Teresa Bodwell

by Loving Miranda

Miranda was going to scream. She was exhausted and starving and everything was taking three times longer than it needed to. The ride into town had been so lonely. Three men behind her mostly silent for fear Ben would shoot them. He would have, too. She’d never seen him so angry.

  When they finally made it to town, the sheriff had to hear her story at least five times. The worst was when he insisted on giving Ben the damn reward—the money that would take him away from her forever. She had to smile and pretend she was happy to see her husband receive such a large amount of money, and make believe that the money would be theirs, not his.

  They spent another eternity signing papers. Ben silently followed all the sheriff’s instructions, hardly speaking a word. If Ben would only say something, talk about his plans, maybe it would be bearable. Once he told her he was leaving, she could find a way to let him go. But announcing he intended to leave would go against everything he’d promised her. He would act the good husband until he disappeared and left her a widow in the minds of the good people of Fort Victory. Miranda was certain of one thing—when the day came, she’d have no trouble playing her part. She would grieve the loss of Ben Lansing.

  By the time the lawman was done with them, Clarisse and Buck and Pa had found them at the sheriff’s office.

  After quick greetings, Clarisse got to the point. “You must be starving.” She looked directly at Miranda. “I fixed some dinner for my boys and Fenton and Buck here. There’s plenty of stew left.”

  “We need to be goin’ if we’re goin’ to make it home before dark,” Miranda said. “Do you have something we could carry with us? Maybe some apples, or—”

  “Miranda!” Clarisse frowned. “You need to be takin’ care of yourself.”

  “Don’t be silly, Clarisse. I’m fine.”

  “Would you like me to list all of the reasons you should have some food and rest?”

  Miranda glanced from Ben to Pa. If she wasn’t careful, Clarisse was going to tell her secret right now in front of everyone. Miranda opened her mouth to respond.

  “I’d be happy for a hot meal,” Ben said.

  Miranda was relieved. “I reckon we could stay long enough for some stew, since you said it was ready and all.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Clarisse looked at Miranda. “You’ve had enough riding today. It would be best for your whole family if you rest in town tonight.”

  Miranda was going to have to kick Clarisse if she said another word.

  “Food and a warm bed.” Ben seemed to brighten for the first time in hours. “That sounds inviting. You don’t mind, do you, love?”

  Miranda stared at Ben. He was using his snake-oil-salesman grin. “But Mercy will be worried about us.”

  “We’re on our way back to the ranch, Miranda.” Buck slapped Pa on the back. “Grandpa here can’t wait to see that new baby.”

  “You laugh now, bachelor,” Pa said, “but one day you’ll know what it’s like to worry about your children.”

  Buck laughed. “Fenton, if you think for a minute some woman is gonna lasso and hog-tie me, you’re mistaken.”

  Ben pulled Miranda close. She knew it was all part of his loving husband act, but she couldn’t help herself: she enjoyed having his arm around her. Hell, she was not going to turn weak now. She had her baby to think about. Let Ben leave. She was going to get along fine without him.

  Miranda shrugged out of Ben’s embrace and threw her arms around Pa. “Give the baby a kiss for me. And tell Mercy I’ll come see her tomorrow.”

  Pa kissed his daughter’s forehead. “I’ll tell her.” He looked over at Ben. “You two go on and have some hot food. Make this one rest, will you? She looks terrible.”

  “I’ll have to take issue with you there, sir.” Ben took hold of her hand. “Miranda’s the most beautiful woman in the Territory.”

  Pa smiled. “As I have two daughters, you’ll forgive me if I say Miranda has one equal.”

  “You’ve both gone mad,” Miranda said. She gave her father another kiss. “Take care of yourself, Pa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, now.” Pa nodded and turned to follow Buck.

  As they watched the old man walk toward the stable, Miranda’s stomach growled. “We’d better get you fed, love,” Ben said.

  She scowled at him, then strolled slowly across the street so as not to appear too anxious to eat the stew that Clarisse had promised.

  Miranda knew Ben was going to say good-bye to her as soon as he had a chance. He had his money now. There was no reason to stay any longer. As they sat around Clarisse’s kitchen table and she told the story of her captivity one last time, he hardly looked at her. And though he must have been as hungry as she was, he spent more time moving the stew around in his bowl than he did eating.

  Rita came bursting in through the back door. “Miranda, Dios mío!” She came over and squeezed Miranda’s shoulders. “I just heard what happened. Look at your face. The son of a beech, he hit you. I will be happy to see that man hang.”

  “The important thing is that everyone is going to be fine,” Clarisse said. “Miranda could have been much more seriously injured.”

  Miranda felt Ben’s eyes on her. He wasn’t her true husband in any way that mattered, but that didn’t keep him from feeling protective of her. It was a small crust of bread, and she relished it as any beggar would.

  “Clarisse is right,” Miranda said. “O’Reilly and his lot are in jail, and none of us was badly injured. It’s over.” She shot Ben a look that caused his stomach to plummet. “And there’s good news, too. Rita, did you hear that Mercy had her baby?”

  “It’s a girl.” Ben grinned. “She’s tiny and . . . perfect.”

  Miranda looked over at him. “Ben was there to help, thank the Lord.”

  Ben looked around at the curious faces. “I went to the house hoping maybe Thad or one of the others had found Jonathan. Expected Miranda to be there, but Mercy was alone. I didn’t dare leave her. Then the blizzard hit and—”

  “I’m glad you were there, Ben.” Miranda reached over and squeezed his hand. “Everything worked out for the best.”

  “It was Wendell who helped when our Robert was born,” Clarisse said. “We were hauling a wagon with all our worldly goods from San Francisco to Fort Victory. Don’t let anyone tell you a man can’t be helpful with a birth.”

  “Well, Mercy did all the real work.” Ben flushed as all the women in the room laughed.

  “Miranda, I expect you’re tired,” Clarisse said. “I’ll take you upstairs where you can lie down.”

  “No, no!” Rita said. “Come with me. I have a room with a bed and a hot bath.”

  “We can’t afford—” Miranda started.

  “Gratis, gratis. No charge for you. Consider it my thanks for your part in bringing O’Reilly to justice, sí?”

  And so they were swept away again. More helpfulness. At least this time it seemed as though the Good Samaritan intended to leave them alone. Ben followed behind as Miranda pranced next to Rita. The meal had revived his wife, and that walk was arousing some desires he intended to ignore. He’d talk to Miranda, then let her rest.

  As he followed the ladies into the saloon, he wondered how long he’d be able to let his wife sleep. They passed the stairs and went to a back hallway and through a plush sitting room. The fine carpeting and furniture were different from anything Ben had seen in Fort Victory and a good deal more luxurious than the room Ben had stayed in upstairs.

  Rita opened the door at the end of the hall and stepped ahead of them into a large bedroom. She opened the drapes and the winter sunlight revealed a sitting area at one end of the room, with upholstered chairs around a tea table. At the other end sat a large wardrobe and a huge four-poster bed, with a canopy of red velvet curtains hanging over it. In the middle of the room sat a large iron stove and a polished brass bathtub.

  “The stove, she is hot.” Rita opened the iron door and added more wood. “The water tank is full. Open the tap for hot water when you like
a bath. There is cold water in the bucket if you need.” Rita beamed a smile at them. “Only enough water for one bath. You will improvise, I think.” She strolled over to the door, then turned with the knob in her hand. “I bring you supper later, if you like.” Rita smiled at Ben. “You will find me in the kitchen.”

  Rita disappeared out the door and Miranda walked over to the tub. “Damn, that’s big.”

  Her voice expressed such awe that Ben couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I’ve seen bathtubs before,” Miranda said. “Don’t want you to think I’m that ignorant. But, damn!”

  “I’m not laughing at you,” Ben said, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so glad to have you safe with me again.”

  He held her close, breathing her in. It was almost too perfect. Too good to be true. Here he was with a chance to finally talk and he couldn’t find the words for fear he’d say the wrong thing and she’d send him packing.

  “Miranda.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “I wish I’d gone after you last night.”

  “It would have been plumb foolish to go out in that storm. Mercy knew where I was heading, that I would have been in the shelter before the worst of the storm. There was no reason for you to risk—”

  “There was a reason, dammit.” Ben touched her bruised jaw. “I worried about you. Mercy did reassure me, but . . .” Ben pulled away from her. “Miranda, I was worried something would happen to the . . . our baby.”

  Miranda looked up at him then, her eyes unreadable. “You knew?”

  Ben took her hand in his. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me. I . . . you’re not . . . sorry about the baby, are you?”

  “Sorry?” Miranda wet her lips as she searched for words to explain. “I want this baby more than anything.” She looked into his dark eyes, asking silent forgiveness for the little lie she was telling. There was one thing she wanted more, but she’d settle for what was possible. “Please don’t . . . I don’t want you to feel any obligation. This . . . this gift is so much more than I—” She sniffed and wiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek.

  “Don’t.” Ben pressed his warm palm against her cheek. “Don’t cry, love.”

  There it was again. That name that meant so much to her and so little to him. She hated him calling her that. He pulled her into his arms and she let him. She allowed herself to feel warm and sheltered. A few more months. At least now she didn’t have to worry about keeping the baby a secret any longer. She could have Ben with her until spring. After all her brave planning, she was too damn selfish to let him go one minute before.

  For a heartbeat she imagined that he might even want to stay long enough to see his child born into the world. He seemed genuinely moved by the birth he’d witnessed last night. But she couldn’t ask him to stay.

  “You don’t have to . . .” Miranda drew in a deep breath. “I don’t want you to feel obligated because of the baby. The reward money will get you to your tropical island.” Miranda walked over to the window and stared out at the alley that ran behind Rita’s all the way to the Wyatts’ store. “You might not be able to get to San Francisco before spring. The roads over the mountains can be . . .”

  “Miranda?” Ben stepped over to her. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “The truth?” Miranda worried her lip. It was so damn hard to look at him. “You’ve asked a complicated question.” Miranda walked over to the stove and held her hands over the radiant heat. She rubbed them together and stretched them out again.

  Ben shoved a hand in his pocket. “It wasn’t a fair question . . .”

  “No, I want to answer.” She looked over at him. “This isn’t easy for me. But I may as well say my piece.” She brushed a loose curl away from her eye. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Ben let out a breath.

  “I do understand, though, why you have to go.” Miranda crossed her arms as though she were hugging herself. Another tear trickled down one cheek.

  “Don’t cry, Miranda. I don’t . . . have to go.” Ben wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I don’t want to go.”

  “No.” She stepped back. “Ben, please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. Last night, I had a lot of time to think about . . . us. How you were forced into this marriage. I . . . Can you forgive me?”

  “Forgive you?” He had to touch her. “Miranda.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I am a man who has been struck by lightning and survived it. Whether it was luck, or fate, or the grace of God, I don’t know. But I am not forgiving you—I am grateful to you.”

  She tilted her head and wrinkled her forehead as though puzzling through his words.

  “I won’t leave you, not ever. If you’ll have me for your true husband, with all the promises honest between us this time. Loving and cherishing and all—until death.”

  “Ben.” Miranda gulped back her tears. She couldn’t allow him to make this sacrifice. “I’ll be fine here with my family. They’ll help me with the baby. There’s no need for you—”

  Ben dropped to his knees in front of her, then gave her a pleading look that was almost too much for her to bear. “This child we created is . . . well, it’s something I never expected.” He placed a hand over her belly. “I promise to try and be a good father. I’m not certain I know how, and I don’t want to make a promise that I can’t keep. But if effort counts for anything, our children will know that I love them. That’s all I can do.”

  Miranda stared at him. He’d said children. “You . . . Is this because of Mercy and seeing her baby?”

  “No.” He looked up at her. “I won’t forget the miracle I witnessed last night and, yes, it made me think of you and our baby.” He drew in a deep breath. He held Miranda’s beautiful, graceful hand with his maimed one. They were meant to be together. Perfection and imperfection joining to make a life together. He kissed her palm. “I want you to know that I’m not staying for the child’s sake, or for your sake. The honest truth is, I need you. I need your smile.” He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “And your way of seeing so much life around you—the smell of the earth after a rain, the miracle of a spider’s web. All the things that I never noticed before you showed them to me. Even more than that, I need the way you make me feel—that I’m a man who has a right to be alive. I . . .”

  She dropped to her knees then, kissing him and sending jolts of desire through him. He managed to get control over himself, to keep from pressing her back to the floor and driving himself inside of her. He was determined to take care of this precious woman and the tiny bit of life they’d made inside of her, and right now that meant getting her a nice hot bath and a good night’s rest. “I love you, Miranda.”

  “I love you, Ben,” she whispered into his neck. “I’ll always love you.”

  “Let me fill the tub for you. I’m sure a nice hot bath—”

  “Plenty of time for a hot bath later.” She bent to open the buttons of his trousers. “Right now, there’s something else I need. And months to go before I’m too big for you to want me.”

  There it was—the spark of sunlight in her eyes that could make him forget everything but her. “There won’t ever be a time I don’t want you.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her over to the big bed. “You’re certain it’s safe?”

  “Safe?”

  “The baby.” He set her gently on the bed. “I don’t want to do anything that—”

  But she’d found her way inside his pants and his last good sense left him.

  “The only danger now is you may drive me to distraction if you don’t come inside me soon.” She pulled him down onto the bed, straddled him and bent to kiss him.

  “Patience, my love,” Ben mumbled through wet kisses.

  She pulled back and smiled. “Say that again?”

  Her smile was like sunshine peeking through clouds, and it warmed him in places the sun couldn’t begin to reach.

  “Patience.” He pulled her back down to him. “Patience.” He nibbled on her ear.<
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  “Oh, Ben,” she sighed. “Not the patience part. What you called me a minute ago.”

  He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, my love.” He brushed a kiss to her soft lips. “My love. My Miranda. Now and forever.”

  About the Author

  Teresa Bodwell grew up in the West writing stories in spiral notebooks, journals, and the odd scrap of paper. After serving in the U.S. Army where she helped make the world safe for John Philip Sousa music, she read her first romance novel and knew she had found her niche. Teresa lives in western Montana where she practices law, marriage, raising children, and leading Girl Scout troops. She hopes to get all of these things right one day. Visit her website at www.tbodwell.com.

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  Copyright © 2005 by Teresa Bodwell

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  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3260-1