Deep In The Heart Of Texas. Linda Warren
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had to be hospitalized for two weeks to adjust to the news. You see, since my mom, there hadn’t been any new wives, and she’s had this on-and-off-again relationship with my dad since their divorce. So Brandi was a big shock.”
“Do you get along with Brandi?”
“Brandi only gets along with men, and no, we are not fond of each other. But that’s typical, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“I wish I could talk to Jane. She’d know what’s going on.”
“Jane?”
“She’s the housekeeper’s daughter. She’s six months older than me and we grew up together. We’ve always been very good friends, even after my mom took me away.” Miranda rested her chin on her knees, her eyes distant. “My mom is Alicia Adams, former model. You’ve probably heard of her.”
She turned her head to look at him, wanting to see if he had the same reaction all men had when she mentioned her mother, sort of a leering smirk, but she saw only vague recognition.
Alicia Adams. He recalled the name and remembered seeing her on TV or somewhere. She was very beautiful, of that he was certain. He now knew where Miranda got her stunning looks.
When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “My dad met her when she was nineteen, married her when she was twenty, and I was born that same year. Two months after my birth, she went back to modeling. She and my dad fought about it all the time, but her career was important to her, and she wasn’t going to give it up. After five years Dad gave her an ultimatum—marriage or modeling. She chose modeling, leaving me at the ranch with a nanny. Dad wouldn’t have it any other way. So I grew up with an occasional mother, but I was happy. Then one weekend Ali came home and found Jane and me playing baseball and getting dirty. She had a fit, saying her daughter wasn’t going to be a tomboy. She whisked me off to boarding school. I hated it. I missed Jane, my dad and the ranch, but my mother wouldn’t listen. She said I’d get used to it, and then she had this idea that I could be a model, too. I did several ads and commercials, but the agent told my mother I didn’t have the drive or determination to be successful. It’s a cutthroat business.”
She paused for a moment, then added, “All my life I’ve felt like a piece of taffy, pulled between my parents, back and forth. I never knew which one to please. My mother wanted me to be a model. My dad wanted me to work at Maddox Oil, like Tom. Finally I came back to Texas, enrolled at the University of Texas, got a degree in business and went to work with my dad. At least he was happy.”
“What did you want to do?”
Her head swiveled toward him. “What?”
“You. What did you want to do with your life?”
She frowned. No one had ever asked her that question before, and she didn’t know how to answer it.
As the frown deepened, he said, “There must have been something you were good at, something you enjoyed.”
She shook her head. “I’ve always been Clyde Maddox’s little princess and Alicia Adams’s baby girl. Somewhere along the way, I guess I lost the person inside me.”
“No, you haven’t,” he assured her. “You just haven’t found her yet. Stop trying to please your parents and please yourself.”
Her mouth curved in that soft way he was beginning to recognize. “With Spikes out there, do you think I’ll ever get the chance?”
“We’re going to give it our best shot,” he said, and glanced toward the entrance as the light began to fade. He reached for his rifle. “Dusk has fallen. It’s time to go.”
She buttoned her coat and stuffed the cap into a pocket. Her hand touched the small pistol in the other pocket. She was ready.
It felt good to stretch her legs once they got outside. They’d spent all day in the cave. Of course, they’d slept much of that time, and they’d eaten again. She was as prepared as she could be, under the circumstances, for the trek ahead.
The hermit nodded to the left, and she followed his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat. Several deer were eating acorns beneath an oak tree. Sensing that they were being watched, they raised their heads, then ran into the thicket with sure graceful movements. They were such beautiful creatures, and she’d never been this close to one before.
She wanted to observe them, but there wasn’t time. The air no longer seemed as cold, but the ground was wet, which made walking even harder. They kept pushing on. Miranda felt stronger and managed to keep up. Her legs were tight, but no cramps.
Suddenly the hermit stopped, pointing to a flickering glow in the distance.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Campfire,” he whispered back. “We’ve caught up with Spikes.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, chills running up her spine.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “We’ll just go around them, but we have to be quiet and quick.”
“Okay,” she answered without much enthusiasm. “But how did we catch up with them so fast?”
“Spikes probably stopped to wait for Blackhawk.”
“That’s the Indian who works on the ranch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and he really does have eyes and ears like a hawk. So make sure you stay close to me.”
“You can count on that.”
“Let’s go,” he said, looking down at Bandit. “Hush, boy.”
The fire became brighter as they moved closer. The orange flames crackled and hissed toward the sky. Three men sat around the blaze, drinking and talking. Two horses were tethered nearby. The saddles lay on the ground by the fire. As they crept past, giving the campsite a wide berth, they could hear voices, which carried clearly through the night.
“What do you want with the hermit?” Blackhawk asked, sitting cross-legged, a bandanna tied around his forehead. He took another swig of whiskey.
“None of your damn business,” Spikes said, taking the bottle from him. “If you want whiskey, you’ll forget all about this. Especially if you know what’s good for you.”
“I am like a sigh on the wind.”
“Whatever the hell that means,” Spikes answered, taking a swig of whiskey as he rested on his saddle.
The other man seemed asleep or passed out on a blanket by the fire.
They’d almost gone around the group when Miranda stepped on a stick. It popped, and the noise sounded like thunder in the darkness. In an instant, the hermit swung around and clamped a hand over her mouth. Her scream died against his palm.
“Shh,” he whispered into her ear.
Spikes jumped up. “What the hell was that?”
“The night has its own music,” Blackhawk replied, reaching for the bottle.
Spikes kicked the bottle away. “Check it out, you stupid Indian.”
Blackhawk stretched and got to his feet.
Miranda’s heart lodged in her throat. She couldn’t move or speak. She couldn’t do anything but rest against the security of the hermit’s chest. She felt his heart beat with a frantic rhythm. Or was that hers? She couldn’t tell. Their bodies were so close she couldn’t distinguish her heartbeat from his.
He slowly removed his hand and shook his head. She knew what that meant—be quiet, keep still. She wanted to run, get away as fast as she could, and had to restrain the impulse.
The woods seemed to become electrified as Blackhawk made his way directly toward them. Every footstep, every breath, every movement was charged with static energy.
The hermit stepped in front