A Lost Love's Legacy (Sons Of A Gun Book 5)

by Brenda Sinclair

  Amanda caught her meaning, knowing the hotel’s strict policies surrounding all proprieties. She reached for the woman’s hand. “You’d best come along with me…” She met her eyes waiting for an introduction.

  “Rosie. Rosie Dalton.” She allowed Amanda to lead her down the boardwalk. “Do you know where Michael Miller is?”

  “Yes, I do, Rosie,” Amanda answered without hesitation. “He’s in the Milestone Cemetery. He died over thirty years ago.”

  The young woman stumbled along at her side. “Where is his family? Surely, he has descendants.”

  “The closest thing to a descendant is A. J. McLennon on the Double M Ranch.” Amanda hooked arms with Rosie and waited for a wagon and team to pass by. When the dust settled, she crossed the street to the general store with the lady in tow, fearing the store would close before they reached their destination. “Michael Miller considered AJ a son.”

  “How do you know all this?” Rosie almost crashed into Amanda when she abruptly halted outside the general store.

  Amanda met her eyes and smiled. “Because A. J. McLennon is my father.”

  * * *

  After Rosie recovered from Amanda’s startling revelation, she helped Amanda collect the items on her shopping list. While paying her bill, Amanda conversed with Ray and arranged for the delivery of Rosie’s trunks to Amanda’s home. Intending to close his business the moment they completed Amanda’s sale, Ray promised to drop off the trunks as soon as possible.

  “Are you certain I’m not putting you out?” Rosie accompanied Amanda the short distance to her house.

  “Not in the least. Your only option would be one of the boarding houses in town, and I wouldn’t subject you to Mrs. Landers on a bet.” Amanda dashed into the kitchen and began preparing the evening meal.

  Rosie paced the kitchen floor. “Are you certain there’s nothing I can do to help?”

  Amanda waved off the offer. “Not at all. You’re my guest.”

  A loud knock at the back door startled her.

  “Come in,” Amanda called.

  “Where do you want these?” Ray strained under the weight of her first trunk.

  “Upstairs, first door on the left, please?” Amanda replied.

  Soon Ray had both of her trunks deposited upstairs and he wished them a goodnight before leaving.

  Amanda handed Rosie a jug of heated water. “Now, take this with you to your room and freshen up. Supper will be ready in twenty minutes. We’ll eat as soon as my husband arrives home.”

  Rosie climbed the stairs to the upper level and discovered the guest room on the left as Amanda had indicated to Ray. Her trunks were lined against one pale yellow wall, opposite a double bed covered in a pretty floral-pattered quilt. A rocking chair and small table atop a rag rug occupied one corner near the window. A porcelain basin rested on the dresser to the right and she poured the water inside. Soap and towels sat beside the basin. Rosie shucked her traveling suit and almost groaned in relief as she washed up after days of travel since her last bath while en route. She dug a pale brown day dress, clean stockings and unmentionables out of her trunk, donned them all quickly, and restyled her bun.

  Checking her appearance in the cheval mirror, Rosie shook her head, imagining the picture she’d made on the sidewalk outside the local hotel, travel weary and crying. But Amanda inquired what was wrong and hadn’t hesitated to help her. Had the situation been reversed, Rosie wasn’t certain she would have approached someone in her state. Certainly, Amanda’s actions were a testament to her character. Feeling like herself again, Rosie spotted an outhouse through the bedroom window and scooted downstairs to utilize the facilities.

  Soon, Rosie returned to the kitchen, washed her hands at the washstand in the corner, and then dried them on a small blue towel. “Are you sure I can’t do anything?”

  “Nothing at all. It’s ready.” Amanda waved Rosie toward the round table occupying the center of the room. The table was set for three and Rosie settled on the chair to the left.

  A door opened and a masculine voice called, “I’m home.”

  Amanda met the fellow in the doorway.

  “Hello, my love,” he said and kissed her cheek.

  The man of the house had arrived, Rosie reasoned.

  “Come meet our guest.” Amanda made the introductions.

  Sawyer seemed pleased to meet Rosie and she found the local lawman quite friendly and very much in love with his wife. Crossing paths with Amanda this afternoon had been the best stroke of luck imaginable. If it hadn’t been for Amanda and Sawyer Manning’s kindness in opening up their home to her, Rosie hadn’t any idea what would have become of her.

  “Why don’t you tell us about your family and where you’re from?” Sawyer initiated the conversation over supper.

  “I was born and raised in Boston in a well-established family. We lost my grandmother several months ago.” Rosie teared up while talking about the woman who’d played a very important role in her life: mentor, confidante, friend.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Amanda touched her arm. “I can tell how much she meant to you.”

  Rosie nodded, blinking back her tears. “Then Father passed suddenly in February. The doctor suspected his heart was to blame. His untimely death threw his business affairs into chaos. Mother has been handling the paperwork involved, including all the fuss resulting from the reading of the will.”

  “Again, please accept our condolences,” Sawyer added.

  “Thank you. I haven’t the foggiest notion what all is involved in settling Father’s affairs, and thank goodness I’m not expected to contend with any of it.”

  “I understand completely. I experienced several grief-stricken months a few years back when my mother passed. Reverend Fitzpatrick’s wife visited often and she helped me immensely while recovering from the loss.”

  “We must carry on with life.” Rosie appreciated the shared compassion, shared grief offered by Amanda.

  “My wife found a unique method to keep herself busy,” Sawyer hinted, smiling.

  “Yes, I have. I opened a clothing store in town with my sister-in-law, and having my own business means the world to me.”

  “My goodness. How brave of you.” Rosie hoped this trip would mean the world to her, and hopefully, she would learn something tomorrow.

  After the delicious supper, Amanda accompanied Rosie upstairs to the bathing room. She’d appreciated the opportunity to wash up before supper, but almost swooned from shock when Amanda insisted on providing her with a hot bath. Afterward, Rosie donned the fresh nightclothes she’d dug out of her trunk. Being clean again, Rosie couldn’t have been more appreciative of her good fortune after enduring the dusty trip. She sat at the small vanity table in the spare room of Amanda’s home, tugging a comb through tangled strands of damp hair.

  A soft knock on the door drew her attention from her musings. “Rosie, it’s Amanda.”

  “Come in.”

  She poked her head inside. “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Rosie waved Amanda inside.

  “What a pretty satin nightgown. As a seamstress, I recognize a custom-made piece of clothing when I see it. That garment is exquisite.”

  “Thank you.” Rosie scurried over to the bed to fetch the matching robe. She slipped her arms through the sleeves before returning to her seat at the vanity table. “I heard your husband draining the bathtub a while ago, as you promised he would. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness. That bath was exactly what I needed.”

  “A home-cooked meal, a nice hot bath, and a good night’s sleep… Doc Bennett couldn’t have prescribed a better remedy after an arduous trip.” Amanda smiled and patted Rosie’s shoulders. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  Rosie waved her hand. “Goodness, no. You’ve been extremely generous, and I couldn’t possibly impose any further on your kindness.”

  Amanda settled herself on the edge of the bed and peeked over at her guest. “Not even a hot cup of tea befor
e you turn in for the night?”

  “Well, maybe that.” Rosie smiled, reaching for her comb. “Will you join me?”

  “Definitely. We can continue getting to know each other.” Amanda hopped up and gently took the comb from Rosie’s hand. “Let me do this.”

  Rosie shifted on the vanity chair and stared into the oval mirror. “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

  “Actually, yes. The reason for your trip to Milestone.” Amanda carefully worked the wide-toothed comb through the stubborn tangles. “I’m not certain what you have in common with the former owner of the Double M Ranch.”

  Rosie inhaled a breath as she experienced another brief moment of loss, reminded that her relative had passed. “I recently learned that Michael Miller was my grandfather.”

  Amanda’s hand stilled. “Mr. Miller never married. He certainly hadn’t any children. For that exact reason, he bequeathed the Double M Ranch to my father.”

  “I firmly believe my great-grandfather purposely kept my grandmother and Mr. Miller apart. Michael Miller never knew he’d fathered a child.”

  Amanda set the comb down. “A child who would be your…”

  “My mother.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Amanda called.

  Sawyer Manning strode into the room, carrying a large tray. “I brought the tea, sweetheart. But I won’t impose on your chinwag. You ladies take your time and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, darling.” Amanda kissed her husband’s cheek and took the tray from his hands.

  “How did you guess we wanted a cup of tea?” Rosie blurted.

  He smiled. “Amanda brews herself a cup of tea every night before she comes to bed. Tonight would be no different.”

  Rosie laughed. “A creature of habit, is she?”

  “Most definitely.” Sawyer kissed his wife and caressed her hair. “I’m turning in now. Sleep well, my love.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try my best not to wake you when I come to bed.” Amanda glanced at Rosie. “Retired Pinkertons wake up if an ant strolls across the bedroom floor.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “You know I don’t mind when you disturb me. Besides, I’ll be asleep again before your beautiful head hits the pillow.” He kissed her lips and exited the room.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Manning,” Rosie called.

  “It’s Sawyer. And goodnight to you, too.”

  Amanda set the tray down on the table by the window. “Rosie, the tea will steep for a few minutes, and I’ll be right back.” She followed her husband out the door.

  Rosie sat for a minute, stunned. Where had Amanda gone? The tray contained a large teapot, china teacups, sugar and cream. Nothing missing that she could deduce. Rosie wandered over to the window and stared outside where she spotted a cat creeping across the backyard, perhaps prowling for mice. An owl hooted from a nearby treetop while a gentle spring breeze ruffled the lace curtains on the open window.

  “I’m back.”

  Rosie turned to discover Amanda standing in a long floral cotton nightgown covered with a matching duster, her hair flowing well below her shoulders.

  “We’ll enjoy our tea and then I can quickly turn in without the bother of changing into nightclothes.”

  “And there’s less chance of disturbing your husband,” Rosie speculated.

  “There’s that also.” Amanda poured the tea and added cream and sugar to each cup before handing one to Rosie.

  “Your matching night set is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I designed and sewed it myself.” Amanda glanced at her guest. “My store has clothing for the entire family. My dresses don’t remain on the racks for long, and the custom orders keep me quite busy.”

  “Goodness, if the quality of this set is any indication of your talent, I can understand why. I’ll have to drop by someday.”

  “Please do. My shop is called Amanda’s Clothing Emporium, and it’s located at the far end of Main Street across from the Milestone Bakery. Now, let’s get comfortable and you can tell me how you learned about Mr. Miller.”

  Rosie sat on the bed and set her teacup down on the night table. “I need to share something with you.”

  She reached for her grandmother’s worn leather journal. Soon both ladies were settled on the bed, their backs resting on fluffy, feather pillows propped against the iron headboard.

  “What have you here?” Amanda pointed to the diary.

  Rosie took a deep breath. She hadn’t shared her discovery with anyone, not even her mother. But for some reason, Amanda seemed the ideal person to discuss her findings with. Perhaps an uninvolved third party could provide an unbiased opinion on the entire matter.

  “First of all, I must tell you my childhood wasn’t particularly pleasant.”

  Amanda gasped and a concerned expression creased her face.

  “It’s true, but I didn’t share that with you to elicit sympathy.” Rosie clasped the book tightly in her hands and held it against her bosom, receiving strength from the soft covering. “My mother seldom found time for me, and my father completely ignored me at every turn. The only person who truly loved me and set aside her own agenda to spend time with me was my grandmother, Lucille Wentworth.”

  “Surely, your parents must have—”

  “Never,” Rosie interrupted. “Whatever you were about to say… well, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t apply to my family. My father absented himself from me from the day I was born until the evening he passed. My mother is alive, but for the most part, she remains aloof.”

  “But not your grandmother?”

  “Grandmother Lucille loved me with all her heart, and she told me so whenever we spent time together.” Rosie brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m her namesake, Rosemary Lucille Dalton, but Grandmother called me Rosie for as long as I can remember.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “We had a special connection between us, but my grandmother passed away a few months ago.”

  “I’m so sorry you lost such a special person in your life.” Amanda patted her hand.

  “Thank you. Her passing saddened me terribly, but it prompted me to search through her treasures in the attic, and her clothes and whatnot in her room. I planned to secrete away keepsakes of her life before my mother had her belongings removed from the house and destroyed.” Rosie shrugged. “Mother and Grandmother tolerated each other at best. They were never what you would consider ‘close’, like some mothers and daughters. Neither is Mother close with me. Perhaps it’s a generational thing carried down.”

  “Goodness, I can’t imagine growing up with such aloof, uninvolved people in my life,” Amanda blurted and then her face reddened and she gasped. “What a horrible thing to say. I’m so sorry.”

  Rosie touched her arm. “No apology necessary. Your description fits them perfectly.”

  “Still, I should think before speaking.”

  “I appreciate your candor, Amanda. And frankly, I wish more people said what they mean instead of what they believe one wants to hear.” Rosie shook her head. “Gentlemen who abhorred Father attended his funeral service and extended their sympathies to Mother and me. I’m so sorry for your loss. Those men couldn’t have cared less about Father, before his passing or after. I cannot tolerate two-faced people. I far prefer truth, honesty and forthrightness, even to the point of risking hurt feelings in more sensitive folk.”

  “Well, you’ll get nothing but truth from me.” Amanda sipped her tea.

  Rosie nodded. “Good. We could become the best of friends.”

  “Absolutely.” Amanda snuggled back against the pillows. “Tell me more about your grandmother.”

  “I was getting to that. Grandmother Lucille wrote almost daily entries in several journals over the years, and I recently found them at the bottom of one of her trunks.” Rosie patted the book in her hands. “This one covers the year 1833 and early1834, the year my mother was born.”

  Amanda shifted
on the bed. “Drink your tea or it will get cold.”

  Rosie set the book down on the covers and reached for her teacup. “Thank you for the reminder.” She took a sip and then another. “I enjoy reading, writing short stories, and sketching. I’ve always been quite independent in my own way, and I’ve dreamed of perhaps writing for a newspaper one day. Of course, my mother considered the idea nothing more than foolish imaginings. She forbade me from even considering actual work, either for money or not. The idea bordered on social-standing suicide, and Mother protects her position in Boston society above all else. No daughter of hers would be employed.”

  Amanda shook her head. “I cannot imagine…”

  “Believe me, I’m not exaggerating. But until I read my grandmother’s diaries, I hadn’t any idea where I’d acquired my love of words and writing. Grandmother recorded everything of significance in her life and important events surrounding the lives of her family and friends.”

  “Including you.”

  Rosie nodded. “The initial entry in the first journal was dated on her thirteenth birthday, a young girl’s musings on pending womanhood. Grandmother wrote something at least once a week, often daily, until her passing.”

  “I cannot imagine such commitment.”

  “Me either.” Rosie finished her tea and set the cup aside. “I rummaged through the trunk and sorted stacks of journals by date, then spent days reading them in chronological order. When I opened the diary dated 1833, I learned that was the year Grandmother met and married the man I’d always believed was my grandfather. I’d hoped through her own words to relive her joy when meeting the love of her life and share the happiness she experienced in becoming a blushing bride.”

  Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Goodness, that must have been wonderful.”

  “You would think so.” Rosie shook her head. “What I learned instead absolutely shocked me.”

  Chapter 3

  Rosie’s eyes blurred with tears; the information she’d unearthed within the pages of this one diary remained hurtful in so many ways. But Rosie had come to grips with the truth weeks ago. Second thoughts wreaked havoc with her mind, but she set aside her misgivings and bravely traveled alone to Montana in pursuit of the truth and to discover her roots.