Page 114 of Snowbound Surrender
He fixed a plate for himself and joined her just as she was finishing. But said nothing. Try as he did, he couldn’t summon up anything other than, “I think the sun has come out.”
She hummed. She wriggled in her seat. She avoided his eyes. Then she said, “I think I need to try to get some of the washing done,” and jumped up, fleeing to the hall.
Randall let out a breath, shook his head, and continued eating, though there was no joy in the deliciousness he’d created. Not until he dealt with the deliciousness they’d created the night before.
He finished eating and cleaned up the breakfast things. Then he cleaned the rest of the tiny apartment. Miranda didn’t return. His headache gradually subsided. The morning wore on, and he finally summoned the courage to break through the awkwardness and headed out to the saloon to find her. She’d managed to light a fire in the main saloon fireplace, but the room was still cold. She’d also pulled out a washtub and was scrubbing away near the fireplace hearth.
“Need some help?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her fretful look as charming as it was unsettling, and nodded. So Randall rolled up his sleeves and went to work wringing the sheets she’d washed and looking for places to hang them. Their makeshift Christmas decorations still brightened the saloon, and before long hefound himself humming Christmas carols. Miranda even joined in, though she lost the thread of the tunes a time or two, lost in her thoughts.
The day wore on, and still they didn’t talk about what they really needed to discuss. He put his effort into preparing a first-rate lunch of seasoned pork roast, herbed potatoes, and buttered beans. Once again, Miranda devoured it like she’d never tasted food. And once again, she fled to the saloon to find more work to do. Randall cleaned up, stored the leftovers, and put his foot down.
“This awkwardness has to stop,” he declared as he marched into the main part of the saloon. The light filtering through the snowed-in windows was still brighter than it had been in the last several days, but it was already beginning to fade as sunset made an early appearance. Darkness might have been the standard fare for this time of year in Montana, but he wasn’t going to let that seep into what he was certain was something good between him and Miranda.
To his surprise, Miranda stood from the washtub at his statement and sighed, throwing up her hands. “I know. I can’t stand it.”
Randall let his arms flap uselessly at his side instead of crossing them, like he’d been about to. “Oh. I’m glad we’re agreed on that point.”
“I just want to know if we did something wrong,” she burst, then heaved a breath before continuing. “Everything I’ve ever been told says that we did, but I don’t feel that way at all.”
“Neither do I.” He stepped closer to her. Instinct told him to hold off reaching for her until she said everything she needed to. “But I do want to make it right,” he added.
“How can you make something right if we’re not sure it’s wrong in the first place?” A layer of anger rose to the surface of her emotions.
Randall shrugged, itching with his own burst of indignation, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he was indignant at. Certainly not Miranda. “I want to marry you.” He spread his arms, finding the simplest way to express what he was feeling, what he’d been feeling almost from the moment he walked into the saloon. “It irks me that saying that now makes it sound like Ionlywant to marry you because we went to bed together. But the truth is, the last few days I’ve been wondering how in blazes I’ll be able to keep following my father’s wishes and walk out of this saloon when the blizzard is over.”
A spark of hope flashed in her eyes. “And I’m so angry that anyone on the outside might assume that I want to say yes to your marriage proposal just because my reputation would be tarnished otherwise. I couldn’t care less about my reputation as long as I don’t have to open that door, push you through it, and tell you goodbye.”
“It’s not particularly fair.” He nodded. “We would have fallen for each other, courted, and gotten married with or without this blizzard, whether we let go of our inhibitions and made love or not.” He hadn’t realized how true that was until the words bubbled up from his soul, unfettered. He blinked at himself, lips twitching without knowing whether to smile or grimace.
“Exactly.” Miranda took a step closer to him. “We would have found our way to everything that we wanted eventually, but now we’re as trapped in the inevitability of it all as we are trapped in this saloon because of the blizzard.”
“The inevitability?”
“Of the two of us marrying,” she sighed, shoulders dropping. They stepped toward each other. Miranda shook her head, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “I’m happy about it, really, but it’s not very romantic.”
Now Randall sensed the time was right. He slipped close enough to brush a hand along Miranda’s arm. “I wish I couldfind a way to surprise you with a grand, romantic gesture. To ask you to marry me instead of it being the next, natural step for two people with as much morality as daring.”
She glanced up at him, a combination of frustration and sentimentality in her expression. “Do you suppose we threw caution to the wind the way we did last night because neither of us could figure out how to approach the subject of marriage after knowing each other for so little time?”
At last, Randall broke into a smile. “Probably.” He reached for her, folding her in an embrace, resting her head on his shoulder and stroking her hair. “Although it was probably also the fact that we’re two, restless, passionate souls…who just finished tidying up a saloon full of unmentionable items.” He laughed more as he thought about it.
Miranda huffed an indignant breath and peeled away from him. He was certain he’d said the wrong thing, until she said, “It’s this blasted saloon’s fault.”
“The saloon?” Her anger had focused into a particular kind of irritation, and since he was certain it wasn’t focused on him, that they were on the same side, his uneasiness melted away.
“No!” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s Uncle Buford’s fault. Oh! I bet he knew something like this would happen when he willed the place to me.”
“What, that a traveling brush salesman who has spent the past ten years living under his father’s thumb would come along, get trapped in a blizzard with you, have the best week of his life, and compromise you into a marriage that, I suspect, will be a long and happy one?”
He was joking, but she answered with a strong, “Yes!”
His brow flew up. “That was very specific of him.”
Her expression remained implacable, but a lighter, wilder light filled her eyes. “How dare he push me out of a place where I was so comfortable and miserable?”
“And into a place where you are uncomfortable and blissfully happy?”
