That Reckless Night

“You’re like an old bear with something caught in its paw. You know how you get when things don’t go your way. I just don’t want you to do something stupid.”

Something stupid? Such as pick a fight with her baby sister over a sweater that ended up getting her killed and destroying the family? Miranda would try to refrain from making such an epic mistake again. “Your concern is touching, Mom. But I think I’ve got it handled. You know, would it kill you to acknowledge that I’m not the same reckless kid I used to be?”

“Miranda, I would go to my grave with a smile on my face if I thought you could change. I pray for my grandson that he won’t be scarred by your parenting skills.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“I know why you let that Indian woman take care of my grandson...because you were out trashing the Sinclair name with your loose ways. Don’t think that you’re not the topic of every whispered conversation, because you are. I can only hope that you’ve run out of men to sleep with by now.”

“Just because I like to have a good time doesn’t make me irresponsible in every other way,” she said, hurt by her mother’s censure, though why she cared, Miranda didn’t know. “If you can’t tell how I’ve changed, then you never paid much attention in the first place.”

“See it how you will. Doesn’t change the facts. Good girls don’t take home the first man they lay eyes on and that’s a fact. What kind of example are you setting for Talen? No father, no man around to teach him how to do all the things a boy should know...”

“Such as?” she demanded to know. “I can hunt, shoot, trap, track... What exactly is a man going to teach my boy that I can’t?”

“I’m not going to argue the point. I’ve said my piece and I’ll leave it at that.”

“Well, thanks for sharing,” Miranda said. God, help me now and end this conversation. “I have to go. Was there anything else that you needed?” Like the knife stuck in my back?

Miranda could sense her mother’s irritation at her abrupt end of the conversation. Jennelle Sinclair loved having the last word. “I see there’s no sense in talking to you when you’re going to act like that. Don’t forget to look into those poachers above the property line.”

The line went dead and Miranda shook her head. Unbelievable woman. Weren’t people supposed to mellow out with age? Apparently, her mother hadn’t received that memo. She’d like to say they were close at one time, but that would not be true. Jennelle had reserved all of her happiness, her pride and her ambition for her youngest daughter, Simone.

Miranda had simply been the one in Jennelle’s way. At least that was the way it’d always felt. If it hadn’t been for her dad, teaching her how to track along with her brothers, her childhood would have been depressingly bleak.

At Miranda’s lowest point following Simone’s death, she’d often believed her mother would have been happy if Miranda had been the one found dead on that mountain rather than her beloved Simone.

And frankly, there were times that fear remained.

CHAPTER FIVE

HE HAD PLANNED to wait a few days but Jeremiah ended up spending some time looking over the poaching reports that Miranda had prepared. The reports were thorough and showed a commendable attention to detail. Even if Miranda hadn’t told him that catching poachers was a passion of hers, he would’ve been able to tell by the nature of her reports. A wry smile lifted his lips. Miranda was a passionate woman, apparently in all things. He wished their relationship hadn’t been contaminated by their one-night stand. He suspected they could have become strong allies, maybe even friends. Now their relationship would forever be tainted by what they’d shared intimately.

And about that...what he wouldn’t give to get the memories out of his head. It wasn’t that the memories weren’t enjoyable; no, quite the opposite. The memory of last night made him yearn for more. And that was absolutely not happening. Maybe, with a fresh start, it was time to start dating again. After his son had died and his wife divorced him, the usual appetites for companionship simply died. Ending his celibacy with someone like Miranda had certainly left its mark. Literally. Jeremiah shifted as the pull of Miranda’s scratch marks on his back caused him to wince.

He rubbed the grit from his eyes and finally shut down his computer. Everyone had long since gone home but he’d stayed behind to further acclimate himself to the new surroundings. He didn’t want to seem like that guy who simply punched the clock and didn’t care about the job. Back in Wyoming, he’d been accused of being a workaholic. He couldn’t deny that charge. That’d been one of the many hatchets his ex-wife had flung at him, screaming that he hadn’t been around for their son so he shouldn’t grieve for him. That’d been a low blow. Maybe that was why he’d been so ready for a fresh start. He couldn’t stomach the memories—both good and bad—that he was leaving behind.

He closed his eyes as one particular memory eclipsed his ability to hold it back.

“How dare you cry for him! It’s your fault he’s dead.” His ex-wife, Josie, stared at him with red-rimmed eyes brimming with hatred. “I told you he was too young for an ATV. But you went out and got him one anyway.”

“That’s a new low, even for you, Josie. For you to insinuate that it was my fault...you’re lucky you’re a woman. If a man had dared to say that to me I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

But Josie was wild in her grief and in her belief that Jeremiah had caused the death of their son. “There’s nothing that you could do to me that would rival the pain I’m suffering right now. Go ahead and do your worst. He was only eleven, Jeremiah! What kind of idiot allows an eleven-year-old to drive an ATV? It’s not even legal!”

“I made a mistake,” he admitted, feeling sick in his gut. But Tyler had pleaded with him, using the excuse that nearly all his friends had been riding around on ATVs since they were nine. It had seemed a small thing to allow since he’d only be using the ATV on their property and most of their land was fairly gentle terrainwise. But he should’ve stuck to his guns and turned the boy down. “I’d do anything to take it back. You know that, right?”

But Josie simply stared, as if it were possible that he’d deliberately made a choice that he knew was going to hurt their son. That was worse than ludicrous; it was downright repugnant.

“What does it matter? He’s dead,” she retorted dully, refusing to look at him, as if the very sight of him made her want to retch. Well-meaning folks had warned them that the death of a child could rip apart a marriage and they’d need to support one another to get through the crisis. Jeremiah was fairly certain Josie wouldn’t throw a glass of water on him if he were on fire. So much for supporting one another through the storm.

Jeremiah stared at the woman he had thought was the love of his life, the mother of his children, and wondered why he’d never noticed the cruel streak that ran through her like a river. “I think we need a break,” Jeremiah said, attempting to slow the runaway train of their marriage. “I can get a hotel room for a few days.”

Josie sniffed and wiped the remnants of her tears from her cheeks. “Don’t bother,” she said, her voice hardening. “I’m leaving you.”

On some level Jeremiah must have known things might’ve been heading that way but when Josie actually voiced the words he couldn’t help feeling sucker punched. “That’s what you really want?”

Josie didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Don’t you think we should work on it?” Jeremiah wasn’t a quitter even if he could see the writing on the wall. “Do you want to see a counselor?” He was really grasping at straws. Although he didn’t know why. Their marriage was over.

“I never want to see your face again.”

His jaw tensed. There was nothing left to say. “Then get the hell out.”

“Gladly.” Josie shouldered her purse. “I hate you. I hope you never sleep again. I don’t care how you justify your actions—the fact remains if you hadn’t bought that ATV our son would still be alive.”

Jeremiah’s eyes burned with the pain of his grieving heart and in that moment he desperately wanted to take out his pain on the woman standing before him. By the grace of God, somehow he managed to turn away, but he’d been a heartbeat away from killing her.

The echo of a slamming door reverberated in Jeremiah’s memory. Damn, he had to stop traveling down memory lane. That neighborhood had been demolished. He sighed and shook off the morose bent of his thoughts. Sometimes he was just plain tired of feeling bad. Last night with Miranda had shown him that it was possible to feel good again. It sucked about the circumstances...he had a feeling that he and Miranda could’ve made some beautiful sparks together.

* * *

MIRANDA RAPPED THREE times on the solid door of Ocalena’s house but didn’t wait for an answer and simply let herself in. She knew she was always welcome in this house. Johnny’s mother loved her like a daughter, possibly even more than she’d loved her son when he’d been alive. But then, Johnny had been a two-bit criminal who took advantage of every single person who crossed his path, including his own mother. So it wasn’t a stretch for Miranda to stand out and gain points with the old Yupik woman.

Miranda’s eight-year-old son, the light of her life and the reason she got up in the morning, ran into her arms. “Mama!” Miranda forgot about everything else that was going wrong in her life and simply embraced her son and inhaled the scent of her wild boy.

“Were you good for your mamu?”

“Yep,” Talen said, breaking the embrace to show Miranda what he’d made. He held up a rudimentary carving and beamed at his handiwork. “Mamu said I’m a natural. Do you think so, Mama?”

“Absolutely. Carving is in your blood, sweet cheeks. Remember, your poppy is a carver on my side, and it’s on your dad’s side, too. It’s in your heritage.”

Talen giggled and bounded off to continue his next project while Mamu and Miranda caught up. Miranda didn’t know why the old Yupik woman made her feel more at home than her own mother, but when Miranda walked through that familiar door, all the tension simply dropped from her shoulders—which given the anniversary of her sister’s death was a grace she desperately needed.

“Thanks for keeping him,” Miranda said, suddenly feeling very fatigued. She didn’t need to explain herself to Ocalena, but the words started to flow anyway. “I know I should find a better way to deal with Simone’s death, but my good intentions never seem to go very far when it comes down to the actual date on the calendar. It still hurts to think of her. When will that pain ever go away?”

Mamu took a break from the fish stew simmering on the old gas stove and joined Miranda on the ratty, lumpy sofa. She gazed at Miranda with knowing in her dark brown eyes. “You ask the wrong questions. It isn’t when will the pain go away...it is when will you accept that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” she said but Mamu shook her head. There was no bullshitting the woman. Miranda didn’t even know why she tried. “Logically I tell myself it wasn’t my fault. Bad things happen, but I can’t help but wonder how things might’ve been different if I hadn’t been such a jerk about a stupid sweater that I can’t even remember any longer. Simone is gone because of that one decision.”

“No. Simone is gone because a bad man took her. When you finally take that to heart, you will no longer suffer as you do.”

Yeah, probably but not likely. More’s the pity. It might be nice to live without a constant reminder of her guilt. “I have a new boss,” she said abruptly. Maybe she thought she needed to confess her sins because the words were tripping from her mouth as if shoved. “He seems decent enough.” Mamu’s eyes were wise and she smiled, waiting for Miranda to come clean. “I, sort of, met him informally before the rest of the team.”

Mamu chuckled, reading between the lines, but all she said was, “A warm body on a cold night is a good thing.”

“Not when that warm body turns out to be your boss,” she muttered, and Mamu sighed, her eyes twinkling. “You’re incorrigible. I could get fired for something like this.”