Authors: Maureen Child
“Hmmph! Looks like junk to me."
She frowned up at him then went back to the box. “It only looks like junk if you've no imagination!"
"What the hell's imagination got to do with anything?" He stepped closer to her and peered into the jumble of things he'd just carted what seemed like miles. "Dented pots, old lamps, mangy-lookin' curtains, and half a butter churn! If that ain't junk… I don't know what is!"
"Nonsense." Miranda lifted one of the dented copper pots. With one finger she rubbed at the caked-on grease and soot. "With a little hard work" — her finger smoothed over the deep furrow in the metal — “and perhaps a hammer here and there, this old pot will be like new!"
“Well, why the hell don't you just buy new?" Jesse moved over to the rough-planed counter, turned his back on it, and leaned his elbows behind him. “Why you want to waste your time on that old stuff?"
Miranda set the pot down and reached for a scarred brass lamp. “It's not easy to get out and buy new things, Jesse. Why I can't even remember the last time I left the canyon." She threw a quick glance at him over her shoulder. “Besides, I'll appreciate everything more if I work hard for it."
He shook his head and she could see that he still didn't understand. And she wanted him to. For some reason, it seemed important. Miranda felt his gaze on her and tried to concentrate on unloading the crate in front of her. But it was difficult. Ever since he'd walked up to her and offered her his help, she'd had a hard time concentrating on anything but him.
There was something about the man that called out to her. His brilliant green eyes and the loneliness behind them touched her as nothing else ever had. Miranda glanced at her hands and noticed that despite the clenching grip she had on the side of the box, she was trembling. Good heavens. Where were all the fine intentions she'd told Shelly about only that morning? What had happened to her firm resolve to be nothing more than casually friendly to Jesse Hogan? To treat him no differently than she did any of the other men hiding out in the canyon?
Was Bobby's death fading from memory so quickly then? Had she forgotten the promise she'd made to her mother? And what about the vow she'd made to herself? Could she allow all these things to fade away because of an unreasonable attraction to an intriguing outlaw?
No. She swallowed heavily, forced her heartbeat to slow down, and took a deep breath. Deliberately she reached into the box and drew out the crumpled, dirty blue fabric that had once been curtains. Keeping her voice level, she commented, "These will wash up nicely, I know it. And they'll look so nice hanging in the shop."
She kept her head averted, but she heard him shift his feet and desperately hoped he stayed where he was. It was hard enough to gather her wits with him at a distance.
“What shop?” he asked, and Miranda sighed her relief. He hadn't moved.
"The one we just left."
"Oh." A long, silent pause and then: "Ain't never heard of a ladies'-apparel store in a bandit town. There other women around here?"
Miranda's lips twisted slightly, but she didn't turn. "A few. Big Pete's girls, down at the saloon, Shelly, me. Oh. And Serena Dexter. But she doesn't live here all the time. She came in a couple of months ago with her husband, Pike."
"Pike Dexter? Arizona Pike?" He sounded so astonished, Miranda looked over her shoulder at him. His jaw hung open. He'd pushed away from the counter and was staring at her as if she'd grown another head.
"Well, yes, Arizona. Pike." She cocked her head. “Is there another Pike Dexter?"
Jesse pushed his hat back and shook his head slowly. “No. Leastways I hope not. One of him is surely enough."
"Oh, I agree."
“You agree'?"
"Certainly." Miranda leaned forward into the box, pushing items around and occasionally lifting one for a closer inspection. "Heaven knows, Pike isn't the most gentlemanly man I've ever met. And he has the most awful temper. Really. Why, I could tell you some stories about Pike that would really surprise you!"
“I doubt it."
She looked up and saw he'd leaned back against the counter.
"Pike's wanted in more places than rain." Jesse stared at her. "Shoot, even his own men hate him!"
"Oh, I know." Miranda nodded and sat back on her heels. “It’s such a shame."
"A shame?"
"Oh, yes." She looked up at him again. "See, he wasn't always like this. Oh… he always had a nasty temper. But he didn't used to be so… hard."
Jesse snorted.
“It’s true." Miranda turned her gaze on the far wall and stared blankly, remembering the past. “He used to have a lovely smile. And when Pike laughed, well. You just couldn't help laughing along with him." Her features fell. "But not anymore. Not since his brother was hanged." She glanced at Jesse and saw she had his complete attention. "A vigilante mob dragged Mort out of a saloon somewhere in Arizona and hanged him on the spot." She shook her head slowly. "Ever since then, the only person Pike treats decently is his wife, Serena. And it’s a good thing, too."
Jesse’s voice was strained. "You sound like you mean that. What would you do to him if he didn't treat her decent?"
"Oh." She grinned sheepishly. “I don't know. But I'd think of something. A woman in her condition should be treated with care." Miranda folded her dirty hands in her lap. “Thankfully, though, Pike seems to realize that. It’s why he left Serena here with us while he went out on business."
“Her condition?" Jesse's voice seemed even more strained.
“Yes. It’s so exciting! Her baby is due in just a week or so now!" She looked up at Jesse Hogan, and if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that the man paled.
Son of a bitch! Unbidden, visions of Della raced through Jesse's mind. His sister-in-law had been so proud of her rounded belly. She used to pat her unborn child and talk to it off and on throughout the day.
What was it Miranda'd said? That a woman in that condition should be treated with care? His insides twisted. No woman should be treated as Della had been. Especially not a pregnant woman.
Oh, Jesus, he groaned silently. He didn't know if he could stand being around a pregnant woman. Memories of his lost family already hovered over him like a thick winter fog. Seeing a woman enjoying what Della'd been denied… no.
Jesse straightened up. He'd have to find out all he could in the next week or so, then get out of the damned canyon. Maybe once he found the man responsible for shattering his life, he'd be able to build a new one.
But not before.
Chapter 4
Buck Farley snorted, reached across the table, and slapped his partner's shoulder. “You been starin' at that woman for close on an hour now. Don't you never give up?"
"Nope." Dave Black flicked a glance at his friend then turned back to watching the dark-haired woman by the window.
"Shit, Dave." Buck shook his head and gulped at his coffee. “We been here a couple months now and that female ain't so much as smiled at ya!"
“Don't matter."
“I seen some hard heads in my time, partner, but you do beat all of 'em put together."
Dave shrugged. "Hard head or not… I ain't about to quit on her."
“Sometimes you don't make no sense at all." Buck leaned forward, his long, brown hair falling across his shoulders. "Don't you think you'd best remember why we come here in the first place?”
Dave glared at his friend. “I ain't forgot. And you best keep your voice down, Buck."
After a glance around at the nearly empty dining room, Buck continued. "Nobody's listenin' to me. Includin' you. You got no call to be worryin' over that woman when there's business to take care of."
"What business?" Dave faced his friend. "Like you said, we been here a couple months already and don't know a damn sight more than we did when we got here." His voice dropped to a whisper. "So instead of hangin' around here tellin' me what to do, why don't you go get busy?"
Buck frowned, reached up, and yanked his hair free of his collar.
Dave shook his head. "And while you're at it, why don't you cut that damn hair of yours before some Indian beats you to it. I've known some would look at that mess like quite a prize!" He pushed himself to his feet and snatched his hat from the table. Looking down at the other man, Dave frowned and added, "Didn't your mama teach you to take off your hat when you're inside?"
The other man's eyes rolled up and he looked at the brim of his dirty black hat as if surprised to find it still on his head.
“I swear, Buck, you been out ramblin' too long." Dave turned and walked slowly to the table where Shelly Port sat, still staring out the window.
They'd been in the store for a long time. Shelly's fingers twisted together, but her gaze didn't shift. She would watch that general store for as long as she had to. A curl of worry spiraled through her body. Shelly knew she wouldn't be able to relax her guard until Jesse Hogan had left not only the general store, but Bandit's Canyon.
Her full lips twisted and she clenched her joined hands tighter. She was afraid for Miranda. Oh, Shelly knew that the woman had been raised right there in the canyon. That she'd been surrounded by all types of men all her life. But despite everything, Miranda remained an innocent. Shelly smiled wryly, thinking of her own lost hopes and dreams. Maybe it was because her own innocence had long since gone that Shelly was so determined to protect Miranda's.
Miranda's trusting nature had survived even living in a town where liars, cheats, and thieves were the only citizens. Shelly shook her head. Three years she'd been in the canyon. And this was the first time Shelly had seen Miranda's interest in a man go beyond kindness.
Shelly chewed at her lip. Miranda didn't understand. She didn't know what a smooth-talkin' man could do to a woman. How he could slip up behind her before she knew what was happening and rearrange her whole world. She squeezed her eyes shut. Then, when he tired of her, he'd leave her. Alone and unfit for anything besides the life he'd introduced her to.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and glared at the general store opposite her. None of that would happen to Miranda. Shelly would see to that. The woman was the best friend Shelly'd ever had.
“’Scuse me, ma'am."
She jumped and looked at the blond man as he sat down across from her. Somehow she wasn't surprised to see him. Ever since he and his saddle partner had hit town, the lean, blond man turned up everywhere.
“Don't mean to bother you, but…"
Deliberately ignoring him, Shelly looked back out the window. "You just looked so pretty, sittin' there in the mornin' sun and all…"
Shelly shifted uncomfortably. She’d heard pretty words too many times before. From too many men. Still, there was something about this one… she smoothed her pale blue skirt self-consciously.
"I… uh… What is it?" She glanced at him and saw that for an outlaw, he was mighty nervous looking.
Dave ran his fingers over the brim of his hat. Dammit, he'd had everything he wanted to say right there on the tip of his tongue and now that she was lookin' at him… Hell. He couldn't remember his own name! Those big brown eyes of hers cut right into a man's soul. And he fancied that he saw the same shadows haunting her eyes that he suspected were in his own. Painful reminders of a past that wouldn't stay in the past. Her thick black hair was caught up in a severe knot at the base of her neck, but she didn't fool Dave. He'd seen that hair free and wild once. It was during a storm, shortly after he and Buck had come to the bandit holdout. Shelly, thinking herself alone at the edge of town, had taken the pins from her hair, turned into the fierce canyon wind, and let the steamy, desert gusts pummel her from all sides.
Dave was on guard duty that night, high on the cliffs. From his perch he'd watched her, facing into the wind and rain. Thunder crashed down around them and lightning streaked across the sky. In the strange half-light of the lightning bolts, Shelly had allowed nature the caresses she denied to every man in the canyon. As long as he lived, Dave would remember her as she was that night. Soaking wet, her face turned up to the sky, and the hot blasts of wind molding her dress to her body like a lover’s hands.
A chair leg scraped across the wooden floor and Dave shook himself. She was leaving.
“Wait.” He half stood, his hand stretched out toward her. “Don't go. Please."
Shelly watched him through narrowed eyes. “Why not?"
"I thought we could… uh… well," Dave stammered, trying to come up with a reason, any reason to convince her to stay.
She threw a quick look out the window then turned back to Dave. Slowly, reluctantly, Shelly sat down again. “What is it you want from me, mister?"
Dave eased down onto his chair and took a deep breath. Well. There it was. What was it that he wanted? Hell, if he told her that, he had no doubt that she'd hightail it for the nearest hole and crawl right in. This was not the time to tell the woman that what he wanted was her.