“And he made you want to have children of your own, did he? Sort of a wish to clone yourself, is that right?”
“More or less. But the boy changed me. He made me see things in my own life. We have corresponded since that time. We have become . . .” He smiled. “We have become friends.”
She was glad that he had at least one friend in the world, but he couldn’t marry a woman and hope she would give him a son just like the boy he’d met. “Mr. Taggert, there is no way I could produce the kind of son you want. My son is a sweet, loving child. He is the personification of kindness and generosity. He would die if he knew I told anyone this, but I still tuck him in every night and read aloud to him before he goes to sleep.” She wasn’t going to mention that she usually read advanced physics textbooks, because that would have ruined the fairy-tale aspect of the story.
Turning his head to one side, Frank said, “I would like my children to be a bit softer than I am.”
It was beginning to dawn on Miranda that this man was serious. He was coldly, and with great detachment, asking her to marry him. And produce children. For a moment, looking at him, she couldn’t quite picture him in the throes of passion. Would he perhaps delegate the task to his vice president in charge of production? Charles, my wife needs servicing.
“You are amused,” he said.
“It was just something I was thinking about.” She looked at him with compassion. “Mr. Taggert, I understand your dilemma and I would like to help. If it were only me, I might consider marrying you, but others would be involved. My son would be exposed to you, and if you and I did have—well, if we did have children, I’d want them to have a real father. I can’t imagine you reading fairy stories to a two-year-old.”
For a moment he didn’t move; he just sat on the edge of the bed. “Then you are saying no to me?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean, yes, I’m saying no. I can’t marry you.”
For a few seconds he stared at her, then he stood up and silently went to his own bed.
As Miranda sat there in the dark silence, she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing. She’d just turned down marriage to a very wealthy man. Was she terminally stupid? Had she lost all sense? Eli could have the best the world had to offer. And she could—
She sighed. She would be married to a man who wanted her so she could add chaos to his life. How amusing. Plump little Miranda walking about in circles in her attempt to leave the cabin. Daffy Miranda being stupid enough to fall for an elaborate joke played on a cold, heartless billionaire.
It was a long while before she fell asleep.
The next morning Miranda was silently making strawberry pancakes while Frank sat before the fire staring at the pages of a book on tax reform. He hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes, so she knew he was thinking rather than reading.
No doubt I’m the first thing he’s tried to buy and failed, she thought. Will he take the loss in good spirits or will he try to win me over? Read a how-to book on courting? Maybe he’ll send candy to Eli. A man like Frank Taggert would never take the time to find out that Eli would rather have new computer equipment than all the candy in the world.
But as she cooked, she watched him—and she began to feel sorry for him. The feeling of isolation he projected surrounded him like an impenetrable glass bubble.
It was while she was making a sugar syrup for the strawberries and thinking how she’d like to see a little fat around the middle of Mr. Trim Taggert that she began to soften. Eli was always telling her that her problem was that no matter how bad a person was, she forgave him.
But in this case, it was understandable. The little glimpse she’d had into his life last night had shown her a very lonely man.
“How long is it before we can leave here?” she asked.
“In three days my assistant will come in a helicopter to see if I’m all right.”
“He’s too cowardly to come on a horse with Sandy?”
He didn’t smile. “Julian is pure city.”
She put a stack of pancakes on the table and he sat down, but he kept his eyes downward, not meeting hers.
She couldn’t bear to see anyone so unhappy. “Look,” she said, “if we’re going to be stuck together for three days, we can at least be friendly. Let’s pretend that last night didn’t happen. All right?”
He didn’t look up. “Do you mean where you undressed me or where I made a fool of myself?”
For a moment she blinked at him. “Did you just make a joke?”
He looked up at her. “I believe I did, yes.”
“Should I look outside to see if the sky is falling?”
He didn’t smile, but there was a tiny twinkle in his eyes. “I think it’s safe.” He began to cut his pancakes, but the cast made it difficult to do. He looked up at her as though asking for help.
“Only if you apologize for thinking I was a lady of the evening.”