke at length about Miranda and his daughter Lynn but not once did he mention having a nephew...”

“Brian’s the ...uh, dark, dirty little secret of the family.”

“Oh, come now, Sis,” said Brian with a wry grin. “You know you’ve been the black sheep since that little burlesque show you did.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot sky high and Mabel nearly choked on her wine. 

Miranda’s face turned two angry shades of red, as she gasped: “Brian!”

“That’s right – Miss Steaming Apples – that’s what they call her.”

Miranda turned to Ben, desperation in her eyes. “My brother is lying, of course, as often he does.”

Mabel smiled and sipped her wine. “Sibling rivalry between you two is really something, ain’t it?”

“Has been ever since she became a stripper.”

Miranda kicked her bodyguard under the table, as hard as she could, her sandaled foot connecting with his shin. “Brother, dear, you really must quit joking about that.”

“Joking about what?” Brian asked innocently.

Ben laughed, rose from his seat and emptied his wine glass.

“If you two are finished squabbling, I’ll show you the way to Balkan’s Hole.” 

Balkan’s Hole. 

According to Ben, it boasted some of the best fishing in the Waterhen River and was not too far from the Clarion’s farm. He paused near the sliding glass door of the living room.

Ben smiled at them. “Don’t mind your shoes none, you can just follow me out here unto the deck.”

Ben gestured for them to come closer and then pointed down the river.

“You see that wall of bull rushes, looks like an island?” They nodded. “See the red boat sitting there, just to the right of the rushes?  That’s Owen Hargrave’s boat and he’s fishing right over Balkan’s Hole.”

Miranda was glad to see that the fishing hole was nearby. “You’re right, that’s not too far away.”

“Now mind you,” Ben continued, “Coming from your part of the river, you’re going to want to be careful of the big rocks in the main channel of the river, river’s kind of low this year.  Doug Young has marked most of the big rocks with empty Javex jugs, so if you keep an eye out for those jugs, you should be all right.  Go real slow until you get the hang of the river and you’ll be just fine.”

“Tell them about the reef, Ben,” said Mabel, in a knowing tone.

“Oh, yeah. The reef.” He pointed back out toward the red boat on the water. “Mind you don’t go too far to the right of Balkan’s hole, though – there’s a reef full o’ big rocks there.  Your uncle Russ blew the propeller on his motor on one a few years ago – be sure’n you don’t do the same.”

“Is that a house boat, you have there, in the marina?” Asked Brian.

“Yes,” said Ben, “That’s Dolly, my houseboat.”

Mabel cleared her throat. “You mean,
our
houseboat.”

“Yeah,” Ben smiled sheepishly. “
Our
houseboat.  Built it myself, with the wife’s help of course.” He paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Mabel and I were thinking about going for a run up to the power lines, Sunday evening.  There’s some great fishing to be had up there.  You two should join us.”

“I don’t know…” Miranda began. “I’d hate to impose.”

“You’re more than welcome to come,” said Mabel. “I’ll pack us a picnic lunch and some drinks and we can make an evening of it.”

“Come on, Miranda.” Ben urged, with a friendly nudge. “It won’t do for me to send you back to Russ without showing you a good time, Waterhen style. He’ll never let me live it down if you don’t walk out of here with a selfie of a Master Angler.”

“Come on, Sis.” Brian winked at her. “Lighten up.”

Miranda really was looking forward to getting in some fishing. 

“Sunday, you say?” The Clarions nodded. “What can we bring to help out?”

“Your fishing rods and yourselves,” said Ben, looking forward to more of their company. “We’ll take care of supper.”

As soon as Miranda and Brian left, the Clarions were summing up the evening in their own terms. 

Ben looked at his wife with a wide, toothy grin and said, “If those two are brother and sister, I’m the bloody Pope.”

“Which makes me the Queen of England,” said Mabel, with a like smile. “Who do you suppose this Brian character is?  Her boyfriend?”