Guarding Miranda Page 7

  Richard Alba, Cocaine Prince!!!

  It was enough to make Miranda ill.

  She had never been one to follow too closely the reports of the local tabloids but what really bothered her was that some of the headlines were being boasted by legitimate, reputable newspapers.

  The kind of newspapers that she read her stock quotes in.

  Even the L.A. Times was reporting a recently uncovered link between her murdered fiancé and the drug trade.

  Now, coming home from a long day of shopping with her compulsive shopper of a cousin, Miranda was as exhausted as she was upset.

  Upset that the reporters were considering that she herself might have ties to the drug underworld, which of course, did not exist...

  Upset that there were such grievous lies being printed about her beloved Richard...

  Upset that the entire world now entertained the belief that Richard’s death was the result of his dealings with the San Francisco underworld.

  Lynn had maintained an uncomfortable silence, asking Miranda what she would do if the rumors were true, if it turned out that Richard really had been involved in the drug trade.

  “How can you suggest such a thing?” Miranda had angrily snapped, as they dined on fine seafood at Riana’s. “Richard was harmless, a gentleman at every turn, despite all odds. He would never be caught dead with a parking ticket, let alone be involved in a drug deal. It’s lies, all horrible lies!”

  Apologizing for her suggestion, Lynn had immersed herself again in silence, at odds with the secrets her father had demanded she keep.

  Lynn knew that when Miranda learned the truth, she was going to be very angry at them all. Angry that they had kept her in the dark for so long, angry that they had kept her in mourning, in ignorance, even when the world around her knew more about the truth then she did.

  Lynn shuddered as they drove down the street leading to Micmac Crescent, glad to see no sign of news van or cameraman in sight.

  Miranda was out of the car before Lynn had even put it into park, her purchases in her right hand as she stomped toward the front door.

  It seemed she was still upset about the comment Lynn had made.

  Locking the doors behind her, her own purchases in hand, Lynn sighed and left her shiny red sports car to follow her cousin inside.

  Miranda was trembling with anger as she approached her uncle Russ.

  His twinkling blue eyes were alarmed as they sized up his irate young niece.

  “I was ambushed!” Miranda exclaimed, exasperated. “Did Aunt Nancee tell you about the reporters this morning?”

  “According to the housekeeper, there have been calls all day,” said Russ, a look of consternation on his normally merry face. “You seem so upset. Is everything all right?”

  “Alright? Uncle, did you read this morning’s paper?” She asked, dropping her shopping bags at her feet. “The Times?”

  “With breakfast, as usual,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Did you read what they’re saying about Richard?”

  “I did.” He breathed in a deep, steadying breath and slowly exhaled, knowing fully well that it was time to tell her the truth. The truth that the papers had only begun to hint at. “I think it’s time you knew...”

  “Russ!” Nancee stood in the living room entrance, her small, lithe body tense with warning. “I need your help with something in the den.”

  Russ brought his shoulders up in argument. “But-”

  “Now, please,” said his wife, firmly.

  Miranda recognized her aunt’s no-nonsense tone and had to wonder what her summons was about.

  When next she saw her uncle Russ, it was just before supper.

  He looked as defeated as she herself felt.

  “What was it you had to tell me?” She asked him. “What did I have to know?”

  His tiny but forceful wife had made the decision for him.

  They weren’t going to tell Miranda what Richard had been planning.

  Not now, not ever.

  They were going to preserve her memory of her fiancé and hope that she got over him soon, so that she could get on with her life.

  He glanced at Nancee before clearing his throat of guilt and replying, “I honestly can’t recall. Oh well.” He forced a smile. “If it’s important enough, it will come back to me.”

  Miranda rubbed at her sore arm. “Uncle Russ, I thought you should know, I’m considering leaving San Francisco for a while.”

  “Why?” Asked Nancee, a wary smile on her face.

  “The tabloids, the reporters.” Miranda explained, taking her seat at the table. “The looks on everyone’s faces. Irritated questions like: Are you alright? Do you miss him?” She felt like she was going to break down at any moment. “I’m sick of being hounded. It’s only a matter of time before they start suggesting that I’m a drug princess with Mafia ties. The more scarce I am in the spotlight, the less chance they’ll have of implicating me and the less likely my face will show up in print. I want nothing in the world more to be a hermit right now, to be left alone to heal and reflect and feel like I know what the Hell I want to do next.”

  Now that my fiancé’s dead, she added silently, wanting to cry but so sick of crying that she balked at the thought.

  “Where were you going to go?” Asked Nancee, seating herself next to her niece, concern written in every line of her small face.

  “I really don’t care where, so long as it’s far away from here. I don’t feel like Mexico or Europe this time...” She turned her glance on her uncle. “I was thinking you could suggest something. One of your cabins maybe... The one in Colorado, your hobby ranch in Montana or the cabin up in Canada?”

  “Well,” began Russ, “the one in Colorado is in use by COSSCO heads right now, for a sort of business retreat. I don’t have the ranch any more – we never seemed to make use of it – so I sold it this past spring. Montana’s out.”

  “What about the one in Canada? Canadians are supposed to be nice, aren’t they? Our friendly neighbors in the North?” Miranda knew that she was making a bold generalization. “And from the look of the photos you showed me that cabin is in a pretty remote place.”

  “Well, remote compared to what you’re used to here in San Fran, anyway.” Russ smiled at her. “It’s not exactly a fly-in fishing lodge or anything. It’s remote in a sense, nice and quiet on a large piece of private land, the people there are friendly enough and a helpful lot, very respectful of a person’s privacy.” He considered what she was proposing. “It’s good that you’re quite adept at use of watercraft because if you still like fishing as much as you did when you were a teenager, I’d say you’d enjoy yourself quite nicely. There’s a small fishing boat. A canoe.” He had a thoughtful, wistful expression on his face. “It’d be a nice respite, lots of peace and quiet and rest and relaxation. Thinking about it’s got me thinking I should make a trip out there, come hunting season.”

  Miranda was elated by the idea. “Is it set up? Electrical? Phone? Plumbing?”

  “All that and more. Security system too. Kind of need one, I left some valuables behind. Hunting trophies and the guns I shot them with.” He scratched his chin and added, “The weather’ll be nice up there, right through to the end of August, beginning of September. If you’re still there, imagine I’ll pop in for a weekend of fishing around the first week in August, like I always do. You and I could make an adventure of it. Go up that river as far as it runs, see what we can see.”

  Nancee looked worried and decided to put her two cents in. “The only thing is, do you really want to be that far north? In a town so small? So isolated?”

  “She’s right, Miranda.” Russ scratched his chin again. “Waterhen only has about three hundred residents. It doesn’t even show up on some maps. You’d be an hour away from the nearest McDonald’s or Walmart. Dauphin’s the nearest. An hour’s drive.” He shrugged. “So I guess you should weigh this carefully.”

  “Furthermore,” Nancee c
ontinued, “Waterhen, Manitoba is no San Francisco, California, Miranda. They won’t even have a doctor, never mind a physiotherapist.”

  “But Dauphin will,” Russ added, reassuringly. “It’s the closest thing they have to a city, like I said, about an hour’s drive away. They would have everything you need there, a hospital, pharmacies, et cetera. You can look them up on the Internet, see if you think they have the services you’ll need.”

  “Waterhen.” Miranda found she liked the sound of the place, the feel of it on her tongue.

  “The cabin is actually more of a log home than an actual cabin,” Russ assured her. “Fully wired, with telephone and satellite. There’s even Internet, you would just have to bring your laptop. They weren’t expecting me back til Fall but I could have the services hooked up for you in no time.”

  “The cabin is really secluded, though.” Lynn warned me. “I went there when I was ten. There was no cell service. It sucked.”

  “No cell service? That sounds heavenly.” Miranda insisted, beginning to really warm up to the idea of going. “They probably don’t even know who Miranda Fowler is up there.”

  Russ also looked pleased with the idea. “To be honest with you, kiddo, even if they do know, they probably won’t really care. Like I said, they respect people’s need for privacy up there. They’re down to Earth, grounded, salt-o’-the-Earth people. Farmers and fishermen, guides and hunters. I know a few locals who would keep an eye out for you, take you to the best fishing holes, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like heaven!” Miranda repeated, her green eyes bright with enthusiasm. “A nice, quiet little town where I can get some respite and some fishing in. A place where there’s a pretty good chance no one will even know who I am.”

  Russ smiled at his niece. “Like I said, the weather’s nice through September. Even October’s pretty bearable.”

  Miranda felt her spirits uplifted by the mere thought of it. “So maybe I catch a little sun, read a few good books... all in the company of mild mannered Canadians who will let me mind my own business. No one from the Times would even think to look for me there.” With a smile that was pure anticipation, she decided: “I’ll start packing tonight.”

  “What about Terry-Anne’s bridal shower this weekend?” Lynn pouted.

  Miranda considered the shopping bag in her room. “You helped me pick a gift for her. Give her the lingerie and give her my best.”

  “You’re sure about this, Miranda?” Russ fixed her with an analytical glance and saw only the faintest shadow of doubt cross her lovely face. “Like Nancee said, Waterhen’s only got about three hundred people-”

  “-good.” The look of conviction in Miranda’s intelligent green eyes was one of near desperation. “I have to leave before those reporters make me lose my mind. That and before I have the chance to change my mind.”

  Nancee sighed in resignation. “I can see your mind is made up, darling. But keep in mind, there are a million places in the world where you could go to avoid the press. You don’t have to go to Waterhen just because it’s the first opportunity that presents itself. You don’t have to make an impulsive decision.”

  “I know.” Miranda chose her words carefully, so as not to insult her loving aunt. “And I understand why you’re concerned but it seems to me like this little cabin at the edge of nowhere is the breath of fresh air I’m looking for.”

  Russ gave a hearty laugh. “Well, there’s no shortage of fresh air out there, I’ll tell you that. I’ll GoogleMaps you directions to the town itself and draw you a map to the cabin. As I said, places like this aren’t exactly on a map.” His blue eyes sparkled with fond memories. “Come see me in my study in about an hour – I’ll get out the keys, make the call to get the phone service reconnected down there and all that sort of thing.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Russ.” Miranda beamed at him, hugging him with hr free arm. She would thrown her arms around him, if not for the fact that her left arm was still in a sling. “I appreciate it.”

  “I know that you do.” Russ grinned at her and headed upstairs to his study.

  Lynn scowled at Miranda, unable to believe that her cousin was missing a friend’s bridal shower to instead sulk and hide in that God forsaken cabin her father loved so.

  “Do you own any bug spray?” She asked.

  “Yes.” Miranda thought it an odd question. “Why?”

  “Be sure to pack it,” Lynn huffed. “Because believe me, if you’re going to Waterhen you’re going to need it.”

  * * *

  Miranda caught the direct flight from San Francisco to Winnipeg, Manitoba the morning of June fourteenth. Russ had booked her flight from Winnipeg to the small city of Dauphin, an hour’s drive south of her final destination.

  Waterhen.

  Tired, Miranda had slept during most of her flight from San Francisco to Winnipeg.

  Why was she tired?

  Only because she had tossed and turned throughout the night, with nightmares of the shooting giving way to steamy dreams about the tall, sexy, stormy eyed Brian Logan with arms that could break a man or, in her dreams, hold her so tight it took her breath away.

  Brian.

  What a thorn in her thoughts he had turned out to be and a pleasant thorn at that.

  Since meeting him, he was never far from her mind and it caused her an incredible amount of inner moral conflict.

  Haunted by both the loss of her fiancé and by introduction to her incredibly handsome real-life hero, she had experienced more than her share of sleepless nights lately.

  Richard.

  Her lover, her fiancé and her irreplaceable friend, gone these past two months and never to be forgotten.

  Unless, of course, Brian was in the room.

  Brian...

  Dark haired and dark eyed, he was a distraction in her mind.

  Albeit, a rather pleasant distraction.

  Richard.

  Brian.

  Both gentleman, in every meaning of the word. How her thoughts sometimes bounded between the two, looking for similarities and differences.

  Such thoughts were not fair to Richard.

  She felt it was such a betrayal.

  She was dishonoring his memory with her attraction to the bodyguard.

  Turning her thoughts away from them both and back on her trip, she looked out the plane’s small window and tried to immerse herself in the wonder of what she saw.

  From Winnipeg, the small craft flew over patchwork fields of various farmed grains and staples, looking quite like a green hued quilt that stretched out in all directions, bisected by roads and highways, snaked through with thin, sparkling rivers, spotted intermittently by a small lake or other body of water.

  On the last stretch of her flight, from Winnipeg to Dauphin, the small airplane flew over a large sparkling lake that stretched on in the horizon.

  According to the friendly pilot, this was Lake Manitoba.

  Uncle Russ had said that the lake was full of fish, though nearly not so many as the region’s older inhabitants remembered. She looked forward to doing some fishing in the Waterhen River that Russ boasted was home to some of the best walleye fish he’d ever caught.

  They passed over seemingly endless forests of deciduous and evergreen trees and the odd small town but all in all, Miranda got the impression of a vast and virtually untouched space where the population indeed seemed sparse.

  It was a refreshing change from the metropolis of San Francisco and the surrounding cities of Berkeley, Oakland and San Jose.

  Flying over that region was something of an eyesore – the stretch of buildings and expressways tainting the wonder of nature.

  Here, high in the air above Manitoba, she was privy to a vastness of pure and natural beauty.

  Even the farmland seems to compliment the landscape, rather than interrupt it, she thought.

  Miranda realized, as they began to descend toward Dauphin, that she was really going to enjoy her trip up to this fertile natural paradise.
<
br />   Their descent was slow and steady.

  To her left was the blue-green expanse of the tree covered Riding Mountains.

  To her right, the small, sprawling city of Dauphin.

  And ever approaching was the ground and with it the ball of nervous anticipation that had welled up in Miranda’s stomach.

  The small airplane finally approached the landing strip and her stomach twisted nervously as the wheels of the plane touched down on the dry runway. The pilot announced the time – four thirty seven – and the temperature outside – twenty two degrees Celsius – and finally, they careened to a stop.

  She wasn’t wearing the sling any longer but her left arm was weak as she rose from her seat and so she was cautious in using it. Her physiotherapist, Mark, had been adamant that she keep her arm in the sling for a few more days but what was a few more days?

  She felt fine.

  A little weak, a little sore in the upper left muscles of her arm but fine.

  Ready for anything.

  Certainly ready for this adventure.

  She left the airplane with the help of the pilot, who winked at her, appreciating her polished beauty.

  “Enjoy your stay,” he said, his hand lingering on hers for a moment.

  “I intend to.” She replied, taking her hand from his.

  She slung her purse and overnight bag higher on her shoulder and took her suitcase from the baggage handler with her right arm, leaving her left side free.

  She thought she must look odd, with all of her luggage on her right side but was pleased to see that there were few people about who might notice this.

  With the exception of the woman and child with whom she had shared the flight, the pilot and the baggage handler, the boarding area was vacant.

  She used her left arm to open the door of the small airport and pushed with all of her weight.

  Miranda figured she must have looked like an invalid, what with the method she was using. Nevertheless, she was soon inside the air conditioned lobby and walking over to the counter marked Mountainview Rentals and announced herself.

  “Hi, my name’s Miranda Fowler – I believe I have a Ford Focus reserved?”

  The grey haired man behind the counter stirred lazily, as though she had caught him half-asleep.