Prisoners of Love: Miranda Read online

  But catch up with her he would.

  The entire damned town was tight-lipped. No one would tell him what happened to her. Someone must know, and he was tired of wasting his time asking brainless idiots. Tomorrow he would start using his fists to get information.

  He tore off a hunk of bread he’d gotten at the bakery the day before. He needed a woman. Someone to do all the things Miranda had done. He’d take a ride into town tomorrow and offer to buy one of Margie’s girls to move in with him. He’d wave enough money under the old bitch’s nose that she’d hand over one of them.

  Or maybe visit Miss Nellie’s place. In the couple of weeks he’d been back from his last hold-up haul, he hadn’t gone to her place. She’d thrown him out a time or two, but he would sweet-talk his way into her parlor and offer to buy one of the girls.

  Feeling better about having a plan to clean the place up and get decent food on the table, he shuffled to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed face-down, snoring within minutes.

  When he awoke several hours later, the sun was about to set, and his mouth was as dry as a virgin’s cunt. He doused his head with cold water from the pump and then swallowed several mouthfuls of whiskey.

  The smell from his body even bothered him, so he forced himself to take a bath. Feeling good about having a night of gambling, drinking, and whorin’ ahead of him, he whistled as he left the house.

  It was full dark by the time he reached the main street in Dodge City. He headed straight to Miss Nellie’s place, confused as he grew nearer and the corner where the brothel stood was dark. He stopped his horse in front of what was once the best whorehouse in town to see nothing more than charred remains.

  Damn.

  Besides Miss Nellie’s place and The Wild Cat, there were a couple of other brothels he’d used before when he was low on money with girls who were sickly looking or old, but tonight he wanted to wave bills in front of someone who would go home with him and take care of the house. Having her flat on her back every night would save him a hell of a lot of money, too.

  He switched directions and headed for Miss Margie’s.

  “I’ll let you in, Woody, but if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll have you tossed out and banned for life.” Miss Margie blocked him as he strolled through the door.

  “I got plenty of money.”

  “And I got plenty of girls, but if you start any trouble, you can take your money somewhere else.”

  He held in his temper to keep from her doing what she said and throwing him out. He walked around her and headed to the bar. “What happened over at Miss Nellie’s?” He rested his foot on the rail running the length of the bar and rested his elbow on the old, scarred wood.

  Dogmeat, the bartender—whose name came from something Woody didn’t want to know about—swiped a semi-clean cloth over the bar in front of him. “Burned down.”

  “When?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Well over a month ago.” Dogmeat rested his hands on his hips. “Did you come here to gossip or are you gonna get something to drink?”

  “Get me some whiskey.”

  The bartender poured a shot from a bottle. Woody covered his hand when he went to remove it. “Leave the bottle.”

  Dogmeat moved down the bar and got busy pouring beer and whiskey for other customers. When he finally wandered back down his way, Woody took another gulp of whiskey and said, “What happened to Miss Nellie’s girls? I liked that Mary Jane. She really knew what to do with her mouth.”

  “Mary Jane is right here. Once Miss Nellie’s house burned down, they all left and most of them came to see Miss Margie.”

  “You don’t say? Mary Jane is here?” Well, it looked as though his luck was pretty good tonight. Just the thought of Mary Jane on her knees hardened him in an instant. That sight was almost as good as Miranda.

  Woody looked around the room for Miss Margie. Picking up his whiskey, he sauntered over to her where she watched one of the poker tables. He planted a smile on his face. Best to be friendly with the bitch so he didn’t get thrown out. “Hey Miss Margie, I hear Mary Jane is working here now.”

  “That’s right. Came over after Miss Nellie’s place burned down.”

  “Well, set me up with her. When is she open?”

  “It’s early yet. You would be next. Give her about ten more minutes.”

  Ten minutes was not enough time to get into a poker game so he returned to the bar and continued drinking.

  About fifteen minutes had passed when Mary Jane strolled up to him, her hand on her hip. “You lookin’ for me, Woody?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

  She yanked back. “Hey. Give a girl a chance to rest for a bit. Can’t you buy me a drink?”

  “Nope. I know you girls only get cold tea in a glass, and I get charged for a whiskey.” He grabbed her arm again, loosening his hold when he saw Miss Margie across the room watching him with tightened lips.

  Woody waved toward the stairs and bowed like a gentleman. “After you, Miss Mary Jane.”

  She huffed but headed to the stairs and he followed her up.

  After he’d used her a few times, he collapsed on the mattress alongside her. “Where is Miss Nellie since the fire? Is she opening a new place?”

  “Nope. She left town.”

  He snorted. “I’m surprised she didn’t start up again. She had the best place in town.”

  “I know. I liked working for her more than Miss Margie.” Mary Jane rolled to her side and propped her head up on her hand. “I saw Miss Nellie a couple days after the fire, and she told me she was headed to Santa Fe.”

  “Santa Fe? What the hell is down there in that dump?”

  The whore smiled. “Can you believe she was acting as a chaperone for girls to go there as mail-order brides?”

  “A whore acting as a chaperone?” He laughed out loud at that one. “Were these some of her girls who didn’t come here?”

  “Nah. I don’t know exactly who they were. But someone mentioned they were all sitting in the jail on different charges and the marshal didn’t know what to do with them so he sent them on a wagon train with Miss Nellie to Santa Fe.”

  Woody’s eyes opened wide, and his heart started to thump. Best not to get too excited, though. Mary Jane might shut up if he looked too interested. “Girls sitting in jail?”

  “Yep.”

  Well, hell’s bells. Dogmeat said the fire was more than a month ago, and that was when Pa had been shot and killed. He was willing to bet that bitch Miranda was one of the girls sent to Santa Fe. He grinned. Tomorrow he would do a little bit more nosing around and find out exactly who the girls were who left on this wagon train.

  Watch out, bitch. I’m comin’ for ya.

  * * *

  Miranda wandered the little house Preston had bought for them. It was far enough outside of town to be in a quiet friendly neighborhood with other business owners and their families. A snug little house, it was painted white with blue clapboard shutters. A small porch ran across the front of the house and would be the perfect place for several plants and a couple of rocking chairs.

  There was a kitchen, parlor, small library—or office, and a dining room on the first floor. Hardwood floors gleamed with polish throughout the house. The second floor had two bedrooms and a bathing room with running water and a newfangled toilet with a water box above it and a chain to release the water. She could not have asked for a nicer place.

  He had dropped her off earlier in the morning to await the arrival of the furniture from his rooms at the Silver Palace which was being loaded onto a wagon and driven over to the house.

  They’d been married a week, and she had started her job. He brought the books to her the day after their wedding, but he was so insistent that she have nothing to do with the saloon that he rented her a room right next to Miss Nellie in Miss Priscilla’s boardinghouse, even though he couldn’t visit her there since no men were allowed.

  He even paid for Miss Nellie’s room
so she could “watch over” her since he would only see her at dinner when he arrived to take her to Chez Café for their meal each night. Her heart had warmed at his protectiveness. It was too bad she had to flee as soon as she saved enough money. But she soothed her conscience with the fact that she had been the reason he’d received permission from the town to build his restaurant and hotel.

  The Palace’s books were a complete mess, and it had taken hours to unscramble what he’d done, but despite that, the business was doing very well. With his lack of math ability, he’d been very lucky not to have been cheated.

  Since she’d been working for a week, she was hoping Preston would give her a pay envelope today so she could start putting money back for her escape. The more time that passed since she’d left Dodge City, the more she worried about Woody returning from his latest run of stagecoach robberies and coming after her. She knew the marshal would never tell him where she’d gone, but there were a lot of people in Dodge City who knew about the female prisoners who had been shipped to Santa Fe.

  She hurried to the front door at the sound of a vehicle approaching. A large wagon driven by Preston came to a rolling stop in front of the house. It was loaded with so much furniture she was afraid their little house wouldn’t hold it all. She walked down the pathway to the wagon just as Preston jumped from the seat.

  “Did you have all this stuff in your rooms?” Since she’d only spent one night there, she didn’t remember half of what he had. That night—her wedding night—had been a relief for her, but most likely had frustrated her husband.

  After taking her bath that night, she drank part of the bottle of wine he’d left, then went to bed, drowsy from the long day and the unfamiliar alcohol. He had not awoken her when he returned, and when she opened her eyes the next morning, he’d already been gone, to return a few hours later to tell her about the room he’d rented for her.

  She almost felt a little insulted that he was so anxious to be rid of her, but she believed he was purposely avoiding her because of her demand that they have a marriage of convenience. He did say he was going to try to change her mind, but given their separation since the wedding, he hadn’t been able to do much to convince her. A couple of kisses when he returned her to Miss Priscilla’s each evening.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a very enthusiastic kiss, considering they were standing outside the house. “No. Some of it came from the mercantile. Once we get it all in place, you can decide what you want to return if you’re not happy with some of it. Mr. McWray at the store said we can send back what we don’t want.”

  Two men she’d never seen before climbed down from the back of the wagon and nodded at her, then proceeded to untie the rope holding the furniture in place.

  “Jim and Stan are going to help me unload. Why don’t you go on inside and tell us where you want everything?” He smiled at her, his excitement contagious. It was too bad she could not stay here. She had a feeling marriage to Preston would be a very pleasant life.

  As well as a very passionate one. She felt him holding back the few times she allowed him to kiss her on their rides back to her room. That little bit of contact had reminded her of how he’d made her feel. Now that they were to be together every night in this house, things were definitely going to become harder, for sure.

  It took over two hours for the wagon to be unloaded, with her directing the men on where she wanted things placed. Even though everything was being unloaded and set in various spots, she still didn’t know what she wanted and what would go back.

  “Darlin’ where do you want this?” Preston backed into the parlor holding one end of an armoire, with Jim holding the other side.

  She tapped her chin with her finger. “We already have one in the bedroom so why don’t you put that one over there in that corner.” She waved to the spot next to the window. “I can use it for linens.”

  The house was coming together nicely. She smiled as she looked around the parlor which was now filled with two chairs, a sofa, three tables, and two oil lamps. Several framed pictures and prints were stacked against the wall, waiting to be hung. She could embroider a couple of pillows for the sofa and maybe make some curtains.

  It would be quite cozy in the evenings, Preston reading his newspaper and her working on mending. Soon the weather would be cooler in the evenings, and they could have a small fire in the fireplace against the south wall.

  It reminded her so much of her childhood home before Papa died and Mama married Frankie. She shuddered, just thinking about those years.

  Once the armoire was in place, Preston wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “That’s all of it.” He pulled some bills out of his pocket and walked to where the two men stood. “Here ya go. Thanks for your help.”

  They all shook hands, and the men left. Preston walked around the newly arrived furniture and pulled her into his arms. “Why don’t we drive into town and pick up some things to stock the pantry?”

  “Aren’t you tired after all that work?”

  “A bit. But I’d like to have dinner here in our own home. Even something simple, like scrambled eggs.” He released her and looked around the room. “I’ve never had a real house before in my whole life.”

  Miranda’s stomach muscles tightened and unbidden tears flooded her eyes. This man had had so little in his life, and here she was pretending to be married and make a nice, respectable home for him while she plotted to flee. But she assured herself, it was for his own good. Once Woody found her, he would take his revenge. She had no doubt about him finding her or about the revenge. Getting Preston mixed up in that would put him in danger.

  Another point that saddened her was he’d married her to gain respectability, and if she stuck around, it would become known eventually that she was a murderess. No, as difficult as it might become, she had to stick to her initial plan that she’d made back in the jailhouse in Dodge City. Get to Santa Fe, take a job, save her money, and disappear.

  Chapter 8

  Preston stood in front of the plot of land that would one day hold his hotel and restaurant, beaming with pride. Today the construction would start on the building, and he was as excited as a child at Christmas. Well, not that Christmas had ever been anything special for him growing up, but he figured it would be a pretty exciting day for the average kid.

  Which was another reason why he wanted respectability. His children would always look forward to Christmas. They would have new clothes for church, presents under the Christmas tree, and a hearty meal with all the dishes and special treats that went with a Christmas dinner. They would sing Christmas carols and drink hot cider while he and Miranda watched the little ones open their gifts.

  On the other hand, if he didn’t persuade his wife to join him in bed, there wouldn’t be any children to take care of. Now that they were settled in the house, he would begin his campaign in earnest. Living with Miranda, and the way he desired her, would be impossible if he couldn’t get her to change her mind about a marriage of convenience.

  Yesterday all the furniture had been delivered and set into place. He didn’t want to push Miranda on their first night together since their wedding night, so once he saw her fatigue, he suggested she retire early. He, however, spent more than a couple of hours wandering around the downstairs, touching the furniture, hanging pictures, and just enjoying the idea of having his own house. Despite the chilly night air, he sat on the front porch step, studying all the tidy houses on the street, reminding himself to buy a couple of rocking chairs.

  Tonight, he planned a little bit of convincing. He’d worked his charm on plenty of other women, now it was time to use all that skill and practice on his wife.

  Miranda had turned out to be quite an excellent bookkeeper and had shown him all the places where he was making mistakes and even came up with some new ideas on how to save money without cutting any services.

  He was also pleasantly surprised when they’d gone to the mercantile to load up on groceries. Miranda
quickly rattled off requests for coffee beans, tea, oatmeal, flour, sugar, various spices, most of which he’d never heard of, along with eggs, milk, butter, potatoes, canned fruits and vegetables, as well as rice, dried beans, and syrup.

  They also bought a smoked ham and a plump chicken. When he’d requested a block of cheese, she pulled him aside and whispered that it was quite expensive. He laughed and told her they could afford it, and to add it to the pile of groceries on the counter.

  When she wasn’t looking, he slipped in a bar of scented soap and bottle of hand lotion to their order.

  It seemed within minutes after they returned home she had whipped up scrambled eggs, slices of ham, biscuits, gravy, coffee, and even some sort of pudding for dessert. Yes, Miranda was the perfect wife in many ways. Now, to just get her to be his wife in truth, and life would be quite satisfying.

  “Mr. Stone. I know you approved these drawings, but I want to show you something that needs to be looked at.” Mr. Bally, the foreman on the construction job, broke into his musings as he approached him with a rolled-up set of drawings under his arm.

  Preston laid his meanderings on his wife aside as they put their heads together to examine what Bally wanted to address.

  Satisfied that everything was going the way it should after their short conference, Preston left the construction site and returned to his saloon. As usual, his employees had everything running smoothly. Now that Miranda had taken over the books for him, he had more time to spend on the floor, which he soon discovered his people didn’t appreciate.

  “Don’t you have a wife to go home to?” Crystal sashayed up to him, dressed in her usual satin, low-cut gown. A painstakingly painted face to hide her years, long dangling earrings, and a feather in her hair completed her outfit.

  Preston checked his timepiece. “It’s only five o’clock.”

  “Yes. And we are all ready for tonight’s customers so there’s no need for you to stick around.”