Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) (25 page)

“This reminds me of old times, Rand.”

Miranda found her footing on the roof of Audrey and Jimmy’s shack, the sound of Robbie’s voice carrying on a wind that threatened autumn’s coldest day yet. It whipped her ponytail, sending her hair into her face. Maybe this hadn’t been the best day to replace Audrey’s roof.

But she and Lola couldn’t live in the house through the winter without it. And considering how long he had been gone, it was unlikely Jimmy would be returning.

At least little Lola’s fever had broken. Thanks to Izzy’s calm instructions over the phone, Miranda had been able to coax down the fever with crushed-up Tylenol and a cold cloth to the baby’s forehead. She’d also called the pastor’s wife, Joni, remembering the woman said she used to be a nurse. Joni had stopped by a few hours ago, examined Lola and listened to her lungs. “I think she’ll be just fine. I brought some cough medicine and Vicks VapoRub.”

Audrey, finally, had taken over caring for her baby.

“Rand?”

She looked up. Robbie had moved to her side. The knees of his jeans were black from climbing around on the roof, prying off weather-beaten shingles.

“Old times, yes?” he asked again. “Although, in Brazil we usually used clay roof tiles.”

His voice still had that honey texture she’d fallen for years ago. And he’d obviously taken care of himself since she’d seen him last. She hadn’t missed the bulge of muscles in his arms and back as he yanked out nails and row after row of shingles.

Is that all it had been back then? Physical attraction?

“Yes, I guess it does remind me of old times.”

“Remember the time we were working on top of a house and a thunderstorm pelted us?” Under his arm, he held a stack of shingles, ready to be laid. They’d already installed a waterproof edging and asphalt-felt underlayment. With such a small house, the project was going quickly.

“I remember,” she said. “I was so worried about getting hit by lightning.”

His laughter boomed, like a Santa, which, considering their location, brought a smile to her face. And it must have encouraged Robbie, because he took a step closer. “I like working with you again. We make a good team.”

“Robbie.”

“I wish . . .”

What? That he hadn’t run out on her? Would they still be working together today?

It must have been more than physical. We
were
a good team.
In fact, they’d earned a reputation as the dynamic duo at Hope Builders. Well, until a new reputation forced them out.

Maybe it was the thrill of rebelling.

But she
had
loved him. It may have been an immature, reckless love. Still, it was love.

And the way he was looking at her now, it was like he wished he could bring that love back into existence. Just a few weeks ago, so had she.

A lot had changed in a few weeks.

Which probably meant she shouldn’t be so trusting of her feelings, not if they could reshape so quickly. She reached down for a bundle of shingles. “We should finish. Poor Blaze is probably growing bored back at the house.”

Robbie lowered to his knees, lined up the first shingle along the vertical chalk line they’d snapped along the center of the roof. She laid a shingle on the opposite side of the chalk line.

Silence drifted on the breeze until Robbie spoke again. “Could you tell me about the days before I left? When you thought . . .” He let the question linger.

Miranda sighed, wanting only to finish this job and escape home. But he’d helped all day. Kept his distance. Maybe . . . maybe there would be healing in the telling. “There was about a week where I threw up every morning. At first I thought I was just sick, but then I started counting the weeks since, well, you know. I just assumed.” And guilt had clawed its way through her.
Pregnant out of wedlock.

The terminology might be from a different generation, but morals didn’t have an expiration date. She and Robbie, they’d done things backward.

She spilled her suspicions to Brad first. Instead of criticizing her, he’d reminded her about grace and forgiveness and all the things she’d figured were out of reach since she started wandering from the proverbial narrow path.

She’d clung to his words. Decided they’d make things right. They’d move up the wedding date. Find a church. Start living the moral lifestyle their baby—their
child—
would need.

“Remember the day I came home from work and asked if you’d want to move into the house early?”

He nodded, folding his arms. “I couldn’t understand why you suddenly wanted to live separately.”

“Robbie, a hundred feet away from each other is hardly separate. But I thought we had a baby on the way, and I was
trying to do the right thing. Sleeping in different bedrooms seemed like a good start.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you thought you were pregnant?”

Her knees strained at her crouched position, and she lowered to sit, fingers still closed around her hammer. “I was working up to it. But you got so angry when I asked about changing our sleeping arrangements. And I knew you were frustrated about your job search.”

She stilled in front of him. “But then Lincoln pitched this idea of you appearing on the season finale. I’d talked you up, you know, and you’d become this legend of sorts. So that night I had a plan. I was going to tell you about the show and the baby all at once, make it really special. But when I came home . . .”

He closed his eyes. “I was not there.”

She nodded her head, expecting the same old blend of sorrow and anger to crackle through her like the empty branches
rap-a-tap
ping in the wind.

Instead, all she felt was . . . sympathy? In all the times she’d imagined this conversation, kindness had never been a part of her response.

“Randi, I—”

The sound of a vehicle crunching over gravel cut off Robbie’s next words. Miranda peered over the edge of the roof. Matthew’s Jeep came into sight. Was Blaze in the passenger seat?

“That’s the reporter, Matthew,” she said. “Mind if I go down and talk to him?” Why was she asking permission?

And why the pattering of her heart at the sight of Matthew behind the wheel? Fine, she knew why. Underneath the emotions simmering from the strange string of events in the past twenty-four hours lay the reminder of their kiss.

She descended the ladder on wobbly legs.

When Matthew cut the engine, the sound of Robbie pounding
nails filled the gap. Matthew stepped out. She squinted to study the face of the passenger through the windshield. Jimmy?

Surprise and joy blended together to raise the pitch of her voice. “No way!” And before she could stop herself, she launched into his arms for a hug. “Audrey will be so excited! How . . . where . . . ?”

Matthew grinned. “Sitting in a truck stop halfway between here and Asheville. Drowning himself in a root beer, of all things. I recognized him from the photo in Audrey’s living room. I think it scared him half to death when I came up to him.”

Over Matthew’s shoulder, she could see Jimmy’s slumped posture, his straw hair poking over his ears. He looked like a kid sitting there. Barely old enough to catch a girl’s eye, let alone be a father.

“I’m tempted to give him a lecture he won’t soon forget,” she said, but Matthew’s hand on her arm stopped her. The sound of pounding nails paused.

“Miranda, we talked. And I think . . . he’s going to be okay.”

Matthew had brought the wandering prodigal home. Matthew, who’d been so skeptical about the whole situation. Did the look on her face express the admiration dancing inside her? “You talked to him. Mr. He’ll-never-come-back, she’s-better-off-without-him?”

“He was off looking for work, felt too ashamed to come back when he couldn’t find anything.” Matthew’s hazel eyes brimmed with something she couldn’t quite identify. But they pulled her in, magnetic, mesmerizing. “I told him about my own dad, actually. I told him the real shame would be if Lola ended up without her dad around.”

Jimmy stepped out of the Jeep, and Miranda heard Audrey’s squeals from the porch.

The crack of Robbie’s hammer hitting metal pierced the sky once more.

“He’s still here,” Matthew said.

Miranda only nodded.

She and Robbie finished the roofing job within an hour after Matthew’s arrival, while Matthew made phone calls and packed up their tools as darkness fell.

Matthew insisted on leaving his rental Jeep with Jimmy and Audrey. “Just in case Lola gets sick again in the night. They need a way to get into town.” Since Jimmy’s Chevy had broken down a week ago, and Miranda’s truck wasn’t always reliable, he insisted it was the best option.

Miranda guided her truck around the ridge she knew by heart. Robbie’s heavy breathing sounded from the back seat. The man was plain exhausted. Considering he’d traveled to Brazil and back in the past week for his father’s funeral, and then to North Carolina, she supposed she didn’t blame him.

But he was supposed to leave tonight and didn’t seem to be working toward that.

“So how long is he sticking around?” Matthew asked softly.

Her truck sputtered along the road as she considered Matthew’s question. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Sometime during the day, Robbie had rolled up a handkerchief and tied it around his forehead the way he used to do in Brazil. Only now a mop of black hair escaped and flopped over one eye. His cheek pressed against the window.

“I really don’t know.”

But before she could elaborate, her truck made a choking sound. The engine rumbled as the frame shook. Robbie stirred in the back seat.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Matthew said.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson.” She eased up on the accelerator, but the groaning of the truck continued. Finally, when
steam rose from the hood, she pulled to the side of the road, braked and parked. “Great. Just . . . great.”

“What’s wrong?” Robbie murmured, eyes still closed.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to check it out.”

She plodded to the front of the truck and flipped up the hood. Steam, hot and hazy, hit her face. She surveyed the engine, but who was she kidding? She could build a house, but the innards of a truck were foreign territory.

Matthew’s footsteps sounded along the gravel shoulder. His head ducked under the hood next to her. “Hmm, looks like your carburetor wires are crossed with the engine gauges and the fuel pump is—”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about.” She met his eyes, mirrored his grin.

“Guilty as charged. I don’t know what a carburetor looks like. Couldn’t even spell it.”

She clucked her tongue. “And you call yourself a writer.”

He slammed the hood while she pulled out her phone and called Blaze. A couple minutes later, she rounded the truck to the sound of Robbie’s continued snores and found Matthew pulling a blanket from her back seat. “Blaze promised he can drive one-armed. He’ll probably be here in fifteen, twenty minutes.”

Matthew held up the blanket. “And I’ve got a plan for the meantime. Come on.”

She followed him to the back of the truck. He lowered the tailgate and hoisted himself up. “M’lady?” he said, offering his hand.

“What are we doing?”

He pulled her up, then spread the blanket on the truck bed. “Stargazing. Look up. It’s like a circus of stars up there.”

He was right. They dotted the sky in clusters, no clouds to dim their sparkle. She sat on the blanket, the chill of the
metal truck bed reaching through, and pulled her thin fleece jacket tight.

“Too cold?” Matthew asked. “Here.” He began to pull off his black coat.

“No, no. Then you’ll be cold. Keep it on.”

He placed his coat around her shoulders. “Yes, but I’ll feel like a gentleman.”

“A cold gentleman.”

“I’m warm-blooded.”

“You’re . . . kind. Thanks.”

He lay on his back, arm pointing to the sky. “Look, there’s the Big Dipper.”

Sitting cross-legged beside him, she followed his gaze. “And the Little.”

“And I think that might be Orion. He’s the bear, right? Or, wait, no, the hunter with the bow? If you put the Big Dipper and something else together, doesn’t that make something else?”

She giggled. “I have a feeling you know your constellations about as well as the inside of a truck engine.”

“Yes, but what I don’t know, I make up for in charm, don’t you think?”

Well, he was the only man who ever had her sitting on a truck bed under the stars. On either side of the road, the mountains rose up like sentries, guarding their privacy. Their tree-lined crags made for dancing soldiers as a mountain wind created the night’s music.

Charming, yes. Maybe even romantic.

Except for the man sleeping in the back seat of the truck.

Neck tightening, she moved to lie on her back, knees pointed to the sky.

“Um, if Robbie wakes up . . .” Matthew prompted.

“Believe me, he won’t. Once he starts snoring, he’s out.”

She could feel the prickle of tension her telling words produced. But eventually, the quiet smoothed over the awkwardness.

“Hey, Miranda?”

“Yeah?” She practically purred, relaxation kneading her muscles for the first time in days.