The woman, who I could only assume was Miranda, launched herself at Sam, hugging him. “Tag, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He held her back at arms’ length, looking her over. “Wherehave you been?”
She frowned in confusion, her pink lips ajar. “I was—I was at the?—”
“I’ve been worried sick about you!”
She glanced around, still not understanding. “Why are all these police here? What happened?”
He was incredulous. “We were looking foryou.”
Understanding dawned. She slapped a hand over her mouth as a deep wash of pink spread across her face. She glanced at me. Golden brown eyes danced with humor.
Miranda was adorable.
Her shoulders shook once.
Sam cursed and growled at her. “Don’t youdarelaugh.”
They shook again. Soft laughter escaped from under her hand. The pink morphed to red—tomato red. Her words were muffled as she scanned the cars surrounding her front yard. “Y’all were looking for me?”
“Duh, Randi! You’ve been gone for three hours.”
“Tag—” She said his name on a laugh. Her hand had finally left her face and I got a glimpse of deep, identical dimples right in the center of each cheek.
“GPS shows your phone is in the daggum lake!”
“The lake?” She was laughing and talking at the same time, trying her best to hold it all in. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s dead. I took some apple crisp to the neighbor’s house. They are the sweetest elderly couple.”
“For three hours?!”
“They were telling me all about Utah.”
“Utah.”
“Yeah, I lost track of time.”
Elderly neighbors, apple crisp, Utah.
Were Sam and Miranda together? Surely.
I came across plenty of beautiful women in my job, but Miranda was radiant, lively. Pulling my eyes away proved difficult.
Miranda tried her best for his sake, but she dropped her forehead against his bicep, shoulders silently shaking. Her inhale was sharp—a wheeze of laughter. “I’m—I’m so—so sorry.”
If they were together, Samuel Taggart was one lucky son of a gun.
He muttered, “I should’a known.”
“Yes you should have! Itoldyou over the phone, doofus.” Squeaks of laughter peppered her words. A couple tears leaked from her eyes. She held up the angel, hanging onto his arm to keep from collapsing. “But they gave me this—they said—they said I’m their—their angel.”
I found myself chuckling and agreeing wholeheartedly, too. A three-hour social call to older folks definitelymadeher an angel, and the blonde hair falling down her back made herlooklike an angel.
Should I fish?
The two of them bickered about half a minute before she turned back to me and Chaves. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
I decided to fish.
