Mandy and the Missouri Man

by Linda Ford

  How stupid. She didn’t need anything. Especially from a man. Hadn’t she proven over and over that she could manage without her pa, without any man? Hadn’t all the Hamilton sisters?

  She shifted her gaze and did a little victory dance up to him. “I won. I won. I won.” She danced back to where she started. Only then did she face him again, wondering what she would see. No doubt anger, displeasure at being beaten by a woman.

  But he grinned widely, his eyes flashing appreciation.

  Her words died on her lips, and her feet ceased dancing. The only part of her body that still moved was her heart, and it rattled against her ribs like a trapped animal trying to escape.

  “No one likes a sore winner,” he groused, still grinning. His gaze trapped her. Then he glanced toward the tent, freeing her to suck in air and shake herself inside for being so easily affected by a smile. Like she was some sort of foolish female. She followed his gaze and waited.

  “Cora.” He sounded so regretful she almost backed down from their agreement. But curiosity overrode any weakness. What kind of woman hid in a tent?

  “I know.” The disembodied voice sounded uncertain, maybe even a little unsteady. “I can’t believe you let a woman outshoot you.”

  “I can’t believe it either,” Trace said. “But she’s awfully good.”

  Mandy faced him. “I tried to warn you.” Whatever silly thing she’d felt must have been only fleeting foolishness. But then his gaze collided with hers, and her heart dipped like it had broken free from its hitching post. She jerked away. What was wrong with her? “I won fair and square.”

  “No argument with that. And we’ll live up to our agree-ment. Won’t we, Cora?”

  “We’re honorable people no matter what others might say.”

  That was a mighty peculiar observation, but before she had time to consider it, the tent opening flapped. His sister edged out, though she clung to the bit of canvas as if it served as an anchor. “Hello, I’m Mandy Hamilton. I’m pleased to meet you.” If you could call this a meeting.

  Cora hunched forward as she had the first time Mandy saw her. She pulled the poke bonnet close to her face. She didn’t even bother to look at Mandy. Wouldn’t allow Mandy to see her. A sting of sympathy caught Mandy’s heart. “I know what it’s like to be shy. I’m not much good around people myself. Kind of prefer being out in the woods watching the animals. Do you like animals?”

  A brief nod acknowledged the question.

  “I can move through the woods so quiet I can get right up to a deer. Maybe I could show you how.”

  The girl jerked toward her, allowing her a brief glimpse of her profile then turned away before Mandy could garner any details. From what she could see, the woman was barely out of childhood. “How old are you?”

  “She’s sixteen,” Trace said.

  “Can’t she talk for herself?”

  “’Course I can. I’m sixteen just like he says.”

  “I’m eighteen. Perhaps we could be friends. Apart from my sisters, I’ve not had a friend for a long time.”

  “Why not?” Cora asked.

  “Mostly because we move around too much.”

  “Why do you move?”

  “It’s a long story. Sure you want to hear it?”

  One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Very well.” She sank cross-legged to the ground. “Our pa is always chasing off after one adventure or another. Ma and us girls would follow after him. Ma died eight years ago, but we still tried to keep up with him. Gotta tell you it wasn’t always easy to track that man. He moved so frequently we were often two stops behind him. Guess if a man isn’t interested in keeping his family together, he doesn’t really have anything to keep his feet in one place. Pa’s been everywhere, tried everything.”

  “Like what?”

  Mandy shot a glance at Trace to see what he thought of this mostly one-sided conversation.

  He smiled encouragement, and her heart again lurched inside her chest.

  Hoping to save her heart further wear and tear, she shifted her attention back to Cora.

  The girl didn’t hunch quite as markedly. Guess she was enjoying the storytelling, so Mandy continued. “He worked on building railroads, hunted wolves, hunted buffalo. . . .” She laughed a little. “Right now he’s off hunting gold in the Kootenais.”

  “Why didn’t you follow him there?”

  “I wanted to, but Joanna—that’s my eldest sister—she saw the chance to run the Bonners Ferry Stopping House. Said we could support ourselves nicely. Glory agreed, so I was outvoted.”

  “Who is Glory?”

  Trace settled on the ground close by. She studied him, wondering if he’d had enough. He nodded. “Go on. This is the most she’s talked to anyone but me in a long time.”

  “Glory is my sister. She’s a year older.” She paused.

  The girl remained on her feet, her back to Mandy, her shoulders hunched. She must be getting uncomfortable.

  “Cora, why don’t you come over here and sit with us? I’ll tell you more about Glory.”

  For answer, Cora ducked back inside the tent and pulled the flaps tight.

  Mandy sought Trace’s eyes, wanting to apologize. “I only wanted to make her welcome. Be a friend.” Such sadness and regret filled his expression that her exuberant heart spasmed hard.

  “Leave her alone. We don’t need friends.”

  His harsh tone scraped raw wounds to her heart. But what did she expect? Pa had taught her well not to ache for anything from anyone.

  He pushed to his feet. “Time to get back to work.”

  “Right.” She hurried to the spot she’d chosen for her house. Too bad he’d already claimed the best site. But never mind. Once she had title to the land she’d use her cabin as an outbuilding and build a real house where she wanted it.

  THREE

  Trace turned his back to Mandy, ignoring her as she paced out the perimeter of her house and used the butt of her ax to drive in posts.

  He harbored a deep desire to kick himself in the behind all around the outside of his house. For a few moments he’d allowed himself to think he was an ordinary man like he’d once been, enjoying friendship with a beautiful woman, listening to her talk, enjoying the sound of her voice. Had he so soon forgotten the lessons he’d learned? As if such were possible with Cora hiding only a few feet away. It knotted his insides to see her go from a buoyant young girl on the cusp of womanhood to this fearful person.

  If he had any gumption he’d forget about a race to build a house, march into town, file a claim on the land, then post NO TRESPASSING signs around the whole area.

  Except his honor insisted he live up to the agreement they’d given their hands on.

  Not for all the gold in the Kootenais would he admit he rather enjoyed the idea of Mandy’s company despite her somewhat prickly attitude.

  Determined to bring his wayward thoughts into submission, he bent over the log he wanted to place next and set to trimming and notching it. He and Austin had often talked about building their houses. They had promised to help each other. His stomach filled with bile. He never thought his best friend would turn into a lawless Bushwhacker. Thinking about it made his muscles twitch, and he forced his thoughts away from the memory. He could build this house without help.

  He might have succeeded in ignoring troublesome Mandy, except she stepped into his peripheral view.

  He glanced up to see her studying his place and then hers—which was nothing at this point—with a speculative expression on her face. Only his upbringing stopped him from suggesting she move along and mind her own business. And—a grin tipped one reluctant corner of his mouth—the memory of how quickly she’d taken offense to him saying so a short time ago.

  His words and the resulting contest had cost Cora, though Mandy had been nothing but kind and generous—willingly telling Cora all sorts of details about her life.

  Letting his ax rest motionless, he considered the w
oman before him as something she’d said tugged at his mind. He tried to recall what it was. Something about her pa. Then he remembered. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go after your pa?”

  Her attention jerked toward him, her expression rife with challenge.

  He sighed. “Do you walk around looking to be offended, maybe hoping to draw someone into a gunfight?”

  Her mouth fell open. She struggled momentarily to close it, and then the burning in her eyes brought him to his feet, ready to defend himself.

  “I do not.” Her fists clenched and unclenched. “You take that back.”

  “Nothing to take back. You just proved it.” He closed the distance between them until he was just out of reach of her arms. “It might be interesting to know why Mandy Hamilton is so defensive.”

  She glowered, fit to start his hair on fire. Then she settled back on her heels and gave a mocking smile. “Might be interesting to know why Trace Owens says he doesn’t want friends.” She correctly read his unspoken denial and grinned in triumph.

  “You sure like to get people riled with you.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Not normally.”

  “So it’s just me.”

  “Yup.”

  He held her gaze as he considered her confession, trying to decide if she wanted to annoy him or. . . Caution forced him to guard his reaction. “Nice to know you’ve picked me as your number-one enemy.”

  “’Twas you who said you didn’t want a friend. What else is left?”

  He recognized her challenge and decided to ignore it. “There’s something about you building a house I don’t understand. If you’re keen to follow your pa, why would you want something as permanent as a house? Doesn’t seem to fit. You sure you’re not a wanderer like your pa?”

  Denial darkened her eyes, followed swiftly by a flash of confusion as if she’d never considered this conflict between what she said and what she did. Then her lips softened, her eyes glistened.

  Mandy looked about to cry.

  He couldn’t imagine her allowing such weakness.

  She blinked away all signs of tears and turned her mouth into a stubborn line. Obviously she would not allow any weeping. “Maybe. . .” She breathed hard. “Pa might settle down if he had a nice house to live in. You ever think of that?”

  He fought between laughing at her question and wanting to somehow assure her that dreams didn’t always come true, but a person must go on, making the best of what life handed out.

  “Mandy, I. . .” He had no idea what he meant to say. Only that she brought forth a reaction similar to what he felt when he considered Cora. He chuckled at the idea. Cora, hiding from view in the tent, and Mandy, challenging everything he said, had nothing at all in common. And yet his heart felt the same sort of tightening.

  He resisted an urge to pound his closed fist on his forehead.

  What was wrong with him today? He returned to shaping the end of the log, pointedly ignoring Mandy while she watched him work. Finally he couldn’t stand it another second and glanced up. “Can I help you with something?” He meant the words to be dismissive—a kinder version of mind your own business.

  “Nope.” She didn’t move away.

  He turned back to his task. Whatever she wanted, she would have to come right out and voice it. He wasn’t prepared to play at guessing games.

  At last she spun around, grabbed her ax, and stomped into the woods.

  Finally. He sat back and drew in a long, refreshing breath.

  “Is she gone?” Cora asked after a moment of silence.

  “She’s taken her ax, so I expect she’s off to get logs.”

  Cora edged back the flap and poked her head out. “You really let her beat you at shooting?”

  “I didn’t let her. She’s a good marksman.”

  “Don’t you mean markswoman?”

  He turned and caught the flash of mischief in Cora’s face. They laughed. “She seemed to want to be friends with you.”

  Cora shook her head. “I saw her. She’s beautiful. She’d be repulsed to see my face. Beautiful people always are.”

  “I know I’m not beautiful.” He pretended a sad note into his voice.

  She giggled. “I think you see me the way you want me to be. Maybe the way you remember me.”

  “I see my little sister. All I have left of my family.”

  She lowered her head, but not before he caught the glint of tears. Again he vowed to protect her from ignorant people.

  “Trace, I’m scared she might lead people here,” Cora whispered.

  “I’ve wondered about that, too. Not much I can do about it so long as I don’t have title to the land. Except keep a sharp eye out, and discourage any visitors.”

  Cora snickered. “Like you have with Mandy. She’s outshot you and outsmarted you. Wouldn’t surprise me none to see her outbuild you, too.”

  He dropped his ax and pressed his hands to his chest. “Oh such little faith you have in me. I am mortally wounded by your doubt.”

  She laughed then jerked back inside the tent, pulling the flaps almost closed. She would be able to see out through the tiny opening and watch without anyone being able to see in.

  His arms hurt, but it wasn’t from work or the heaviness of his ax. It came from regret pulsing from his heart, knowing his little sister would watch life from a protected place, hiding from others. Sweet, funny Cora.

  The pain raced both inward and outward until his heart seemed to beat fire and his hands and feet stung as if burned. He should have protected Cora and their parents.

  Mandy returned to the clearing, dragging half a dozen spindly trees after her.

  “You going to build a log house or a twig shack?” His laughter earned him a look of disdain.

  She marched past without answering.

  “Hey, Cora, you ought to see this. It reminds me of that fairy tale Mother read. Remember? The Three Little Pigs. The middle pig built a house of sticks.”

  “A house is a house,” Mandy muttered. “Don’t think we mentioned what we could use to make one.” She released her collection of trees and stared at him, hands on hips. “It sounds suspiciously like you’ve called me a pig.”

  “Oh brother.” He took off his hat and scrubbed his hair. “Here we go again. What’s it going to be this time? Swords? Knife throwing?”

  She tossed her head, and her thick braid swung over her shoulder. She caught it and returned it to her back.

  He followed the movement, suddenly imagining the heavy waterfall of brown waves that would cascade to her waist should she free her hair. He frowned and forced his thoughts back to reality.

  “I haven’t got time for silly games or silly fairy tales.” She gave him a good view of her back and her swinging braid as she bent to lift one of her trees.

  He took a step forward, intent on lending aid then stopped and returned to his own building.

  “You know,” Cora’s low voice reached him. “If she’s one of the three pigs, that makes you the big bad wolf.”

  Dare he hope Cora’s voice went no further than his ears?

  Mandy’s roar of laughter dashed his hopes. “Big bad wolf?” She chortled the words. Sucked in air to stop her amusement, made a few wolf-sounding yaps, then dissolved into another fit of laughter.

  Cora’s muffled giggles wafted from the tent.

  Trace tried to be annoyed at her derision, but her full-throated laughter was contagious. He quit resisting and chuckled.

  Mandy stopped laughing and dried her eyes. She grinned widely at him.

  He couldn’t tear himself from her gaze, full of challenge, laughter, and something that dropped into his heart with a warm splash and filled it with sweetness. He hoped she wouldn’t see all the things he failed to suppress—hope and despair bonded together like some odd twinning. Surely she would look away, free him from this expectation he couldn’t stifle. But she only continued to grin at him.

  She quirked one eyebrow. “A wolf? Seems we’re pretty familiar with
them.”

  “You never once fooled me with your imitation.”

  She looked not at all dismayed. “Drew you from the camp though, didn’t I?”

  “You did a better job at convincing me you were a man.”

  Faint pink stole up her cheeks. “Didn’t take you long to see your mistake, did it?”

  His face grew hot, and he wondered if he’d turned as pink as she did.

  She jerked away the same instant he turned from her, and he gave every bit of his concentration to preparing each log. In the silence that followed, she grunted and scuffled as she moved her twigs about.

  ❧

  Mandy smiled as she tugged her trees into place. A piggy and a wolf. It was ludicrous. She wondered about this piggy story. Maybe Joanna would know of it.

  She should have thought to bring a horse to pull out larger logs, but like Glory said, what did Mandy know about building? She’d studied how Trace constructed the walls on his house. Of course he had newly peeled logs that were much larger than the ones she’d chosen for hers, but the method was surely the same. So she notched her unpeeled logs and laid them out in the square she’d measured out. Big enough for a bed, a table, and small stove but not much more. Live in it. That’s all they’d stipulated. But she could see Trace planned a larger, more substantial house. As if he meant to put down roots like an old oak tree and stay forever.

  Mandy paused as she tried to imagine a man who stayed because he wanted to. Planned to. So a person could count on him from one day to the next. She understood there were men like that, but her pa had taught her well to question her assumptions.

  She placed all her logs and headed back to the woods for more. She hadn’t gone far when she realized Trace was also setting out for more logs.

  He overtook her as she applied her ax to another tree and stopped to watch, making her too nervous to continue. She straightened and faced him. “You want something?”

  “If you notch the tree like this”—he swung his ax to show her what he meant—“the tree will fall that direction. Always check to see what the tree will hit. For instance, you’ll want to miss that tree.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  He shrugged. “The branches will get hung up, and you’ll have an impossible time getting it down. Besides, look in that crotch. A nest. If I’m not mistaken, it has baby birds in it.”