Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) (17 page)

“I’m . . . so sorry.” And just moments ago Miranda had coveted the woman’s easygoing cheer.
So maybe we all wear masks.

Except, apparently, the pulpit builder. Old Hez.

“Yes, well, I’d better finish my run before John comes searching for me. It was nice meeting you.”

“Same here. And thanks for not minding me dropping by the church.”

Joni replaced her earbuds. “Drop by anytime, Miranda Woodruff.” She gave a small wave.

Only as the door scraped over the floor did it hit Miranda she should’ve mentioned Jimmy and Audrey. But the door had already rasped closed.

A light glowed from behind the tarp of Miranda’s skeletal home addition, and she scrunched her nose in curiosity as she covered the remaining distance to the house. She’d stayed in the church until sunset made its first move. By the time she trekked home, the shadows of night had staked their claim.

An owl hooted in the distance as she approached the house, the sound of voices joining the owl’s call. The familiar ruffle of laughter came from the other side of the tent-like addition covering. “Blaze?”

A hand slapped the tarp open. “Good, you’re home.”

The smell of Italian spices—oregano and basil—floated under her nose. Garlic, too, drawing a growl from her stomach. “Something smells heavenly.”

Blaze reached his hand down to pull her up to the raised foundation. She grasped his palm and stepped up, catching sight of Matthew dishing up lasagna at a card table they must have found in a closet. Candlelight from a hodgepodge of candles lit the space. Had they collected every candle in the house?

“What’s going on, guys? Did I forget a special occasion?”

Blaze’s hand on her back guided her to the table. “Nope, m’lady. Not any more special than every night with you.”

The saccharine tone of his voice pulled a chuckle from her, and she couldn’t help glancing at Matthew. His eyes were on the plate in his hands, his face unreadable. But, oh, he looked handsome in a close-fitting black sweater that showed off the wide set of his shoulders.

She swallowed the thought. Blaze pulled out her chair, and she sat. “So there’s no special reason at all for this?”

Matthew sat across from her, candlelight toying with the colors of his eyes—flickers of green and brown. She could almost taste the buttery garlic of the bread on her plate.

“Patience,” Blaze ordered. “First, we say grace.”

It was all Miranda could do to gulp back her surprise. Wouldn’t do for Matthew to wonder why she was flummoxed at her husband’s desire to pray. She accepted Blaze’s outstretched hand at her left and Matthew’s reaching across the table at her right.

“God, thanks for this day, for this good food, for beautiful weather. Lord, I pray for Randi. I know she got tough news today. Remind her that you’ve got a plan for her
and
for her show. And thanks for letting Knox join us, too. He’s not near as annoying as he could’ve been, being a reporter and all.”

Miranda’s snort interrupted, and she peeked one eyelid open to see Matthew watching her, his own silent laugh sending puffs of air over the candles’ flames.

“In your name we pray, amen.” Blaze ended the prayer with a squeeze of Miranda’s hand.

And for the first time, she detected a hint of maturity about the man she hadn’t noticed before. Blaze was all right.

For a fake husband.

“One thing we haven’t talked about since I’ve been here is your
faith,” Matthew said as he lifted his garlic bread. “But Blaze’s prayer paved the way for the question. Are you two religious?”

Blaze looked to Miranda, and when she didn’t answer, he started talking. “Well, I’m a Christian, but I’m still figuring out what exactly that means.” Blaze slapped his napkin onto his lap. “I was on a backpacking trip in Europe. Ran into this group of Christians in a retreat at a chateau. Took less than twenty-four hours around them for me to realize they had something I didn’t—something I wanted, needed.”

“So you converted?” Matthew asked.

“I think so. I prayed, anyway. But ever since, I haven’t really been sure—”

Blaze broke off abruptly, gaze turning distant, elbows on the table. He hadn’t made a move to touch his food. For a moment, it seemed he might say more. Instead, he picked up his fork and nodded his head toward Miranda. “But anyway, she’s the one you want to hear from.”

Miranda’s foot jerked to tap Blaze’s ankle under the table. He shot her an innocent grin. She couldn’t be all that annoyed with Blaze, anyway, not with the serious undertones in his voice just moments before. Besides, how could he know faith—and what wobbly pieces of her own remained—was the last thing she’d want to talk about?

Miranda closed her lips around a steaming bite of lasagna, buying time. But Matthew’s patient study across the table lingered on the question. How to explain that she wanted to believe everything she’d grown up hearing—God’s love, His son, Jesus, who died and rose again—but that believing required more than she could give?

She’d known it when she’d slept with Robbie.

She’d known it when she kept up the lie on her show.

She knew it now, with her false invention at her side, in the flesh.

“My parents were missionaries, as you know,” she finally said. “So I grew up with faith. But like my . . . Blaze, I’m still trying to figure things out.”

Maybe from the outside looking in, it appeared simple: just believe and tell the truth and let God take care of the rest. But how could she trust Him to do that when everyone else she’d ever trusted had abandoned her?

“What about you, Matthew? What do you believe?” Miranda turned the questions on him.

He pointed his fork at Blaze. “That this is the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted.”

“Thanks, man, but answer the woman’s question.”

Nice one, Blaze.

“Okay, fine. I’m in the same club as the two of you. Still figuring things out. I definitely had my years of playing Doubting Thomas, but lately . . .” Matthew paused with his fork midair. “I think there’s something about being out here in the mountains. Makes me think, if God can create something so amazing, then maybe He can work on a screw-up like me, yeah?”

A hush blanketed the table. Matthew’s honesty added a new flavor to the evening, something savory and melty, like the perfect chocolate. Even better than Blaze’s Italian feast. Miranda sipped from her glass of ice water.

When this is all over, God, I want to come back. I do.

Blaze cut into her prayer with a clearing of his throat. “Well, Knox, should we tell her why we’re here tonight?”

“I thought you said there wasn’t a special occasion?” What did her men have up their sleeves?

Her
men? Um, no. Eventually they’d both leave. Miranda had to remember that.

“Not an occasion,” Matthew said with a nod. “An announcement. Blaze and I . . . Well, all afternoon we brainstormed and—”

“We figured out how to save your show!” Blaze blurted.

Miranda crunched her teeth on her garlic bread. “Whaafh?” The word came out garbled.

“
Hopefully
save it,” Matthew amended. “We’re going to rally the troops in support of
From the Ground Up.
What’s the fastest way to unite fans? The World Wide Web. We’re going to start an Internet campaign.”

Miranda gulped down her bread. “What’s that entail?”

Blaze’s fork clanked on his plate. “First off, I’m going to strangle your manager over the fact that you don’t have a Facebook fan page yet.”

Miranda chortled. “Please don’t harm Brad. I told him a while back I didn’t see the point of Facebook.”

Blaze shook his head before she finished. “The point is, it’s where the people are, honey. So it’s where you have to be.”

“Turns out Blaze here is a budding social media guru,” Matthew pointed out.

A proud smile stretched Blaze’s cheeks. “I’ve got ideas for improving your website and starting a YouTube channel. Matthew’s going to make sure entertainment bloggers across the country are talking about you. He’s got a great platform with his connections.”

Matthew picked up where Blaze left off. “Tomorrow I’m going to blog about your show. I’m going to be honest and say it’s in trouble.”

Miranda dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Doubt Lincoln will like that.”

“He’ll have to deal. Because in addition to keeping my editor happy, the blog will get people talking. Your fans will come out of the woodwork. We’ll get an online petition started, something to wow the network.”

Miranda blinked back the gathering pools behind her eyelids. And it sure wasn’t the spicy lasagna causing the tears. “You guys spent all afternoon talking about this?”

Matthew nodded. “Even worked up a PowerPoint to show Walsh.”

Blaze reached out his hand to cover hers atop the table. “Sweetheart, we’ll have you trending on Twitter by the end of the week.”

She blinked again, swallowed. “I don’t even know what that means, but . . . thank you. Both of you.”

And suddenly, the thought of either one of them exiting from her life as quickly as they’d shown up felt like a sliver in an otherwise perfect night.

“It’s amazing up here.”

The wonder in Matthew’s voice drew a satisfied grin from Miranda. They stood on a rocky overhang, the view as breathtaking now as the first time she’d made the climb. Glorious sunbeams poured through the trees like waterfalls. A V of birds trekked southbound through the sky, their cadence of caws filling the landscape with melody.

Up here she could almost believe everything would be okay.
From the Ground Up
would be renewed. She’d win the Giving Heart Award. She’d wrangle out of her pretend marriage but somehow stay connected with lovable Blaze. She’d find her way back to God.

And Matthew?

She didn’t know what to hope for there. That he’d never be any the wiser about the whole charade? What about the confusing feelings playing blender with her insides?

“I’m glad Brad suggested this,” Miranda said. “He knows I would’ve gone crazy without work on a weekday.”

“Are you kidding?” Matthew turned his hazel eyes on her. “You’d have found something to do. You’d build something out in your workshop or complete a half dozen projects at Open Arms. Or work on your house. Hey, that’s what you should
do with your surprise free time. Didn’t you say you’ve been wanting to finish the addition for years?”

She shook her head. “Snow will fall before I could finish it. Besides, I haven’t done enough to winterize it in the past. Some of the wood’s gone soft. I’ll have to tear it out before I can build.”

Hands in the pockets of her flannel jacket, Miranda turned in time to see Liv joining them on the overhang. Her friend’s pink puff vest and white sweater glowed against the browns and burgundies of autumn. The rosy sheen of her cheeks and strawberry blond pigtails added youthful appeal to her swaying walk.

It made Miranda feel like Ma Kettle next to Miss America.

“Not only is the view spectacular, but this would be a perfect spot for a photo of Miranda and Blaze,” Brad said as he came up behind Liv.

“Right.” Matthew pulled his cell phone from his backpack. “I’ll take a candid, post it to the
Today
Facebook page, and it’ll go viral in minutes.”

“Matthew Knox, I like the way you think,” Liv said.

A surprise jolt of jealousy zapped Miranda—at Liv’s carefree tone, her ability to be herself. The glossy smile she wore like a model. And, fine, her rapport with Matthew.
Not fair, Rand. Not her fault she’s single and attractive.

Miranda felt Blaze’s perusal.
“You’re falling for him.”
Ridiculous. Just because the mop-top surfer had lived in her house for over a week, he thought he could read her.

“After the photo, let’s eat,” Brad added. “I’m starving. And my feet hurt.”

“I told you not to wear brand-new shoes,” Miranda said while she slid Blaze’s backpack from his shoulder and marched him into place on the overhang. He snaked an arm around her waist.

“Bothers you, doesn’t it?” he whispered.

“What?” she hissed to Blaze as Matthew held out his phone to frame the shot.

“Your friend flirting it up with Knox. But don’t feel bad, she’s doing the same with Brad.” He nudged his head toward where Liv now sat next to Brad.

“She’s not flirting, she’s just naturally . . . bubbly.” And beautiful. A woman with purpose, who knew who she was. Loved God, loved life, her kids at Open Arms.

All right, so maybe a whisper of envy did echo through Miranda. But she couldn’t allow it. Not when Liv was one of the few people who knew the whole truth about Miranda’s life. Other than Brad, Liv had done more than anyone to help Miranda pick up the pieces after Robbie’s rejection.

“Stand a little closer,” Matthew requested, stepping back and pointing his camera.

Blaze tucked her nearer to his side. “You could tell him the truth.”

“And risk him spilling it in one of his blog posts? I don’t think so.”

“All right, smile like you’re on a second honeymoon.” Matthew chuckled as he issued the command.

“Wonder what he’d say if he knew we never had a first,” Blaze whispered through his grin.

Miranda gritted her teeth.

“Perfect.” Matthew lowered the camera. “Now I think it’d be cool to do a side shot. You can both be looking out into the distance, real thoughtful-like. I’ll get a close-up of your faces with the scenery around you.”

Miranda moved into position. “I had no idea you were such a photographer, Knox.” That’s right, stick with his last name. Less personal, just in case what Blaze thought he saw in her—some kind of attraction to or connection with Matthew—had a spark of reality to it.

No, not a chance. If she was going to fake a marriage, she’d fake faithfulness, as well.

A breeze swept Blaze’s disheveled waves of hair over his face, her own tresses whipping over her shoulder. Blaze stood at an angle beside her, one arm wrapping around her front. For once, she didn’t fight his barging into her space.

Because playacting had suddenly become way more comfortable than sorting out her messy heart.

“Okay, now gaze out at the landscape like you’re thinking about something you really love,” Matthew suggested.

“Tacos,” Blaze murmured.

“My workshop.” And these piney mountains. Her friends. Grandma and Grandpa Woodruff.

Matthew snapped the photo and flashed a thumbs-up. And when Blaze released her, she heard her own sharp intake of breath.

Robbie.
She hadn’t thought his name when scrolling through her mental list.

Lord, am I . . . over him?
But how could it happen just like that? Why, less than two weeks ago she’d faced their would-be wedding anniversary with the emotional stability of a soap opera character.

But now . . .

A few feet away, Liv laughed over something Brad said, and Matthew showed Blaze the photos on his phone. The sudden urge to shout out in joy over the uncoiling of her heart, her freedom, tumbling over her like the sunlight warming her skin.

“Rand, what’s with the goofy smile?” Brad was standing now, moving toward her.

She wanted to hug him. And Livvy. Even Blaze.

And Matthew? Her gaze shifted to meet his questioning study.

“Just happy to be up here. To be with friends. To know
you’re all in my corner.” To know at least one room in her heart had tidied.

Brad slung an arm around her shoulder and guided her to Matthew and Blaze. “I want to see the pictures, too.”

Matthew held out the camera, and Brad clicked through the photos. “Not bad, Knox.”

“No kidding. I actually look . . .” She couldn’t find the word. Even though the pictures showed her in flannel and denim, something in the angle or the lighting highlighted her eyes, her thick curls, the soft slant of her cheeks.

“You look like a magazine cover model,” Brad finished.

She snickered. “Yeah, if you’re talking about
ToolTime
or
Carpentry Expert.
”

Now Liv peered over their shoulders. “Nuh-uh, girlfriend. Try
Glamour
or
Vanity Fair
.”

“You got some photography skills, bro. That’s for sure,” Blaze said.

Matthew’s demeanor spoke embarrassment. “My brother’s the real photographer in our family.” He sighed. “And if I’m honest, my father, too. He was a businessman by trade, but photography was a mega hobby of his.”

The group fanned in a circle, Brad and Liv back on the hollowed log, and Miranda on the ground between Blaze and Matthew. Brad unzipped his backpack and tossed granola bars and string cheese to everyone.

“You say
was
,” Liv prodded. “Is your father . . . gone?”

Even from a couple feet away, Miranda could feel Matthew’s stiffening posture. “He and my mom divorced. So, I have no idea whether he’s still doing the photography thing.”

“That’s sad,” Liv said in a gentle tone, the same voice Miranda had heard her use with the kids at Open Arms. “Has it been a long time since you’ve seen him?”

Leave him be, Livvy. He doesn’t like to talk about this.
But Matthew’s answering voice surprised her. “Five years. He moved south.”

“That’s about how long it’s been since you’ve seen your parents, isn’t it, Rand?” Liv asked.

Livvy, I love you, but could you just stop already?
“Yes.”

Wise, discerning Brad piped in. “Well, my parents recently decided to take up a new hobby themselves. Beekeeping. I should be thankful because a few months ago it was belly dancing. I came back from our Fourth of July gathering scarred for life.”

Blaze and Miranda laughed, but Liv still studied Matthew. “Where is your father now?” she asked Matthew.

Matthew cleared his throat before answering. “I just found out he’s living in Knoxville. Running for office, actually.”

Liv clapped her hands. “But that’s so close. You should go see him. Oh, Matthew, what if you could reconcile?”

Couldn’t Liv see the stony set to Matthew’s jaw, the darkening of his eyes? Did she have any idea what it was like, the punching feeling of childhood hopes and hurts hardened into adult bruises?

“What if he’s been waiting all these years to reconnect with you? And now you’re only a few hours away from each other.”

“Liv—” Miranda began, but Matthew’s shuffling to his feet beside her stopped her.

“I think I’ll go take a few more photos. I promised my niece . . .” His voice faded as he clomped away.

“What did I say?” Liv turned to Brad, but Brad only shook his head.

A scraping cool descended as clouds passed over the sun. She met Blaze’s eyes, caught his subtle nod.
Go.

Fine, so he
could
read her.

Matthew heard the crunch of rock underfoot before he saw Miranda rounding the same clump of trees he’d passed through moments ago. He sat, back against a boulder the size of a small car, his Twins baseball cap shielding his eyes.

“Hand me your phone.” Miranda’s soft voice accompanied her shadow, now looming over him.

He tipped his head. Shrugged. “Okay.” He pulled the device from the pocket of his fleece pullover, then watched as Miranda strode to where the landing ended in a dip. She clicked one shot, then another, moving the phone to capture the scenery in a series of views.

She returned. “Now Cee won’t be disappointed.”

He accepted the camera from Miranda, smile teasing his lips. Miranda lowered beside him. He’d been childish to walk away. After all, he’d been the one to bring up his father.

But lately he couldn’t get Jase’s phone call out of his head.
“He’d really like to hear from you.”

And Matthew would like to oblige about as much as he’d like to step off the side of the mountain, flail his way to a broken neck. But what if his father was sick? Had an emergency? Needed him?

Yeah, well, Gordon Knox’s family had needed him, too. Mom’s original cancer diagnosis had come just one month after Dad left. Matthew had been so sure the news would prompt Dad’s return. But no.

Still, he probably looked like a moody kid, stalking off from the group like he had. He’d felt invaded by Liv’s questions. From beside him, Miranda gave a contented sigh now. Maybe that’s what she’d felt this past week, as his questions steered closer and closer to memories she’d obviously walled in.

He chose a photo to send Cee, typed in a message. “She’s dying to meet you—Cee, I mean.”

“You’re a good uncle,” Miranda said. “Not all uncles would text their nieces every day.”

“Not all nieces are like Cee.” He pocketed his phone. “I used to think fatherhood wasn’t for me. After the way my own dad was, I figured I’d rather not gamble with someone else’s life on the off chance I’d turn out like him. But Cee? She makes me think maybe I could be a good dad.”

“I think you’d be more than a good dad, Matthew. I saw the way you were with Anya, Peter, and Claire.” No hint of flattery, only sincerity in Miranda’s voice.

“It’s just I have this tendency to screw up. It’s one thing when it’s my own life, but a child’s?” He tasted the vulnerability in his own words. Overhead, an eagle soared through drifting clouds.

He turned his head to the side, Miranda’s profile coming into view—head leaning against the boulder, tipped to the sky, sun kissing her skin.

“Matthew, I’m sorry Liv pushed you. She comes from the perfect family. Her parents are like Ward and June Cleaver on happy pills and she has tight bonds with her siblings. She thinks familial perfection is possible for everyone.”

Miranda lifted her hand to brush stray wisps of hair away from her face. “I’ve, um, been getting letters from my parents in the past few months. E-mails, too. Way more than normal. I made the mistake of telling Liv about it the other day, and she immediately launched into this hopeful outburst about how maybe they’re reaching out and our relationship can be rekindled.”

Her pinched forehead was proof of how she felt about that. “You disagree?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I keep waiting for something more than a chatty update about their lives. I know I should write back, but . . .” She shook her head before continuing. “We
were supposed to be talking about you. And Liv. And how it must be the social worker in her that feels a need to fix hurting sons and daughters—whether they’re five or thirty-five.”