Teresa Bodwell

by Loving Miranda

  Thad grinned. “Well, we all appreciate the delicious breakfast you’ve made, Miranda.”

  “Mmm.” Pa chewed on his pancakes. “I’d forgotten what a fine cook you are, sweetheart.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” She smiled at her father. “I hope it will be a help. Having me here for cookin’.” The kitchen was one place Miranda had always felt useful.

  “I know it will,” Mercy said. “And don’t you worry about finding work around here. There’s plenty needs doing. I reckon we’ll let you have a few days’ rest before we give you the full brunt of it.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Your sister’s right.” Pa winked at her. “We don’t want to see you jump back on Princess and hightail it out of here before we’ve had a chance for a good visit.”

  “I’m not going anywhere so long as you need me here.”

  “Good.” Mercy buttered a second slice of bread. “Then you’ll be staying a long while.”

  Don’t count on it. Miranda shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth to hold back the retort. She wanted to stay; she was already feeling comfortable in many ways. Except that she didn’t belong. She’d do what she came for, then move on.

  While Miranda and Mercy finished the breakfast cleanup, Thad announced he would climb up on the roof to check for loose shingles. Mercy explained her husband was dedicated to making the cabin warm and safe for the winter.

  “I think it’s a natural protective instinct that men have.” She took a wet plate from Miranda and wiped it dry, but her eyes focused out the window to where Thad was gathering his equipment.

  Miranda held her tongue, wondering how her independent sister had so willingly allowed herself to fall under the illusion of a man’s protection.

  “Come on, Grandpa.” Jonathan pulled on Pa’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold on, son.” Pa extracted himself from Jonathan’s grip. “I want to put on my sweater. Seems a bit chilly this mornin’.”

  “Okay, but hurry, Grandpa.”

  “You should wear a sweater, too,” Mercy said.

  “I’m not cold,” Jonathan protested.

  “You’re not cold in the kitchen where the stove is warm, but there’s no fire started in the workshop. It’ll be cold out there.”

  Jonathan let out a dramatic sigh before climbing the ladder to retrieve his sweater. He was down in a moment, trying to wriggle into his sweater as he danced impatiently from one foot to the other. Mercy bent to help him pull the woolen garment over his head, then smoothed the hair that was sticking straight up on the lad’s head. Miranda recognized Mercy’s handiwork. Playing the piano and knitting were Mercy’s favorite pastimes during the long winter months. No doubt Pa and Thad had similar sweaters.

  “Come on, Grandpa, I want to get started.”

  Pa emerged from his room, wearing, as Miranda expected, a sweater made of the same dark blue wool that Jonathan was wearing. His thin white hair was also standing at attention. Miranda couldn’t help but giggle at her father’s hair, which caused him to comb his fingers through it.

  “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 w
hole 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 w
as 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.”