Miranda And The Ranch Hand (Domestic Discipline Romance) (4 page)

Dylan watched with another flash of jealousy as Miranda and John left the dance floor arm in arm. Then he was brought back to reality as little Mary Beth stomped on his foot for the third time.

It was just dusk, as John and Miranda made their way down to the pond they’d swum in so much as children. They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. When they stopped by the pond, Miranda was looking up for the first star of the night. Finally John broke the comfortable silence. “Mandy?” He spoke so softly, Miranda turned to look at him. “Mandy, I… we’ve known each other a long time.”

“All our lives, John.”

“I… that is we… what I mean to say is…”

Miranda smiled that he was suddenly tongue-tied. “Oh hell John, I’m curious too—why don’t you just kiss me, dammit!”

“Well, now wasn’t that romantic!” John shook his head. “To hell with it.” He pulled her close, tipped her head back and kissed her—tentatively at first and then, as she responded, the kiss deepened. Then it just sort of ended, and Miranda stepped back looking at him.

“That was… nice.”

“Maybe we should try again.”

“Yeah,” she said, “let’s try again.” They did—still no spark. They both stepped back and then just started laughing. “No offense, John, but kissing you is like kissing one of my brothers.”

“No offense taken—it didn’t do much for me either—certainly not what I expected.”

“I guess it’s good we found out before we did something stupid, like got married.” They both laughed even harder. Then she stopped. “John, even when you do get married, promise you’ll still be my best friend.”

“Always, Mandy—and I’ll make you a deal. If neither of us can find someone to put up with us by the time we’re 30, I’ll marry you anyway and we’ll have those kids we’ve both talked about.”

“You got yourself a deal, mister!” They shook hands, and then embraced—both relieved that they’d finally gotten rid of the strange tension they’d felt since her return.

“Remember all the times we came out here for late night swims?”

“Oh yeah—what a great way to beat the summer heat.”

“Until that night when we were thirteen and David caught us.”

“Oh, that was a painful night! He actually made us cut our own switches, and then, boy, did he whoop our butts.” Miranda looked over to the big rock he’d made them both bend over, and her bottom tingled a little at the memory.

“I don’t think anything stings as bad as a switch over wet drawers and bare legs. You know what I remember though... You were so brave, you actually offered to take my punishment too. And I was the one who dragged you out here.”

“Unfortunately for you, your brother knew you well enough to figure that was probably the case.”

“Yeah, well, David always said I have a nose for mischief—he still does!”

They walked back to the main house as the party was breaking up. Several people looked at them and misinterpreted the contented looks on their faces, including Marcus and Dylan. Dylan turned on his heel, mounted his horse and headed back to the ranch without a word to anyone. Marcus escorted Miranda to the buggy and got in behind her—David was driving.

Marcus let the silence go for about ten minutes then he asked her if she had a good time. “Mmmm, yes.” Another long pause.

“I noticed you and John slipped away for quite a while.”

“Yeah, we went for a walk,” she said absently, as a sudden wave of exhaustion spread over her. She laid her head on Marcus’s broad shoulders and closed her eyes.

“Mandy, Big John and I talked tonight, and if you two are planning to get married, it’s all right with us. In fact, we always kind of hoped you two might hitch up.”

“I don’t think I want to marry a guy who kisses like my brothers.” And with that she was asleep. Marcus was puzzled at first, and then chuckled. It was to take more than a lifelong friendship to tame his little wildcat, he thought, as he looked at her peaceful, sleeping face.

The next morning, Miranda rose at dawn to see the crew off for the round up. She wished them safe trails and promised once again to take care and stay close to the house. Then she and Jenna got ready for Sunday services and headed to town with Howie and his wife for church.

The day passed in a lazy Texas Sunday fashion, although Miranda thought how empty the house felt without her brothers. She decided to turn in early and be refreshed for an early start Monday morning.

She was awakened in the middle of the night by an insistent pounding. She finally realized someone was knocking on her bedroom door, calling her name. She grabbed her dressing gown and opened the door to a flustered Mickey. “It’s time… Miss Mandy… it’s time and Greybell’s having a bad time.”

Miranda was instantly wide-awake. “All right, Mickey. Go wake Howie, and then start gathering lots of warm water and dry cloths. You better have someone put on coffee too, it’s going to be a long night.” She glanced at the mantel clock as she quickly dressed—2:30 am. It was definitely going to be a long night.

She ran down to the stables and found Mickey and Howie gathering the things she needed. Dylan was there too, in the stall examining the moaning mare. He was speaking softly to the horse, trying to keep her calm. “The foal’s still sitting wrong, we’re going to have to turn it.”

Miranda knelt down to the mare and started examining her. Dylan didn’t move to give her much room, but she was oblivious to his presence. The mare needed her full concentration. Finally he said, “If you want to give her something, and then talk her through it, I can rotate the foal.”

Miranda didn’t look at him. “She’s too weak, and she’s already in labor. It would be dangerous to both of them to give her relaxing herbs now.” Miranda took the first bucket of water and clean rags and started to move behind the mare, putting on her heavy rubber gloves. Dylan put a hand on her arm, “Miranda, it takes a lot of strength and endurance to turn a foal.”

“Dylan, I know what I’m doing, and what it takes. Now what I need you to do is keep those soft words of encouragement coming, and hold her down, but do it gently.” Dylan started to argue, but the look of determination on her face stopped him.

Then Howie leaned over the stall, “Dylan, the girl knows what she’s doing,” he said with the wisdom of experience.

For the next two hours, Dylan kept the mare settled with soft words, while Miranda worked to turn the colt. After the first hour, her back and arms screamed for relief, but she ignored the ache. She had to work in the tight birth canal and carefully position the foal for birth so it came out front legs and head first. If not, it was likely that the mare would be seriously hurt and the foal’s legs could be broken. In the process of turning the foal, Miranda had to be very careful or she could do the same.

Dylan’s skepticism turned to deep respect as he watched her work. Her concentration was amazing, and even as he saw her shoulders begin to shake with exhaustion, she didn’t stop or rush the process. Finally, she smiled.

“All right, girl, let’s bring this little one out—he’s eager to see the world.” She gently helped the mare birth the foal, and when she saw the little foal’s head, she had a moment of pure exhilaration. The little guy popped out quickly then and lay on the hay, as exhausted as the rest of them. The mare had just enough energy to lift her head and look at her newborn. Miranda collapsed back against the stable wall. “You did good work tonight, girl! He’s a beauty.”

“So did you,” Dylan said, staring at her with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Thanks, you weren’t so bad yourself, cowboy.” She reached over to hand him the water bucket to clean up the foal, but her arms started shaking so badly she dropped it. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little stiff.” Dylan wrapped the foal up and handed him off to Mickey to clean up. Then he turned to Miranda.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here and off to bed.”

“No, I’ll be all right in just a minute. I want to stay with Greybell for a while and make sure she’s all right, and then we need to get the foal up on his legs.” Miranda tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. Dylan’s arms were around her and lifting her up before she could protest. “Dylan.. put me down.. I need to see to the mare.” But there was no fight in her words. She was wiped out.

“You’ve done your work for tonight. Now let us take care of it.”

He expected further argument and when he didn’t get one, he looked down to see she was out cold, nestled against his chest. She was to be one sore little girl when she awoke. He would try to rub out some of the tension and soreness in her shoulders and arms with liniment before he put her to bed, but he didn’t think it would do much good. He knew from past experience turning a breech foal was backbreaking work, requiring incredible patience and endurance. But she had done it without flinching. He couldn’t begin to sort out all the things he was feeling as he carried her to the house and tended to her.

When Miranda awoke late that morning, she tried to get up and was immediately struck by sharp pain in her shoulders and back. As she lay back, the whole night came flooding back. Then she realized she was in bed wearing only her underthings. She tried to remember how she got from the stables to bed, and vaguely recalled Dylan carrying her out of the barn, but then didn’t remember anything else. She flushed thinking that Dylan must have put her to bed. She smelled the liniment and realized he would have rubbed that on her shoulders as well. Then she smiled, wishing she had been awake to feel his touch. She shook her head. What was she thinking!

She tried again, more slowly this time, to get up and finally managed it. Jenna knocked on the door and came in.

“I brought you tea. How are you feeling? Mr. Dylan said you’d probably be mighty sore today. He said you should stay in bed.”

“Oh he did, did he? Well, fortunately, Dylan doesn’t tell me what to do. I could use a really hot bath though before I venture out.” She looked at the clock, “My God, it’s after eleven! How could you let me sleep so late?”

“Well, Mr. Dylan said you didn’t come back from the foaling till nearly five in the morning, so he said to let you sleep as long as you could.”

“Dylan! Dylan! Has that man got everyone doing his bidding now?”

“Settle down, Miranda, he just has your best interest at heart. With your brothers on round-up, someone’s got to look after things.”

“Oh, Jenna, when is everyone going to realize I don’t need looking after!”

“Whatever you say. I’ll get the tub brought up for you.”

After a long, hot bath and some food, Miranda felt human again. She had to smile as she thought she probably would have been less sore if she’d gone on the round up and spent sixteen hours straight in a saddle!

She headed down to the stables to check on the mare and new foal. Both were up on their feet, which was a good sign. She checked them over, and gave the mare some herbs in her feed to help with her pain, now that her breathing was back to normal. “We’re both going to be sore for a couple of days, girl—but looking at this little guy! I’d say it was more than worth it.” She was startled when a pair of strong hands settled on her shoulders and started rubbing her sore muscles.

“I thought you were going to rest today. You had a tough night.” She started to pull away and tell him she didn’t follow his orders, but his hands felt so good, she simply leaned back against him. “Mmmm, that feels so good. I wanted to come down and check on our new momma. They’re both doing really well.”

Dylan hadn’t expected her to suddenly relax and he was getting a little too aroused for his own liking. “Come over here and sit down. Let me rub some more liniment on those shoulders—that’ll help relieve the soreness quicker.”

Miranda stiffened—his touch through her clothes was one thing, but.. “Um, that’s all right, I can do it. Thanks, though.”

Dylan’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “Miranda—go sit,” he said firmly. He grabbed the jar of liniment and walked her over to the tack bench. They both straddled it, “Take your blouse off your shoulders.” She nervously undid her top two buttons and slid the blouse down off her shoulders. He gathered her long hair up off her back and laid it over her shoulder down her chest. Then he started massaging her back and shoulders with the liniment. Her skin was hot to the touch and he could feel her tremble. He wanted to touch her all over.

He stood up and pulled her up too. He touched his lips to the back of her neck. The featherlike touch sent shivers down Miranda’s back. She turned and his lips met hers, softly at first, and then with a passion and desire that shocked them both. She reached out and held on to his chest for support. He held her with one arm and began exploring with the other, gently fondling her breast through her exposed chemise. She gasped at his intimate touch and the shock of pleasure it sent through her. His mouth captured hers again before she could say anything.

“Miss Mandy?” Mickey’s voice calling her name snapped them both back to reality. Dylan released her so suddenly she stumbled back and he had to grab her arm to steady her. She avoided his eyes and fumbled with her buttons.

“I’m in here, Mickey,” she said with a shaky voice. She turned and fled from Dylan’s reach, her cheeks flushed and her eyes showing confusion and hurt.

“Damn, what are you thinking?” Dylan muttered angrily to himself. “Miranda, wait,” he called after her. But she was gone like a jackrabbit fleeing a hungry hawk.