Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) by Melissa Tagg Page A

college?”
    She choked on an icy bite of vanilla. “Joined them? No, I only saw them five or six times during my three years down there.”
    His quizzical expression fought with her reluctance to tell the story. Lord knew she’d have made any psychiatrist’s day at the stacks of repressed memories piled inside.
    But there was something about Matthew Knox’s patient interest and relaxed gaze. The man may not have the magazine-cover looks of Robbie—or Blaze, for that matter—but that slow-spreading smile of his, under greenish-hazel eyes rimmed by eyelashes longer than any man had a right to have . . . Well, he drew her out.
    Or maybe she’d breathed in too much Pine-Sol. “My momand dad brought me down to Brazil when I was seven. But I couldn’t adjust. I was scared of every little noise at night, didn’t like the food, couldn’t communicate. Eventually they decided enough was enough.”
    He nodded. “So they took you home.”
    The words sped out before she could put on the brakes. “Sent me home. Put me on a nonstop flight to Charlotte.”
    His spoon landed on the table with a clink. “They abandoned you.”
    “They were trying to do the right thing. They promised when I was older, they’d send for me, but . . .” They never had. And for years, she’d battled the lies in her head: They didn’t care about her. They loved their mission more than her.
    That combined with her guilt at knowing they’d never approve of the lie she lived now was why, more often than not, she chose not to read their chatty letters and e-mail updates. It was too hard pretending all was fine. Thus, the letter still stuffed in her robe pocket up in her bedroom.
    She locked eyes with Matthew. “I don’t normally talk about this.”
    “To the press?”
    “To anyone.”
    Something shifted in his jaw, and his voice turned husky. “I understand. My dad left us when I was fifteen. Not my favorite topic of discussion, either.” His pause stretched, the quiet of the cabin marred only by the drip-dropping of the kitchenette’s leaky faucet. And a connection, soft and appealing, filled the space between them. That look in his eyes, pure empathy.
    Finally, Matthew cleared his throat. “So why’d you go back after college?”
    She chewed on the question before answering. “The breaking point in Brazil for my parents was when they found me crying after getting beaned by a ball during a soccer game with theneighborhood kids. They’d encouraged me to play, wanted me to try fitting in. Didn’t work so well.” She allowed a smirk. “Ten years later I was named the captain of my high school soccer team. We took state two years in a row. A big part of the reason I returned was I wanted to prove to them—and myself, I guess—that I could overcome my fears.”
    The creases in the corners of his eyes and the dimple in his chin deepened, and he leaned toward her, the spice of his cologne enticing. “I like the way you work, Miranda Woodruff.”
    He held her gaze, perhaps understanding more than she’d intended to share. Like the hurt that even proving she could make it in Brazil hadn’t wiped out.
    Don’t look so deep, Matthew.
    She couldn’t afford to have what he might find be revealed.

Chapter 5
    Smudges of red and orange and brown blurred the landscape of the mountains. Matthew palmed the steering wheel, awe streaking a trail through his senses. It was as if he’d driven the rental Jeep into an Impressionist painting. Something Monet or Renoir would’ve brushed onto canvas.
    To his right, Miranda’s nose pressed to her window. A handkerchief tied at the back of her neck covered her hair, and she wore baggy overalls over a long-sleeved shirt. He felt his lips curve into a smile, and couldn’t help himself. “Still not talking to me?”
    She huffed, sending a few loose strands of hair floating.
    “Come on, it was funny.”
    She turned to him, gray eyes narrowed. “I could’ve been injured.”
    “But you