Change of Heart

  “A mile at most.” His face was serious. “If you falter I could get behind you and push.” He gave such a lecherous lift to his brows that she laughed.

  “I think I’ll manage. Lead on, oh fearless leader.”

  “Sounds good. I think I’ll put that title on my office door.”

  They reached the old cabin in the late afternoon. It was a three-sided shed, with the flat side of a giant boulder as the back wall. Inside was a crude fireplace and to one side was a little fenced area. “For his donkey friend,” Frank said. There was a little cabinet with a chipped porcelain bowl and an old, crude bed frame in the far corner.

  Miranda saw that repairs had been made to the roof and one wall. “You keep it from falling down?”

  “I do,” he said. “I carried all the wood up here and I reset the stone for the fireplace. One year I got caught in an early snowstorm and spent a week up here. I was glad my dad taught me about hunting or I might have starved.”

  “Spoken like a man who has never dieted. Trust me on this, but a week without food will only make you feel like you’re going to starve.”

  Again, Frank looked serious. “As a man who spent half a day walking behind you, I can swear that you don’t need to lose an ounce.”

  Miranda laughed but she also blushed.

  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll show you why the old guy built his cabin here.”

  They put down their packs and she followed him outside into the soft light. She could feel autumn in the air. He led her down a well-worn trail, around the big boulder, then up again. At one point, he put his hands on her waist and swung her over a place where the trail had washed out. For a moment they stared at each other, but then Frank turned away and they kept going up.

  At last they came to a very pretty little freshwater pool. Water trickled down the mountain into the pool, then flowed out at the far side. Since the water was always moving, the pond never became stagnant.

  Frank pointed at the far end. “I found the remnants of some hollowed-out logs. I think he made a viaduct.”

  “So he had running water all year,” Miranda said. “How ingenious.”

  “It froze in winter, but by then he had piles of snow outside his door.” When Frank sat down and began to try to untie a bootlace, Miranda took over. She removed his boots and socks, then her own. They sat side by side, pants rolled up, their feet soaking in the cool, clean water.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  Turning, Frank looked at her. Right now he was feeling the best he had in years. But Julian’s mention of Gwyn had thrown him somewhat, and had made him think of her seriously. She belonged to his real world, the one of money and board meetings. Even what social life he had with her dealt with money, as every function they attended was a charity fund-raiser.

  Gwyn fit into that world perfectly. She was charming to everyone. She had an ability to coax people into opening their wallets in support of whatever cause she was working with. Orphaned children, homeless people, literacy groups were all better off because of Gwyn.

  But there was no way she’d travel up a mountain to dangle her bare feet in an icy mountain pond. Frank had once joked that he thought her feet were like a Barbie doll’s, permanently bent upward for high heels. Gwyn hadn’t laughed.

  “You’re looking at me very hard,” Miranda said.

  “I was thinking how you fit here.”

  “You can see me in a pair of overalls? Maybe with a pickax?” She was teasing, but when he didn’t answer and turned away to look at the pond, Miranda frowned. Obviously, something had upset him. “Did the prospector find any gold?”

  “Not that anyone knew about, but there were rumors. He’s a chapter in a few books and they said that people believed he found gold and buried it in a cave near his cabin.”

  “Have you looked?”

  “A little,” he said, “but no luck. My nieces and nephews are getting old enough that I thought I might bring them up here and let them scrounge the area. Nobody can find things like a kid can.”

  “You seem to know so much about children. You don’t have any of your own?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said as he stood up. “How about if I build a fire and we cook some of that food you brought?”

  “Sure,” Miranda said. As she pulled on her boots, she thought, Something has changed. He had gone from laughing to serious in seconds.

  They sat outside with their dinner, the stars bright above them. The air was quite cool, but they had on layers of clothes.

  “Are you all right?” Miranda asked, her voice full of concern.

  “Sure. I come up here to think and . . .”

  “And I’m hindering you?” She started to get up.

  “No, please, I didn’t mean that.” He turned to her. “I asked you about your ex-husband, but you didn’t answer. What’s he like?”

  She took a moment before replying, “Leslie likes to win. It’s everything to him. He doesn’t care about the cost or future consequences. He just has to win right now. You know how I got custody of our son?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  She took a breath. “It still terrifies me to remember what I did, and I pray that Eli will never find out. At the divorce, I told his father I didn’t want the child. I said that his extraordinary intelligence made him a freak and I didn’t want to have to spend my life with the kid.”

  Frank looked at her in astonishment. “I agree that no child should hear that.”

  Miranda had to swallow back tears in memory. “Eli thinks that I’m blind to Leslie’s selfishness, but I know my ex very well. When he comes over and does his little whining act about how no one’s ever given him anything, I hand him money. I don’t give very much, but he knows I’m poor so even a little is a lot.”

  “I see,” Frank said. “And that lets him feel that he’s won.”

  “Right,” she said. “And if he feels that he’s winning, I don’t have to fear that he’ll do something bigger.”

  “Like fight you for custody of Eli,” Frank said softly.

  “Exactly.”

  “In your circumstances, I think that’s a very clever way to handle it all. In fact, I think what you did was a brilliant business move. You used your opponent’s weakness to your advantage. I wish the men who worked for me could be that insightful.”

  She laughed, but she was pleased by what he’d said.

  When it grew too cool to stay outside, they went into the cabin. Like the cave the day before, the soft firelight made the tiny cabin cozy and, well, romantic.

  Miranda glanced at the single bed in the corner. How were they to handle this awkward situation? “How about if we arm wrestle for the bed?”

  Frank was kneeling by the stove, poking the inside of it. He’d had an idea that she’d come up with a reason for why he should take the bed and her the floor. He stood up. “Let’s toss for it.” He pulled a coin from his pocket. “Call it.”

  “Heads.”

  He flipped the coin and caught it on the back of his hand. “Heads it is. You win.”

  “I didn’t see the coin,” she said.

  “Next time.” He was pulling sleeping bags from the packs, but struggling with the cast. “Damn thing!”

  Miranda moved beside him to help, their shoulders together, the warmth of their bodies shared.

  He turned to look at her and, smiling, Miranda faced him. He kissed her. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, tentative, but it was very nice.

  He pulled away. “Sorry. I’m overstepping my bounds.” Abruptly, he stood up, but he didn’t look at her. “I’m . . .” He didn’t seem to know what else to say. He left the cabin.

  With a sigh, Miranda unfurled the two sleeping bags, putting one on the hard floor and one on the narrow bed.

  So much for being seducti
ve, she thought. She could get a man to ask her to marry him because she looked like “a fertility goddess” but she certainly didn’t inspire passion. The years she’d spent with her ex-husband had never been like what she’d read about in books. She’d been a virgin when they’d met and for years she’d thought the two kisses and four strokes were normal.

  She knew the books she read were fantasy, but sometimes she wished a man would look at her with eyes blazing fire.

  The thought made her giggle. She used the time Frank was outside to undress. Thanks to whoever had tampered with her luggage, the only nightgown she had was the thin one—but she hadn’t brought it with her. Instead, she’d sneaked in one of Frank’s big long-sleeved pull-on shirts. It fell down to the top of her thighs. Her legs would be bare but she thought she’d be warm enough in the sleeping bag.

  She slipped inside the bag and meant to stay awake until Frank returned. But the long walk up a mountain had worn her out. She was asleep as soon as she lay down.

  Thunder loud enough to split her eardrums woke her. As she sat up, lightning lit the cabin, and she gave a little involuntary scream. She wasn’t used to such storms.

  Frank was beside her instantly, just sitting there, not touching her, but at the next flash of lightning she flung herself into his arms.

  She had almost forgotten how good a man could feel. His big, strong body enveloped hers, and before she could breathe, he pulled her head back and kissed her.

  It wasn’t a kiss like the first one. There was no sweetness to it. It was a kiss of raging passion, of desire as strong as any she’d ever imagined. The sensation was new to her, but at the same time it was as old as time.

  He moved down to kiss her neck. The cabin was lit with lightning and the roar of the thunder seemed to echo within her.

  “Yes,” she whispered as his hand went to her breast. “Yes, please.”

  He took her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. “I have no protection with me.”

  For a moment she held her breath. She felt sure he didn’t have a communicable disease. All that mattered was here and now and this man.

  “Yes” was all she said, then he was on her.

  He was as hot in bed as he was cold out of it. He’d made a few jokes, but she’d never seen him leering at her. And yet he seemed to have noticed all of her body and to want her very much. Her shirt and underpants were off in seconds. His hands were everywhere, caressing her, touching her.

  Miranda had never felt the way he made her feel. He seemed to know what she liked, seemed to find places she didn’t know she wanted him to touch.

  By the time he entered her, she was nearly screaming with desire. She held him inside her for a moment, loving how he filled her. When he began the velvet strokes in and out, she thought she might die with the pleasure.

  He seemed to know when she was ready to peak, then he thrust into her until she thought she might faint. Waves went through her body. Afterward, still shaking, she snuggled in his arms, feeling safe and secure and at home. She could feel herself dozing off. “That was lovely,” she whispered.

  “Not for me,” he said.

  Her eyes opened and she saw in the firelight that he wasn’t anywhere near sleep. “There’s more?”

  He smiled in a wicked way. “We haven’t begun.”

  “Really?” she said with such enthusiasm that he laughed.

  They made love all night. Frank seemed to be

  insatiable—but then, so was she. For her, there’d been a lifetime of suppression, of reading about, but never experiencing, uncontrollable passion.

  He never said so, but he seemed to be shocked that she didn’t know about positions and what to do with your mouth besides kissing. “I’ve read about these things but haven’t done them,” she said.

  “Your husband—?” Frank began but stopped.

  “He thought wives should be good girls.”

  “Me too,” Frank said as he moved down her body.

  Sometime during the night she thought she heard him say, “I love you,” but she wasn’t sure.

  Miranda slowly woke up, and she was smiling before she got her eyes open. She could feel that the old cabin was empty. She even remembered Frank getting up and going out. Right now all she wanted to do was lie still and think about last night, to remember every second of it.

  She’d never thought she could be so . . . well, so abandoned. Her legs around his neck, his hands cupping her behind, was an especially vivid memory.

  The door opened and Frank came in carrying a load of firewood.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a rock,” she said. “I did have some odd dreams, but nothing significant.”

  Frank smiled as he put the wood down. “I was going to stop at the little French café and get us some croissants, but they’re closed. How about cold corn bread and bacon?”

  “It sounds divine.”

  He brushed off his clothes and looked at her for a moment, then went to sit beside her on the old bed. Her bare arms and shoulders were exposed, and he ran his hands over them. “I enjoyed last night,” he said softly. “And you?”

  “Very much.”

  Bending, he kissed her, then sat up to stroke her hair. “We can go down the mountain or stay here for another day.”

  “Stay,” she said without hesitation.

  “Sure? We didn’t bring a lot of food.”

  “I think I can survive. How did your shirt get wet?”

  “It isn’t,” he said, then smiled. “You’re right. It’s soaked and I think I should take it off.”

  “My thought exactly.” She pulled back the top of the sleeping bag, showing that she was nude underneath.

  They spent a whole day at the old cabin. Neither of them said so, but they seemed to have reached a mutual agreement to talk of nothing of the outside world. No business, no ex-husband, not even children. Frank didn’t come close to telling her about any women in his past, certainly not the one who was expecting an engagement ring.

  They laughed and ate and made love. Everything and every place seemed to become erotic to them. They stripped and went swimming in the icy pond. Miranda nearly turned blue from the cold water, and it took Frank thirty minutes of kissing and long, slow, deep strokes to warm her up.

  When her skin was at last pink again, he collapsed beside her in exhaustion.

  “Let’s do it again,” she said and got up and headed toward the frigid water.

  But Frank caught her ankle and pulled her back. “If you want more, you have to revive me.”

  “Is that a challenge?” she asked.

  “If it encourages you, yes. If not, how about a bribe? Half my kingdom work for you?”

  Laughing, she kissed him. “Let’s see if this works.” She moved her lips downward on his body.

  “I feel nothing. Try harder. No. No. Ah.”

  At night they put their sleeping bags together and, naked, snuggled close, watching the fire in the little stove.

  “I never want to leave,” Miranda said.

  “Me neither,” Frank said. “I’d like to shut out the world.”

  “What about your houses with the perfect towels?”

  “You make me want to buy new ones in lots of colors.”

  “And throw them on the floor?”

  “I’m not quite to that point yet.”

  She kissed him thoroughly.

  “Maybe a hand towel on the counter,” he said.

  Miranda rolled on top of him, her bare body against his, and kissed him again.

  “Okay, wet towels across the tub. But no purple or pink.”

  “Done,” she said, and kissed him again.

  The next morning, they made their way down the mountain, taking their time. They stopped for lunch and lovemaking, then continued on to the
cabin. After where they’d been, it seemed too big and too clean.

  They had dinner by candlelight and afterward she started to pull down the blanket that separated their beds. Frank made her laugh by pretending to blow a trumpet. She knew what he meant. In the movie It Happened One Night, Clark Gable said the Walls of Jericho were coming down so he blew a toy trumpet.

  They fell into bed laughing.

  Early the next morning they were at the stove, with Frank helping Miranda make pumpkin scones, when they heard the helicopter above the cabin. Frank reacted instantly. He ran to the door, and to her consternation, he flung open a door hidden in the log wall and withdrew a rifle. “Stay here,” he ordered.

  “Okay,” she whispered, feeling a bit like a heroine in a Western movie.

  Seconds later he was back. He put the rifle away, then went to the table. He was frowning. “Is breakfast ready?”

  She heard him only by reading his lips, because the sound of the ’copter overhead was deafening. His attitude and whoever was arriving piqued her curiosity. Quickly, she flung food onto a plate, sloshed coffee into a cup by his hand, and ran out the door.

  The helicopter was directly overhead. A couple of duffel bags had already been lowered, and a tall blond man wearing a dark suit, briefcase in hand, was descending. His foot was hooked into a loop of cable. Miranda couldn’t help smiling at this version of Wall Street coming down through the tall trees, the mountains in the distance. As he got closer, she started laughing because she could see that while holding on to the briefcase and the cable, he was also eating an apple.

  He landed in front of her. He was quite good-looking: very blond, very white skin, blue eyes so bright they dazzled. Holding the apple in his mouth, he motioned the helicopter to go away, and Miranda saw that the briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist.

  “Hungry?” she asked, as he stood there staring at her.

  “Starved.” He was looking at her in a way that made her feel quite good about herself, and she smiled back warmly.