Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) (24 page)

Blaze’s mumbled reply followed Matthew out of the cabin. He slammed the door of his Jeep.

“Someone actually lives here?”

Robbie’s voice was incredulous from the passenger seat, and Miranda couldn’t blame him. Audrey’s home looked more dilapidated than ever. Clothing, apparently hung out to dry, draped over the porch railing she and Matthew had repaired the last time they were there. A white frost glistened over the clothing, the lawn. And that pile of lumber Miranda had dropped by weeks ago, meant for roof repair, was still on the lawn, covered with tarp.

Robbie trailed behind her as she made her way up the porch, knocked on the door. Robbie. She still had trouble believing he’d slept on her couch last night, not Blaze—he’d shared a cup of coffee with her this morning, then accompanied her to the shack, not Matthew.

She still couldn’t process his nonchalant reaction to her explanation about Blaze. “You did what you thought you had to in order to save the show. If I hadn’t left you, you never would’ve had to.”

At least he acknowledged that. But she’d started wondering more and more these past few weeks if both she and Robbie were wrong—she hadn’t
had
to keep up the ruse. Oh, she’d told herself it was her only option. But truth had always been an option. She just didn’t want to face it.

“Nobody should live in a dump like this,” Robbie muttered as Miranda knocked again. “Remember all the houses we built in Brazil?”

As if she could erase those years from her memory.

Don’t let him too far in.

She’d repeated the reminder over and over already this morning.
Just one day. Because he’s hurting.

“I remember.” Her voice blended with the cries of Audrey’s baby from inside the house. Why didn’t Audrey answer the door?

She knocked a third time. When there was still no answer, she reached for the doorknob. Audrey’s baby was crying like something was seriously wrong. And if the woman wasn’t answering the door . . .

The knob gave, and she pushed, creaking open the door. Immediately, a sour smell wafted from the house. Miranda wrinkled her nose but stepped forward. “Hello?”

More clothing hung in the living room—over a lampshade, on the back of the dilapidated sofa. The baby’s cries continued.

“Perhaps the baby’s mother isn’t home,” Robbie offered.

Anger sliced through Miranda at the thought, and she marched down the hallway toward the sound of Lola’s cries. “Look for Audrey,” she said over her shoulder.

“Where do I look?” Robbie called after her. “This place is not big enough to hide.”

Miranda hurried into the nursery, Lola’s screams piercing her ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said gently. She reached for the infant, lifted her from the crib, gasped. Heat radiated from her skin. “Oh, honey, you’re sick.”

The baby’s cries became coughs. Miranda closed her eyes as she held her against her chest, palm cradling Lola’s head, her hair sticky and wet.

Robbie walked in. “There is no one else here.” He stopped. “That cough sounds bad.”

“It is bad. I can feel the croup in her chest through her back. I don’t know what to do.” And she was so very hot. Miranda
swayed, whispering, worrying as Lola continued to cough and cry. What should she do?

And why was Robbie staring at her like that? Feet rooted in place. Eyes glazed and lips pressed tight. “We could’ve had this,” he whispered.

Yes.

No!

She blinked, swallowed a lump in her throat, and then swallowed again. “I’m going to help you, Lola. I don’t know how, but . . .”

The smack of the front door sounded through the house. Next thing Miranda knew Audrey was in the nursery, stringy hair framing her pale cheeks, purple circles sagging under her eyes. She stared wordlessly.

“Where have you been?” Miranda blurted the words, then clamped her mouth shut. No need to scare the girl. “Lola’s very sick. Why did you leave her alone?”

“She kept crying,” Audrey murmured listlessly. “Crying and coughing and crying. I couldn’t . . . I needed to . . . I just went on a walk.” She blinked, seemed to snap to life at the sight of Robbie watching from the corner of the room. “Who is that?”

Miranda ignored the question. “Audrey, have you taken Lola’s temperature? She’s burning up.”

“No.”

“Do you have a family doctor? I think we need to call someone.”

Audrey only shrugged. Miranda’s worry unfolded into an all-out dread. “Take Lola. I’m going to make a call.”

“Can’t you hold her a little longer? I’m awfully tired.”

She could’ve yelled. Maybe did. Who would know with Lola’s pitiful cries filling the room? With one hand balancing the baby, Miranda whipped her phone from her pocket with the other. She jabbed the number she’d entered into her
contacts the other day and propped the phone between her ear and shoulder.

“Why are you here?” Audrey asked again. “Is it about Jimmy?”

She shook her head as the phone rang in her ear.
Come on, pick up!
“No. When was the last time you saw him?”

Audrey shrugged limply. “A few weeks ago.”

“You mean he hasn’t been here since—”

“Hey, Miranda!” A perky voice interrupted her.

Thank God.
“Izzy, I need help.”

“Matthew, what are you doing here?”

Liv’s pumps clacked against the wood floor of Open Arms’ entryway. Matthew fiddled with the canvas strap of the messenger bag slung over his arm. Maybe he should’ve called Miranda’s friend before showing up at her place of employment.

Liv halted in front of him, her pink wrap dress so unlike anything Miranda would wear. How had the two become friends, anyway?

“Sorry to show up without calling or anything,” Matthew said. He held out his hand.

“You seriously want me to shake your hand? Isn’t that a little formal?” But Liv grasped his palm anyway and gave a hearty shake.

“Sorry. Habit of the trade, I guess.”

“The trade. So you came for, what, an interview?”

Matthew shook his head, irritation at his own lack of poise prickling him. These past few days had thrown him so far off his groove, it was like he walked through a house of mirrors.

Why am I even here?

“No, not an interview exactly,” he answered Liv. The piney scent of evergreen and fir filled the open entryway. “Hey, why does it smell like a Christmas tree farm in here?”

“All the kids have daily chores. Today’s was polishing all the woodwork in the house. They may have used enough Old English to fuel a car. So, what can I do for you?”

She could start by explaining her best friend. What made a woman welcome a man who’d broken her heart back into her life?

He flipped open his bag and pulled out a set of DVDs.

“The other day when we were here, you mentioned what a hard time a couple of the newer counselors have had picking up ASL. Some of the kids, too. When my brother married my sister-in-law and brought Celine home, he needed to learn. I wanted to, as well. So we found this DVD set online. Total miracle worker. I was in Minneapolis over the weekend, so I picked it up.” He held out the plastic case.

“Oh, Matthew, this is great. I knew there had to be something out there to help us. Truly, thanks so much.” She paused, one toe tapping against the floor. Then, “But did you really drive all the way out here just to deliver this? Not that I’m not grateful. Seriously, it was so thoughtful of you. But I fancy myself a good people-reader and—”

The chimes of a child’s laughter sounded overhead, followed by the patter of footsteps running down the hall.

“I should let you get back to work.” Matthew closed his bag. It was silly to come here. Liv wouldn’t spill on her bestie.

“Nice try, Knox, but I’m not going to let you go all Artful Dodger on me. Come on back to my office.” She was already heading toward the French doors leading into what Miranda had told him used to be a parlor. It had been remodeled into a grouping of offices years ago.

He shrugged and followed Liv into a closet of an office, lavender-colored walls brightening the small space. Behind Liv’s desk, a kaleidoscope of kids’ drawings crowded a hanging bulletin board. A lit candle on her desk replaced the smell of furniture polish with vanilla.

Liv reached into a miniature fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke. “Want some?”

“Sure, thanks.” His stomach reminded him he’d skipped breakfast. A Coke would do for now.

Liv dropped into her swivel chair. “You obviously came to talk about Rand. So talk.”

He lowered onto the chair across from her. Only he overestimated its height, his backside bumping onto the seat when his knees buckled. An “Oomph” escaped from his lips as he landed.

Liv lifted a fist to her mouth to cover her giggle. “Sorry, I’ve usually got kids in here. There’s a lever under the chair to raise it.”

“As if I didn’t feel like enough of an idiot.”

“I don’t allow the kids to use the word
idiot.
Now, like I said, talk.”

“You’re bossy.”

“And you’re upset. So spill.”

Why did he feel like a patient in a psychiatrist’s office? Miranda
had
said Liv liked to fix people’s problems. “You know I know she’s not married to Blaze, right?”

“Yeah, I was in the car when she told Blaze on the way back from the hospital.”

“Right.” He popped the tab on his soda. “Her fiancé came back.”

Liv’s hand knocked into her pop can and it fizzed over onto her desk. She grabbed a couple Kleenexes and wiped up the spill. “Sorry. That surprised me.”

“Surprised all of us. He just showed up out of the blue last night.”

“Robbie. You should’ve brought him here. I’d love to kick the guy in the teeth.”

Somehow he had trouble picturing the blonde in the pink
dress so much as sticking her tongue out. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t Miranda’s response. He spent the night and now they’re off working together for the day.”

Concern etched into Liv’s face, pulling her lips into a frown. “I don’t like that.”

“Me neither. I don’t get why she’d allow him back. What kind of hold does he have over her?”

Liv lifted her pop can to take a drink, then slowly lowered it onto the desk. “I didn’t know Rand before he left. But we’ve talked about it since then. It’s usually me coercing her into it. Getting her to talk is like pulling teeth, yeah?”

Actually, that hadn’t really been Matthew’s experience. How many evenings had they spent out on the porch or in her workshop, chatting to the tune of sandpaper against wood?

“Miranda fell for that man oh-so-hard in Brazil. If you ask me, she was still hurting from the loss of her grandparents
and
the fact that her parents were so distant. Robbie became a lifeline. And when he left . . .”

Liv didn’t need to finish. Matthew had seen all the evidence already of Miranda’s pain. “So why let him back into her life now?”

Liv shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe she needs closure. Maybe there are things she needs to say to him. Like . . .” She paused, uncertainty hovering in her unspoken words.

“Go on,” he urged. “I want to understand. Not as a reporter. As her friend.” As the man who’d kissed her last night. Who ached to make things better for her.

“She thought she was pregnant when Robbie left. Found out a few weeks later it was just a false alarm.”

Surprise whooshed through Matthew. That and . . . hurt. Hurt at the reminder of the way Miranda had given herself to the man. And hurt for her—how she’d faced not only rejection but certainly confusion, as well.

“Look, Matthew, Miranda needs someone like you on her side. Someone who sees and values her strengths, but who can also handle her weaknesses. She needs someone who will allow her to stand on her own two feet at the same time as he cares for her, provides for her, gives her someone to lean on. Don’t give up on her.”

He leaned forward, his untasted can of pop encased in both hands. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, don’t abandon her now.” Liv smiled. “She likes you more than she’s liked any man for a loooong time. Believe me. Robbie coming back? It’s just a blip. I’m sure of it.”

A seed of determination bloomed into the full thing. He stood, knowing what he needed to do, to say.