Mandy and the Missouri Man

by Linda Ford

  COPYRIGHT

  ISBN 978-1-61626-872-5

  Copyright © 2012 by Linda Ford. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  ONE

  Bonners Ferry, Idaho, 1864

  Mandy Hamilton squatted down on her haunches in the shadows and stared at the intruder invading her bit of land. No, she didn’t have a deed saying it was hers, but it was the site she’d chosen. She had a secret ritual she did no matter where she lived. She found the best spot to build a home and in her imagination created a house for her family to live in. . .her sisters and their pa. A place where they would finally be together, safe and secure.

  This man had no right to pitch his tent in the sunny little clearing nor build a campfire where she pictured the front step. Somehow she must convince him to leave. “It’s mine,” she whispered, as she slipped away as silent as the shadows hiding her, knowing he hadn’t noticed her presence.

  Soundlessly, she circled the area until she reached a slight hill where she could operate without fear of discovery. Again she settled on her haunches—a position she had grown to prefer. It allowed her to gain her feet quickly yet provided relative comfort as she studied whatever she desired to watch. Wearing trousers made the position easy to maintain. There were those who frowned on her wearing them, but she’d long ago learned they made life in the woods a lot easier. She pushed up the sleeves of her white shirt to cool her arms and settled back to watch. The man tramped about the clearing as if measuring it. Like he thought he owned it. Nothing had been said around town about someone filing claim on any land in the area so she guessed he was only a squatter.

  On her land.

  If her gaze could cross the distance she would fry him in his tracks, but all she could do was narrow her eyes and stare.

  If she had anything to say about it, he’d soon change his mind about thinking he owned the land.

  She pressed deeper into the shadows, lifted her head to bark and howl like a wolf—many wolves. All the while she kept her attention on the man below. He jerked toward the sound, and she grinned with satisfaction. All those hours prowling the woods had taught her many valuable skills, but she’d never imagined imitating a wolf would come in so handy.

  Moving quickly to the left, she climbed higher and repeated wolf sounds as if animals circled the clearing.

  The man strode toward the tent and snagged up a rifle then headed straight toward her. His wide-brimmed hat sat low on his forehead so she couldn’t see much of his face, but the set of his jaw informed her he meant to put an end to any threat from a marauding pack of wolves.

  She didn’t intend to wait to see what he’d do if he realized he’d been duped by a woman. Fact is, she didn’t intend he should find out. If she could convince him wild animals objected to his presence, making it an unsafe place, then she would have accomplished what she set out to do.

  Soundlessly, she slid away before he neared her location.

  A few minutes later, she sank down in another place and waited, watching his shape slip through the trees. For a time he disappeared and she tensed, hoping he wouldn’t shoot willy-nilly into the bushes. But in a bit she detected him returning to the camp. He was almost as quick and silent as she was. She allowed herself a fleeting moment of admiration then dismissed it. Neither stealth nor skill mattered. He didn’t belong here.

  He reached the open and studied his surroundings. She didn’t move, knowing she was invisible among the trees. He removed his hat and brushed back a mop of dark blond hair. She took the opportunity to assess him further. From what she could determine at this distance, she guessed he was close to her age. She’d seen every sort of man go through the Bonners Ferry Stopping House. Every shape and size, so she eyed this one up with a practiced look. He wore a yoked western shirt, such as she’d seen on bow-legged cowboys passing through. He looked solid. Muscular. Like a man who worked for a living rather than push a pen across paper. Probably a man seeking gold. But then why was he in her clearing? Shouldn’t he be headed for the ferry and the gold fields to the north?

  He jammed his hat back on his head, cradled the rifle in his arms, and returned to pacing out the clearing.

  She again climbed the hill and made wolf calls, grinning at the way the man jerked toward the sound. She moved away. Should the man decide to fire blindly toward the source, she didn’t intend to be within range. A few minutes later she leaned against a tree to observe the clearing.

  A movement at the tent caught her attention, and her mouth fell open. Someone was inside. And it wasn’t the man she’d tried to scare off. She sought his figure just to make sure, but he’d disappeared. She rubbed her eyes and stared. Had he moved into the tent so quickly she’d missed it? Impossible.

  The person in the tent inched out far enough for Mandy to see it was a woman. Or a girl, who clutched a poke bonnet to her cheek and hunched her shoulders forward. Someone ought to warn her about bad posture. The girl—or woman, if she be that old—seemed afraid. At least, that was how Mandy read her furtive movements as she jerked little peeks about her then retreated into her rolled forward shoulders.

  Mandy hadn’t had something so interesting to watch for a long time. She sat back again to observe.

  ❧

  “You stay out of sight while I take care of this,” twenty-year-old Trace Owens told his sister. It was no wolf harassing him. At least not the four-legged kind. He knew plenty of the two-legged variety. Could his treacherous associates have followed him here? He’d seen no sign of them in weeks. But whoever it was would soon discover Trace had no patience left for people bothering them. He’d run so far he felt like a foreigner in his own country. Seemed this distant corner of America was not involved with the civil war. He hoped it was true.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder to the clearing. This little spot—a pleasant distance from the nearest town of Bonners Ferry—suited him just fine, and he wouldn’t be harassed away by some mischief-making person.

  It would take more than a fake wolf to drive him onward. But he prayed to God they’d outrun the dogging threat of troublemakers. Not that he prayed much anymore. Didn’t seem to be any use in it. Except for Cora’s sake.

  He’d listened to the wolf call as the person circled the camp. Knew whoever did it would move away, figuring Trace would go toward the sound. He went the opposite direction, moving silently among the trees, pausing often to listen for any rustle to indicate movement.

  His opponent was good—he’d give him that. But after a bit he was rewarded with the sound of a little gasp. He wondered what caused it but didn’t let curiosity distract him. He focused on the sound and edged closer.

  There he was. Squatted down, looking toward the clearing. Trace wondered what held his attention so completely but didn’t shift his concentration as he narrowed the distance between them.

  He was close enough now to spring, and he did, bowling the spy over and pressing his slight frame to the ground. Their hats fell off, and he looked into the face of—

  A woman! In man’s trousers!

  A woman with a thick, untidy braid of dark brown hair and dar
k brown eyes that widened in surprise then narrowed, filling with anger and purpose.

  He realized his peril just in time and clamped her hands to the ground beside her head. He kept her body weighed down so she couldn’t kick or hit or. . .

  He jerked back as she reared her head, intending to do damage to Trace’s face. Did she realize it would hurt her as much as him?

  She bared her teeth and flung about, trying to get a mouthful of flesh.

  He leaned back as far as possible while still restraining her. “Why are you spying on me? Pretending to be a wild animal?” He snorted. “Guess it isn’t much of a pretense. You are a little wild animal.”

  That certainly did nothing toward calming her. She kicked and reared and flung her head some more.

  He tightened his hold. “Answer the question. Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Lifting her head, she gave him a look that practically peeled the skin from his face. “Get off me.”

  He considered his options. If he let her go, she’d either run away or attack him. He intended to find out why she was spying on him before he let her escape. But he had no desire to be the target of her feet and fists and teeth and goodness knows what else if he released her. Likely a knife and certainly a gun, though he saw her rifle had been kicked aside in the scuffle.

  She followed the direction of his gaze, but the distant rifle did nothing to mellow her. “Let me go.” After a few minutes fighting to escape him, she grew still. “I have never been treated this way by a man. And I will exact justice.”

  “I didn’t know you were a woman.” Still he didn’t move, knowing once freed she posed a risk to his safety.

  “Well, I am. And now you know.”

  Yes, now he knew. That didn’t make her any less dangerous. But he couldn’t stay where he was. It was indecent. He clamped both her wrists in one hand and leaped to his feet. Just as he guessed, she kicked and twisted and fought. But he held on. Not until she told him why she spied on them would he let her go. He repeated his questions.

  “I could ask the same of you.” She spat the words out in between jerks and twists.

  “Fine. I’m—” Did he want his name known? Not that it wasn’t a good name. Why, his father had been a hero in the Mexican-American War, which was the cause of all their trouble. But he’d lost enough. He wasn’t going to lose his name, too. “I’m Trace Owens.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You mean besides trying to calm you down?” He panted from the effort of restraining her.

  “Sure picked a strange way of doing it.” She swung her foot and connected with his knee.

  He grunted. At least she wore moccasins, not hard boots. He might survive a kick or two.

  “I aim to build me a house and live here.” Fighting with her had deepened his consideration into determination.

  “Yeah.” She twisted full circle, forcing his hands to burn a ring around her wrists. “You own the land? Got a deed to it?”

  “Nope. Figure building a house makes it mine.” He’d see about filing on the land after he got settled. Didn’t seem to be any rush to go into town for the task. The longer he kept his presence a secret the better he’d feel.

  The kick she aimed at him was meant to do serious damage. He managed to jump aside and still hold her wrists.

  “You can’t have the land. It’s mine.”

  He hadn’t considered someone might own the property. “You got a deed?”

  “No. Don’t need one.”

  “Neither do I.” He jerked her wrists upward, forcing her to stand on tiptoes, effectively making it impossible for her to kick or bite. He realized she was almost too tall for him to be able to do so. Tall and tough. Bold and beautiful. “What’s your name?”

  “I ain’t telling.”

  “Expect I could go to town and ask. Maybe tell everyone about this little incident.”

  She looked about ready to spit. “It’s Mandy Hamilton. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Suppose not. But seems we both figure we got a claim to the same piece of land.” He lowered her slightly, as much to ease his arms as hers, and leaned in closer, hoping she wouldn’t break his nose with a head bunt. “Seems the one who builds a house first is the rightful owner, and that will be me.”

  He was ready for her explosion but even so it was all he could do to hold her at arm’s length. He’d long ago started to sweat from the effort. Beads of moisture dripped from his forehead. He bent to wipe his face on his sleeve.

  She took advantage of the movement to jerk back hard enough to make him stagger forward, close enough for her to bring her knee into his middle. He groaned but held on. Would she buy his declaration that building a house established a claim? Or would she only pretend to and head off to town to file on the land?

  “Mister, that’s my land. I saw it first, and I aim to keep it. You won’t find it easy to build a house there. I’ll see to it.”

  He straightened, forced her to face him. “Lady, I’m claiming that land. See, I already live there.” He twisted to glance at his tent and the horses tethered a distance away. “It’s mine.” Cora peered from the tent flap, watching the tussle. He couldn’t see her face but knew she’d be frightened. They’d both hoped they could find seclusion here. This feisty woman could make that dream an impossibility. Maybe he could bargain with her. “What would it take to persuade you to leave us alone?”

  Another look that made him fear for his safety. “What would it take to persuade you to get off my land?”

  So that’s the way she meant to be? So be it. She wasn’t the first challenge he’d faced nor likely would she be the last.

  He tossed her arms free.

  She rubbed her wrists and favored him with a dark scowl.

  “Have it your way.” He jammed his fists to his hips. “Turn this into a fight, but I won’t be driven off. Seems to me whoever is living here and building a house would be declared the official owner.” He didn’t know if the law would support him in that claim, but it seemed reasonable.

  “Fine. You want a fight, mister, you’ve got a fight. But I intend to fight fair.” The look on her face made him wonder what she meant. “First one to build a house and live in it gets the land. Agreed?” She stuck out her hand.

  He drew back, expecting her to engage in another tussle.

  She shoved her hand closer. “You willing to shake on it?”

  “Agreed.” He was ready for the way she squeezed his hand and squeezed back equally hard.

  She jerked free and strode away, chin in the air.

  He stared for a moment then chuckled. With her baggy trousers and overly big shirt it was no wonder he’d thought her a man at first glance. But she was most certainly a woman. And he didn’t have to wrestle her to the ground to know it. She had a face of unusual beauty.

  She moved with stealth and disappeared into the woods like a shy deer.

  He snorted. Mandy Hamilton was no shy deer. More like the wolves she imitated.

  How much risk did she pose? Could he trust her to keep their presence quiet? Not likely. He did not intend to trust anyone for anything from now on.

  First one to build a house owned the land, she said. Who could say if she meant it or only meant to trick him? But if he had a house built, he would have a reason to dispute anyone filing on the land.

  He jogged down the hill to his campsite.

  Cora stepped into the sunshine. “Who was that?”

  “Nobody. You’ll be okay. But I got to hurry and start a house.”

  “So we’re staying here?” She glanced about as if taking real stock of her surroundings.

  “It’s a fine place. We’ll be safe here.”

  She sighed. “Already one person has found us. How soon until more come to stare?” She pulled her bonnet closer to her cheek.

  He hesitated, caught between the urgency of getting trees chopped down and trimmed for a house and the sad note in his sixteen-year-old sister’s voice. Cora�
��s need won out. He went to her side. “Cora, baby sister, you are still a beautiful girl.” With a great deal of self-control, he stilled the anger souring his insides. The treachery of people he’d once trusted brought them to this place and made his sister endure her disfigurement.

  She pushed her bonnet to her shoulders and faced him full on. “So long as you don’t look too closely.”

  He’d learned not to flinch at the sight of the scars on the side of her face, but it never failed to sear his insides. He touched her shoulder. “You’re lucky to be alive.” He’d do all in his power to protect her from prying eyes. But how was he to keep Miss Hamilton away?

  Emotions worked across Cora’s expression—anger, sorrow, denial, and finally, resignation. “I suppose some would think so.” The flatness of her tone denied the truth of her words.

  No need to agree or disagree on the subject. He knew she didn’t count herself lucky. Often enough she’d said she wished she’d died in the fire along with their parents. No amount of reassurance on his part changed her mind. He seemed the only one happy that she’d lived.

  “I just wish people would leave us alone.”

  He hated the harsh tone of her voice and hoped changing the subject would lighten her mood. “The house I’m going to build will be small to begin with, but it will be warm and dry and better than sleeping on the ground under dank canvas.”

  She sighed. “I suppose so.”

  “Do you want to come with me into the woods? I’m going to start cutting down trees.”

  She looked wistful, and for a moment he thought she might agree. Then she shook her head. “I’ll stay here.”

  “You’ll be okay by yourself?”

  “You won’t go far, will you?”

  He thought of what he’d seen in his earlier scouting trips. Seemed there might be enough suitable trees within shouting distance to start with. “You’ll be able to hear me working.”

  “Then I’ll sit here and read.”

  He hated to leave her. Anytime she said she’d read he figured she mostly stared into space, but he had to get a house started if he meant to beat Miss Hamilton. “I’ll be back before dark. If you need me, just come or call out.” He grabbed his ax and headed for the woods.