Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (29 page)

His eyes seemed to look deep into her soul as if he sought another answer, something more.

Miranda explained, "I've never felt threatened by the superstitions involving my house. If the manor is haunted, why would the ghosts hurt me? I'm only trying to make the place pretty again. If ghosts exist, I imagine they're people like you and I, whose spirits, for one reason or another aren't at rest. What do you think?"

"I think that's a very reasonable explanation."

They continued on, stopping again next to a flowering bush. He ran his index finger down the fullest pink petals of the blooms in a gentle caress and bent to inhale their scent.

A hazy recollection unfolded as she watched him. Recognition of the scene played in her mind, like a distant echo, something about the sight she should know. A piece to a puzzle she couldn't put together.

The sensation hammered at her memory. She couldn’t recall where or when she’d been a part of a similar, if not exact, scene like this. The feeling she was forgetting something important nagged at her. What was so important? She needed to--to what? Remember? Solve? Like a song whose words you recall but not the title. The answer hung there, just out of her reach, then slipped away. She couldn’t fix on how Ian played into these feelings.

"Should we start back?" he asked, oblivious to her perplexity.

They made their way towards the house, arms wrapped around each other's waist. Miranda stayed quiet, her mind awhirl as she tried to sort out what the odd sensations meant.

"Come with me while I return my friend's horse to the farm then we'll go to lunch. I don't know about you but I'm ravenous. Besides, I have to discuss a matter with you."

Ian’s curious statement broke her train of thought.

As usual, parking on the High Street was at a premium. In a rare occurrence, a space opened as Ian drove up. Like most urban drivers, he pounced. He slid his sports car into the spot in one maneuver. Miranda was impressed. It would’ve taken her multiple attempts.

Ian kept a firm hand on the small of her back as they stepped up to the sidewalk. The sudden loss of warmth when it was removed made her turn. He’d walked away and stood in front of the shop near where they parked. She followed his gaze fixed on the J. Barnes, Butcher, sign over the door. His attention shifted to the glass window and the activity inside. A glacial coldness came into his eyes as he watched. It bordered on hatred she’d only seen in movies. Spy movies and the like, where the villain drags the hero out, ties him to a chair and wheels a table of torture instruments over. Instead of fear, the defiant hero faces his torturer with pure hatred in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

His demeanor changed from ramrod stiff to casual, as he dismissed the question with a simple, "No, nothing." He slipped his arm around her and hugged her close all the way to the pub.

Something disturbed him, no matter how offhand he might try to act. She couldn't imagine why the butcher shop would elicit such a negative reaction. For a few moments, she’d swear he was somewhere else. Wherever it was the butcher shop took him, she didn’t want to go.

They took a few seconds to let their eyes adjust to the dark interior of the Birdcage Pub. The Elizabethan tavern was well known in the shire for its unusual façade. The narrow building had pink cob walls with a half-timbered upper level. The structure had settled unevenly over the centuries with a slight but unmistakable cant to the top floor gable.

Miranda wolfed down everything put in front of her and cast covetous eyes on Ian's uneaten chips. He slid his dish over to her side of the table.

"What did you want to discuss with me?" she asked and greedily dove into his plate.

"I talked to the American representative for the station last night and requested you as the researcher for my show. You'll work for me exclusively starting Monday." From his broad smile, he was quite pleased with the arrangement.

She stared at him, an uneaten chip in her fingers and her stomach somersaulted. She wanted to be special to Ian, like a girlfriend, not a personal researcher. Miranda did a mental recount of all her notable sins, which she was getting paid back for now, in spades.

Ian said something. She picked up on the key words, but the rest sounded like white noise. Disappointment and uncomfortable questions made it difficult to concentrate. Was all his talk and kisses a disingenuous flirtation to butter her up, get her to agree to work for him? She thought he was interested in her as a woman. How could she have been so wrong?

"You haven't answered. I'd hoped you'd like the idea." Ian's smile disappeared. He reached across the table and moved the plate of chips out of the way. "I have the feeling I've offended you."

"It's--it's a fine idea." She hesitated, debating whether or not to ask him outright about his intentions. She weighed the pros and cons and decided to bite the bullet. Better to know.

"I was under the impression you wanted to see me socially, or have I misinterpreted everything from the start?"

"What an odd question." The tips of his eyebrows drew together into a quizzical frown. "I assumed I made my desire to see you quite clear. Why would you doubt it? The fact you're my researcher too shouldn't make any difference."

"I’m afraid it makes all the difference. I can't date you if you're my boss. I've seen enough office romances to know they never work out. They're death on a relationship, especially when one party is the boss and the other is a subordinate." Miranda slumped against the padded booth back.

"We’ll be the exception."

"No, we won't be the exception. I can't and won't go out with you while you're my boss."

There was no romance to office affairs. They always seemed tawdry to her. The next statement practically choked her to say, but she saw no other choice.

"When the show is finished, I'd love for us to see each other, if you're still interested."

"Are you crazy? That's six months away! I can't believe you’re imposing this Draconian ideology on us.”

"I'm sorry Ian, but I've had friends who had office romances and it never went well for them. I'm sticking to my guns, it's--"

"Don't talk about guns. I called the big guns at the channel to have you switched. After you stormed out last night, I rang the station manager who waffled, so I went over his head. Living in the U.S. for the past year, I learned a thing or two about the Yanks. They don't shilly-shally, not when it involves revenue. They've already sold the commercial spots for my show. At this point, they'd give me the Dalai Lama if I asked.” He sighed. “Serves me right for thinking I'm so clever. I outwitted myself."

"What do you mean?"

"My plan was faultless. If you refused my apology and explanation, I'd win you over while we worked together. A simple enough plan."

The sticky situation made her heartsick. It was a big risk. All she could do was hope he'd still be interested in six months. Then there was the issue of his sex life. Obviously, she couldn't expect him to remain celibate which opened the door for another woman to worm her way into his affections. On the other hand, he hadn't intimated theirs would be an exclusive relationship anyway. If she didn’t take the job, Zandra might. And if Zandra got it, she’d say hateful things about Miranda every chance she could. Miranda racked her brain for a compromise.

"Ian, what if you ask for someone else and I'll assist them if there's a problem?"

He shook his head. "I can't ask to change now. I was adamant in my demand. No, you'll be my researcher." Ian reached over and covered her hand with his, "We'll work this out one way or the other." His forced smile didn't hide his agitation over the situation. "There's something else I'd like to ask you, something that has no bearing on work."

“What?” she asked, leery of getting more bad news.

"Do you ever go to the butcher a couple of doors down?"

How casual he made the question sound, but his grasp on her hand tightened imperceptibly.

"No. I went there once when I first moved here. But Barnes gave me the creeps. I get everything at Sainsbury's. Why do you ask?"

He relaxed, pleased with her dismissal of Barnes. "Just curious. What do you mean he gives you the creeps?"

"I can’t explain it. He didn’t do anything necessarily bad. He came out from behind the counter when he didn’t need to and stood too close. He kept brushing against me. It gave me the willies. I’d have turned and left, but I was the only customer in there and it would’ve been awkward. I bought one item and got out of there fast. I know I sound paranoid.”

“No, some people affect us in strange ways,” Ian offered. If the time were right, he’d have told her, it’s the part of her that’s still Elinor reacting to Barnes.

Ian studied the subtle changes in body language. They offered him a delightful view. She’d loosened the high collar and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her riding blouse. When she moved a certain way, the change in position pulled the bodice snug. The lace of the low cut bra was well defined through the thin cotton.

Barnes couldn't be faulted for wanting to touch Miranda, his actually doing so incensed Ian. The modern world has its conveniences, but the old world had its own advantages. Impaling the head of your enemy on a pike to warn other scoundrels was an advantage he missed.

"He's icky," she said with a wrinkled nose and bent forward to stress the point gifting Ian with a better view of her cleavage. Grudgingly, he focused his attention back to her eyes.

"Icky, huh? I like that description." He laughed and brought her hand to his lips. Her fingers smelled of potato and malt vinegar. She smiled, watching him with a mix of humor and mischief in her eyes, the way Elinor often did.

The pub was about to close for the afternoon and they had to leave. “Do you mind if I run a quick errand. I need something from the chemist,” Miranda said. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“No problem. I’ll catch up with you at the car.” He glanced down the street to Barnes’s old wooden sign. “I’ve got something I want to do too.” He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and they both walked away in opposite directions. Ian waited till he saw Miranda go into the drug store before he stepped into the butcher shop.

The overhead bell jingled. The sound surprised him, it was so old fashioned.

A young man, thin with a shaved head, came from the back. “Can I help you?”

Ian hesitated with second thoughts, wondering if the bastard would even recognize him.

He decided, he wanted to stir Barnes’s long buried fears. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing the look on his face. "Is Mr. Barnes around?”

“My father doesn’t deal with customers anymore. Is there something I can assist you with?”

“I knew your father years ago. I thought I’d stop and say hello.”

Ian wouldn’t have guessed the young butcher was related to Barnes, let alone a son. He had his father’s height, but that was all. The father at least had a strong build. The son’s butcher coat hung loose and droopy, the way a heavy coat does on a wire hanger. His lean face bordered on gaunt and made his cheek bones more prominent and his chin more pointed.

“If you’ll give me your name, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“I’d rather surprise him.”

The younger man shrugged and left. A few minutes passed. The son was taking longer than he expected. Ian went to the front window and stretched as far as he could and looked up the street. He worried Miranda would finish and see him in the shop. He couldn’t do what he planned if she came inside. Relieved she wasn’t in sight, he turned his attention to the rear of the shop, where the son had disappeared.

The swing door had a glass window that ran from midway to a couple of inches from the top. Ian positioned himself to get a better view of the work area. Then he saw him, Barnes senior. All Ian’s anger, all his desire for revenge, faded.