Page 90 of Snowbound Surrender
“You might be surprised.”
Miranda’s brow arched higher. “What kind of man would want to marry a woman who threw herself at her sister’s fiancé?” She flushed scarlet at the memory of that afternoon with Micah Lewis.
A sympathetic, but also mischievous, grin sparkled its way up to Starla’s eyes. “I haven’t met your sister, but the man sounds like a complete boob to pass up a determined, energetic woman like you.”
The warmth of the compliment swirled through Miranda even as it deflated her. Determined and energetic, not beautiful or graceful.
Starla straightened. “You know what? I bet Buford left this place to you because he wanted to prove to you that you’re as good as any of those shrinking violets.”
Miranda latched onto the hope of the comment. “Really?”
“Sure. I bet he wanted you to have this place so you could learn to loosen up and live a little too.”
Miranda huffed impatiently and set to work scrubbing the already clean bar top. “I tried loosening up once. It brought me nothing but disgrace.”
Starla laughed out loud. “Then it seems to me that all you need is more practice.”
“Practice? Being loose?” She stopped cleaning and planted one fist on her hip. “Loose women do not exactly have the best reputations, you know.”
“Maybe not, but we sure do have more fun.” Starla winked.
Too late, Miranda realized she’d insulted her new friend. “Oh, Starla. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
Starla shrugged. “Honey, I’m as loose as a schoolboy’s front tooth. I have to be to survive.” She leaned across the bar as if confiding a great secret. “But let me tell you, you don’t have to be as loose as me to loosen up a little.”
Miranda pursed her lips in doubt. “That hasn’t been my experience.”
“Then you need new experiences.” She shifted to rest her weight on one hip. “Take a chance. Open yourself up to life a little. It’s Christmas, after all. You never know what sort of miracles will walk through your door at Christmas.”
Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. “No miracles are going to walk through my?—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence before the saloon’s front door burst open with a gust of icy wind. The first thing that entered was a huge trunk with the faded words “Mendel’s Marvelous Brushes” painted on it. The owner of the trunk came staggering through the door afterwards. He set the trunk down with a thud, then straightened, brushing tiny flurries of snow from his wool-clad arms. He was tall, with broad shoulders and thick, curling, brown hair, which he revealed as soon as he removed his hat.
“Good afternoon, uh, ma’am. My name is Randall Sinclair, and I come to you today…” He paused, met her eyes, and smiled.
CHAPTER 2
If she hadn’t hadthe bar to lean against, Miranda suspected she would have been knocked clear to the ground with the force of Randall Sinclair’s smile. It brought about such a transformation on his handsome, weary face that she caught herself smiling too. It took half a second for her to determine that there was no one else like this man in all of Mistletoe, maybe in all of Montana, although she couldn’t put her finger on whether it was his tailored coat, his high cheekbones and straight nose, or just the air he had about him.
Outside, the flurries were changing over to steadier snow, and it was the smack of the door flapping against the wall as another gust came through that startled the smile off of Mr. Sinclair’s face.
“I’m so sorry.” He rushed to put his trunk down and spun around to shut the door.
“Hold on a second there, sweetheart.” Starla pushed away from the bar with a knowing, teasing grin for Miranda. “I was just about to leave.” Before she did, she leaned closer to Miranda and said, “Just you remember what I said about loosening up and letting miracles happen.”
“He’s a man, not a miracle,” Miranda whispered in return.
Starla laughed. “Honey, in my experience, every man is some kind of miracle.” She ended her statement with a saucy wink and sashayed toward the door.
Mr. Sinclair was still in the entryway, and as Starla reached him, taking a light grey, wool coat from the row of hooks by the door and shrugging into it, he held the door for her with a slightly baffled, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Starla sent a glance in Miranda’s direction, chuckled, and patted Mr. Sinclair’s slightly shadowed cheek as she marched out into the snow.
Mr. Sinclair watched her go, shook his head and shrugged, then closed the door behind her. When that was done, he put his smile back on and strode a few steps deeper into the room. “Like I said,” he began again, “my name is Randall Sinclair, and I come to you today from the…”
His smile vanished once more. His hands dropped to his sides as he looked around the big, empty saloon.
“Oh. You’re closed, aren’t you?”
