Chapter 3 #2
Miranda picked at her food with her fork, probably not tasting a morsel as she ate—lucky her.
“There’s plenty of wood in the storage room, and more on the porch.
Although if this snow continues and forms drifts along the front of the building, we might not be able to reach it.
” She glanced up at him suddenly, worry painting her face.
“Do you think we could be trapped inside the saloon?”
Her concern poked at something tender in his heart. He sighed, putting on a look of mock resignation. “We’ll have to hold out until the spring thaw.” He shrugged and sawed through his dry chicken, popping a bite in his mouth. “Better eat this slowly. It’ll have to last for months.”
Miranda relaxed into a guilty laugh. “I suppose we’ll be fine eventually. I’ve never been on my own in dire circumstances like this.” Her lips pinched. She raised a fork full of soggy vegetables to her lips, but put it down without eating.
Randall’s first instinct was to reassure her, to tell her she wasn’t alone, that he was there with her.
He even opened his mouth to say as much, but a flash of inspiration stopped him.
“It reminds me of the time the merchant vessel I was working on traveled to the Kingdom of Hawaii and I was left behind in a rowboat after a fishing trip.”
Miranda fumbled her fork, her eyes going wide. “You’ve been to the Kingdom of Hawaii?”
Randall’s lips twitched into a smile. “Yes, and I can assure you, it was warmer than this.”
She blinked, then laughed, then pressed a hand to her mouth. A moment later, she pulled her hand away and frowned. “You were stranded in a boat?”
“Not exactly.” Randall shrugged and went back to eating his meal.
It grew less palatable as it cooled off.
“I was stranded on a small island. There are scads of them out there, you know. For a few hours, I was certain I was going to end up like Robinson Crusoe—only without Friday—doomed to live out the rest of my wretched days alone on an island.”
Miranda arched an eyebrow, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork, decidedly more relaxed than she’d been minutes before. “Are you saying that I’m Friday.”
Randall laughed. “It’s far more likely that I’m Friday, at the rate we’re going.”
“Yes, well, I did cook.” She put on a superior look, one that made Randall’s heart thunder against his ribs. Once she’d chewed and swallowed, she went on. “How long were you stranded?”
“Only a few hours. Fortunately, one of my fellow crew members noticed I was missing, saw that the boat was gone too, and put two and two together. The captain knew my father, so he wasn’t about to leave me there to make friends with the parrots.”
“What a relief.” Miranda took a bite of her biscuit, made a face, and put it down again. “Where else have your adventures taken you?”
“I’ve been to Mexico,” he answered. And because it was a topic close to the top of his thoughts, he said, “The food there is spicy and delicious.”
“Really? I’ve never had food from Mexico.”
Randall grinned at his memories, willing the doughy biscuit to taste like an empanada. “The senoritas who cooked for us could do things with avocados that would bless your dreams for years to come.”
Miranda shrugged and shook her head. “What’s an avocado?”
It was Randall’s turn to stare at her with wide eyes. “You’ve never had an avocado?”
“Is it a kind of sweet?”
He made a mental note that her mind would go straight to sweets at the mention of something delicious, but shook his head and scooted closer to the table on his seat.
“It’s a sort of vegetable.” He paused. “Well, technically, I think it’s a fruit.
But it’s savory, with soft flesh that transforms any dish into pure heaven. ”
Miranda smiled, hopefully no longer hearing the whistle of the gale that blew against the corner of the saloon or the tinkling of snow and ice hitting the window. “The only exotic thing I’ve ever eaten was a fruit called a mango.”
“Mangos are delicious,” Randall agreed. “In India, they puree them and blend them with milk and spices to make a drink called lassi.”
Miranda’s smile widened, then faltered. “It seems as though you’ve had a great many more exciting experiences than I’ve had.”
Randall shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never inherited a saloon.”
She’d lowered her head with her previous statement and raised it just enough now to send him a coy look through her lashes. “I don’t know if I’d consider that exciting.”
“I would.” He stabbed the last, tough piece of chicken on his plate, pleased that he’d made it through the entire meal in one piece. “And hey, we’re both getting to experience the excitement of being snowed in for the night.”
“About that.” Miranda took a deep breath, setting her fork down as if she’d given up. “I assume you’ve found a room to your liking?”
Randall’s thoughts flew to the narrow closet with a rough bed that she referred to as a room. He suspected that those rooms had been designed for one use…one that didn’t translate to long stays. Anything over twenty minutes would have been more than most ranchers and cowpokes could have afforded.
“It’ll do.” He worked not to chuckle. “I took the one closest to your apartment here because, well, there are no fireplaces in those rooms and it seemed a bit warmer.”
“Oh. I hadn’t even thought of that.” She pressed a hand to one bright cheek. “I think there are extra blankets in the storage rooms upstairs, or in the attic.”
“There’s an attic?” His brow went up. What kind of treasure existed in a saloon’s attic?
“Yes. Feel free to bring down as many blankets as you feel you’ll need to stay warm.” She stood, taking her plate and reaching for his. “I can clean up from supper.”
Randall stood as well. “I can help with that too.” He picked up both of their water glasses and followed her to the sink. “I could cook breakfast tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Oh no,” she rushed to say. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that. You’ve been inconvenienced enough already. I’m the hostess. Consider myself your guest.”
Inwardly, Randall cringed and said a quick prayer for gastric fortitude. “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He set the glasses on the counter beside the sink as Miranda set to work cleaning up. “I’ll just check the fires one last time before I turn in as well.”
“Thank you.” She turned briefly to him with a smile, then continued to scrub plates. “I’m sure this storm can’t last more than one night.”
“Probably not,” he agreed.
But a part of him hoped it might last much, much longer.