Brides of Idaho (41 page)

He pulled her close. “It’s time to start over. I’ve found someone to move on with.”

M
andy looked at herself in the mirror and tugged at the neckline of her dress, squirmed inside the sleeves, and stuck a loose hairpin back into place. “I can’t imagine what Trace is going to say.”

“Probably about the same thing Levi is going to say when he sees me.”

Joanna looked from one to the other. “You are both radiant brides. They’ll pinch themselves to see if this is real and wonder how two cowboys like themselves ended up with the prettiest girls anywhere around.”

Mandy took one more look at herself then stood tall. “He’s never seen me in a dress.”

Joanna chuckled. “The surprise will do him good.” She hugged Mandy, careful not to muss her hair. “You’re beautiful.” She hugged Glory and repeated the words. “Your dress looks good on you, too.”

Cora peeked out the door at the crowd waiting outside of the now-completed mission. “Looks like they’re ready. Trace and Levi look so handsome in their black jackets. I can’t believe Levi decided against wearing his vest. I hardly recognize him.” She laughed. “They look a little nervous.”

She pulled the door shut and faced the Hamilton women. “I’m nervous, too. But Austin assures me my scars are hardly visible.”

It was the first time Cora would go out in public without some kind of bonnet to hide her face.

Mandy hugged the girl who was about to be her sister-in-law. “He’s right, you know. When you smile, no one sees anything but your beauty.”

Cora smiled then, proving Mandy’s point.

“I expect my business will pick up significantly when people hear I have a pretty, young assistant,” Joanna said, smiling at her new helper, Cora. “It’s time to go.”

Cora kissed Mandy’s cheek then marched toward her brother.

Mandy held Joanna’s elbow on one side, Glory on the other, and they followed. Joanna released Mandy to Trace, then Glory to Levi. Mandy knew this was the plan, but all she saw was Trace… his blue eyes shining with love and joy.

Joanna and the Footloose Cowboy

Bonners Ferry, Idaho
Fall, 1865

S
ome thieving scoundrel had picked the wrong day to mess with her. She’d find the guilty party, and when she did—

Well, he’d discover the harsh side of Joanna Hamilton—the twenty-three-year-old woman who baked those pies.

She flung out the kitchen door of Bonners Ferry Stopping House and dashed around the corner to where Cora sat on a stool preparing vegetables for the meal. “Did you see anyone hanging around here? One of my pies is missing. I need them all.”

“Joanna, I never thought to see you so worked up about a meal. You serve them every day of the week.”

She paused a moment but only to look around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the thief. “I want to make a good impression.”

“I’m sure you will.” Cora shifted her attention to the hill across the road from the stopping house. “Now that you mention it, I noticed a young boy skulking about. Didn’t pay him much mind. I thought he was playing some game. You know, like cowboys and Indians.”

“Where did he go?” She didn’t like to think of a child stealing, but someone had, and she meant to confront whoever it was. Maybe in time to rescue her pie.

“Scampered up the hill and disappeared into the trees.”

Joanna dashed across the road, grateful her progress wasn’t impeded by long skirts and frilly petticoats. The split riding skirt she regularly wore allowed her fast-moving feet to keep up with the rolling frustration in her stomach. She hadn’t worked all day creating three kinds of pie only to have someone help himself to one.

She climbed the hill and followed a narrow trail into the trees. Not two feet off the path, in a spot cushioned with yellowed and brown leaves, sat a boy of about ten. A mat of black hair tangled around his bent head, his complete concentration on fingering out scoops of apple pie. So intent was he on the food, he didn’t notice her. So much for rescuing the pie. Why was this child allowed to roam freely and get into mischief? Seems someone should be supervising his activities. But he had a neglected air about him… his soiled trousers torn at the hems, his shirt askew. Seems not only the child needed a scolding.

Joanna sidled up to him. “Looks like good pie,” she murmured, keeping her annoyance firmly corralled.

He jumped like a startled rabbit and jerked around to stare at her. Blue eyes. Irish eyes that widened to the size of saucers.

“Good pie?” She kept her voice beguilingly soft.

He nodded.

“Where did you get it?”

Mute.

“Any chance you got it at the stopping house down there?” She nodded over her shoulder.

Still mute.

“I’ll assume that’s
yes.
Don’t suppose you paid for it?”

He scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting toward freedom, but she wasn’t about to let him escape.

She caught his arm. “That’s my pie. I made it for the men who are going to eat supper at the stopping house. I think we need to talk to your ma and pa about this.”

The boy gave her a look fit to cure leather, then his eyes narrowed, and his lips trembled. “My ma’s dead.” He hung his head in sorrow.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Not that his little act convinced her of any real sorrow. She knew when she was being conned. “Then we’ll talk to your pa.”

“If you can find him.”

She blinked before the change in expression that turned the boy from innocent sadness to full-fledged, flat-out, get-out-of-my-way anger. Her own gut did a similar shift. Her circumstances hadn’t been much different growing up. In fact, they weren’t a lot different right now. Ma had died when she was fourteen, leaving her in charge of her two younger sisters. And Pa? Well, they’d tried to keep up with him, but he didn’t make it easy.

However, that didn’t excuse stealing. She would have never tolerated it from her sisters. “Who are you with, then?”

“My uncle.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, his anger grew hotter.

“Then let’s go see your uncle.”

The boy didn’t budge. “He don’t care what I do. He can’t wait for my pa to turn up so he can be shed of me.”

Her insides twisted. Too often she and her sisters had felt the same way when Pa abandoned them to the unwilling care of others.

Perhaps the boy guessed his words had touched a chord in her. “He never stays in one place longer than he has to. Footloose and fancy-free he calls it.”

“Does he now?” She had other words for it. Irresponsible. Neglectful. But it didn’t matter to her how this uncle lived his life so long as he looked after the boy properly until he was “shed of him.” She crossed her arms. “I think I’d like to speak to your uncle.” She urged the boy to the trail and headed away from the fledgling town, assuming said uncle could be found in that direction. She had a few things to say to the man.

The boy dragged his feet every inch. Then he drew to a halt and tipped his head to the left. Joanna looked the direction he indicated and saw a man busy tending to a pile of belongings. No doubt the footloose, fancy-free uncle. From where she stood, silently staring, he appeared to be a big man. He looked clean and tidy. For some reason, that surprised her. He turned to pick up an object, revealing a strong, clean-shaven jaw. A rugged face. She guessed him to be a hard man who would not welcome her demands.

She pushed her shoulders back. She would never let a man make her feel timid. Nor would she admit she suddenly felt small and vulnerable.

Her head said,
Say something.
Her feet refused to budge. Instead, she continued to watch, noting the smooth way he moved. An economy of motion that in a man his size looked graceful. Not that it mattered one way or the other if he was as clumsy as an ox.

Her disadvantage, she informed herself, was she didn’t even know his name or the name of the boy at her side. She could easily remedy the last. “What’s your name?” she whispered to him.

“Freddy Canfield.” A barely discernible mumble.

She chose to ignore the sullen tone in the boy’s voice. If she were in charge of this young one, she would insist he say his name proudly and clearly. “Well, Freddy Canfield, I take it that is your uncle.”

He nodded, and the look he shot at the unsuspecting man was hot enough to fry bacon. She could almost feel sorry for the uncle.

Freddy still clutched the pie pan with the half-eaten pie.

He’d stolen the pie, Joanna reminded herself. Justice must be served. The boy had to be held responsible.

She pushed forward, half dragging the youngster.

The man heard their approach and straightened to regard them. His gaze widened at Joanna and narrowed significantly at the sight of her hand clutching Freddy’s arm. If she wasn’t mistaken, he sighed like someone had dropped a huge load on his shoulders.

“Sir, I believe this is your nephew.”

“He is.”

She guessed he tried mightily to disguise his weariness and almost succeeded. Running the stopping house had given her wagonloads of experience in assessing men in every shape and size and temperament. This one was broad shouldered, well built. She guessed him to be in his thirties. Black hair like his nephew, but brown eyes full of discouragement or wariness. Probably both. His responsibilities seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders at the moment. Why was he in charge of his nephew? What had occurred to put them at such odds? With a little shake, she brought herself back to the task at hand. “I regret to say he stole a pie from me.”

They both looked at the evidence.

“Freddy, is that true?”

Joanna snorted. “What further proof do you need?”

“Don’t need proof,” he murmured. “Need for the boy to fess up.”

Freddy pulled the pie close to his chest. “I done stole it, and I ain’t sorry. You want the truth. Well, here it is. I’m sick of your cooking. It’s like eating wood bark at the best, and at the worst it’s like cow—” He shut his mouth, lips pressed together. He seemed to think better of describing the worst. He turned big, innocent eyes to Joanna. “It’s been a long time since I tasted anything half as good as this pie.”

Joanna stifled a laugh at his description of his uncle’s food and for a moment was almost charmed by the boy’s flattery. But not quite. She glimpsed the anger barely hidden in the depths of his gaze. “I feed people every day. It’s how I make my living. Having someone steal my food eats into my profits.”

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “This cover your costs, Miss… or is it
Missus
?”

“I’m not married.” She considered the money in his palm but hesitated to take it. Her conscience nagged at her. She’d been abrupt—downright unfriendly, in fact. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Joanna Hamilton. I own and operate the Bonners Ferry Stopping House.” For some unfathomable reason she smoothed her hair back from her face knowing much of it had escaped the leather tie she used to keep it tidy.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Name’s Rudy Canfield.”

The man had a pleasantly deep voice with a slight drawl. “I’ve brought this young fella here,” he continued, “to turn him over to his father.”

The air crackled with tension.

Joanna guessed Mr. Canfield had encountered a few challenges in getting the boy this far. Perhaps a stolen pie was not the worst of them. “Nevertheless…” Maybe he didn’t need a lecture on how he should take care of the boy. She plucked three coins from his palm. “Thank you. By the way, I serve supper promptly at six. You’re more than welcome to sit in.” She named the sum for a meal then turned to study the small boy. “Enjoy your pie, Freddy. But I’ll abide no more stealing. Hear?”

Freddy’s expression seesawed between anger and a desire to convince her of his innocence.

She wouldn’t be swayed by any big, blue-eyed gaze nor a slight twinge of sympathy for a confused little boy or a weary uncle. “No stealing. Good-bye, Mr. Canfield.” She headed toward town. Her insides were tangled, and she didn’t understand why. Ten steps later she ground to a halt, turned around sharply, and returned to the campsite.

Freddy gobbled down the rest of the pie as if afraid she’d come to claim the remains.

Rudy leaned back on his heels, his fingers tucked into the front pockets of his trousers. His casual appearance did not fool her. He tensed, ready to face whatever challenge she meant to hand his way.

“I’m not satisfied with being paid. Seems to me the one who committed the crime should pay the penalty.” She held the coins out to Rudy, but he didn’t lift his hand to receive them. “Freddy is the culprit. He should pay.”

“You want I should horsewhip him?”

She gasped. She shot a look toward Freddy and saw alarm and fear in his eyes. “Is that how you discipline him?”

“Haven’t so far, but I’m wondering what you have in mind.”

For the space of several silent seconds she didn’t respond as she tried to assess the quivering tension between the two. Freddy’s eyes wide and watchful. An almost identical expression on Rudy’s face.

“I ain’t got no money,” Freddy said.

Joanna ignored his grammar. “Then best you work off your debt.”

Both looked wary.

She sighed. “Like I say, I run the stopping house. There’s always chores. Sometimes more than I can keep up with. With your uncle’s approval, you can work for me and pay for the pie that way.” Again, she held the coins toward Rudy. Finally, after what seemed a very long wait, he pulled his hand from his pocket and let her drop the coins into his palm. “Shall I expect Freddy in about an hour?” That would give her a chance to organize the rest of the meal so she could supervise the boy.

“He’ll be there.”

“Fine.” Not until she was almost back to the stopping house did she realize she’d taken on one more task when she was doing her level best to get out of the work of running the place. If she wanted to make a decent impression, she’d better hustle. She broke into a run.