Guarding Miranda (24 page)

“So?”

There was obvious concern in his eyes as he begrudgingly followed her out of the cabin.

“So, aren’t you concerned that you might get tired or even worse, that you might strain something and impair your healing process?”

“No and no,” she stubbornly replied, striding with renewed purpose to the boathouse. “I’ll use my right arm, for the most part, paddling on the right side.” She met his wary frown with a cheery smile. “You can paddle on the left.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“We’ll make it a short trip.” She turned to see him standing on the verandah.  He had not followed her unto the grass. “Come help me get the canoe out of the boathouse.”

“And what if I don’t
want
to go canoeing?”

“Afraid of the water or something?”

He stomped off of the verandah, into the thick carpet of grass.

“Obviously not.  Have you forgotten so soon how I rescued you from drowning yesterday?”

“I wasn’t drowning!” she laughed merrily, opening the boathouse door.

“Could have fooled me, love.” He swatted at mosquitoes as he walked. “You were pretty much sputtering.”

“You really should put bug spray on before we get out there on the water.  It would help a lot.”

“That
poison
you put on?” He wrinkled his bronzed nose at the prospect. “It reeks of chemical.”

“It’s supposed to. Bug repellant, not attractant, duh.” Miranda smirked and picked up her end of the blue canoe.  “You prefer to let them eat you alive?”

Their attack was making his blood pressure soar.

“Maybe I’ll put some on when we get back by the cabin.” Swatting at another bloodthirsty mosquito, he lifted his end of the canoe and began to back out of the boathouse. 

Together, they marched the canoe unto the dock, slid it into the water and secured it, by rope.

“You may as well go get the repellent on now.” said Miranda. “And grab two plastic glasses and the ginger ale on your way out, okay?”

“Ginger ale? What for?”

 “What do you think it’s for? To drink, while we’re out there.” She gestured, arms wide, at the slow flowing river, its surface as smooth as a looking glass as it reflected the opposite shore. “Will you just look at that?  So inviting, so peaceful, so tranquil...” She fixed her bright green-eyed gaze on him. “We’re in paradise, Brian! Paradise!”

“If you’re done gushing, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He left her there, staring into the river.

After a long minute or two, Miranda returned to the boathouse for the paddles, which she unceremoniously threw into the canoe with two lifejackets, the largest of which she handed to Brian to put on when he returned from the cabin.

“You intend to tip us over?” He asked, putting his lifejacket on. 

He had to loosen the straps accordingly to accommodate the expanse of his broad chest.

“Not if I can help it.” She grinned, wondering at the nervousness in his voice. “You look a little grey, Brian.”

“Nonsense.”

“You don’t like watercraft much, do you?”

“No, Miranda –
I don’t.
”

“That’s too bad.” She grinned at him again before glancing back at the river. “Listen, I’m not going to make you go if you are genuinely adverse to it.”

“And miss putting a smile on your face?” He forced a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

“I love being out on the water, even though I’m a Leo, a fire sign.”

“Yeah, your birthday’s August tenth, ain’t it?”

“Good memory.” She fixed him with a curious glance, remembering how he was privy to so much about her while she knew so little about him. “Exactly how much do you know about me?”

“Enough to know that I want to know more, especially after last night.” He gave her a lewd smile. “How ‘bout we skip the watersports and just go upstairs and get wet the fun way?”

She groaned playfully and rolled her gaze sky word.

“You, sir, are incorrigible.” She gestured at the canoe. “Shall we?”

The smile disappeared from his face as he considered her proposal.

“Kind of small, isn’t it?”

He didn’t trust the looks of the tiny boat.

“It’s actually fairly big, for a canoe.”

“I’ll remember you said that when we capsize.”

Steadying herself, Miranda climbed in first, taking the front seat.

“We
aren’t
going to
capsize
, Brian.”

“You say that
now
.” He grunted, sizing up the canoe as she untied it from the dock.

“Well aren’t you going to get in?”

“
Just give me a minute
.” He growled, clearly frustrated with his own doubt in the task.  He crouched down, low, swung his leg over the dock and painstakingly lowered one leg into the canoe. 

His face contorted with worry as the canoe shifted beneath him.

“I’m not going to fit!” he gasped, grasping the dock tightly.

“Sure you are,” she giggled, using her arms to pull the canoe closer to the dock.

“You find this funny?” He snapped.

“I’m not laughing at you, honest.” Yet it
was
incredibly amusing to her, that a man so large and sure of himself could be victimized by the idea of getting into a canoe... “Just center yourself a little more – that’s right! Now slowly...”

Finally, Brian was sitting in the rear seat, his face as pale as the faded plastic zipper of his lifejacket. He held his arms straight out on either side of him, as though willing the canoe to maintain its balance.

“I made it.” He looked surprised by his announcement.

“Of course you made it.” She let go of the dock, setting them adrift. “Now pick up your paddle and-”

“I’ve done this part before,
thank you very much
.” He grumbled defensively.

His weight shifted the canoe side to side as he leaned forward to collect his wooden paddle.

“If you cross your legs, like I’m doing, it will give you better balance,” she offered politely, sensing she was the more experienced of them in the matter.

“I’ll keep my legs the way they are,
please and thank you
.” 

There was no missing the embarrassment in his voice. 

It was obvious that he did not enjoy being in the canoe as much as she did.

She could only hope that he wouldn’t grumble too much and spoil what she had assumed was going to be a very nice paddle up the Waterhen River. 

Chapter Eleven:

Though the undercurrents flowed quick, strong and true, the surface of the river was as smooth as glass.

The only interruption in its placid face were the small waves caused by the forward motion of canoe, the splash of the paddles and the occasional skitter of bugs on the water.

Now and then a fish broke the surface, creating a splash and a sound like no other.

Brian kept quiet for most of the journey, expressing concern only when he worried that she might be tired, putting undue strain on her injured left shoulder.

For the most part he sensed that Miranda was soaking up the silence of their voyage in a manner akin to meditation.

She was practically Zen here, he could sense it in the set of her body, the set of her mind.

He could hardly believe that the woman at the end of the canoe opposite him was the same who had been at Tillings Hall taking in the baroque with Richard and the other highbrows.

One look at the marred scar on the back of her shoulder was all the reminder he needed…

Miranda was from a world so very different from this one, yet here she was, completely in sync with her surroundings in this tranquil Prairie paradise.

They watched a group of ducks in mating pairs swim near the reeds, seeming to flee the strange sight before them, the blue canoe and its two American occupants. 

A flock of late coming long necked Canadian geese flew overhead, heading North, honking up a storm, flying in an almost perfect V across the cloudless azure sky.

“I should have brought my camera,” Miranda said with a wistful sigh. “Oh Brian, why didn’t I think to bring my camera?”

Miranda didn’t want to miss a thing!

She didn’t want to forget it, either.

Being here, with Brian, enjoying this little adventure was so
gratifying
for her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked him.

“Oddly enough, tiny canoe and all, I am.”   

The satisfaction in his voice brought a greater sense of calm to  her soul.

Keenly, she watched the wildlife, taking it all in. 

When they were in shallower water, she watched large orange and rust colored fish swim under the canoe.

Miranda assumed that they were the Western Canadian equivalent of carp. 

It was here, in the thrall of nature, that she found herself changing her mind.

She was not going to use Brian, not as a plaything or anything else. 

He didn’t deserve to get used that way.

She had never been the sort to use anyone like that, either.

She had been right to say that their night together had been a mistake. 

As soon as she got back to the cabin she was going to call her Uncle Russ and demand that Brian be sent back to California. 

She’d be sad to see Brian go but nothing good could come out of a relationship – of any kind – between them. 

Nothing, she was sure but her further confusion about the kind of role that he should play in her life.

For all the world, she wanted to be in the protection of his arms but how could he protect her from herself?

Furthermore, how could he protect her from him?

From falling in love with him?

A man who showed no capacity for loving women any further than the expanse of their bed?

“Want to start heading back?” Brian asked, keeping an eye on the sun that was sinking in the west.

He didn’t trust how her energy was beginning to lag… 

They had ventured past the Clarions, almost up to the place that Ben had pointed out as Balkan’s Hole and explored both shorelines extensively. 

Both of their stomachs had been growling, intermittently, for the past hour.

“Yeah, let’s go back. It’ll be easy, paddling South with the current.”

“Your arm getting tired yet?” His husky voice was thick with concern.

“A little,” she admitted, reluctantly. “But it’ll be fine until we get back.”

It was just before ten when they were standing on the dock, pulling the canoe unto shore.

They were in the boat house, returning the lifejackets to their hooks when Brian decided to put his worries to spoken words.

His dark eyes were made even darker by the dim light of the boathouse.

Gently, he rested his hands on her shoulders. 

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. 

But there was a question in his eyes. 

A question he needed answered. “Miranda, I need to ask you something. And I need an honest answer. No sarcastic jokes, no women’s riddles.”

“Depends on the question,” she replied, noncommittally.

“I said no riddles.”

“Seriously, though, it depends on the question.”

The warmth of his hands upon her was waning the strength of the barrier she had carefully constructed between them in her mind.