Teresa Bodwell

by Loving Miranda

  Riding in the shadows of the familiar mountains felt comfortable no matter how hard Miranda tried to convince herself that she didn’t belong. She’d missed this place. The rugged peaks above her wore their autumn skirts of orange, red and gold as the cottonwoods that covered their lower slopes displayed their fall splendor. Those same peaks also loomed over the Bar Double C ranch, where her sister and father waited. It would be wonderful to find her way once again into the shelter of their home and their arms. But those feelings belonged to the little freckle-faced girl who had always been dependent on her family. The freckles remained, especially after a month of riding under the sun, but the little girl was gone. Miranda was a grown woman who could take care of herself and had for the past year.

  She reined her bay mare to a stop at the crest of the hill overlooking Fort Victory. The town bustled under the noontime sun. The settlement had started as a military outpost several years ago, but it had grown considerably since she’d first laid eyes on the place. Between the miners and the ranchers, the military garrison was the smallest part of what folks around these parts thought of as Fort Victory.

  She leaned forward and stroked her horse’s long, graceful neck, feeling powerful muscles through the buckskin gloves that protected her hands from sun and wind. Straightening, she inhaled cool autumn air. Fort Victory was growing, but she had no trouble picking out Wyatt’s Dry Goods Store in the center of town, a few doors down from Rita’s saloon. A short respite in town would be nice, but it would take less than two hours to reach the ranch if she pressed on.

  She turned Princess toward the ranch, feeling as though a snake were slithering through her stomach. She glanced back at Wyatt’s store and made her decision. With a squeeze of her heels and click of her tongue, she urged Princess to trot into town. The small detour would set her mind at ease and make her reunion with Pa and Mercy a bit easier.

  The problem with traveling cross-country with a group of strangers was there was too much time to think, to mentally rehearse every possible thing that could go wrong.

  “You’re a coward, Miranda,” she mumbled, shaking her head. All those folks who said she was brave to head West on her own were wrong. Traveling to Colorado from Philadelphia didn’t take real courage. She could think of worse fates than dying while trying to help her family. Not that she had any intention of dying, but she was no longer afraid of death. It was the bad choices she’d made that had her wanting to join a prairie dog colony so she could live in a nice, safe hole in the ground.

  She lifted her chin. Miranda wasn’t about to scurry into any underground den, but she did need to learn some caution—especially when it came to men. Spending time with Mercy and Pa would help. They were always urging her to slow down and be more careful. She’d have time to learn to control her impulses while she took care of Mercy.

  The only men living on the ranch probably still thought of her as a child. Even if they didn’t, having Pa close by would ensure that the men stayed away from her. It would be almost as safe as that prairie dog colony, after all.

  As she secured Princess to the post in front of the store, Miranda braced herself. Clarisse Wyatt was her sister’s best friend. She would know how Mercy and Pa were faring. Clarisse also would be curious about Miranda’s time away. Hell, Clarisse was nearly as protective of Miranda as Mercy herself. Miranda realized she was chewing on her lower lip and released it. It was going to be damned difficult to keep her secret from Mercy. Another good reason to visit with Clarisse first—Miranda could practice her story before she tried it on her sister.

  She shoved her hat back so it dropped behind her, held in place by a leather thong tied around her neck. Her hand smoothed over her hair. As though that’s gonna make a difference. She avoided her reflection in the glass of the storefront windows, knowing she was dusty and dirty and her hair had no doubt escaped the ribbon she’d used to tie it in place this morning. Cheerful bells sounded as she shoved through the front door of the shop.

  “Miranda!” Clarisse set down the tin she’d been arranging on the shelf and had Miranda wrapped in her arms before the younger woman could utter a sound.

  Clarisse stepped back, looking Miranda in the eye. “We’ve been waiting so long for your return.”

  Her azure eyes scanned back and forth as though taking inventory. Miranda knew the exact moment when Clarisse noticed the scar. She made no dramatic gesture, but her eyes skipped over the spot, then returned for confirmation. She didn’t look away as so many people did—as Lansing had yesterday.

  Miranda braced herself for the question. She’d rehearsed her answer so well she almost believed the “accident” she’d invented had actually occurred. Lord help her.

  People always shook their heads and mumbled things like, “Such a pretty face. What a pity.” But it wasn’t.

  The scar was a blessing so long as it kept men away from her. Her mind flitted again to the artist in Denver. He’d turned away when he noticed the scar. That was fine with her. His kind was the worst—handsome, well dressed, with a smile that could charm a grizzly away from the berry bush. In fact, the female bears would no doubt fight each other for the privilege of feeding those berries to him.

  Well, Miranda wasn’t going to enter the fight. She was never again going to devote her life to pleasing a man. Nor would she live in fear of the punishment that came when she couldn’t please him. Her sister had tried to warn her not to give her heart away, but Miranda hadn’t listened.

  Maybe keeping clear of men was one of those lessons that had to be learned from experience. Even Mercy hadn’t followed her own advice. She’d bound herself to another man after swearing she’d avoid the rascals. Thad Buchanan was exactly the sort Miranda shied away from now. Big, strong, fine-looking men who acted the gentleman so long as they had something to gain from a woman. Once they had her, it was a different story altogether.

  Aw, Hell! There were a few true gentlemen in the world. For her sister’s sake, Miranda prayed Thad was one of those rare critters. In spite of her hard-earned lessons, Miranda even dared to dream that one day she’d find such a man for herself. Maybe it was foolish, but she refused to give up hoping.

  The older woman made no comment about the scar. She took Miranda’s hand, pulling her farther into the shop. “Mercy and Thad must be so happy to have you home.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to say she was only here to help her sister. She’d stay as long as she was needed, then move on, maybe to San Francisco or New York City. Some busy place where she could fend for herself. Not that she didn’t love her family. She did. She missed Pa and her sister, but she couldn’t live with them fussing over her all the time. They wouldn’t understand why she was determined to be on her own. And if she explained it to them, they’d feel more determined to protect her. Pa was getting on in years, and Mercy had her own family to worry about now. Miranda would take care of herself.

  Still, she couldn’t refuse help to the sister who had practically raised her. Mercy had sacrificed a great deal for her, and this was Miranda’s chance to make a small payment toward that large debt.

  “I haven’t been . . .” The word home stuck in her throat. “Haven’t been to Mercy’s ranch yet. Thought I’d stop here in case there was mail, or anything to go out.” Tell the truth, Miranda—just ask after them.

  “They picked up the mail yesterday when they came into town for church.” Clarisse favored Miranda with a grin. “Now that your sister is married to my brother, we’re kin. I’m not sure what the sister of my sister-in-law is to me, but I’m partial to the idea of having another sister.” She paused for breath. “Will you have some tea before you press on?”

  Miranda nodded. She wanted to hear all the news before she saw Mercy. Her pa and Thad had both written about how ill Mercy had been. Though her sister was the strongest woman Miranda had ever met, she knew darn well it would be hard on Mercy if she lost the baby she was carrying.

  The bell rang as a customer entered the shop. “Robert will help
you, Mr. Sampson,” Clarisse called as she led Miranda to the family living quarters behind the store.

  Robert, the oldest Wyatt boy, was bent over the large kitchen table copying something out of a book.

  “Look who’s here,” Clarisse said. “Your Aunt Miranda.”

  Apparently, Clarisse had settled the matter of their kinship to her own satisfaction. Robert smiled and greeted Miranda.

  “You go on out and mind the store while we visit, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Robert ducked his head and disappeared into the store, obviously glad to leave his bookwork.

  The flat, wooden surface of the chair felt strange after so many days in the saddle. Miranda ran her hand over the smooth pine table. Her pa had made this table and chairs in the shop next to their barn. After years of farming and ranching, he was becoming a fine furniture maker. As Clarisse placed the kettle on the large stove that dominated the kitchen, Miranda wondered whether she would need to ask, or whether Clarisse would volunteer the information she needed.

  Clarisse opened the stove and added more wood. Miranda told herself to be patient, but she found it impossible.

  “How are Pa and Mercy doin’?” Miranda blurted out the question that had brought her into town.

  “I’m sorry, didn’t I say?” Clarisse wiped her hands on her apron and turned to look at Miranda. “I don’t know what I was thinkin’. Here I am fussin’ over tea when what you’re really wantin’ is some news!”

  Miranda was ready to scream for Clarisse to tell her.

  Clarisse smiled. “They’re fine. The whole family. No need to worry about your pa. Fenton hasn’t had a spell in I don’t know how long.” Clarisse cleared Robert’s books away from the table. “Mercy is . . . well, you know her. Nothing seems to slow her down, although for a few weeks she survived on bread and chicken broth.”

  “Thad and Pa both wrote me saying how sick she was.”

  “Your pa knew right off she wasn’t sick; he tried to tell your sister that her mama was the same way when she was in a family way. Even so, Mercy was afraid to believe it was a baby for a good long while.”

  “She was certain she’d never be able to have a child.”

  “Seems to me good things often happen to us when we least expect ’em.”

  Seemed to Miranda the same was true of horrible things, but she didn’t say so.

  “Of course, Thad fusses over Mercy somethin’ terrible,” Clarisse said. “Men are so protective.”

  Protective? That didn’t seem to describe most men in Miranda’s experience. She thought again of the artist in Denver—the way his eyes had burned with interest one moment, then turned away from her when he saw the scar. That was not a man who wanted to protect her. Like most men, he’d been thinking about taking from her, not doing anything for her.

  “Haven’t seen Mercy so happy in years. You won’t recognize her.” Clarisse brought two cups and saucers to the table.

  Miranda did a mental calculation. “I thought the baby wasn’t coming until winter, January or February?”

  “I don’t mean that she looks so different. I think it’s finally being a mama—has her glowing with happiness.”

  “I know it means a great deal to her.” Miranda’s heart squeezed tight as she recalled her own mixture of joy and fear when she had realized she was carrying a child. Of course, Mercy was a married woman, so it was different for her. “She’s wanted a baby for so long.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Though I don’t think it’s the baby coming, it’s bein’ a mama to Jonathan. If he were the only child Mercy ever had, she’d be happy.” Clarisse pulled the teapot from the buffet that displayed her china. The pretty pink rose pattern was one of the small touches of civilization Clarisse had imported to Fort Victory as the Wyatts’ business became successful. “Still, having a five-year-old boy to care for when you’re newly married, well. . . .” Clarisse poured some hot water to warm the pot. “As difficult as it’s been for them, Mercy and Thad have been good for Jonathan. He’s lucky to have them.”

  “It’s certain, then? They are keeping him?”

  “They’ve heard nothing from his family in Boston. As far as anyone in Fort Victory is concerned, the boy is their son. Mercy and Thad want to do things right and proper. They’ve applied to Judge Jensen for a legal adoption. He’s supposed to sign the papers when he’s in town next week. I’ve invited everyone here for a celebration afterward.”

  Mercy’s joy over finally becoming a mother was clear from her letters. After what Arthur Lansing had put Mercy through, some women would find it difficult to show compassion to his son. Miranda wasn’t surprised, though; she knew her sister.

  “Lansing loved his boy, but he didn’t have any idea how to be a father.” Clarisse set spoons and napkins on the table. “Thad is teaching the boy a world of things he never knew about.”

  Miranda touched the rim of the delicate china cup, wondering again about Thad Buchanan. There were good men in the world—her own father was proof enough of that. But she knew now that men like Pa were rare. Most men cared only about themselves.

  A great cry from the corner of the kitchen startled Miranda.

  “Sorry . . . little Hal never gives any warning, he cries out at full volume.”

  Miranda hadn’t noticed the cradle set where the sun beaming through the window would warm it. She blinked back a tear as she watched Clarisse lift the baby, soothing him with gentle cooing noises. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she reminded herself she had better get used to being around babies if she was going to be of any use to her sister.

  “Another boy?”

  Clarisse smiled at the tiny bundle in her arms. “I seem to be blessed with a houseful of males. You see why I’m grateful Mercy married my brother: now I have two sisters. Thad has told me he hopes their baby will be a girl. We’ve enough boys in the family already.”

  “What does Jonathan think about the new baby comin’?”

  “He can’t wait to teach his brother to fish and play marbles. Oh, you ask him—there’s a long list. And don’t try to tell him the baby might be a girl!”

  Miranda took a sip of tea. “I suppose he’ll be disappointed when the tiny infant is born.”

  “My brother has told him that their baby will be small and helpless like our Hal, but Jonathan still believes his baby will be different. Precocious you might say.”

  “A baby playing marbles would be quite a sight.”

  Clarisse laughed. “Yes—or puttin’ some bait on a fishin’ line.” She looked down at the infant in her arms. “He’ll feel differently when he sees her, or him. I remember how my Robert reacted to being a brother. At first he was disappointed that Tom couldn’t play with him, but it wasn’t long before he wanted to hold him. He was fascinated with everything from feeding to changing.” Clarisse let out a long sigh. “Our family has been truly blessed. And now havin’ you back home will make everything even better. I know Mercy will be glad of your help. And I’ll be glad to have another woman close. Females are scarce around these parts, and we need each other to help make the town a little more civilized.”

  Miranda sipped her tea. She liked Clarisse, but she didn’t want to make any promises about staying here.

  “Good experience for you, too—helpin’ your sister with Jonathan and the baby. I reckon you’ll be a wife and mama before too long.”

  Miranda focused on the leaves settling at the bottom of her cup. She’d heard of people with a gift for reading the future in tea leaves—though perhaps knowing what was to come wasn’t always a gift. “They’re happy together, then.” Once the words slipped out she couldn’t take them back. She lifted her eyes to Clarisse’s face, trying to judge her response.

  “Your sister and Thad?” Clarisse rubbed her hand over the golden fuzz on Hal’s head, but her eyes were focused in the distance. “If ever two people were meant to be together, it is Mercy and Thad. Of course, I’m a mite biased since I love them both dearly. I’m so grateful the
y found each other.”

  Hal turned to face Miranda, milk dribbling from his lips as he cooed at her. “Oh, you.” Clarisse lifted him to her shoulder, covering her exposed breast. “I thought you were hungry.” She chuckled. “Sorry, he’s easily distracted these days.” She rubbed his back, then settled him on her lap as she fastened the buttons on her shirt. “Here I’ve been going on and on. You must tell me how you’ve been. What was it like living in Philadelphia? After all my years in the West, I can’t imagine being in a large Eastern city again—”

  “Mama.” Robert burst into the room, saving Miranda from answering the questions she wanted so desperately to avoid.

  “Excuse yourself, son. You are interrupting.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” He appeared to have trouble catching his breath. “I mean, excuse me, Mama, Aunt Miranda.” He made a little bow to each of them. “There’s a gentleman who wishes to speak to you, Mama. He says his name is Lansing.”

  “Lansing?” Clarisse hissed.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Miranda’s stomach plummeted to her ankles.

  Clarisse glanced at Miranda, then back to Robert. “What . . . What does he want?”

  “He has some questions about Aunt Mercy and Uncle Thad.”

  Clarisse stood, moving as though she were swimming through molasses. “Oh dear.”

  She held the baby out to Miranda, who pulled the infant tight against her chest as his mother walked out to the store.

  “Hello baby . . . Hal.” Miranda patted the small bottom as he squirmed and tried to reach for his mother. “You don’t suppose this Lansing could be the same one . . . ?” She tiptoed close to the door, trying to hear the conversation in the shop.