Prisoners of Love: Miranda Page 9

  She broke into a smile at the sight of Preston riding passed the house, headed to the stable behind them. He was early, but that was fine with her. Sometimes she got lonely being here by herself all day. Only hearing her own voice. Especially when that voice continued to remind her that this life was not for her.

  After checking herself in the small mirror over the sink, she untied her apron and turned as he walked into the house. She immediately went on guard. Something was not right. He wasn’t smiling and looked as though he wanted to punch something. Or someone.

  “What’s wrong?” She licked her suddenly dry lips.

  He stopped not a foot from her and ran his fingers through his hair. “We have to talk, Miranda.”

  Preston knew. How, she didn’t know, but there was no doubt in her mind. “All right. Did you want to eat first?” Lord, her voice was shaky.

  Hopefully he didn’t want to eat yet, since she wouldn’t be able to get a piece of food down her throat.

  “No.” He took her hand and walked her into the parlor. They sat on the sofa and he turned to her. “I had a visit from Marshal Dale Jones today.”

  Miranda dropped her head in her hands and groaned.

  “Look at me.” His words were sharp, but his tone was not.

  She took a deep breath and studied him. “What did he tell you?”

  “I think you already know.” He blew out a breath. “We told the town council you were a respectable, preacher’s daughter.”

  “I am,” she whispered.

  He placed his finger under her chin. “I know. But if this gets out it could put a damper on my plans for the restaurant and hotel.”

  So, the time had come. Since he knew, she might as well tell him what she’d planned from the start. Trying to control the tears that were threatening to burst forth, she stood, holding herself stiff. “Do not be concerned. I have a plan. In fact, I have had a plan since I left Dodge City.”

  He leaned back, his arms crossed. “Is that so? And what is that?”

  “I’m leaving.” Damn she hated how her voice shook.

  He studied her for so long she almost turned and fled. “No. You’re not.”

  “Yes. I am. Woody will kill you to get to me. Once we reached Santa Fe I had intended to get a job, save enough money and disappear to a place where he would never find me.” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “That was why I didn’t want to marry. Or have a child.”

  Preston stood and pulled her into his arms. “Miranda, I am your husband. It is my job to protect you. You will not run.”

  “Yes. I will. You just said the town council would be upset if this got out.” She swiped at the tears that were streaming unchecked down her cheeks. “I am a murderess, Preston.”

  He pushed back the curl dangling near her ear. “Ah, darlin’ you can’t run.”

  “Why not?” She blew her nose on the handkerchief he handed her.

  “Because I don’t intend to live the rest of my life without you.”

  She twisted the handkerchief, hoping he meant what she had prayed for every night since she’d met him. But did God answer the prayers of murderesses? Yet, everything in his expression told her what she wanted to hear. She held the wadded-up damp handkerchief to her mouth, muffling the words that she was afraid to say out loud. “What does that mean?”

  He hesitated for only a moment, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning his forehead against hers. “It means I love you, Mrs. Miranda Stone. We have a good start and can have a great marriage for many years once we get past this one thing.”

  She threw herself against his strong chest and wailed. “But this one thing could be the death of us both.”

  Chapter 11

  Preston rubbed Miranda’s back as she cried against him. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her head as the warm smell of flowers and Miranda wafted from her. After a few minutes, she pulled back and wiped her nose. “How could you say you love me when we hardly know each other?”

  He didn’t know himself why he knew it, since he’d never experienced love in his entire life. But this need to protect her and take care of her was overwhelming. When the marshal sat there in front of his desk and told him a man was looking for Miranda to do her harm his pulse pounded so hard he thought his head would explode.

  No one would touch his wife, no matter what she’d done. She was his to protect, to defend and provide a home and family for. He wanted to make her happy, to see her smile. If that wasn’t love, then he obviously did not know what it meant.

  “I don’t know how I know, darlin’. I just know. I feel like you complete me. That I’ve been missing another part of me all my life.” He gave her a half smile. “Sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?”

  She grinned, her eyes swollen, and her face flushed. “No. Not stupid at all. Would you call me a liar if I said the same thing about you?” She waved her hand around at the parlor. “I’ve been enjoying this, thinking how perfect it was. My own home to fix up and decorate. My own kitchen to cook meals for my husband who worked hard to take care of us. What you see here is exactly what I wanted as a little girl.” She shook her head. “But I knew it would never last.”

  He hugged her closer. “So it appears we both had the same dream. Let’s not throw it away, darlin’.” He tucked her head against his chest and rubbed his fingers through her hair. “Jones told me what your life with your stepfather and stepbrother had been like. I am so sorry you had to live like that.

  “He also explained that was precisely why he didn’t leave you in jail and sent you here with the other women instead. It seems as though all four of you were in jail because of the actions of men. He knew your case was self-defense, and that your stepbrother Woody would be after you.” He cupped her head and looked at her. “Hear me, Miranda. No one, and I mean no one, will harm you.”

  “What about the town council?” She wiped her nose again.

  He grinned. “I won’t let them harm you either.” With those words he covered her mouth with his to show her how much she meant to him. Yes, she fit him just fine. He could have searched for a wife for years and never find one as perfect for him as Miranda. He pulled back and tucked another of her loose curls behind her ear. Even with the red nose and puffy eyes from crying she never looked more beautiful to him. His stomach growled. “Should we eat?”

  “Oh, yes. Goodness, I forgot and left the soup bubbling on the stove.” She hurried away and called over her shoulder, “I hope it’s not burned.”

  Once they were seated with the un-burned soup and warm, fluffy biscuits in front of them, Preston said, “The marshal told me he turned in his badge in Dodge City and decided to come to Santa Fe instead of just sending a wire that Woody was on his way. He wanted to make sure you knew about it and to be certain you had a husband who cared enough about you to protect you.”

  Miranda grinned. “I also think the marshal came here because of Miss Nellie.”

  “Your chaperone?”

  “Yes. I think he was sweet on her. But she always claimed she wasn’t good enough for him. Frankly, I don’t think Marshal Jones cares what Miss Nellie did before.”

  Preston raised his brows. “Is Miss Nellie another woman who suffered at the hands of a man?”

  Miranda thought for a minute as she nibbled on a biscuit. “You know. You might be right about that, even though that thought never occurred to me.” She took a sip of water. “Miss Nellie was a prostitute before she owned her own brothel.”

  Preston let out a slow whistle. “Really? She doesn’t look like any brothel owner to me.” Not when he considered his own mother and the women he knew through her. Perhaps it was a matter of the lifestyle touching your soul. If a woman thought all she could ever be was what she was, then that’s what she would always be.

  My, wasn’t he the heavy thinker today. Preston shook his head. “I never would have taken her for a brothel owner, or a working girl—if you get my meaning.”

  Miranda continued. “I know. I f
irst met Miss Nellie when she came to the jailhouse with the marshal. That’s when he told us his plan to have us either go to Santa Fe to find husbands or wait in the jail until the judge showed up. Miss Nellie was dressed in a red satin dress, with lots of face paint and long dangling earrings. The next time I saw her with no face paint, neatly braided hair, and a plain calico dress, she would have passed for a Sunday school teacher.”

  Preston wiped his mouth and placed his napkin next to his bowl. “So what you’re telling me is you impressed the town council with your respectability even though you’d been hustled out of town after shooting your stepfather and was chaperoned on the trip to Santa Fe by a former brothel owner?”

  He burst out laughing with Miranda joining in.

  “I thought of that when we met with them,” she admitted.

  Once the dishes had been cleared away and they sat with coffee and a piece of dried apple pie, Preston took Miranda’s hands. “I’ve made a decision. I don’t want you here by yourself until this bastard is caught. And I can’t stay here all day with you. As much as I hate having you in the saloon, we have to move us back into my old rooms for a while.”

  She slumped in her seat. “Leave my house?”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’, but there is no other way. If you want to, we can come back here each night to sleep.” He leaned in close as if someone else could hear. “I like the idea of sleeping here. Then we can be as loud as we want to be.”

  Miranda sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, my.”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of coffee and gave her a broad wink.

  * * *

  “I’m pretty sure Mr. Stone’s wife’s name is Miranda.” The scantily dressed saloon girl who Woody had managed to stop by his table and chat for a while at The Silver Palace relayed the information.

  He been in Santa Fe for three days and despite chatting up dozens of people he had no leads until now. Not that big of a town, a few thousand maybe, but every store, restaurant, and saloon he’d visited in this hellhole didn’t know her. His stepsister had managed to keep herself unknown. He’d visited the brothels in town, not just for itch scratching, but to see if she ended up in one of those places. That would have been a hoot for the prissy girl who thought she and her mother were better than everybody.

  His pa sure made the mother knew she wasn’t better than anyone else and had used his fists a few times to keep her in line. He laughed when Pa had brought the two of them home. Said he married up with her. He didn’t even look like hisself. Smelling all good and with a suit on. He’d never seen Pa with a suit on in his entire life.

  But once they settled in, and Pa let that wife of his know what she was expected to do, and who was boss, he sold the suit. They laughed over a bottle of whiskey he bought with the money.

  The wife had been a decent cook at least and kept the place clean. Miranda had tried to leave once her mother died, but they let her know with a bit of persuasion that she was taking her ma’s place.

  Maybe she was keeping herself unknown here in Santa Fe figuring he would be after her. Damn right he would be after her. She killed his pa and the marshal let her sail out of town like she didn’t have to pay for his murder. Well, Woody would make sure she paid. For a long, long time. “And who is this Mr. Stone?”

  The girl waved her arm around. “He owns the place.”

  So, the clever little bitch ended up married to a saloon owner. He looked around the room, and from what he saw, a very profitable saloon. She must be parading around town in fine clothes and jewels. Well, he’d make sure she brought all her goodies with them when he snatched her. He could sell the stuff and make a few bucks to pay him back for the time and expense of hauling her back to Dodge City.

  “This Mr. Stone must have a fine house.” He tried to keep his tone light and easy so the stupid girl wouldn’t think he was trying to get information.

  “No. Actually until he married, Mr. Stone lived upstairs. I heard he bought a little house right outside of town.”

  A little house, indeed. Most likely a little mansion, considering what he saw going on here. Card tables filling up, the bar running a brisk business and the saloon girls hustling drinks.

  The girl looked around and paled. “I better move along, I see Crystal giving me the eye. It looks like we’re getting busy.”

  Woody nodded and swallowed the rest of his drink. Now he had to find out where this ‘little house’ was that Stone bought. With the man here every night sweet little Miranda would be alone.

  Just ripe for the pickin’.

  * * *

  Miranda laid her pencil on the makeshift desk and stretched, trying to ease her back muscles that had cramped up while she’d worked on the books. She checked her timepiece and it was near time for Preston to fetch her to return home.

  He had hired men to scour the town to see if they could find Woody before he found her. They had combed the town and learned there had been a man asking about her. He claimed to be an ‘old friend’ who was passing through and wanted to say hello. He fit Woody’s description, so they knew he had arrived in Santa Fe.

  The marshal had also joined in the search and had notified the local sheriff, Becky’s husband, Mace Janson of the situation. With all those people looking for Woody, Preston had assured her he would be found quickly. She certainly hoped so because she wanted to return to her home. Even though she lived there only briefly, she loved the place.

  At least they did spend their nights there and although she hadn’t understood completely what Preston had meant about not having to be quiet, she learned rather quickly. Preston teased her that she was a fast learner. Even thinking such things now brought a flush to her face. They had certainly been more adventurous than she had thought intimacy would involve.

  Preston had posted a man at the front and back doors of the saloon to make sure Woody couldn’t get inside the building in case he found out she was there during the day time. At night at home, Preston slept with a gun under his pillow and a shotgun next to his bed. Although she knew he was doing everything he could to keep her safe, she would not completely relax until Woody was captured.

  Marshal Jones had visited her and told her they had strong evidence that Woody had been involved, if not the leader of, the gang who had been holding up the stagecoaches. Sheriff Janson had been informed and once they had Woody, he would be sitting in jail until he could be returned to Dodge City.

  All they had to do was catch him.

  “Darlin’ I’m sorry, but I have to stay longer tonight.” Preston strode through the doorway. “Pat cut his finger on a broken glass and is at the doc’s right now. He should be returning to work after that, but I have to take care of the bar until he comes back.”

  “Oh, poor Pat. Was it a bad cut?”

  “Bad enough to require stitches, but knowing that big stubborn Irishman, that won’t let it bother him for long.” He pulled her up and held her in his arms. “I will send one of the girls to the café for dinner. We can at least eat together.”

  “All right.”

  “What’s the matter? You seem upset.”

  She pulled away from him and wandered around the room. “I’m bored. I want my house back. I want to be free of Woody. He’s made my life miserable for years. Even before Mama died Woody tried to corner her a few times. The only thing that kept him from doing what he wanted was his father, Frankie. I don’t know why, but he always stopped him.”

  She turned and looked at him. “That is the only thing I have to be grateful for as far as my stepfather was concerned.”

  “You’ll get everything back again, honey. Just try to be patient for a little while longer. Santa Fe is not a big town. Someone will spot him, report back to one of our men and we’ll grab him.”

  “I’ll be back in about an hour with our dinner.” He motioned to the cot alongside the wall that he’d slept on before he had enough money to buy decent furniture for his rooms. “Why don’t you take a short rest, and I’ll be back before you know it.
”

  She nodded. Preston winked and left the room.

  * * *

  Woody was growing tired of chasing his stepsister. He’d finally nailed down where her house was and twice he went there while her loser husband was at the saloon and both times she wasn’t home. By pure accident he’d overheard someone at The Silver Palace say Miranda was staying upstairs for a while.

  He’d been reluctant to go to The Silver Palace, not because this Stone fellow would spot him, but because he had a close call the other morning when he’d almost ran into Marshal Jones at the café. Woody had done a quick turnaround and left the restaurant before Jones spotted him. The bastard must have followed him down to Santa Fe. He and Miranda were the only ones who knew what he looked like, and there was always a chance the marshal would drop in for a drink at Stone’s place.

  One of the drunks at the poker table had pointed out Stone to him earlier in the evening. He eyed Miranda’s husband up and down. A dandy. Good looking, well-dressed sidewinder who thought he could hold onto Miranda. Think again, buddy. The bitch is mine.

  He threw down the last of his hand. “I’m out.” He swallowed the little bit of whiskey in his glass and left through the front door. He immediately turned to the left and sauntered down the alley between The Silver Palace and a mercantile.

  “Who’s there. Stop.” A man’s voice and the sound of a gun cocking brought him up short. Well, damn it to hell. There was someone station at the back door to the saloon. His plan to enter the building that way and get upstairs to have a little visit with Miranda ended.

  Pretending to be drunk, Woody said, “Sorry, mister. Just lookin’ for a place to piss.”

  “Well go piss somewhere else.” The light cast from one of the windows of the saloon highlighted the large outline of the man holding a gun as he moved closer to where Woody stood. “Beat it.”