Page 102 of Snowbound Surrender

CHAPTER 5

By the timeMiranda and Randall had determined the roof wouldn’t cave in under the weight of snow and shut and secured the trapdoor once more, the wind had picked up and the snow thickened. An hour later, the blizzard was back. Going out to see how the rest of Mistletoe was doing was out of the question. More snow drifted and banked against the front of the building, blocking the door. There was nothing for it but to give up, accept their fate, and do something productive.

That productive thing became putting Mendel’s Marvelous Brushes to good use scrubbing the entire main room of the saloon from top to bottom.

“I’ll pay you for everything we use,” Miranda assured Randall after lunch as the two of them scrubbed the floor on hands and knees. They’d pushed all of the tables and chairs to one side of the room and determined that they would wash every one of them thoroughly once they were done with the floor.

“You don’t have to do that.” Randall pushed up to his haunches and wiped away a strand of sweaty hair that had fallen onto his forehead. His hair became even curlier when it wasdamp. Miranda found herself uncommonly captivated by that fact. At least their efforts were keeping them warm.

“No, no. We’re using the brushes, so the saloon should pay for them,” she insisted. “There is a contingency fund for such things.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t have bought them if we hadn’t been trapped in here by the storm.”

Now it was Miranda’s turn to rock back into a squat to give him an incredulous look. “You don’t know that. Your presentation was very persuasive.”

He laughed. The sound and the way it lit his face with charming self-mockery made Miranda even warmer. How could she ever have cared for someone like Vicky’s Micah when there was a man like Randall in the world? “Now you’re definitely being too nice.”

Miranda plunked her fists—a wet, sudsy scrub brush in one of them—on her hips. “Are you arguing with me, Randy?”

Randall cleared his throat and affected a high-brow voice as he said, “A smart man never argues, son. A smart man discovers ways to bring his opponents around to his point of view and to make them think it was their idea.”

Miranda chuckled. “Who said that?”

Randall’s brows twitched as he leaned forward to continue working. “My father, of course.”

Miranda returned to scrubbing as well. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d nailed his father’s voice and mannerisms, and that the only reason he could do so was to keep from overflowing with resentment for the man.

The rest of the day passed in similar work and companionship. Once the floor was scrubbed, they tackled the tables and chairs. When they were spotless and shining, they cleaned every inch of the bar, the counters behind it, and the stove and sink, including taking everything down fromthe shelves and cleaning those as well. It was suppertime by the time they finished. In spite of Randall’s protests, Miranda fulfilled her hostess duties and cooked a simple meal for him. They chatted for a while after cleaning up together, and once Randall had done his utmost to make sure the fire in Miranda’s apartment wouldn’t go out as it had the night before, they went to bed.

Miranda was certain she wouldn’t sleep a wink, what with the cold and the continued wail of the wind. She’d forgotten to check how dire the snowfall of the day was before turning in for the night and just knew that worry would keep her eyes popped open. But whether it was the hard work she’d done all day or the comforting sounds of Randall on the other side of the thin wall that separated their bedrooms, she fell into a deep sleep within minutes.

Randall was up before her once again the next morning. This time, he looked more rested as she shuffled into the main room of the apartment, the same blanket from the day before wrapped around her.

“Good morning, Randi,” he teased her as he’d done the day before.

“Good morning yourself, Randy,” she bantered in return. The silly exchange put a sunny smile on her face, in spite of the near dark that loomed out the curtained windows. “Are we still snowed in?”

Randall straightened from where he had been stoking the kitchen stove. “It looks that way. I haven’t gone up to the attic to check through the trapdoor yet. Then again, I think we learned our lesson with that yesterday.”

Miranda gave a wry laugh in reply and moved to the cupboard beside the stove to take out breakfast things.

“I wouldn’t mind cooking breakfast today.” Randall’s brow lifted hopefully.

Miranda bit her lip as she moved a canister of rolled oats from the cupboard to the counter beside the stove. “It really is my responsibility to cook for you, as hostess.”

A vaguely pained look came to Randall’s eyes, but only for a moment. “Whatever you think is best.”

He hesitated for a moment, swaying toward her. Miranda was struck by the sudden feeling that he might lean in and kiss her cheek. The way a husband would kiss his wife’s cheek in the morning. Come to think of it, the situation they found themselves in was intimate in that very way. The moment didn’t last long, though. Randall stepped away toward the hall.

“Let me just go check to see how much snow we got overnight.”

He disappeared down the hall. Miranda heard his footsteps echo faintly across the newly cleaned boards of the saloon. She smiled to herself as she fetched a pot and began making oatmeal. Running the blasted saloon wouldn’t be quite so terrible if she had Randall there to do it with her. Perhaps they could find a way to turn it into some kind of more respectable social hall or a…

She sighed and added a dollop of butter to the saucepan. Those were futile thoughts. Randall was a traveling salesman. He needed to move on. As soon as the snow subsided and the train was able to make it through again, he would be on his way. The thought fell like a rock in her gut.

She managed to regain her smile when Randall came back to report the snow had drifted all the way up almost to the top of the saloon’s front door, though she wouldn’t let herself think too deeply about why something that was a real danger made her so happy. Instead, she and Randall sat down to their breakfast, planning out what they would do that day. She’d only just done inventory a few days before he arrived, but they decided to do it again.

By that afternoon, however, with the wind still blowing and the snow still making things impassable, they’d done everything that could possibly be done in the saloon proper.