Teresa Bodwell (7 page)
Authors: Loving Miranda
“Damn right I will.”
He pivoted and marched over to his horse, Miranda following on his heels. She reached up and grabbed his shoulder.
“Please, you can’t do that.”
“I must do what I feel is right.”
“It’ll break my sister’s heart.”
“Frankly, your sister doesn’t matter to me.” Ben nodded toward the house. “That little boy is all I care about.”
He swung a leg over the horse the Wyatts had lent him and headed toward the muddy road. He’d come to Fort Victory with a clear mission—to get his money and get the hell out. Sometime in the last hour, his duty had changed.
Miranda watched Benjamin ride away, his horse splashing in the mud left by last night’s rainfall. The sky darkened as a cloud covered the sun. She wrapped her arms around herself, guarding against the chill.
Just the damp air. It has nothing to do with that man.
Miranda bit her lip. He hadn’t done anything to threaten her, still she’d backed away from him in fear. She lifted her head. At least she’d kept her wits and stood up to him. She wouldn’t let her fears keep her from defending her family.
Just the damp air. It has nothing to do with that man.
Miranda bit her lip. He hadn’t done anything to threaten her, still she’d backed away from him in fear. She lifted her head. At least she’d kept her wits and stood up to him. She wouldn’t let her fears keep her from defending her family.
“Mr. Lansing left?”
Miranda turned to see her sister looking after the horse that was only a speck against the horizon now.
“He’ll be back,” Miranda said, lifting her leaden feet to carry her back to the house.
“What did he say?”
She looked at her sister, then away. She couldn’t bring herself to look into Mercy’s piercing green eyes. But her sister’s gentle touch on her shoulder kept her from moving away.
“He wants Jonathan.” Mercy’s fearful whisper forced Miranda to turn and face her sister.
She captured both of Mercy’s hands. “No.” Miranda shook her head. “He doesn’t want Jonathan.”
Mercy closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. “I was afraid he’d come to take him away.” She blinked to clear the tears from her eyes, but she didn’t release Miranda’s hands. “I was prepared to send Jonathan away a year ago. I thought it was right for him to be with his kin. But now . . .”
“But now you’re his mother.” Miranda completed the thought that seemed to have caught in Mercy’s throat.
Her sister smiled. “We love him.”
“Anyone can see that.”
“Mercy?”
Miranda startled at the sound of Thad’s voice. For a big man, he walked quietly.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” He took Mercy’s elbow and guided her to the porch.
Miranda hadn’t noticed the color was gone from Mercy’s face. She protested, but allowed Thad to help her into one of the rocking chairs on the porch. Thad knelt before her, caressing a cheek. “What is it, honey?”
“I’ll be fine in a minute.” She took a deep breath. “I was afraid. . . . I thought Mr. Lansing wanted to take our Jonathan away from us.”
Thad turned to Miranda. “Did he say something to you?”
Miranda watched Thad’s eyes. The look of tenderness was unmistakable. Nothing like the fierce expression Benjamin had cast upon her. She sat on the second rocking chair, next to Mercy, and tried to find the words to tell them.
“No.” Miranda took a deep breath. “He doesn’t want the child. He’s interested in the inheritance.”
“There’s nothing left but the land,” Thad said.
Mercy nodded. “If he wants the things from the house . . .”
“No.” Thad stood. Miranda shivered at the savage look on his face. “The few things we were able to salvage belong to Jon. I won’t see anything taken from him.”
Miranda held up her hand. “What Ben said was that he wanted to be certain Jonathan keeps his inheritance. If you can find a way to assure him of that, he will leave you be.”
“And if we can’t?” Mercy jumped to her feet.
“Then . . . he said he will fight the adoption.”
Mercy stepped off the porch, looking down the road Lansing had taken. “If it’s a fight he wants—”
Thad wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his chest. “Don’t fret, honey. We have taken nothing from the boy. If that is honestly Mr. Lansing’s concern, then our interest is the same as his. In a week, the judge will sign those papers and no one will take Jonathan from us ever.”
Miranda came up to stand next to her sister. “Jonathan is your son now, Mercy. Judge Jensen will see that and do the right thing.” If Ben Lansing thought he could stop the judge from granting the adoption, he was wrong. Miranda had no idea what she could do to prevent him, but she would find a way. Of that, she was certain.
Mercy nodded, blinking back tears. “What about the five thousand he says we owe him?”
Her sister didn’t need to finish the thought. The ranch was solvent now, barely. But they couldn’t possibly have five thousand dollars in cash. If Ben Lansing demanded payment, they had no way of paying him.
Chapter 7
Fort Victory had no real hotel, but the saloon did have rooms to let. Benjamin had been tempted to ask the lovely Spanish proprietress whether an extra fee could lure her up to his room. Fortunately, his good sense intervened. Rita probably would have thrown him out on the street at such a suggestion. A pity. He needed something to distract him from the pretty little lady with the bright blue eyes and sunshine smile.
Ben spun around at the light rap on the door. For an instant he imagined it was Miranda coming to see him. He opened the door to find Rita’s young servant with the hot water he’d requested. She set the pitcher and towels down, made a quick curtsy, and left the room without a word, being careful not to come within arm’s length of Ben.
He glanced in the small mirror that hung over the table, trying to see what it was about him that might frighten the girl. Hell, his lust didn’t extend to children. Maybe working in a boardinghouse with strange men passing through had taught the youngster to be cautious. He pulled his boots off and kicked them under the bed, then bent to wash his face and hands. He wiped the crisp, clean towel over his face, too damn tired to shave.
Leaving his left hand to soak in the water, he walked over to the bed and sat with the bowl on his lap. He fisted his hand under the water, stretching the web of scars. Slowly, he pulled his thumb out, bent it back and forth, then unfolded his pointer finger until it was nearly straight. As the warmth of the water penetrated, his stiff fingers began to relax. He regarded his good hand, agile and complete. The surgeon had explained the complexity of hands to Ben. Bones, sinew, and vessels for carrying blood, all working together to make possible the simple movements he had taken for granted for the first twenty-four years of his life.
When his left hand was smashed, all of that had been disrupted—bones shattered, muscles torn. The flow of blood was interrupted. That was the most difficult part for the surgeons to repair. Without a supply of blood to the fingers, they couldn’t live. He touched the tip of his index finger to his thumb, opened the circle, then closed it again. His index finger had survived almost intact. Perhaps, if he could get enough strength back in that finger one day, he could hold a brush again. He pulled his hand out of the cooling water and dried it.
He’d promised himself to exercise his hand every day. It was easy to forget, though, especially when he saw little progress. He always seemed to have more pressing matters to attend to. And now he’d found himself with a mystery to solve. The judge wasn’t due in town for a few days. In the meantime, Ben hoped to discover what he could about his brother’s estate, as well as the Buchanan and Chase families and their relationship to Arthur.
His brother had never mentioned any particular friendships, yet Miranda had said that Mercy had taken care of the boy since he was an infant. It seemed odd. Much of what Ben had learned in the past few days seemed inconsistent with what his brother had written.
Arthur’s letters indicated that he was an important man in this town. No doubt his affairs were popular topics for the local gossips. That didn’t mean it would be easy to separate truth from fiction, but at least information should be abundant. Since the saloon was quiet this afternoon, he would start with Rita. And if the time he spent with the Spanish woman helped him to forget a certain blond beauty, so much the better.
Miranda bumped along in the old wagon beside her father. It was the slow way to get to town, but without the wagon, they couldn’t carry all the things they were bringing for trade. Besides, Pa wasn’t much for talking, and riding with him gave Miranda a chance to think.
Too bad the subject of her thoughts was Benjamin Lansing. She’d just as soon be nose to nose with a rattler as contemplate dealing with that suspicious, irritating lout. That was just the right word for him, too. He might appear to have refined manners, but that didn’t make him a gentleman any more than nibbling on grass would make her a cow.
The man could sell creek water for whiskey with his genteel ways and that charming smile. He wasn’t fooling her. Miranda was not going to stand by and allow Ben to sweep in from Boston and steal Jonathan away from Mercy.
Money was the key to everything. He’d come looking for money and money he would have. If she could figure a way to raise enough. Miranda chewed on her lip. She’d never raise five thousand, but she had a feeling he’d settle for far less. With Lansing gone, Mercy and Thad would keep Jonathan.
Her brother-in-law was good with the boy. He was good for Mercy, too. Thad would die to protect his family; Miranda was now certain of that. He would never use his strength against them.
Her brother-in-law had not had any trouble tackling Miranda and pinning her to the ground when thieves had attacked their camp a year ago. She well remembered the way he’d held her down with his powerful legs, while she struggled beneath him. Even as she used all her force to push him away. He’d probably saved her life that day. If she’d run out in the open, she’d have been an easy target. As strong as he was, she’d never been afraid of Thad before. Now she was skittish as a rabbit around any man and she hated it when she let her fright show.
She’d never been afraid of any man before meeting Lawrence. And now that she’d escaped his torturing, she refused to spend her life fearing every man who was bigger and stronger than she was. Most men weren’t worth fearing and sometimes they could be downright useful.
Miranda liked the idea of a strong man protecting her sister and little Jonathan. The idea that she might also find a man who would look after her appealed to her more than she was ready to admit. Ben Lansing’s gentle grin appeared in her mind’s eye and Miranda blinked it away, like a speck of soot. True, he was a fine, strong man, but she couldn’t see him playing the role of protector. It was impossible to imagine him in her life at all. Everything she’d seen of him in the last few days confused the hell out of her. At least he didn’t scare her. Not really. She pulled her jacket closer around her.
There were acres and acres between not being afraid and trusting. Ben claimed he wanted to take care of Jonathan, and maybe he did. At first, she was certain the only reason he’d come to Colorado was to demand his money. But his anger yesterday wasn’t about the claimed debt. He’d been worried for Jonathan’s sake, and that made it more difficult to judge the man.
Hell, she admired the way he was willing to stand up for his nephew, even if his concern was misplaced. Miranda sighed. Ben Lansing. She ignored the way her stomach lurched when she pictured him studying her with those deep brown eyes. The sensation was no doubt caused by the old wagon pitching up the rutted mountain road. At least that was the safe explanation.
It would take more than a handsome face and a pair of broad shoulders to make her give in to a man. In fact, she didn’t care if the man looked like a grizzly bear, just so long as he cared about her and treated her right.
She leaned against her pa and wrapped her arm in his.
“What is it, child?”
“I’m so glad to have you for my pa.” Miranda looked up at her father’s scruffy, lean face. “You’re a true gentleman.”
“Ain’t no need to insult me now, daughter. I always worked for my livin’.”
Miranda laughed. It was good to be home. The thought stabbed at her heart. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to leave again. Pa was getting older and likely didn’t have many years left. Until yesterday, it hadn’t occurred to her that if she left, she might never see her pa again. It would be horrid to get a letter from Mercy telling her of their father’s passing.
“A gentleman doesn’t have to be a fancy city slicker, Pa. I don’t believe any city has a man as fine as you.”
He gave her hand a squeeze but didn’t speak for a long while. “Miranda.” He squeezed her hand again. “I worried about you every day when you were gone, off in Philadelphia. Crowds of people everywhere, but no one lookin’ out for you.”
“I . . . Lydia was nearby.” She couldn’t bring herself to lie, to tell him everything had been fine. He most likely would never believe it anyway. “Besides, I’m a grown woman, Pa. I can take care of myself.”
“I keep forgettin’ you’re not my little girl any-more.”
“Sometimes I wish I were, Pa.” Life had been much simpler when she depended on her father and sister for everything.
“Ain’t no turnin’ back, I suppose.”
“No, I don’t reckon so.”
“Seems likely you encountered a rascal or two back East.”
“I was workin’ in a ladies’ dress shop, Pa, not taking up with . . . men.” There’d been only one man, and she would spend the rest of her life trying to forget him.
“Men have a way of finding pretty girls like you.”
Miranda closed her eyes, trying hard not to picture the sweet-talking man who had made all the girls in the dress shop blush and giggle when he visited them by day. The man who never seemed to be happy when they were alone together.
“There’s all kinds of men in the world, Miranda. Ain’t who he is or how he makes his livin’ that makes a man. Oh, I reckon I’d have turned out different if I’d been a city boy, but scraping a livin’ from the land wasn’t near the most important thing that happened in my life.” He looked down at Miranda. “Having daughters to raise up likely changed me more. The two of you were my biggest challenge by far.”
“Were we very hard on you, Pa?”
“No, child—being without you would have been harder. I reckon I’d have died of loneliness long ago if it weren’t for you and your sister.”
“And now you’ll have your chance to help Mercy raise her children.”
“Oh, no.” Pa tugged on the reins to steer the horses around a large hole in the road. “That’ll be up to Thad.”
“He loves her, doesn’t he, Pa?”
“That fella’s the best thing could have happened to your sister. He’s exactly what she needed.” He clucked at the horses to pick up the pace. “I hope to see you wed before I leave this earth.”
“Pa!” Miranda sat up and glared at him. “Don’t you be talkin’ like that. I expect you have a good many years left.”
“I don’t mean to rush you, sweetheart, but you are twenty years old.”
“An old maid, am I?”
Pa chuckled. “Not an old maid. But, as you said yourself, you’re a full-grown woman.”
Miranda kissed her father’s weathered cheek.
“I was afeared you’d settle down in Philadelphia—raise up a passel of grandchildren I would never get to know.”
Miranda felt a pang in her chest thinking of the child she would never mention to her father. If that baby had been born alive and well, she likely would have stayed away. “I’m here, now, Pa, and I ain’t plannin’ on heading back East.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Miranda leaned back against her father’s shoulder. “I don’t know about finding a man here, though.”
“This territory’s full of good men. A pretty girl like you will have your pick.”
No point in correcting her father. He would always believe she was beautiful. “A fine welcome home—I arrive one day and you want to see me married off the next.”
Pa laughed. “I did say not to rush, didn’t I?”
“That’s good, because I intend to take my time and choose right.”
Leastwise, I hope I’ll make a good choice this time.
Leastwise, I hope I’ll make a good choice this time.
“You’re so much like your sister.” Pa reached his arm around her and squeezed. “Mark what I say now. The right fella’s gonna come when you ain’t lookin’, and likely you’ll both end up surprised.”
Miranda hoped her father was right in predicting that there was a man for her somewhere, and that he would find her. So far, she’d shown little ability to find the man herself. The best thing for her to do was to put the whole thing out of her mind. She didn’t have time for such foolishness now in any case. Her first task must be to send Lansing packing.
That brought her back to the problem of raising money. Five thousand dollars. A hell of a lot of money. It would have taken her a lifetime to earn that much at the rate she’d been paid for sewing dresses in Philadelphia. Miranda didn’t have many skills, and she didn’t have much money to start with. The only way to turn a small amount of money into thousands of dollars was to gamble.
There were always men looking for someone to invest in a new gold mine. Or there was the big poker game at Rita’s. When Judge Jensen was in town, it wasn’t unusual for thousands of dollars to be on the table. Miranda sighed. She wasn’t sure how to invest her money, but she did have an idea of how to earn a small stake.
She had to try for Mercy’s sake. It wasn’t possible for her sister to raise the kind of money Ben claimed he was owed. Not and have anything to eat this winter. Her sister wouldn’t fail to pay the hands. Or perhaps she would let the men go, if she couldn’t pay them. That would be a fine situation. Miranda could picture her pregnant sister out chasing the cattle, risking her health and the baby’s, too. That wasn’t going to happen if Miranda could help it.
She’d sell the only thing she had to offer. As the town came into view, Miranda sat taller in the seat. She was going to need an ally for this venture. The best person for the job was Clarisse Wyatt. While Pa went in to talk to Doc Calvert, Miranda would have a private chat with Clarisse.
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