Teresa Bodwell (10 page)
Authors: Loving Miranda
“I thank you gentlemen for your candor, but I’m afraid it doesn’t help me.” He turned and headed down the hill, his head spinning with possibilities. With all these conflicting stories, he was never going to be able to prove anything.
“I’ve an idea of how we can set things right, Mr. Lansing.” O’Reilly favored him with a wide grin as they reached the bottom of the hill. “The cattle.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll be roundin’ up the cattle next week. You mark my words—all the new calves will get the Bar Double C brand. Not a one will be left for that poor nephew of yours. They aim to take it all.”
“You have a plan to prevent it?”
“With your permission, the men and I will make certain that doesn’t happen. We’ll see the boy gets his fair share and the Buchanans don’t cheat him.”
“How can you do that?”
“These boys are the best cattlemen around these parts. You leave everything to us.”
“Your plan sounds illegal.”
O’Reilly grinned. “Certainly not. That cattle belongs to the boy, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“We’re preventing an injustice then. That’s all we’re about. Setting things to rights again after those Buchanans have tried to steal from an innocent child.”
Ben tried to look O’Reilly in the eye, but the man’s eyes never settled long enough. He always seemed to be planning an escape. Ben chose his words carefully. “You’re talking about stealing the cattle.”
“’Tisn’t theft when it’s the boy’s property, now is it?”
“I’ll go to the judge and seek an order—”
“Based on what? The judge’ll believe Mercy as to how much of the cattle is hers and how much is Lansing cattle. She’s had the past year to mix them until no one will be able to tell.”
“Weren’t the cattle branded?”
“Not the calves. They’re the real value.”
Without knowing the cattle business, Ben couldn’t be sure whether O’Reilly’s accusations made sense. “I’ll go to the Buchanans, they have been willing to talk—”
“And you think it likely they’ll admit they’ve stolen the boy’s cattle.” O’Reilly laughed. “You’re a trusting soul, Mr. Lansing.”
Ben glared at the man. His instinct was not to trust anyone—not the Buchanans, and certainly not O’Reilly. “What exactly do you propose, then?”
“We find the herd and take out those with the Lansing brand and half of the unbranded calves.”
“You’ll want a share of any cattle you salvage, naturally.”
“Yes, I should think half—”
“Half?” Ben nearly shouted it.
“We’re taking all the risks. And if we don’t act, the boy will have nothing.”
He clamped his teeth together and forced himself to appear calm. “I can’t agree to half.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Lansing. Same as your brother.” O’Reilly smirked. “The boy will have two head for every one we take. And we’ll be wantin’ some cash for our trouble.”
“Cash?”
“I assume you will want to remunerate us for lookin’ out for your nephew’s interest.”
“One third of the cattle would be compensation enough for returning Jonathan’s own cattle to him.” Ben shook his head. “No, I’m not interested in recovering the cattle. What interests me is the question of whether or not the Buchanans have treated the boy fairly. I’ll pay fifty dollars for real proof that the Buchanans stole from him. And I want a promise that you won’t violate the law. No theft.”
“Goes without sayin’, Mr. Lansing. We’re law-abiding men.” O’Reilly shoved a cigar between his teeth. “You count on us, sir.” He pulled the cigar out and showed his crooked teeth again. “We’ll get you your evidence.”
Ben nodded and shook hands with O’Reilly. He had a peculiar sensation deep in his gut that he’d made a pact with the devil, but it was getting very difficult to tell who was right and who was wrong in this matter. All he wanted was to get to the root of it, sort it all out and find his money. If there was any money left to find.
He reminded himself that his money was the most important thing. Without cash he wouldn’t be able to move on to the new life he had planned far away from a certain pair of blue eyes—sweet innocence attached to temptation. He had to get out of Colorado Territory and soon. If that meant taking the boy with him, so be it.
He’d take Jonathan to Boston. Surely one of his married brothers would take responsibility for their nephew. They weren’t entirely heartless. The image of Jonathan looking up at Mercy gave Ben a slight twinge of doubt, but he couldn’t rely on the judgment of a six-year-old boy. Children became attached to any adult who looked after them. His own childhood was proof enough of that. Ben had adored his father, even though his father had always treated him like a bad investment—the son who was destined to be a failure. Ironically, his father’s prediction had come true.
Ben would make his own determination of what was best for his nephew, then he could get on with his life. Greece, the Caribbean or perhaps the Sandwich Islands. Somewhere warm, tropical, and far away.
He mounted Lightning, wondering briefly whether the animal could run downhill, but then thought better of trying. He allowed the horse to meander down the mountain while Ben sorted through the alleged plots of theft and murder. Mercy Buchanan did not seem capable of murder. She’d been far too gentle with Jonathan. Miranda had said her sister had raised her. Ben could believe that, seeing the natural way she had with his nephew. It seemed unlikely that such a woman would plot to kill an innocent man, not even for the substantial fortune that Arthur had. Her husband might well be the real culprit.
He decided to turn toward the Lansing ranch. It was time he looked at the rubble himself, to see whether there was anything left that could point to what had happened the day of the fire. There was little chance that anything remained there after a year, but he needed to see for himself.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the mining camp. He’d forgotten to ask the men gathered there whether any of them had been present the day of the fire. If not, where had all the hired hands been? Now he knew where to find them, he’d be back. There were many questions he needed answered. They might be more likely to talk if he could get them away from O’Reilly. Today, he’d look around his brother’s property before he headed over to the Bar Double C ranch to check on his nephew.
It was his nephew that drew him, not Miranda.
Damn!
It was a sad thing when a man lied to himself. And worse when he couldn’t succeed.
Damn!
It was a sad thing when a man lied to himself. And worse when he couldn’t succeed.
Chapter 9
Miranda stood up in the stirrups and let Princess run. It felt wonderful to be out in the open with the wind blowing through her hair. She’d regret it later when she tried to brush out the knots, but sometimes she had to let go no matter the consequences.
She watched ahead for holes or other obstacles as Princess flew over the gray-green autumn grass. She felt the pounding hooves from her knees to her hips as she leaned into the wind. Back home, Mercy was working on lessons with Jonathan. Thad and Mercy had both talked about wanting a real school for the children, but Miranda couldn’t help feeling Jonathan enjoyed having his mother to himself, whether it was for lessons, chores, singing, or playing games. Her heart ached seeing the two of them together and knowing that Ben Lansing might try to take the boy away.
She refused to dwell on that thought. Instead, she urged Princess into a faster gallop, building up speed as she approached the creek and leaped over it. They raced across the open field a hundred yards from a group of cows, and Miranda laughed at their startled bellowing. This ride was exactly what she needed. A bit of time alone with her thoughts, away from the family and their watchful eyes.
She eased Princess slower until they were trotting and then walking toward the old Lansing place. She sighed. Mercy and Pa were in the habit of watching out for her; they couldn’t get used to the idea that she was here to help them. But Miranda knew something they couldn’t understand: what she wanted most was to feel useful and needed.
She leaned forward to stroke Princess’s neck, wondering whether to head home. The ride had cleared her head as she’d hoped it would, and there were plenty of chores waiting for her. Curiosity kept her riding toward Lansing’s barn. She wanted to see how badly the house had been damaged by the fire. Besides, she might see Buck, or one of the other hired men. It would be nice to talk to a plain man for a change instead of a fancy-talking city slicker who set her heart racing and her mind crawling, or stopping altogether.
Buck was a gentle soul. He might not be as handsome as Ben, but he was a good, honest, hard worker. And he kept himself pretty clean, for a cowboy. It was bad luck that looking into Buck’s eyes never made her heart thump against her chest like a wild beast. Maybe she’d try flirting with Buck anyway. Maybe if she showed a little interest, it would change the way he looked at her.
The remains of the house finally came into view beyond the barn. Little more than a foundation with a stone fireplace in the center. Near the barn, Miranda spotted a man and a horse. Perhaps she would see one of the hired men, after all. She clucked her tongue, prodding her horse to trot.
Too late, she saw it was not Buck mounting the dappled gray. It was Ben Lansing.
Ben thought for a moment he was imagining her—the small, wild-haired blonde on the dark mare. “Miranda?”
She hesitated before bringing her horse closer.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“Went out for a ride and ended up here.” She glanced down at his steed and grinned. “I hope you didn’t buy him.”
Ben shrugged. “He’s not so bad. Goes where I want and works hard.”
“So long as you aren’t in a hurry.” She chortled. “Old man Meier can’t seem to get rid of the critter.”
“I’m in no hurry. Been enjoying the views.” And none as lovely as the one he had now—Miranda smiling and looking as though she were holding back a laugh.
She turned away toward the remains of the house. “You wouldn’t know to look at that pile of rubble that it had been a fine house.” Miranda dismounted. “Do you mind if I look around?”
Ben watched her take in the sight. “There’s not much left to see.” He swung down from Lightning. “I’ll join you.”
They tethered the horses near the barn and walked over to the charred remains of the house. “Do you know whether they salvaged anything?” Ben asked.
She shrugged. “Mercy told me there wasn’t much. Some silver, I think. A few trinkets they put aside for Jonathan.”
Half of the back wall stood—several large logs that Lansing had brought down from the mountains. Miranda stepped over what she thought had once been the threshold. “It’s hard to picture it. There were steps going up here.” She swept a hand up. “This stone fireplace was in a parlor near as big as our whole cabin, least before Thad added on the bedrooms. I never saw nothin’ like it in this territory. Furniture come all the way from Boston. Fancy lace curtains and oil paintings on the wall.” She looked at Ben. “Nice pictures. Were they . . . did you paint them?”
Ben nodded. “I did give them a painting I’d done of a foxhunt and a pencil drawing of our father.”
“Yes, I remember those. The foxhunt hung right here in the entrance, next to the stairs. And your father, he . . . Arthur didn’t look a bit like him, but you do.”
“Funny you should say that. Father always said I was the only son who didn’t look anything like him. I think it was because I have my mother’s dark brown eyes.”
“But Arthur’s face was so round and your face has strong lines . . .” She blushed bright red and turned away from him so quickly she nearly fell over a large rock.
He caught her arm and she looked up at him, surprise making her eyes even larger than usual. She blinked and righted herself, pulling gently away from him. “Sorry, I was going to point out the dining room over there. Do you see where those broken bricks are? That was another large fireplace, only I reckon someone took the good bricks. Back there, where the one wall is still standing, that was Arthur’s study.” She walked toward it. “There was a heavy oak desk that didn’t completely burn. Mercy found some ledgers in the desk.”
“Ledgers?” That could help him find his money. “I’d like to see them.”
“I don’t know if she still has them. She told me they were pretty badly damaged.”
Ben scowled.
“It’s nicer when you smile.”
He glared at her. “Not much to smile about here.”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes dropped. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinkin’.”
He touched her shoulder. “Don’t apologize.”
She looked up at him. His heart skipped a beat. The uneven rhythm pounding against his chest was the only evidence that time continued moving as they stood, his hand resting on her shoulder. Her eyes gazing into his.
“I’m sorry, Ben.” Her eyes dropped to his chest, and she wondered if he, too, was struggling to breathe. She forced herself to smile back up at him. To appear calm, although her pulse was racing. She swallowed. “I’m sure seeing your brother’s house like this is difficult for you. I should go.”
Ben leaned forward until his nose nearly brushed hers. The heat from his palm against her shoulder had radiated on down through her body, causing pulses in strange places. She managed to draw in half a breath before his left hand settled on her hip and the world suddenly spun upside down.
She tilted her face up to meet the kiss she was certain was coming. He jerked his head back and seemed to notice his hands on her for the first time. He stuffed them into his pockets as he stepped back, nearly stumbling over a pile of debris.
“I’ll come out to the ranch another day and check on those ledgers,” he said. “You might ask your sister to save them for me, if she still has them.”
When Miranda’s heart started beating again, she nodded. “Of course.” She looked around, focusing on anything other than Ben.
Dammit, Miranda, you’ll have him thinking you wanted him to kiss you.
She pulled herself up taller and threw him a smile she hoped conveyed her indifference. “I’ll be sure and give Mercy your message.”
Dammit, Miranda, you’ll have him thinking you wanted him to kiss you.
She pulled herself up taller and threw him a smile she hoped conveyed her indifference. “I’ll be sure and give Mercy your message.”
She led the way back toward the barn. When they were a few feet from the horses, they both started to speak at once, then grew silent. She took Princess’s reins and met Ben’s eyes over the horse’s back. When no witty phrases came to mind, she turned and made a show of checking Princess’s bridle. The silence extended for at least a minute until she mounted her horse.
“Tell your sister I’ll come see her in the next day or two.”
“I’ll tell her,” Miranda called over her shoulder as she pulled away.
“I’ll see you then.” Ben’s voice faded behind her as she urged Princess away from him.
Later that afternoon, Miranda sat on the porch steps, shucking corn. The sunshine wasn’t half as warm as the feeling of family that Miranda sensed around her. What a difference a few days had made. She could no more picture herself leaving Pa and Mercy than she could imagine trading Princess for a zebra.
Everything would be perfect here as soon as Ben Lansing left town. Surely, that would be soon. The man wouldn’t want to be stuck here for the winter. Her chest ached as she thought about him. Only because he was causing her sister so much anguish. It had nothing to do with the way he’d nearly kissed her. Hell, that made it sound as though he wanted her. The man was discussing business—it was Miranda who had crazy ideas about kisses and touches that made her tremble and want more.
“You found the last of the corn.” Mercy lifted an ear from the pile on the top step.
Miranda felt her cheeks heat, though surely Mercy couldn’t read her thoughts. “I’ll take care of that.”
Mercy kept the corn away from her sister and sat down next to her. “I can be trusted with corn husking. I’ve even been known to boil water without ruining it.”
“All right.” Miranda dropped the cleaned ear into the pot. “I’ll get started on the biscuits.” Miranda made to stand up.
“Wait.” Mercy pulled her sister back down to the step. “Stay a minute, I’d like to talk.”
Miranda retrieved another ear of corn, peeling the husk away as she waited for her sister to announce the topic of conversation.
“Seems longer than a year ago when we first met Thad,” Mercy said.
Miranda thought back to her first encounter with Thad Buchanan on the street in Abilene, Kansas.
“It was more than a year, more like thirteen months.”
Her sister smiled at Miranda’s weak attempt at humor, then smoothed her fingers over the corn she held, removing the clinging corn silk. “You liked him immediately.”
“And you hated him.” Miranda grinned, remembering how hard Mercy had worked at avoiding the big man. Strange how things had worked out.
Mercy dropped the cleaned corn into the pot and took another ear off the step. “No, I didn’t hate him. I was scared.”
“He is very big.”
Mercy laughed. “Big men don’t frighten me.” She ripped the husk from the ear in her hands. “It wasn’t his size—it was his eyes.” She turned to look at her sister. “I felt as though he could see . . . my soul.” She worried her lower lip. “That probably sounds silly. I . . . can’t describe it any other way. I hated feeling so exposed.” She sighed. “That and . . .” Mercy looked away, then seemed, for a moment, to be examining her boots. Finally, she looked at Miranda. “We’re speaking woman to woman now, you understand?”
Miranda didn’t know how to respond to that, so she nodded.
“Just between us, what frightened me most was that looking at him made me wish he was touching me”—she looked away again—“in the most intimate ways.” Mercy turned back to Miranda. “I had thought those feelings were buried with Nate; then I met Thad and it . . . I didn’t know how to react when all those feelings came back stronger than I had remembered them.”
Miranda’s mind rushed to Ben and she bent to pick at a stubborn bit of husk, hoping her sister wouldn’t detect the heat glowing in her cheeks. If her sister had noticed the way she looked at Ben, perhaps he’d seen it as well.
Aw, hell, he could hardly have missed the way I made a fool of myself.
Aw, hell, he could hardly have missed the way I made a fool of myself.
“But . . .” Mercy put her hand over Miranda’s, drawing her sister’s eyes to her face. “I don’t think that is what scares you about Thad.”
Miranda blinked. “I’m not afraid of Thad.” She swallowed, relieved her sister hadn’t mentioned Ben. “What makes you think he frightens me?”
Mercy raised one eyebrow.
“I am not.” She smiled and held her sister’s gaze. “I’d forgotten how big and strong he was, at first. . . . But I’m used to him now, and I reckon he wouldn’t so much as smash a flea, unless the critter dared try and hurt you, or Jonathan.”
Mercy favored Miranda with a half-smile and nodded. “You can count on him to look after you, too. Thad thinks of you as a sister, and he wants you to feel safe here.”
“Are you truly happy with him?” Miranda asked.
“Do you really need to ask?”
Miranda looked at her sister. Glowing, Clarisse had said, and it was a good description. Still, she knew from experience a woman could fool herself into believing she was happy.
“You do seem happy. But . . .” She pushed a curl behind her ear. “A year ago you were so certain that loving a man could only lead to pain.”
“I was wrong.” Mercy leaned back against one of the posts that held the porch roof, her eyes far off again. “Pain comes, with or without loving. It’s the loving that makes joy, though. We all need joy, little sister.”
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