couple of weeks, and Miranda had never seen her daughter happier.
For Emily’s sake, Miranda would deal with her feelings, as jumbled as they were. Besides, how hard could that be? She could handle the discomfort and awkwardness for a day or two.
But if Matt’s stay stretched much longer, she’d be toast.
Now that the dinner hour had arrived, and they’d gathered around the kitchen table, Matt and Miranda sat in silence. Once friends and lovers, now strangers at best.
She studied her plate, her glossy brown hair draping both sides of her face and making it difficult to read her expression. Matt bet she felt nearly as uneasy about their unexpected reunion as he did.
The past stretched between them like a frayed rubber band ready to snap. But he’d be damned if he’d be the first to speak.
“Emily,” Uncle George said, “how’d your 4-H meeting go?”
“It was good. Miss Sadie, our leader, gave us the schedule for the county fair.” The girl looked at Uncle George with hopeful eyes. “You’re going to come watch me, too. Right?”
“Honey,” he said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Matt swept his fork across his empty plate, stirring the leftover gravy. The fair was a couple of weeks away, so Miranda clearly planned to stick around for a while, and that left a bad taste in his mouth in spite of the fact that the damned meal she’d fixed tonight was delicious. He might have asked for seconds, but he wanted an excuse to leave the table.
Hell, as it was, he’d thought about going somewhere else to recover. At least until after the fair ended.
“Miranda,” Uncle George said, patting his belly, “this pot roast is the best I’ve ever had.”
She glanced up from her plate, which had held her interest for the past ten minutes, even though she hadn’t taken more than a couple of bites. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.” Then she returned her focus on her food.
Matt had planned to order plenty of meals for him and his uncle at Caroline’s Diner since George’s favorite kitchen appliance was a can opener. Now, he supposed, he wouldn’t have to. That is, if he could deal with having Miranda around, stirring up the memories, both good and bad.
He supposed he ought to compliment her cooking and thank her, too. He might feel like shutting her out of his mind, like she’d done to him, but he hadn’t forgotten his manners.
Before he could open his mouth, his uncle added, “I really lucked out when you came to visit, Miranda. I’m eating better than ever, my check register finally balances and the ranch books are finally in order.”
Matt dropped his fork on the plate. The thought of Miranda looking over the Double G’s finances struck a ragged nerve—and for more reasons than one. George Grimes might be rough around the edges, but he had a soft heart, which sometimes got him into trouble when he put too much trust in the wrong person.
“You’ve got a good eye for detail, Miranda. You spotted things in the books that my accountant missed.” George chuckled and crossed his arms. “I liked being able to point them out to him, too. I told him I had my very own CPA living right down the hall.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Miranda said, her voice almost too soft for Matt to hear.
Apparently, she’d become an accountant. That wasn’t surprising. She’d been a good student when she’d been in high school, which was one reason her father had made such big plans for her.
So why was she here, when she could be helping her wealthy old man run one of the biggest berry farm operations in Texas?
Uncle George mentioned that she’d broken her engagement recently. Why? And who was the guy she’d planned to marry? Did he work for or with her father?
George said he hadn’t quizzed her, which seemed doubtful since he’d always had a soft spot for her. He also had a way of getting people to open up and tell him things without the need to ask.
Either way, something wasn’t right.
Matt glanced across the table at Emily, who was stirring her carrots with a fork, trying to make it look like she’d actually eaten her veggies.
She was a cute kid, petite and dark-haired like her mother. He still wondered about her dad. And Matt was determined to learn more. Uncle George wasn’t the only one in the family who was adept at ferreting out information indirectly.
“Emily,” Matt said, first making eye contact with the girl before shifting his focus to her mother. “I think it’s cool that you’re in the 4-H. When I was in school, I knew a couple of kids who were in the 4-H, but they were older than you. Isn’t there an age requirement?”
Miranda stiffened.
“I’m old enough,” Emily said. “People sometimes think that I’m younger than I am because I’m small for my age, just like my mom. When I joined, the lady who signed me up wanted to put me in Cloverbuds, but that’s for kids who are five to seven.”
“So you just made it, huh?” Matt smiled at the child, then turned to her mother, whose lovely tanned complexion had paled.
“My birthday’s on August third,” Emily said, a grin dimpling her cheeks, her eyes bright. “I’m going to be nine.”
It didn’t take a CPA to do the math. Miranda left town nine years ago last October, which meant she must have been pregnant at the time. And if so, that meant... Matt’s hand fisted and his eyes widened.
Emily was his.
* * *
Matt knew. And he clearly wasn’t happy about the secret Miranda had kept from him.
What little dinner she’d eaten tonight churned in her stomach, swirling and rising as if it had nowhere to go but out. Thankfully, she was able to hold it down. She placed her hand on her stomach, only to feel her growing baby bump. But this was one bout of nausea she couldn’t blame on pregnancy. Her morning sickness had passed more than a month ago.
The frown on Matt’s face and the crease in his brow suggested it was taking every bit of his self-control not to...
Not to what? Throw something across the room like Gavin once did when he’d come across a mess Emily had left in his family room?
This time, it was Miranda who’d made a complete mess of things. But Matt wasn’t like the man she’d nearly married, the marital bullet she’d dodged.
At least he hadn’t been like that in the past.
“Guess what.” Emily speared a potato, but rather than lifting her fork, she smiled and directed her words at Matt. “Uncle George said I could have my birthday party here.”
“He did, huh?” Matt’s demeanor, so stiff and strained moments ago, seemed to soften ever so slightly. His expression did, too, although it was
