“Give me a second to pack up, and I’ll walk you out.”
Miranda was counting on it.
She collected her keys from Brody. Ethan joined her, his guitar case in one hand. They headed toward the remaining vehicles.The crowd had thinned out during the last set. And no wonder. It was nearing eleven and a work night.
“So what did you think?”
Miranda knew he wasn’t asking about the cumulative performance. “As apologies go, that was…something.”
“‘I’m a dumbass, please forgive me’ just doesn’t have quite the same lyrical resonance.”
She huffed a laugh.
“Seriously, I should’ve called.”
It was gratifying to hear the admission. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because of how bad I wanted to approximately five minutes after I dropped you off.”
Whatever girly flutter she felt at the fact that he’d wanted to call was overshadowed by the complete foolishness of his explanation. “Ethan, you are seriously challenging my initial impression of you as a logical man.”
“Let me see if I can explain in a way that doesn’t make me look like any more of a jackass or like a crazy man.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Everything—our date, that kiss, you—it was all more than I was expecting.”
“And more is bad?”
“No. Yes. Not exactly.”
He was flustered. This capable, intelligent, interesting man was flustered. About her. That was a little more balm to Miranda’s wounded ego.
“I’m not looking for more,” he said.
She crossed her arms, struggling not to take offense at that. “Ethan, what exactly is it you think I want? Because if I have somehow given you the impression that I am in a rush for marriage, two point five kids, and a picket fence, let me assure you that I’m not. I mean, one of these days, probably, but right now, I don’t have time for serious. I am up to my eyeballs in debt. Between my student loans for med school and the business loan on my practice. A practice that’s doing well but still requires ninety percent of my time and effort. What I’m looking for is some fun to squeeze into that other ten percent. Which is about where I figured you were, given you’re only a handful of months into a new job, in a new town.”
His lips twitched and he looked off toward Hope Springs for a moment before bringing his gaze back to hers. “I mentioned the part where I’m a dumbass, right?”
Her mouth gave an answering twitch. A man who could admit he’d been wrong was worth a second chance. “You did.”
“Fun and simple is exactly what I’m looking for. You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”
Wasn’t that an appealing thought? “Okay then. We’re on the same page.”
“Looks like. Although I do have one non-negotiable condition.”
“Oh?”
“I’m an old-fashioned guy. One woman at a time. So long as we’re having fun together, it’s just with each other.”
“Even if I weren’t inclined toward monogamy myself, you’re the first guy to catch my interest in two years. That won’t be a problem for me.”
“Alright then.” He finally reached out again and touched her, tucking that hair behind her ear, the pads of his fingers skimming her cheek. “It’s late. You should probably be getting home.”
Her skin hummed with awareness and the desire he’d kindled with his song earlier. She thought about inviting him home with her, getting started on some of that fun. But it was late, and she thought they both needed a little time to be easy with each other again. “Yeah. There’s just one thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“I lied earlier.”
He went brows up. “About what?”
“Well, a half lie. I don’t bake chicken pot pie. I do make homemade tamales.”
His smile spread like warm molasses on biscuits. “Time and place, Legs.”
“When is your next night off?”
“Sunday.”
“Perfect. That gives me all afternoon to roll them. Say six o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
As they reached her SUV, she popped the back hatch and tossed in her folding camp chair. Slamming the liftgate, she frowned. Her Grand Cherokee seemed oddly low. Had she parked in some kind of a dip?
Ethan noticed, too, and flipped on the light on his phone. “You’ve got a flat.”
“Seriously?” She moved around the end of the Jeep to look, pulling out her own phone. “Well, damn it. That’s exactly what I wanted to be doing at eleven PM on a January night. Changing a tire in a pasture.” She went back to the rear to get the jack and the spare.
“Miranda, don’t touch anything.” The serious tone had her pausing.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t have just one flat. You have four.”
“I what?”
From where he crouched by the front driver’s side, he looked back at her, expression grim. “Someone punctured your tires.”
She made a quick circle around, as if seeing it for herself would somehow change the truth. “Why would anybody do this?”
“You piss anybody off lately?”
“Other than Clarice, who I haven’t even seen since that day in the diner? No. I can’t imagine pissing anybody off enough for this.”
“You haven’t had any run-ins with anybody else?”
“No. I—wait.” Surely Ralph Slocombe wouldn’t do something like this. “I had a patient last week who got upset when I denied him more prescription painkillers when he’d used up his last round too fast. But I don’t think he can move well enough to do something like this. He’s got a serious back injury and a lot of chronic pain.”
“All right, I’ll talk to him. Find out if he’s got an alibi for tonight. Meanwhile, let me get some stuff from my truck.”
Frustrated and upset, Miranda crossed her arms and waited as he did his cop thing, taking pictures of each tire, taking her statement and making notes for a report.
“C’mon. I’ll take you home.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll see that the tires are dealt with tomorrow.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she could deal with it herself. She could call for a tow just as easily as he could. But there was something about letting him take care of this annoyance for her. Maybe because it let him be, in a small way, the hero he so clearly wanted to be. And maybe because it was nice to have a hero, for once. “Thanks.”
Chapter 10
Ralph Slocombe lived in a rundown, single-story ranch built sometime in the 1970s, judging by the sandy yellow tone of the brick. An aging Chevy pickup sat beside an equally well-worn minivan in the driveway, in front of an open garage door. The interior of the space was littered with all the detritus of yard care, covered in a coating of dirt and dust that indicated it hadn’t been used in a good long while. The patchy front lawn was more weeds than grass, and the mailbox listed to one side. The whole place looked tired, as did the woman who came out of the house as Ethan stepped out of his cruiser.