He shrugged.
“I heard about you at the mercantile.
Seems you’re looking for your father.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m looking for someone, too.”
Miracle lifted her brows in polite interest.
She wished Uncle Horace would come downstairs, but he was sleeping off the effects of a fruitful evening with friends at the Half Moon.
“A man by the name of Brody.
Have you heard of him?”
Miracle shook her head.
“But I’ve only been in Rock Springs a few weeks.
You should ask at the mercantile, or Garrett’s Hotel, or maybe even the Half Moon Saloon.”
“Brody’s wanted for murder in Portland.
I’m a bounty hunter,” he added by way of explanation.
“Murder?” Miracle’s voice sounded strained to her own ears.
He nodded, watching her closely.
“He’s kind of heavyset, with brown hair.
Voice real low and harsh.
Likes young women.”
“I don’t know why you think I would…” Miracle broke off, instantly transported back to her kidnapping.
Gruff Voice.
He was describing Gruff Voice!
“You know him?” he asked quickly, witnessing her whitening face.
“Talk to Sheriff Raynor,” Miracle told him.
“He’s looking for the same man.”
“Why?
What’s he done?” The questions came sharp and fast.
“There was another murder,” she admitted unwillingly.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, she was reluctant to tell this man anything.
“Here?”
She nodded.
“A man’s body was discovered at Fool’s Falls.
He’d been shot.”
With my Colt .45
, she remembered with a twinge of guilt.
“Where can I find this Sheriff Raynor?”
“The jail’s at the end of the block.”
She felt his dark, fathomless eyes boring into her skin, searing with an almost physical force.
Meeting his gaze squarely, she hid her aversion.
Bounty hunters were out of her experience, but she decided if they were all like Gil, she would be happy never to meet another.
“I’ll take that tamarack,” he reminded her softly.
“And thank you, Miracle Jones.
You’ve been a great help.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Working for Mrs.
Weatherby took up her evenings, and minding the store, asking questions about her father, and teaching Billy to dance and speak more clearly took up the better part of her days.
She was a fool to spend so much energy trying to please a man – an
engaged
man, she reminded herself sternly – but at least it helped pass the time she might have otherwise spent feeling sorry for herself that he
was
engaged.
Mrs.
Weatherby turned out to be a sweet woman with a cheerful disposition.
How she’d given birth to the sour Isabella was a mystery Miracle couldn’t solve, until one night, while they worked late into the evening, Mrs.
Weatherby innocently provided a clue.
“She’s frightfully unhappy,” Mrs.
Weatherby revealed, treading on the pedal for the sewing machine.
Above its clatter she added, “Isabella went and married the wrong man and now she’s paying the price.”
“Where’s her husband?” Miracle ventured, biting off the thread.
She was painstakingly embroidering on the collar of a little girl’s dress.
Mrs.
Weatherby harrumphed, the clear glass brooch pinned at her throat winking vividly as her bosom shook with her displeasure.
“Gone in search of work.
Had a lot of money when he started courting Isabella, but he lost it gambling.
Fool.
She shoulda stuck with the Danner boy, but she led him a merry chase and he got tired of her.
Bitter feelings all around.” She shook her head and looked distressed.
“She ended up marrying the other, and now she’s paying the price.”
Miracle glanced into the room behind the store.
Isabella had gone out with a man Miracle recognized from the Half Moon, and her screaming infant had blessedly fallen asleep.
She apparently didn’t care what people thought about a married woman dating.
“Which Danner boy was that?” Miracle asked, thinking she could only mean Samuel, although Samuel must be nigh on twenty-three now.
“The blond one.
Harrison.”
“Harrison?”
Mrs.
Weatherby nodded, her face sad.
“It’s been a few years ago.
Isabella could have been happy with him, but now he’s marrying Kelsey Garrett.
Ah, well.
He’ll be good for Kelsey.”
When Isabella returned later that evening, Miracle swept a surreptitious look at her.
Yes, she had been beautiful once; she was still beautiful.
Beautiful enough to believe she could rise above her station.
Like you, Miracle?
Some of her excitement and pleasure in her new royal blue satin dress was lost.
And the cream lace one – where would she ever wear it?
By the night of the dance Miracle had nearly finished all the work Mrs.
Weatherby had laid out for her.
“Take the gowns,” Mrs.
Weatherby said, thrusting the rippling layers of blue and cream in her arms.
“You can finish the little extra sewing tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Miracle said.
A noise in the back room caught her attention.
It was Isabella, in a fever of excitement, struggling to fasten the hooks and eyes on a wine-red velvet gown.
“I’m late.
Help me!” she cried to her mother.
Miracle left the shop, clutching her precious gowns to her chest as she hurried back to her own rooms.
Alone upstairs, she laid the dresses across her cot.
They were more beautiful than she deserved – gossamer and delicate, rich in color, the cream gown overlaid with an intricate lace which had cost Miracle nearly half of her earnings.
Her eyes sparkling with excitement, Miracle rubbed down the small vanity mirror set on the top set of shelves Uncle Horace had fashioned for her to use as a dresser.
She could only see a small section of herself as she donned the blue satin gown, but it was enough to assure her the color was made for her.
The neckline curved over the crests of her breasts, not quite daring but not quite demure, either.
The sleeves were short, puffed, and attached to the gown beneath her arms, leaving her shoulders completely bare.
Dark blue satin cinched in at her waist, making her willowy frame appear more curvaceous, shimmering from shades of almost black to cerulean in the lantern lights as she turned from side to side.
The rustle of satin delighted her as she spun in front of the tiny oval, peering over her shoulder at the row of hooks and eyes that marched up her back to her shoulder blades.
There were only two problems: her shoes and her hair.
She had no barrettes and no satin slippers.
Hoping the softly flowing skirt would cover her feet, Miracle slipped on a pair of black high-button shoes.
Next she stared at her hair, absently combing the long, shining tresses.
There was nothing she could do.
She would have to leave it down.
She thought of Isabella, then Kelsey, and compared herself to them, even though she knew it was unfair.
They were both more feminine than she was, and she was certain they were more beautiful.
At least Isabella was.
And Kelsey… well, she was gorgeous!
Yet, for some reason Harrison didn’t seem as smitten with his fiancée as he ought to be.
“You’re a feather-brained idiot to care.” Miracle frowned at her reflection.
He might not even be there tonight.
She would be better off if he wasn’t.
Blast it all!
Why couldn’t she care about someone else?
¤ ¤ ¤
Thunk!
Thunk!
Thunk!
Harrison’s rhythmic hammering echoed through the lower hills of the Cascades.
The sound ringing far enough for Lexie to hear it as she stood on her back porch, and for Mrs.
Mead’s sharp ears to pick it out above Elsie’s endless screeching and worrying over death and destruction at the Danner family home.
Sweat poured down Harrison’s back even in the coolness of the November evening.
Dusk had shaded the ground into ominous dark circles outside the stacks of bright, new lumber.
The scent of fresh-cut fir filled Harrison’s days and nights.
He’d spent every waking moment he wasn’t attending sick animals building this house.
He should hire a carpenter, he supposed, but he wasn’t willing to relinquish his pet project just yet.
He needed the work, the oblivion of endless hours of toil.
He’d wounded Kelsey and turned his back on his mother’s fondest wish.
And why?
Because his heretofore manageable lust had stolen a woman’s virginity, and now,
now,
he couldn’t get Miracle Jones out of his head.
“Son of a bitch!” he burst out as the hammer suddenly connected with an unwary thumb.
He watched the digit turned bright red and throb.
Serves you right,
he thought.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up, gazing across his valley.
As yet Kelsey hadn’t told anyone their engagement was off.
Her revenge, he thought with a twist of conscience.
He didn’t blame her for being furious with him, yet he’d sure as hell like the whole thing to be out in the open so he could take his licks and get it over with.
However, he respected her too much to undercut her, and so he was forced to wait and chafe and wonder.
She obviously hadn’t said a word to anyone; if she had, Jace would have already declared war on the Danner’s.
He would never let the insult pass.
But why was she putting off the humiliation?
Knowing Kelsey’s penchant for taking the bull by the horns, Harrison found it impossible to believe.
No, she was deliberately keeping the matter secret, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.
Sighing, Harrison swiped sweat from his brow.
His family thought he was building this house in preparation for his bride.
Hell, he didn’t know why he was building it, but it took up his spare time.
Raynor had all but told him his help on the arson and kidnapping case was superfluous, so there was nothing else to fill the empty hours.
And he was not going to see Miracle until he could get himself under control sexually.
He’d all but raped her!
he thought in sick disbelief.
Christ!
That was Jesse’s affliction, not his!
Even with Isabella he’d had some control, and Kelsey… well, they’d never made it past a few harmless kisses.
Thoughts of Miracle sent messages thrumming down his nerves, and he stood in utter exasperation as his body reacted in the way it always did as soon as she came to mind.
He realized now that he’d seen her rising from the lake; that had been no dream.
Holy Jesus, he’d taken her without a qualm.
Even given his hallucinatory state, he blamed himself entirely.
And he sure as hell couldn’t disguise the aftershocks that rippled through him every time his mind even touched on what she looked like naked.
He’d offered marriage, and she’d turned him down.
God, how he wished she’d accepted.
That would have put an end to this torment once and for all.
Marriage?
To Miracle Jones?
He’d just broken off one engagement.
He couldn’t seriously want to marry Miracle, could he?
The sound of the hammer rang again and again as he set himself back to task with a vengeance, the sun’s illumination fading so quickly that he worked by lantern light until he smashed his thumb once again.
It was after suppertime when he finally gave up and road Triumph back to Lexie and Tremaine’s.
Unlacing his boots on the back porch, he was suddenly aware of the soft scent of lavender.
His head jerked upward.
Lexie was standing by the door, dressed in a peach satin gown staring at him with reproach.
“What?” he demanded, still irritated.
“The dance is tonight.
We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll go to any damn dance at the damn grange hall.”
Jamie, somewhere out of sight behind Lexie, burst into giggles at his uncle’s language.
“You’re going.
I told Kelsey we would pick her up on the way.”
Harrison swung around.
“And she
agreed?”
“Of course she agreed.
Why wouldn’t she?
Now hurry up.
There’s a bath waiting for you upstairs.
But don’t take too long.
We’re late as it is.”