cabin. After where they’d been, it seemed too big and too clean.
They had dinner by candlelight and afterward she started to pull down the blanket that separated their beds. Frank made her laugh by pretending to blow a trumpet. She knew what he meant. In the movie It Happened One Night, Clark Gable said the Walls of Jericho were coming down so he blew a toy trumpet.
They fell into bed laughing.
Early the next morning they were at the stove, with Frank helping Miranda make pumpkin scones, when they heard the helicopter above the cabin. Frank reacted instantly. He ran to the door, and to her consternation, he flung open a door hidden in the log wall and withdrew a rifle. “Stay here,” he ordered.
“Okay,” she whispered, feeling a bit like a heroine in a Western movie.
Seconds later he was back. He put the rifle away, then went to the table. He was frowning. “Is breakfast ready?”
She heard him only by reading his lips, because the sound of the ’copter overhead was deafening. His attitude and whoever was arriving piqued her curiosity. Quickly, she flung food onto a plate, sloshed coffee into a cup by his hand, and ran out the door.
The helicopter was directly overhead. A couple of duffel bags had already been lowered, and a tall blond man wearing a dark suit, briefcase in hand, was descending. His foot was hooked into a loop of cable. Miranda couldn’t help smiling at this version of Wall Street coming down through the tall trees, the mountains in the distance. As he got closer, she started laughing because she could see that while holding on to the briefcase and the cable, he was also eating an apple.
He landed in front of her. He was quite good-looking: very blond, very white skin, blue eyes so bright they dazzled. Holding the apple in his mouth, he motioned the helicopter to go away, and Miranda saw that the briefcase was handcuffed to his wrist.
“Hungry?” she asked, as he stood there staring at her.
“Starved.” He was looking at her in a way that made her feel quite good about herself, and she smiled back warmly.
“You here with Frank?” he asked.
“I am. I was hired to be his nurse. That turned out to be a joke, but I’m still here because . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to explain something so private. With her hand shielding her eyes, she watched the helicopter disappear over the horizon, then looked back at the man.
“Mike. Or was it Kane?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If a joke was played on Frank, it would have to be either Mike or Kane.” When she didn’t respond, he held out his hand. “I’m Julian Wales. Frank’s assistant. Or actually, glorified gofer. And you are?”
She put her hand into his large warm one. “Miranda Stowe. I’m a nurse, but I’m also the cook-housekeeper.”
He gave her a look that made her blush. “Perhaps I’ll find myself becoming ill and have need of your services.”
She withdrew her hand from his—after two tugs. “Mr. Taggert is in there, and I have pumpkin scones for breakfast.”
“Gorgeous, and you can cook too. You wouldn’t like to marry me, would you?”
Feeling like an eighteen-year-old, she laughed. “Frank’s already asked.” She was horrified at what she’d revealed. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She had no idea how to cover herself, so she went back into the cabin. Julian, his eyes wide in disbelief, stared after her for a moment before following.
Frank’s only greeting was “You’re early.”
Julian’s reply was to remove the briefcase from his wrist, unlock it, and turn it over to Frank.
“Unfortunately,” Julian said, “I arranged for the ’copter to pick me up tomorrow morning. I’d planned to stay and do a little fishing, but I didn’t know you had a guest. If it’s not suitable for me to stay, I can walk out.”
Buried in the papers, Frank didn’t look up. “Take the couch.”
“Yes, sir,” Julian said, then winked at Miranda as she put a plate of scones and scrambled eggs in front of him.
“Have you had breakfast, Miranda?” Julian asked. When she shook her head no, he said, “How’d you like to join me outside? A morning like this is too beautiful to waste in here.”
She looked at Frank but he was absorbed by the papers. Smiling, plate in hand, Miranda followed Julian out the door.
He put his plate on a stump and began to remove his suit jacket and tie. “Hallelujah!” he said, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. “Twenty-four hours of freedom.” Sitting on the stump, the plate on his lap, he looked up at her. “There’s room for two.”
She smiled graciously but sat down on a rock a few yards away.