Teresa Bodwell (6 page)

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Authors: Loving Miranda

BOOK: Teresa Bodwell
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“I ain’t gonna slick my hair down, if that’s what you’re expectin’.”
“Me neither.” Jonathan glared up at his mama. “Come on, Grandpa, let’s hurry. We have to make that cradle before the baby comes.”
“Well, I think we might manage it, if we get started right away.” Pa winked at Mercy. “What do you think, Mama?”
Mercy laughed and pecked a kiss on Pa’s cheek, then another on Jonathan’s. “I think even with the help you’re going to get from Jonathan, you’ll still be able to build a cradle in the next four months.”
Miranda laughed, too, as Jonathan dragged Pa out the door and across the yard to the workshop Pa had built in the old bunkhouse. Ever since the accident that had left him with a bad leg, Pa spent more time making furniture than he did with the cattle.
“All the hired hands bunk at the Lansing place now, so Pa’s workshop now fills the whole bunkhouse,” Mercy said. “Just as well. I worry all day when he rides out with the men.”
“Clarisse said he hasn’t had a spell in months.”
“No, he hasn’t. Naturally, Pa figures that means he’s cured.”
“He isn’t?”
Mercy shook her head. “Doc says there’s no tellin’ what’s going on inside his head.”
Miranda scrubbed the last dish and handed it to her sister. “Having Jonathan in the house sure changes things.”
Mercy smiled. “The boy has enough energy to keep all of us busy ’round the clock. I’m glad Pa enjoys spending time with him, too.” She yawned.
Miranda watched her sister putting the dishes up on their shelf. The morning light revealed dark circles under her eyes that had not been apparent yesterday.
“Does he get you up at night often?”
“No, but he does have an occasional nightmare.” Mercy looked at Miranda. “Did he wake you last night?”
“I was already awake,” Miranda blurted out.
“Oh.” In spite of her golden complexion, Mercy had always blushed easily and she did so now, likely guessing what had awakened her sister.
“I’m sorry if the house . . . um . . . wasn’t quiet enough for you.”
She turned away, placing the cups in a straight line on the shelf.
“I didn’t notice any particular noise,” Miranda lied. “You know how sometimes it’s harder to sleep when you’re overtired? I reckon I was too exhausted to sleep proper, is all. Or maybe Jonathan was stirring in his bed because of his nightmare and that noise woke me. I’m not sure. I’d have gone up to him, but you were too fast for me.”
“Don’t feel you need to do that,” Mercy said. “I mean, it’s my job. Comes with being a mother.”
Miranda turned to work on the skillet so her sister wouldn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes. The pain of losing her baby was raw now, but Miranda knew she would heal. In the meantime, she didn’t want Mercy to know how foolish her younger sister had been.
Mercy wet a rag in the dishwater, then turned to wipe the table. When she faced the sink again, she peered out the window where Thad was carrying a ladder from the barn. “I can’t imagine my life without Jonathan and Thad.”
Miranda didn’t think Mercy was aware that she had placed her hand over her middle as though caressing the baby there.
“I only pray that you’ll find this kind of happiness one day.” Mercy favored Miranda with a full smile. “Soon.”
Miranda studied the skillet in her hand, making certain she’d greased it completely so that it wouldn’t rust. “You warned me once that giving your heart away is a sure way to see it broken.”
“I was wrong.” Mercy gripped her sister’s elbow and Miranda met her eyes. “Giving your heart away is the only way to find happiness. Nothing sure about it. It might lead to heartbreak, but there’s no way to protect yourself against that—not even hiding away.”
Miranda pulled away to rinse her hands in the warm dishwater. Mercy turned back to wiping the table. “I know things went badly between you and Harold.”
Harold. Miranda had nearly forgotten her crush on the auburn-haired boy who’d been the first to kiss her, the first to awaken her womanly desires. But she had not been woman enough to hold her first beau as it turned out. He had turned away from her directly into the arms of another woman when Miranda had refused to share his bed before marrying him.
The two dogs, Boon and Daisy, started barking to wake the dead. Mercy pulled back the pretty yellow curtains from the window. “Looks like we have company.” Her brows creased together. “A city fella, judging by his dress.”
Miranda peered around her sister’s shoulder.
Benjamin Lansing.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Miranda dried her hands on the dishtowel. “I should have told you yesterday, but with all the excitement of seeing you, it went clean out of my mind.”
Mercy turned and gave her a puzzled look.
“I met him . . .” She didn’t have time for the whole story. “He was in Clarisse’s store yesterday, asking for directions to the Lansing place.”
Mercy turned to look out the window again, then back to Miranda.
“It’s Benjamin Lansing,” Miranda said, “Arthur’s brother.”
“Why is he here now? What does he want?”
Miranda squeezed her sister’s hand. “He only wants to be sure Jonathan is well cared for. Don’t worry.”
Her older sister pulled in a deep breath as though to steady herself before she turned and marched out the door with Miranda right behind her. Ben Lansing was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader. He stood next to his horse, erect, confident, the polished gentleman. As Miranda introduced Mercy and Thad, he made a polite bow to Mercy and shook Thad’s hand. Both men maintained eye contact in the way she expected pugilists would do before a fight. When they finally let go, Miranda sensed that neither of them had won their first match.
“Would you like to come inside?” Mercy offered, interrupting the men’s ritual.
Ben seemed to notice the house for the first time. He stared a moment too long, seemed to realize it, and turned to face Mercy again, wearing a disarming smile, which Miranda suspected he kept in his pocket for important occasions.
“I’d be pleased to, Mrs. Buchanan. Is my nephew in there?” The word
there
was spoken with disdain.
At the mention of Jonathan, the color faded from Mercy’s face. Thad stepped up beside her and took her elbow. “He’s with his grandfather at the moment. I’ll fetch him—” Thad kept his gaze steadily on Benjamin. “After we’ve had a chance to visit.”
Miranda watched Thad holding his wife possessively. He was marking his territory as surely as any wolf might do. His wife. His house. His son.
Benjamin smiled at Thad—a fierce smile that made it clear he accepted the challenge from the bigger man. Miranda found herself grinning, too. There was something about Ben’s confident posture that made him seem as big as Thad. In fact, Ben must have been two inches shorter, and he was not nearly as broad. Miranda reminded herself she should be loyal to her brother-in-law, but she hated seeing any man use his size to intimidate.
Thad was the first to turn away. He pulled Mercy close and guided her into their small house.
“Reckon I could fix some coffee,” Miranda said as she followed the others into the kitchen.
“That would be nice.” Lansing caught her eyes, and it was a moment before Miranda remembered to move. She reached for the coffee pot and set to work as the others settled into chairs around the table.
“I’ll come right to the point,” Benjamin started. “I’m here to see to my nephew and to get the money my brother owed me.”
“Arthur owed you money?” Thad turned to his wife.
“You’re meaning to visit Jonathan?” Mercy’s voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat. “You don’t mean to . . . take him?” Miranda noticed her sister was clutching her husband’s hand.
“Of course, I want to see my nephew . . . to make certain he’s healthy and well cared for—”
“You have no need for concern, sir,” Thad said. “We love him as we would our own son. I promise you we’ll do everything in our power to keep him safe and well.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Benjamin leaned over the table, holding one gloved hand with the other. Miranda had yet to see the man without his gloves on. “As to the money, I lent my brother five thousand dollars some years ago. He was to pay that with interest by the end of last year.”
“That’s impossible.” Mercy’s voice was quiet, but it held a note of authority that caused Lansing to turn to her. “A loan that size would have been in the books somewhere.”
“It is not only possible, but quite true.” Ben pulled some papers out of his jacket pocket. “I have some of my brother’s letters here. Arthur wrote that his ranch was prospering. He’d invested the money I’d loaned him in a special breeding program, and he expected to earn a handsome profit once the cattle were ready for sale.” He turned to Thad. “I take it he was able to sell the cattle last fall, before his unfortunate accident.”
Again, Thad looked to Mercy.
“Arthur didn’t do any breeding.” She stared at Thad.
“I don’t suppose . . .” Thad said. “Did he mention the breed?”
“Something about Herefords imported from England, I believe.”
Thad muttered something that might have been “hell.”
Mercy sighed. “It was us. Our ranch. We imported the Herefords with money Arthur loaned us.”
Ben shrugged. “He only said he was investing. I assumed he was doing the breeding himself, but he might well have invested in your ranch.” He turned to Thad. “Now, I understand, sir, that you are the trustee of my nephew’s property.”
Thad nodded. “My wife and I are both acting as trustees for Jonathan.”
“Then you no doubt have had access to my brother’s accounts. You will know the extent of his assets—”
“There’s no money,” Mercy interrupted. “None.”
“That can’t be!” Lansing growled.
Thad leaned across the table. “I’ll thank you to use a civil tone in my house, sir!” Thad’s voice had the edge of a steel blade.
“I apologize for my sharpness.” Ben glared at Thad, then turned to Mercy. “But I find your wife’s words difficult to believe.”
“It’s a fact, Mr. Lansing.” Mercy held his gaze, her chin raised in challenge. Lansing turned to Thad.
“My wife has spent a good deal of time in Arthur Lansing’s books. What we could salvage from the fire and what we could ascertain from his banker. We’ve been able to pay every creditor who has come to us—”
“I can show you the journal I made to keep track of it all. There were many debts,” Mercy added.
“We have struggled this past year to keep the ranch running,” Thad continued. “Our men have had to run both herds together; there was no money to keep his cattle separate—”
“Ah, ha!” Lansing jumped to his feet. “You’ve been profiting from my brother’s estate without regard to my nephew’s inheritance!”
Thad stood more slowly, raising his hands as though trying to push down Ben’s fury. “Please, sit yourself down, Mr. Lansing.” His deep voice was soothing. “If we can’t discuss this in a civilized manner . . .”
Lansing dropped back into the chair, his hands resting on the table.
“The coffee is ready,” Miranda announced, hoping to break the tension.
Mercy rose to fetch the cups.
“Mama! Mama!” Jonathan’s voice carried across the yard. Mercy opened the door as the little boy arrived, panting from the exertion of his run.
“What is it?” Mercy squatted in front of the boy.
“It’s Grandpa!” Jonathan said between heaving breaths. “I think he’s dead.”
Chapter 6
Ben stood back as Thad raced out the door, followed by Miranda. Mercy lagged behind with Jonathan. She kept one arm around the child and waved at her sister and husband to go on without them. Ben felt rather helpless as he watched Mercy sit on one of a pair of rocking chairs on the porch. She pulled the crying child onto her lap, brushed the hair back from his face, wiped an errant tear from his cheek, then gasped.
“Good Lord,” Ben said as he saw the blood. “What happened?” he asked as Mercy wrapped the boy’s hand in her apron, stood, and pulled him into the kitchen.
“It’s just a cut finger,” she said.
Ben followed them inside. “How bad is it?” he asked, unable to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. “What do you mean, just a finger?”
The boy sniffed, staring up at Ben. “Grandpa was showing me . . .” He sniffled. “He was showing me how to use the plane. Then it slipped and the plane cut me, and Grandpa fell.”
While Mercy washed and dressed the finger, Benjamin bent for a closer look. He swallowed. With so much blood, he’d imagined a severed finger hanging from the boy’s hand. The wound was not bad at all, now that it was cleaned and Mercy had the bleeding under control.
“Don’t you worry.” Mercy looked into Jonathan’s face. “We’ll wrap it tight and it will be better soon.”
“Unless it gets infected.” Ben had not intended to speak the words aloud.
Mercy stared at him. “Sit down, Mr. Lansing!” She growled through clenched teeth, then turned back to Jonathan, her voice once again soft and melodic. “It will be fine, Jonathan.”
“It hurts,” he said through his sobs.
“I know it does, sweetheart. You’re a very brave boy.” She wrapped the finger, and then kissed the wrapping. “I want you to stay quiet in my room for a while. Will you do that for me?”
Before the boy could respond, she had lifted him up to her shoulder. When she stood, Benjamin was struck for the first time by how tall she was, very nearly as tall as he was. Jonathan seemed tiny and fragile in her arms.
“What about Grandpa?”
Grandpa.
The boy had used the term before, but Ben hadn’t grasped the importance. Only now he wondered what his father would think of his descendent, growing up here in this wilderness. Forgetting his heritage.
Mercy looked out the open door toward the workshop. There was still no sign of Miranda or Thad.
“I’m going out to check on Grandpa. I’ll come right back and tell you what I find out. All right?”
“I want to come.”
“It’ll be better if you stay here. Walking around will make your finger hurt more.”
The boy rubbed his face against her shoulder. Ben watched as she opened the door and walked into a small bedroom. She placed the boy in the center of a huge bed and removed his boots. Good, quality boots that appeared to be new, Ben noted.
“But, Mama, I’m not tired.”
She sighed, then knelt and pulled a box out from under the bed.
“Will you sit here and look at some pictures?”
Opening the box, she removed a stereoscopic viewer, inserting a picture in it before handing it to Jonathan.
“Who’s that man?” Jonathan was looking through the door directly at Ben.
She turned and squinted at Ben as though seeing him for the first time. “That is your Uncle Benjamin—your father’s brother. You will have a chance to know him later.”
“I didn’t know I had any uncles, except Uncle Wendell.” Jonathan scowled. “And Uncle Will in Kansas; he’s my great-uncle.” He glanced from Ben up to Mercy. “Is Uncle Benjamin a great one, too?”
“No, sweetheart, he’s just a plain uncle. He came a long way to visit you.”
A wave of guilt swept over Ben. He had come a long way, but he doubted he’d have made the trip if he hadn’t come looking for his money.
“Do you want to see my pictures, Uncle Benjamin?”
Uncle Benjamin. His oldest brother had two children, yet Ben had never been an uncle to them. Nor would he stay in Fort Victory long enough to become an uncle to Jonathan.
Mercy and Jonathan both focused on Ben, waiting for his response. He nodded and walked over to the bed.
“You rest here for a while.” She brushed a kiss upon Jonathan’s cheek.
“Yes, Mama,” Jonathan said in a tone that made it clear he was suffering a great indignity.
She bent for another kiss and turned to Ben. “I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ben said, though he had no idea whether it was true.
As Mercy walked away, Jonathan’s eyes fixed on her. And Ben saw clearly that Mercy Buchanan was Jonathan’s mother. That was exactly what Ben had hoped for. A good home for his nephew without any effort on his part. Much to his surprise, watching the fondness in the child’s eyes left an empty ache in Ben’s chest.
Ben pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. “Let me know if you need help changing the picture.”
“No,” Jonathan said. “I can do it myself.” He lifted the viewer up to his eyes.
Ben glanced at the window, but the curtain was drawn and he couldn’t see out. “Do you have enough light to see?”
The boy shrugged, but didn’t look at Ben. Ben walked to the window and opened the curtain.
“Can you see my Mama?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes,” Ben said. “And your Aunt Miranda, too.”
Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed and Ben placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your mama said for you to stay here.”
“But—”
Ben guided the boy back onto the pillow. “I’ll tell you what. If you promise to stay here, I’ll go outside and check on your mother.”
Jonathan scowled, but he nodded and settled back into the pillow.
 
 
“Pa?” Thad helped his father-in-law to a sitting position. “How do you feel? Are you hurt?”
Pa looked at Thad, then at Miranda. Her heart pounded as she watched her father lift a trembling hand to his head. “Nothin’ more than a dizzy spell, I expect. Where’s Jonathan?”
Miranda knelt beside her father. “Jonathan is with Mercy. He came to tell us you . . . you collapsed.”
Pa stared at her for so long she wondered whether he recognized her. She took his hand in hers, feeling it icy cold. “You’d best come inside and rest a while, Pa.”
He nodded. She gripped Pa’s hand as Thad helped him to his feet. “Ain’t had a spell in months,” he mumbled as he shuffled toward the door, leaning on Thad’s arm.
“You’ve been working too hard, Pa.” Thad pulled the door open for them to exit. “Doc warned us—”
“Fact is, Doc don’t really know much about it.” Pa’s voice rose in a rare burst of anger. “When that bull knocked me senseless, something happened inside my head. Sometimes I get dizzy, sometimes I forget things. Don’t know when it’s gonna happen. Don’t know when I’m gonna die either. No point in coddling me.”
Thad grinned. “You’re too stubborn to go before your grandchild is born. I’m certain of that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little good, honest. . . persistence.” Pa threw a challenging look at Thad.
“Not so long as it is laced with a bit of good sense,” Miranda spoke up. “Thad’s right, Pa. You need to be more careful.”
“Land’s sakes, child.” Pa stopped halfway across the yard and cast a tense look at his younger daughter. “I was only trying to build a cradle, not as if I was chasin’ down a bull.”
Mercy walked up to them, wearing a worried look. “Pa”—she glanced at Thad—“we were scared half to death.”
“How’s my grandson?”
“He cut his finger.”
“You mean I did.”
Miranda noticed Mercy hesitated before responding. “Jonathan said the plane slipped when you fell.”
Pa sighed. “I’d best not work with the boy—”
“Nonsense,” Mercy interrupted. “It was an accident that could have happened to anyone.”
“You’re the one speaking nonsense, Mrs. Buchanan,” Ben nearly shouted. “The old man is right. He’s a danger to the boy.”
Miranda stepped between Ben and the others. “My pa is no danger to Jonathan. He loves the boy. He wouldn’t hurt him—”
“If he could help it.” Ben glared at her. “But it’s obvious that—”
Miranda stepped up to him, laying a hand on his chest and tilting her head up to look him in the eye. “This is family business. You don’t have any right—”
“He’s my blood, not yours.”
“And where the hell were you and the rest of the Lansings for the past year, when Jonathan needed you?” Miranda shouted. “You and your whole damn family were—”
“I can’t speak for them.” Ben’s voice came from deep in his throat. “
I
came here as soon as I heard.”
“We’re not going to solve anything standing in the yard shouting.” At the sound of Thad’s quiet drawl, Miranda jerked her hand away from Ben’s chest. “Let’s get Pa inside so he can rest,” Thad continued, “then we’ll
talk
.”
Ben backed away to let the others pass. Miranda’s face flamed as she watched her sister and brother-in-law take Pa into the house. She rubbed her palm against her skirt, trying to smother the memory of her hand pressing against Ben’s solid chest.
Aw, hell.
If this was her reaction to a self-important meddler like Benjamin Lansing, heaven help her if she actually liked the man. She had to get better sense. Somehow, she would.
As her family stepped onto the porch, Miranda turned to Ben. “I’m sorry if I was sharp with you.”
His eyebrows rose. “
If
you were sharp?” He grinned, the first genuine smile she’d seen him wear. “I don’t think there’s any question about it.”
His smile brought a light to his eyes that threatened to melt her resolve. She refused to allow her lips to curve upward. “You have to understand, I’ll do what I must to protect my family.”
“I do understand.” Ben schooled his features to match Miranda’s serious expression. “I feel the same way about mine. Jonathan is my responsibility far more than he is yours.”
The words spilled out of their own accord, but Ben couldn’t regret them. Up until that moment he had assumed that he’d lost the only family he’d ever be willing to fight for on the day his mother died. Now, he felt a surprising urge to protect an innocent little boy, even if it meant delaying his planned exile.
He might even consider taking the boy with him. Lord help him, he was even willing to suffer the temptation of fiery blue eyes that invited exploring, a freckled nose that demanded to be kissed, and a proud, straight jaw that he wanted to caress all the more because of the ragged scar that marred its perfect surface.
“You can see that Jonathan is a part of this family. Mercy and Thad have given him all their love.”
“It’s obvious the boy cares for them.”
“But you ain’t sure their affection is sincere? Why do you suppose they took him in?”
“Why, indeed?”
She blew an exasperated breath out of her nostrils. “For pity’s sake, they have treated the boy as their own son and they plan to legally adopt him.”
“Which will put them in complete and final control of his inheritance.”
Her eyebrows went up. She shook her head, which set some of the curls that had strayed out of her hair ribbon bouncing. “Is that the only thing a Lansing can think about—money?” Her hands went to her hips. “It ain’t the boy you’re considerin’ at all.”
He took a step toward her and stared into her eyes. “You have no right to speak of my family in that tone.”
She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as though warding off a chill. “Then prove me wrong.” She stepped back toward him, challenging him again. “Show me you have some . . . feeling for something other than wealth.”
He reached for one of the golden curls and she flinched. He let his hand drop to his side.
“I’m not the one who has anything to prove.” He kept his voice quiet. “If the Buchanans can show me what they’ve done with the money—”
“Money again. You see—”
“Yes, money!” The woman would try the patience of a monk. If it weren’t for little Jonathan, he might surrender now. “So we understand each other, I will state my position in the simplest possible terms.”
“I am not a simple—”
He raised his hand to cut her off. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Miranda. I’m not accusing you of being dim-witted.”
Mule-headed would be more accurate
. “Just hear me out. I won’t leave here until I’m certain that his inheritance is safe—for Jonathan’s sake. It is not to be used to enrich the Buchanans or the other children they will have. My nephew has nothing left of his father except his name and his fortune. I will make certain the lad keeps both of those things. And I’m quite sure any judge will agree with me.”
“You’d go to the judge to stop this adoption?”

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