The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting (34 page)
The girl’s face widened into a smile, and for a moment, Miranda thought she was going to hug her. “Ms. Hill—I am so glad to see you. I can’t find the teen books!”
Inwardly, Miranda groaned. Not again. “Did you check in our normal hiding place under the nine hundreds?”
“They’re not there, and the fake slipcovers you made are gone,” she said, her expression crushed. “I think they took them off the shelves again.”
It had been an ongoing battle with the city council, who thought the books that teenagers were reading were trash. They didn’t seem to understand how wonderful it was that they were reading at all, so Miranda had purchased her own small library of popular teen novels and shelved them with fake jackets that a few of the students had helped her create. They were the most popular section in the library.
“I’ll check with Mrs. Murellen,” Miranda said, heading toward the counter. Trisha trotted on her heels close behind.
There was no one at the counter, books stacked everywhere, the return bin overflowing. Trisha immediately started to pick through the return bin, looking for missed favorites. Miranda slipped behind the counter and went to the back office, knocking softly. No response. She opened the door.
Mrs. Murellen sat behind her desk, chin propped on a hand, snoring.
“Mrs. Murellen,” Miranda said, her voice sharp. “Wake up.”
The older woman snorted awake, and peered at Miranda. “Oh my goodness. Did you come back for your job?”
“No—”
Mrs. Murellen looked sad. “Oh.”
“Someone here is looking for the teen reading books. Where did you move them to?”
“I took them off the shelves,” Mrs. Murellen said, adjusting her glasses as she stood up. “Did you know that they were about vampires? Sexy vampires? Terrible stuff.”
“They’re perfectly fine,” Miranda explained, going through the shelf of books in the tiny office. Sure enough, it was crammed full of P. C. Cast, Richelle Mead, and Stephenie Meyer, as well as anything that had a teenager on the cover. She sighed and grabbed several of them off the shelf.
“Those are going to be removed from circulation—”
“No they’re not,” Miranda said firmly, and handed them to an excitedly waiting Trisha. “I think we should talk.”
Miranda spent the next hour straightening up at the library, doing her best not to lecture Mrs. Murellen, and reshelving the teen literature. She couldn’t be mad—it was obvious Mrs. Murellen didn’t want to be Bluebonnet’s only librarian; she’d offered Miranda her job back three times in a half hour. When that didn’t work, she tried to get Miranda’s advice on what to spend Dane’s donation on—she had no idea what books to buy, and didn’t know where to start.
Miranda came up with a list of bestsellers that she’d had her
eye on and wrote Mrs. Murellen a lengthy shopping detail, as well as a to-do list of chores that she was neglecting. Miranda shouldn’t have come back. Her mind was now filled with treacherous ideas. Ideas of returning and running things with a firmer hand. Ideas of how to spend the money Dane had donated.
Ideas of driving over to the Daughtry Ranch and throwing Dane down on the floor, apologizing, and then making love to him until the sun came up.
But she’d burned that bridge.
Across town, Beth Ann picked up her phone and dialed. “Wilderness Survival Expeditions,” a gruff voice said.
Great, she’d gotten Colt. “This is Beth Ann. Let me talk to Dane.”
“He’s out.” Short, abrupt. Why was she not surprised? The man acted like it was a crime to string more than two words together.
“Why is he out?” she persisted.
“Class.”
“Yeah, well, you’d better go get him,” she said irritably. The man crawled under her skin way too fast. “Because you’ll never guess who just drove back into town. And I think he’ll want to see her.”
Colt found Dane surrounded by a group of students. They crouched in a clearing, Dane at the center of the group. Ignoring their surprised looks and Dane’s puzzled one, he quickly told Dane the details of Beth Ann’s phone call.
“She’s here?” Dane stared at Colt, disbelieving. He dropped the fire-making implements in his hands. “You’re sure?”
“No, I lied.” Colt turned around to leave.
Dane lurched forward over the group and grabbed Colt by the shoulders. He turned and looked his buddy in the eyes. “Miranda’s back?”
“That’s what Beth Ann said,” Colt drawled. “And that’s why my ass is out here and not playing Xbox.”
Dane ran a hand down his face and then looked over at Colt. He glanced at the waiting students, then back at Colt. “I’m gonna need your help.”
“All ears, buddy.” He couldn’t resist the grin that crossed his face at Dane’s hopeful expression.
He began to pace. Colt crossed his arms and leaned on a nearby tree, watching him.
“I need a way to say that I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t do anything wrong,” Colt pointed out.
“No, I know. I’m not apologizing for me. I’m apologizing for the situation.” He paused, put his hands on his hips and stared up at the sky, thoughtfully. “Needs to be a big gesture.”
“She won’t care if it’s big or not,” Colt felt he had to point out.
“Yeah, but I care,” Dane said. He paced for a moment, then snapped his fingers and dashed off into the woods.
Colt looked back at the confused students, then at his retreating friend. “Class dismissed. Brenna will be out here in a bit to lead you guys home,” he said, then dashed off after Dane with a grin. Whatever he had in mind, it ought to be interesting.
M
None of the heavy shelves were leaning anymore. They had all been repaired, the warped wood of each slat replaced, the contents dusted. She glanced outside and sure enough, the crooked sign she’d been so used to seeing had been repaired as well.
Her mother finished ringing up some customers, and when they left, Miranda stepped forward.
Tanya Hill gasped with delight at her daughter and flung her arms open, and they hugged for a long, long minute.
“How’s it going, Mom?” she asked with a smile. Her mother looked happy—healthy. Smiling. God, that was so good to see. She’d been so worried that her mother was going to have another one of her depressive episodes while Miranda was gone, and then she’d have to return to town.
A little sad part of her twinged at that. Surely it wasn’t disappointment? That was so wrong of her. She immediately shut down the thought. Her mother didn’t need her here, babysitting her in town, and she was finally free. Miranda should have been thrilled, and she’d hated that the first thing that came to mind was hurt. Didn’t her mother miss her?
“I’m good, I’m good,” her mother gushed. “I went to an estate sale and picked up all kinds of things for cheap, Miranda. You wouldn’t believe the deals I got!” As her mother went on about the sale, showing her new items in the store, Miranda couldn’t help but make a mental note of all the small changes.
“Did you hire a carpenter, Mama? I saw the sign was fixed.”
Her mother beamed. “No. That nice Dane Croft came by and fixed it for me.”
The world spun. She never thought she’d hear her mother say
nice
and
Dane
in the same sentence. “What?” she said weakly. “You hate him.”
“I did hate him,” her mother said proudly. “But that was before he got that horrible Chad Mickleson to take down those pictures of you.”
“What?”
“Yes,” her mother said solemnly. “He punched Chad right in the face in front of everyone, and then made him go home and take down those pictures while he watched.”
“But…I thought…” She felt weak, and collapsed onto an antique wooden stool nearby. Beth Ann had told her that the pictures were down, but she hadn’t realized that it was because Dane had threatened someone
else
and forced them to take it down. She thought he’d finally had a change of heart. “I thought Dane put those pictures up.”
“So did I,” her mother said with a sniff. “All this time it was that horrible Chad. You know I never liked him. Shifty eyes. Anyway, after Dane had the pictures taken down, he came over here and apologized to me. Said he’d been unfair when we’d talked on the phone all those years ago, and he wanted to make it up to me. And he offered to fix my sign.”
Her head wouldn’t stop spinning. Miranda pressed a hand to her forehead, unable to comprehend. “I’m sorry, what? What calls are you talking about?”
“Back when he left for the NHL,” her mother said patiently. “He kept calling for you and I wouldn’t let him talk to you. We got into a nasty argument. That was when I had my nervous breakdown.”
“Dane called for me back then?” she said weakly, surprised. She’d never known. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why, darling, I didn’t want to upset you. He was an awful boy back then, but he’s turned into a nice man now.”
Oh
God.
Not only had Dane been innocent of the picture-taking, but he’d called and asked for her after he’d left for the NHL? He wasn’t the bastard she’d made him out to be? Miranda
remembered his confusion that evening a month ago, as he’d stared up at her, handcuffed to her bed. Totally betrayed. He hadn’t understood why she’d been so upset.
Because he’d
truly
had no idea.
God, she was going to throw up. She clutched her stomach, horrified.
Dane…hadn’t been the one all those years? Her revenge? Her burning hatred? Directed at the wrong person?
And…oh God. Dane had really liked her?
Oh my
God
. And she’d ruined it. Acted like a crazy woman, screaming and crying at him. Handcuffed him to the bed and left him there. Taken naked pictures of him. Taken what they’d had and stomped it into the ground.
“Mom,” she said softly.
“Are you all right, honey?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She was going to pass out. She really was. She bent over and put her head between her knees, breathing hard. Horror swirled in her stomach, a hard knot that threatened to make her puke.
Her mother patted her back. “I’ll get you some water, dear.”
Miranda didn’t move. Maybe she could curl up right here and die. She’d ruined one of the best things that had ever happened to her. For nine years she’d obsessed over Dane Croft, and when she’d gone and fallen in love with the man and he’d seemed to care for her back…she’d destroyed it all just to get revenge. And why? Just because he hadn’t told his buddies about her? She’d told him
not
to when they’d gotten together.
Miranda buried her face in her hands and moaned. She’d been so stupid.
A horn honked outside. Once, twice, three times. She glanced up, but didn’t see anything outside the cluttered shop windows. Her mother went to the window, and then covered her mouth, smothering a laugh. “You had better come see this,” she declared.
“I don’t care, Mama,” she said weakly, lost in thought. God, how could she have been so cruel to him?
“I really think you should, Miranda Jane Hill.”
Curious despite her nauseated misery, Miranda pulled herself from the chair and followed her mother over to the front door of the shop.
There, coming down the street, was a naked man. A very, very naked man. He wore nothing—even his feet were bare, and his body was corded with muscle. She could see tan lines on his arms and collarbone from a shirt, and she automatically looked south for more tan lines. His hands were in front of his privates, and he was holding something white and round there. She squinted, but the window was dirty and cluttered, and it was hard to see. Two people stood behind the man, and as he strode down the sidewalk, she noticed that cars were stopping to honk. The man was oblivious, striding forward with purpose in his step, ignoring the photographer that hovered a few feet away, rapidly taking pictures with an oversized camera and keeping just a few paces in front of the man as he walked.
What an idiot,
she thought, her hand going to the high collar of her shirt even as she admired his body. Whatever this stupid gesture was for, he was never going to be able to live down the pictures. She knew that full well…
Then she recognized what the white thing in front of his privates
was—a hockey helmet. She swallowed hard, and moved to the front door, scarcely able to breathe.
And she went out in the street and stared.
And
stared
.
From behind Dane, Beth Ann giggled. The man standing next to her didn’t crack a smile, but it didn’t matter—Miranda barely glanced at him. Her gaze went to the bronzed body of Dane Croft, completely naked and heading in her direction. Crowds of people had started to come out of the shops, flooding onto Main Street and whispering. A few women catcalled at his bare ass.
“Dane,” Miranda hissed as he walked down the sidewalk and moved to stand in front of her. “What the hell are you doing?”
He grinned at her, her heart flipping at the sight of those flashing white teeth. The photographer clicked away, but Dane seemed oblivious. “I wanted to talk to you before you run away again, and I figured this might be the best way to do it.”
She stared around nervously as even more people flooded into the street to watch. Even the cars nearby slowed down and parked to watch the show. And God, he was
really
naked. “Dane—”
“Let me speak, Miranda,” he said softly. “I have a lot to say.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “All right.”
Dane’s face grew serious and he stared down at her, his green eyes thoughtful. “Miranda, I came out here today, naked,” he said, pausing to look at the audience, and then shifted on his feet and turned back to her, “to tell you that I was an idiot in high school.”