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.
“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.
It was only a few doors up the boarded walkway from Doc Calvert’s office to Wyatt’s store. Miranda marched past the assay office. Sheriff Bradford waved at Miranda from across the street; Miranda saluted him with the rolled papers she was carrying.
When the weather was pleasant, the sheriff often sat out in front of his office, figuring he could prevent a lot of mischief by making himself as visible as possible. Whether it was due to the lawman’s presence or not, the street was quiet now.
Wyatt’s Dry Goods Store was the second busiest place in Fort Victory. Rita’s saloon was the most visited place in town. Seemed as though more people would need the food and other goods that Wyatt’s had to offer, yet Rita’s drew the biggest crowds. Maybe it was just that the folks who frequented Rita’s were a bit noisier and more boisterous.
The bells on the inside of the door chimed as Miranda pushed her way into the store. “Hello?” she called out, though she knew someone—Wendell, Clarisse, or one of the boys—would appear when they heard the bells. As she’d hoped, it was Clarisse who stepped into the store with a welcoming smile on her face. Miranda’s chest tightened at the sight of the baby on her hip, but she returned her friend’s smile.
“Miranda!” Clarisse walked around the counter to greet her. “Look who’s here, Hal. It’s your Aunt Miranda.” The baby gurgled at his mother and she beamed at Miranda. “How are you settlin’ in? Everything the way you remember it?”
“As you warned me, there are plenty of changes at the ranch.”
“Everyone well?”
“Mostly.” She took a deep breath. “Pa had one of his spells.”
“No!” Clarisse looked worried. “He’s been doing so well.”
Miranda shrugged. “Mercy said he has been fine except for the one spell. He’s over visiting with Doc Calvert now. Pa says it’s a waste of good money, but he figured seein’ the doc would be easier than arguing with Mercy.”
“Your father is a wise man.”
Miranda grinned. “You’re right about that.” Both women knew from experience that there was no point arguing with Mercy when she set her mind to something.
“Let’s hope it’s just the one spell. I’d hate to see him like he was just after the accident.” Clarisse shifted the baby to her other side.
Miranda nodded, remembering how easily confused Pa had been. They didn’t dare leave him alone for more than a few minutes at a time.
“What can I do for you?” Clarisse’s question brought Miranda’s mind back to their conversation.
“Oh.” Miranda swallowed. She had no idea why she was suddenly so nervous. “I won’t take a lot of your time.” Miranda walked over to the counter. “I wondered . . .” She sucked in a deep breath. “I have a business proposition for you.”
As Miranda’s mouth was too dry to speak, she spread the papers over the counter and turned them so that Clarisse could see her drawings. It had been months since she’d worked on them. She had put this whole scheme out of her mind when she left Philadelphia.
“Well!” Clarisse pressed one corner back with the index finger and thumb of one hand while Miranda helped her hold the other end of the papers flat. “It’s beautiful.” Clarisse lifted the top paper and the next, carefully examining each of the four sketches Miranda had brought her.
“Is this what women are wearing in Philadelphia?”
“Something like.” Miranda chewed on her lower lip. “I got some of my ideas there. Mostly it’s, well, the sort of dresses I would like to wear.”
“You did these?”
Miranda nodded. “I was beginning to make some of my own designs at the shop when . . . the accident—”
“Accident?”
“I was . . . there was an accident with a buggy I was riding.” She touched the scar on her face. “I was injured.” She looked away. It was much more difficult to tell the story to someone she knew. She wondered whether she’d told it this badly to Mercy, and if so, whether her sister believed any of it.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry you went through that.” Clarisse placed a hand over Miranda’s. “You seem fine now—no lasting injuries?”
“No, I was lucky.” Except for a scar that would mark her for the rest of her life.
Clarisse smiled. “I suppose it could have been worse.”
Miranda nodded. She could hardly imagine anything more difficult than what she’d been through. Dying would have put an end to everything. Instead, her heart kept beating, and here she was pretending to be alive. No—determined to find a new life. That was a better way of thinking of it.
“You want to sell the sketches?”
“No,” Miranda answered quickly. “No, I mean to sell the dresses. If you’ll help me with the fabric and the customers.”
“I see.” Clarisse smiled, her eyes twinkling with delight. “An interestin’ idea.” She took the sleeping baby over to his cradle and set him down. “I sell some ready-made dresses, but this—”
“I worked in a dress shop in Philadelphia. Learned to make dresses that were right fine for the city ladies. We’d make the same dress in different sizes, so it would take only minor alterations for a good fit when a lady came into the shop. Others were sold through mail order and women did their own fitting.”
“Hmm.” Clarisse walked over to set the kettle on the stove. Miranda expected she was trying to find the words to explain why the arrangement wouldn’t be suitable. After all, there was no good reason for her to believe Miranda’s dresses would sell, or make any money at all for the store.
Miranda opened her mouth to relieve Clarisse of the responsibility. “It’s all right—”
“Yes,” Clarisse said at the same time. “Yes, a wonderful idea. It is high time the women of Fort Victory had a source of fashionable clothing. As it is, a woman either makes her own simple clothing from the cloth I sell here, or she must send away for a ready-made in her size. And we both know those never really fit properly.”
“They aren’t made very well either.”
“No, they’re not.” Clarisse nodded. “This is an excitin’ idea. Lots of possibilities. Imagine if we could find a shop in Denver that would carry them.”
“Denver?”
“It’s the nearest city. I’ll wager women there have nearly as much tro
uble keeping up with fashion as we do right here in Fort Victory.”
Miranda felt her stomach relax for the first time all day. “Do you really think they’ll sell?”
Clarisse grinned. “Honey, we are going to make some money on this venture.”
Miranda smiled until she remembered her sister needed five thousand dollars. She wasn’t going to make that by selling dresses. All she could hope was that the money she earned would help somehow.
The door chime rang and Clarisse called out, “Mr. Lansing! Good afternoon.”
Miranda’s stomach flipped as she turned to see Ben Lansing striding toward her.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He nodded at Clarisse, then turned to Miranda. “Afternoon.”
He looked over her shoulder, and she realized he could see her sketches laid out on the counter. She spun around to snatch them up, but his hand covered hers, wedging the piece of paper to the counter. And sending her heart racing like a wild horse running from the lasso.
“Fine drawings.” He glanced at Clarisse. “Yours?”
“No, indeed. You’re looking at a new dress design by my partner—Miranda Chase.”
Miranda stared at Ben’s hand, resting over hers. He wasn’t applying pressure. She could move her hand if she wanted. Could have snatched up her sketches and walked away. Instead, she gazed at his poor fingers. It was the first time she’d seen him without gloves. Initially, she assumed his fingers were bent into an awkward fist. Then she realized they weren’t so much bent as missing. Three of them were short stubs cut off at the first knuckle. His forefinger and thumb were present, though they were oddly crooked.
She thought back to the way he’d acted when she saw him attempting to tie a knot in Denver. She’d laughed at him for not taking off his gloves. He must have thought her terribly cruel.
He pulled his mangled hand away and shoved it into his pocket. She thought he might say something. Instead, he reached around her other side with his right hand, gripping the opposite corner of the sheet and lifting it to look at the other pages. She could feel his warm breath against her shoulder.
Teresa Bodwell Page 8
