Prisoners of Love: Miranda (Prisoners of Love Book 4)

by Callie Hutton

  Chapter 3

  Preston added up the column of numbers once more. So far, he’d added it three times and gotten three different answers. This was certainly the hardest part of his job. He loved planning things, loved interacting with his customers, and joining in the occasional game. He had a knack for seeing what a money-making proposition was and what was not.

  However, when it came to keeping the books, he avoided it for as long as he could, then gritted his teeth and set to work. What he needed was a bookkeeper, to free him up to manage his business and work out the problems with getting his hotel and restaurant built.

  That issue still caused his stomach muscles to tighten. Almost a week had passed since he’d seen the town council and they told him he could forget the permit if he didn’t have a respectable wife. Time was running out.

  He flung his pencil down as a knock on his office door made the number in his head vanish like so much smoke. “What?”

  Crystal opened the door and popped her head in. “My, don’t we sound grumpy. There’s a young woman downstairs looking for a job.”

  “And you’re bothering me for that? Isn’t hiring girls your job?”

  She opened the door wider and sashayed up to the desk, the smirk on her face cracking the face paint on either side of her lips. “I think this is one girl you would be best interviewing.”

  “Look, Crystal, I’m not in the best frame of mind here. I hate doing this stuff, and now I have to start all over again.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless she’s a bookkeeper, I’m not interested.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll be interested in this one.” She planted her palms on the desk and leaned in close. “She just may be wife material...”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me you have a girl downstairs who applied for a job as a wife?”

  Crystal stood and brushed invisible lint from her dress. “No. She’s here for a job in the saloon, but she belongs in a saloon as much as I belong in church.”

  “You don’t say?” His interest picked up. Could it be as simple as that? A woman dropped right into his lap just as he needed one? Nah, those things only happened in books.

  “How do you know she’s not married?”

  She smirked. “No wedding ring.”

  “She could have sold it.”

  “Nope. This one has ‘virgin’ written all over her.”

  His eyebrows rose. “And how do you know that? It never occurred to me that you can tell that by looking at a woman.”

  “I know my business. Trust me. And with her looks and body, no husband in his right mind would let her apply here for a job.”

  He studied Crystal for a few moments “Fine. Send her up.” Was he truly so desperate for a wife that he would consider taking one right off the street?

  Hell, yes.

  Unable to sit any longer, he pushed away from his desk and walked to the window. As usual, things had settled down for the night in Santa Fe. His business and the saloon one block down on the other side of the street were still open, as well as the café in between the two establishments and the few brothels three streets over.

  He had scratched and clawed his way to success. He deserved respect. If a wife was the one thing between him and respectability, then, by God, he’d succeed in that, too. Everyone would eventually forget that Preston Stone had started life as the illegitimate son of the local whore, raised in a brothel.

  “Here we are.” Crystal’s deep voice startled him from his musings. He turned and sucked in a breath. The woman standing about a foot behind Crystal, twisting her fingers, definitely did not belong in a saloon. Why would someone who looked like her be applying for a job in The Silver Palace? She looked more like a schoolmarm.

  The mass of blond curls she’d wrestled into a bun weren’t having any part of containment. Wisps of shiny locks drifted to her shoulders and near her tiny ears. Her crystal blue, slightly almond-shaped eyes darted to him then to the floor. On the other hand, she was far more attractive than any schoolmarm he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Her calico dress was worn but clean. Even with the distance separating them, he could smell the scent of her skin. Something flowery. Sensible, buttoned-up half boots peeked out from underneath the hem of her dress. She tugged on the wrap around her shoulders and chewed her bottom lip.

  Crystal had been right. Everything about the woman screamed innocent. With a jolt, he realized despite his awareness that the girl who stood before him was a virtuous lady, he still felt a stirring in his blood at the sight of the plump lips she worried and the curves hidden underneath her dress.

  He shook himself at his fanciful thoughts.

  “Miss Beamer, this is Mr. Stone, owner of The Silver Palace.” Crystal waved in his general direction.

  The young woman nodded briefly and regarded him with near panic written on her face. She’d gone from twisting her fingers to downright wringing her hands. She licked her lips and took in deep breaths. Never one to feel attraction toward an innocent woman, he was baffled at his reaction to this one.

  Afraid she would bolt before he got the chance to talk to her, he offered his best smile. “Hello, Miss Beamer, won’t you have a seat?”

  After a slight hesitation, she moved to the chair he’d indicated and sat.

  “Crystal, you can leave us now.”

  Behind Miss Beamer’s back, his manager winked and mouthed “Good luck” before closing the door.

  “Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea? Or a glass of water? I can have something sent up from the bar.”

  “No.” The word came out raspy, and she cleared her throat. “No, thank you.”

  Preston sat and leaned back, resting his chin in his index finger and thumb. Her nervousness must have been contagious because he had the urge to run his finger around the inside of his collar. “Crystal tells me you are looking for a job in the saloon.”

  “Yes.” Again she cleared her throat, looking at a spot to the left of his ear. “I am.”

  “Why?”

  Her head snapped up, and she stared at him wide-eyed. “Why?”

  “It’s obvious to me that you aren’t exactly the saloon girl type.”

  She shifted in her seat. “I need a job, Mr. Stone. It’s that simple. I’m a hard worker and dependable.”

  “No husband, family?”

  “I’m not married, and my parents are dead.” Her fingers worried the drawstring on the reticule sitting on her lap. “Crystal mentioned that you had a job for me?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. Right now, I’d like to know a little bit more about you.”

  Miss Beamer took a deep breath, drawing his eyes to her lovely breasts. He imagined her wearing the skimpy outfits that Crystal had all the girls wear, and his gut tightened. He didn’t want to see her bending over a poker table, setting a drink down while the players ogled the top of her creamy breasts. He felt an unexplained sense of protectiveness.

  She shrugged. “There isn’t a whole lot to tell about me.”

  “How long have you been in Santa Fe?”

  “Three weeks. I came on a wagon train with two other women.”

  “For what purpose?” God, please don’t have it be they were coming to work in the local brothel. If so, he would have somebody’s head.

  She looked uncomfortable and shifted in her chair again. “We, um, came here as mail-order brides.”

  His heart did a tap dance.

  “From what I understand, mail-order brides travel from their homes to marry up with a man who has contracted for them. Why would your intended husband allow you to work? And in a saloon, no less?”

  Miranda fidgeted in her chair. She’d been confused since she entered the saloon. The woman named Crystal said she had a job for her, and the next thing she knew, she was facing the owner of The Silver Palace. Since she’d never gotten this far when asking for a job before, she had no way of knowing if this was a normal way of being hired.

  She was
fascinated by the man before her. He was tall, but not overly so, with broad shoulders. He had a small cleft in his chin, and she had the strange desire to slide her finger over the dip. Despite the hard lines of his face, he was not frightening in his looks, and when he’d smiled at her, he became downright handsome.

  She had to shake herself and play back his last question in her mind. “Our arrangements were a little bit different. We didn’t have particular men in mind when we left Dodge City.”

  His eyebrows rose at her comments. “You were in Dodge City? I was led to believe that’s a pretty wild place. Especially for a lady.”

  “I think that’s what Marshal Jones thought as well. He arranged for us to travel with a wagon train leaving Fort Dodge. He felt it was better for us to be away from Dodge City.”

  There was no reason to tell this man her life story. All she wanted from him was a job. A way to save money so she could disappear before Marshal Jones learned of her refusal to accept one of the numerous proposals she’d Smith got wind of what she’d done and came looking for her.

  Since she’d never known when Woody would show up, he could already be on his way to Santa Fe. It was beyond time to move along.

  Mr. Stone continued to study her like a bug under a magnifying glass, and she was growing more uneasy by the minute. “Why would the local marshal be involved in sending you and the other women to Santa Fe?”

  Oh, God. She never should have said that. Her mind worked quickly. “None of us had a home or a means of support. He took an interest in us.” To distract the man, she said, “Crystal said you had a job for me?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. I believe I do.”

  She released a sigh of relief but sucked it back in when he added, “But I need to know a bit more about you before I offer the job.”

  “All right.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if we left this stuffy office and took a walk down the street to the café. I haven’t had my supper yet, and I would be honored if you would join me.”

  This job interview was getting stranger by the minute. Now he wanted to have her join him while he ate supper? If he hadn’t looked so respectable and wasn’t the owner of a thriving business, she would be more than a little uneasy right about now. “Yes. I would like that.” What else could she say? She needed a job, and both he and Crystal said they had one for her.

  Mr. Stone stood, and the first thing she noticed was the gun strapped to his thigh. It came as a jolt since his appearance otherwise was very much that of a gentleman. His white shirt almost sparkled in the light and his embroidered vest and jacket were very well made. He picked up a flat-brimmed hat sitting on a table next to the desk and motioned to the door.

  When he placed his hand on her lower back to escort her from the room, she jerked at the contact. The spot where he’d rested his palm felt odd. But then, she’d never had a man, other than her father, touch her since she’d spent the time since Mama died dodging both Frankie and Woody’s disgusting hands. Despite her nervousness, the warmth from his palm felt comforting.

  Mr. Stone led her down the stairs, through the haze of cigar smoke hovering over the card tables, and out the door. This time, he extended his arm and she took it, not quite feeling the same jolt, but nevertheless, still a bit rattled by his nearness and the spicy scent of his soap.

  The air was really too cold for her wrap, but since the few items of clothing she’d owned had been left at Frankie’s house the night she’d fled and turned herself in to the marshal, she was grateful Miss Nellie had bought her the lightweight wool shawl.

  They were quiet on the short walk to the café. She’d tried to get a job there, also, but didn’t have any luck. At this point, the saloon was her only chance. If he didn’t hire her, she would be forced to marry, and none of the men who had proposed to her so far held any appeal—nor did they seem like the type who could protect her from Woody.

  She stole a glance at Mr. Stone. Now, if someone like him lined up to ask for her hand, she might consider it. He looked as though he could protect a woman, especially with that gun strapped to his leg. Then she quickly pushed that thought from her mind. Her best plan was to make enough money to disappear. Marrying anyone was not a good idea.

  There were several people in the café, huddled over their plates. Mr. Stone led them to a table near a window and drew out a chair for Miranda. “If you’ve already had your supper, you might consider ordering a piece of dried apple pie. Probably the best in the whole territory.”

  Once he’d ordered her slice of pie and for him the special of the day—a bowl of beans with chili peppers and something called fry bread—he leaned back in his chair and studied her. She squirmed, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “Why do you want to work in a saloon?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve applied for jobs since I arrived three weeks ago, but there isn’t anything available. The owner at the last position I tried suggested The Silver Palace. He said it was a decent place.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I try to run a respectable business. But what I fail to understand is why you are looking for work. You are a very pretty woman, and I’m sure there are many men in the territory who would be more than happy to take you as their wife. You did say you came here with the intention of being someone’s mail-order bride.”

  She stiffened and stared him in the eye. It certainly wouldn’t be wise to tell him of her plans to accept a job and then hightail it out of town when she’d saved enough money. “I prefer to take my time in choosing a husband. After all, you wed for life. I thought if I had a job for a while, I could support myself until I decided who I wanted to marry.”

  Their food arrived, halting the conversation until both had eaten.

  He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Miss Beamer, along those very lines, I have a different sort of job in mind for you.”

  Finally, the job. “Is it bookkeeping? Because I noticed you were working on a ledger when Crystal brought me to your office.”

  “Bookkeeping?” His eyes glowed. “You know how to manage books?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say I know how to manage books, but I am very good at math. It was my favorite subject in school.” It had always amazed her that so many people disliked the one subject she’d loved and was very good at.

  “Then I think we might be able to come to an understanding, Miss Beamer.”

  “Yes?” She grew excited at the twinkle in his eyes, almost certain he was about to offer her a job.

  “I will hire you as my bookkeeper.”

  She grinned and sat back, relieved. A job! She had to tamp down the urge to jump up and dance around the room.

  “However, there is one condition.”

  He was still smiling, but something in his face brought her up short. It was obvious he was about to say something he thought she wouldn’t like.

  Her mind wandered back to Adelaide who had shared the jail cell with her in Dodge City. The poor woman had lost her job and had been arrested for vagrancy and trespassing. The man who’d owned the empty building she’d used as shelter told her he would continue to allow her to stay there if she would become his mistress. When she refused, he filed charges against her and had Marshal Jones arrest her.

  Surely, this nice man would not offer her the same proposition?

  She raised her chin, ready to give him a set-down if that was what he had in mind. Using the most cold and proper voice she could summon, she said, “And what would that condition be, Mr. Stone?”

  “Marry me, Miss Beamer.”

  Chapter 4

  Miranda continued to stare at him, every muscle in her body tightened enough to snap if someone so much as touched her. She shook her head to clear it of the nonsense she thought she heard. Marry him? Surely, she’d misunderstood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, but I could swear I just heard you say you would hire me as a bookkeeper if I marry you?”

  He nodded “That’s right.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

 
“Do all your female employees have to marry you first?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I like your sense of humor, Miss Beamer.”

  She wasn’t one hundred percent sure she’d been joking. “Mr. Stone—“

  “Preston, please.”

  “—surely, you aren’t serious.”

  “Yes. I am. I am very serious, and I’ll explain it to you.” He pushed aside his empty bowl and leaned his forearms on the table. “Right now, I have hundreds of dollars’ worth of lumber arriving in Santa Fe in about two weeks. A couple of months after that, thousands of dollars in furnishings will be shipped from New York to Santa Fe. Do you know what all that is for?”

  Miranda shook her head.

  “I have a piece of land all cleared and ready to build a hotel and restaurant that Santa Fe desperately needs. We are growing, and very soon the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad will come down this far.”

  The determination on his face and the strength of his words drew her in. Even though she still hadn’t any idea where marriage to her fit in all of this, she found herself fascinated by his enthusiasm.

  He fiddled with the spoon lying next to his bowl. “I applied to the town council for a permit to build my hotel and was turned down.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m not respectable enough.” He viewed her from under shuttered eyelids.

  “Because you own a gambling house and saloon?”

  “Yes.” He waved his hand. “And for other reasons I don’t want to go into right now. They said if I got married and moved out of my saloon, they would reconsider my request. You see, a wife would make me respectable.”

  Still confused and not at all sure this man was not missing some important part of his brain, she said, “You have all these women working for you. Can’t you marry one of them?”

  He leaned forward. “Miss Beamer, did you look at those girls when Crystal brought you upstairs to my office? For the most part, they are decent girls and hard workers, but do you think the town council considers them respectable?”