wearing a pair of her favored gold hoops. “I like your shirt,” she said, nodding toward the sparkly butterfly on the girl’s pink T-shirt.
“It’s new. Would you tell my daddy to let me get pierced ears like you and Nicola Cooper?”
Miranda didn’t have a clue who Nicola Cooper was, but she knew better than to interfere in a parental decision. “You’re on your own with that battle, kiddo.”
“Your hair has stripes in it,” Payton announced, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“They’re called highlights, and before you ask, I can’t help you there with your father, either.”
“I don’t think I want stripes. Just earrings.”
Miranda laughed at the kid’s candor. “I really should introduce you to my friend Oliver sometime. I think the two of you would get along very well.”
Mark abruptly cleared his throat. “We’d better be going. It’s Madison’s bedtime.”
“You’ve already seen a movie?”
“Yeah. We do the early showings. The kids brought me to see the new animated film that came out today.”
“It’s his birthday,” Payton confided. “Daddy’s thirty. We had cake.”
So Mark had spent his thirtieth birthday watching a cartoon movie with two kids under five. She wondered wryly how he could stand the excitement. “Happy birthday, Mark.”
“Thanks. But don’t let us keep you any longer. I’m sure your companion is waiting for you.”
“No companion tonight. I came stag.”
He lifted an eyebrow as he glanced at the big tub of popcorn and large diet soda in her arms.
“All mine,” she informed him loftily. “When I splurge, I go all out.”
“So I see. Well…enjoy.”
“Thanks.”
“Bye, Miss Martin,” Payton called over her shoulder as her father led her away.
“Goodbye, Payton. And Madison,” she added, earning a quick, shy smile from the smaller girl before she promptly ducked into her daddy’s shoulder again.
Very strange encounter, Miranda mused as she settled into a theater seat and placed her soda in the cup holder. It was pretty startling to see Mark in his role as doting dad right after he’d played the part of hunky accountant in her erotic daydream.
One would think she would find him less appealing in that light, considering the way she felt about kids. Funny thing was, she had been just as strangely drawn to him as ever.
When it came to Mark Wallace, Miranda couldn’t even predict her own reactions. There was nothing wrong with a little fantasy, she reminded herself. She just had to remember not to get those harmless daydreams mixed up with reality.
Mark had half hoped that Miranda would pick up her tax forms while he was occupied with another client. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sight of her. Seeing her was always like having a few extra rays of sunshine brighten his day.
Yet it was that very type of imagery that made him increasingly wary of seeing her too often. His life wasn’t what anyone would call exciting, but he had been content with it for the past couple of years. He didn’t need anyone messing with his mind, making him wish for something more than what he had now.
A caregiver. That was what he had always been, and what he would likely always be. From the time he was just a kid, taking care of his chronically ill mother and his little sister, he had been compelled to help people who needed him. Too many times he had reached out a hand and pulled back a bloody stump—at least that was what it had felt like to him when people he’d tried to help had turned on him with a vengeance. His ex-wife, for example.
Now his daughters needed him. He was all they had and taking care of them required all his concentration. All his energy. He did his best to help his clients with their financial needs, but he didn’t get overly involved with any of them. The only one who even tempted him to do so was Miranda.
So, he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or perturbed when she arrived at his office just after his last appointment for the day had departed.
Two years earlier, Mark had set up for business in his west Little Rock home, converting a side door into the office entrance. That door led into a small reception area that held a love seat, two visitor chairs and his assistant’s desk and credenza. Mark’s smallish, but adequate-size workspace opened off that room, with another door behind him that led into the house.
The setup worked well for him, keeping him close to his kids even during the busiest times of the year. He often returned to the office after the girls were asleep, leaving the door to the house open so he could hear them if they needed him. He would never get rich with his one-man CPA business, but he was supporting his family, and that was all that mattered to him.
“Ms. Martin is here for her returns,” his assistant announced from the open doorway very late that afternoon. “She said she would like to speak with you, if you have a few minutes.”
He resisted an impulse to smooth his hair, which was typically tousled at this time of day, thanks to his habit of running a hand through it when he concentrated on something. “Sure, Pam. Send her in.”
“Okay. And unless you need me for anything, I’m gone for the day.”
“No, go ahead. I’ll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
A moment later Miranda appeared in the doorway where Pam had stood. She wore a bright pink top with black slacks. For someone who had claimed to hate it when her feet hurt, she sure seemed to have a thing for trendy shoes, he thought, glancing at the heeled, narrow boots she was wearing.
Only then did he notice that she was carrying a cheerfully wrapped present in her left hand. She came in singing the happy birthday song and set the package on his desk in front of him.
A little flustered, he rose. “This wasn’t necessary.”
She dropped into a chair. “Just open it.”
Sitting behind the desk again, he tore away the wrapping paper from her gift to reveal a bottle of liquor. One glance at the label made him do a double-take. “Whoa.”
“As much as you probably enjoyed the outing with your kids, I figured you needed something grown-up to commemorate your thirtieth birthday.”
“This is too much,” he said with a dazed shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have—”
“Hey, Wallace. Just because you count my money doesn’t mean you can tell me how to spend it. Just say, thank you, Miranda.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Miranda.”
“Good boy.” She grinned at him, and it was impossible to resist smiling back.
“How was your movie?” he asked to change the subject.
She shrugged. “Loud. Predictable. I enjoyed it—but mostly I enjoyed the popcorn.”
He reached into a wire basket on his credenza and plucked out a file. “Sign where I’ve stuck the flags and I’ll file the forms electronically. You should receive your federal and state refunds within the next few weeks.”
“Oh, yeah, I can party then,” she murmured sarcastically as she flipped to the flagged pages and signed her name.
Shaking his head, he replied, “As I’ve told you several times, it’s better to pay less up-front and keep your money in the bank than overpay and get a bigger refund at the end of the year. The government doesn’t pay interest. And aren’t you even going to look those over? You can take them home, you know, though I have to have them back by closing time tomorrow.”