by E. Walsh
You could never win whatever you did. Mirabelle wanted to cry, to bawl her eyes out and throw things.
But her children needed her. They needed her to be strong while they broke down.
She would have to take care of her needs later.
Jeremiah, the elderly farmhand driving the buggy, pulled it up to the front of the house and pulled back the reins to stop the two horses doing the pulling. He set the reins and jumped down to the dirt.
He came around and Mirabelle passed Micah to him, the little boy rubbing his eyes. Then she took the hand held out for her and climbed down, turning to her mother-in-law. Wanda Lee was still rocking her granddaughter, seeming not to notice that they had even stopped.
"Wanda, we're back."
Wanda looked up, her red-rimmed eyes staring blankly at Mirabelle before clearing and comprehension slowly coming back. She blinked and shook her head.
"Sorry, honey. I was off in my own thoughts."
"I know." Mirabelle longed to do that herself. She held out her arms. "Pass me Judy and we'll get them inside."
Wanda handed over her granddaughter, who looked up at her mother as Mirabelle adjusted her so she could carry the child easier on her hip.
"Mommy, where's Daddy?" she asked in a quiet voice. "When's Daddy coming home?"
"Weren't you paying attention, stupid?" Micah said loudly at her, scowling at his little sister. "Daddy's dead. He's never coming home."
Judith began to cry. Mirabelle glanced at the cowboy holding Micah and jerked her head.
"Jeremiah, please take Micah to the house."
"Yes, ma'am."
Jeremiah walked Micah away, who was beginning to bawl again, his face buried in the big man's neck. Judith was sobbing against Mirabelle's shoulder.
Mirabelle hugged her close, rubbing her back and swallowing back her own tears.
"Oh, Judy, honey. I'm sorry but Micah is right. Daddy isn't coming home. He's up in Heaven now."
She looked up at the sky. "He's looking at us right now."
Judith pushed back and squinted up at the clouds. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
"Can we see him now?" she croaked.
"Not now because it's daylight. But when it gets dark and you're going to bed I'll show you which star your father is." She kissed her daughter's cheek. "All right?"
Judith sniffed and nodded.
"All right."
"Good girl." Mirabelle put her on the ground and turned her towards the house. "Go find the boys and tell Jeremiah I said you and Micah could have some gingerbread."
Satisfied with the promise of sweets, Judith ran off to the house, jumping onto the porch and disappearing inside. Wanda slid off the back of the trap and smiled at Mirabelle.
"That's really sweet, honey. And sounds apt to have John as a star."
"My father died when I was Micah's age." Mirabelle raised her veil and fastened it up on her hat away from her face. "I didn't really understand why I would never see him again and Mama told me he was a star in the sky looking down on me. She made me talk to him every evening if I needed to talk to him and I said goodnight to him before I went to bed."
"I can see Judith and Micah doing that." Wanda then looked over Mirabelle's shoulder and her smile faded. "You have got to be kidding me."
Mirabelle turned round and saw a horse galloping up the drive. Then she saw the rider and her heart sank.
* * *
Chapter Two
Wanda glared at the man riding toward them. "What's he doing here?"
The horse slowed to a trot before stopping up in front of them. Instinctively Mirabelle put herself between the horse and her mother-in-law, fixing a glare at the rider looking down at them from the saddle. The man touched his Stetson in greeting.
"Afternoon, Mirabelle. Mrs. Lee."
"Bertrum, I'm not in the mood to talk to you." Mirabelle didn't bother with pleasantries; today was not a good day for those. "I've had a hard day and all I want to do is spend it with family."
"I understand." Bertrum Williams looked sympathetic, but Mirabelle knew better. Bertrum Williams didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body. He took off the hat and said, "I'm sorry about John."
Mirabelle snorted at him. "If that was heartfelt I'd believe it."
As long as she could remember, her husband John Lee and Bertrum Williams had little use for one another.
They had gone to school together, grown up together, and from what Wanda had told her, had been good friends. But since coming to town ten years before and meeting them both at a church social, Mirabelle hadn't seen any sort of friendship between the two.
They had both vied for her attention but Mirabelle had been won over by John after Bertrum showed an ugly side that she didn't care for.
They had shared ten happy years of marriage and two amazing children
Now John was gone - trampled by his own cattle during herding them - and Mirabelle was alone.
She had Judith, Micah and Wanda, who she adored, but effectively she was alone.
If Bertrum was planning on making a move on her, especially today of all days, he was going to get a very rude response and a sore backside after she kicked him off her property.
"Just say what you came to say and get out of here."
If Bertrum showed any signs that he was annoyed with her attitude he didn't show it.
"You know why I'm here." He leaned on the pommel of his saddle and nodded toward her house. "I want your house and the farm."
Mirabelle heard Wanda gasp but kept her eyes focused on Bertrum.
"And I told you no yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I am not selling to you and I never will."
"This farm has been in my family for generations." Wanda added sharply. "We're not giving it to someone who's not family."
This was why Mirabelle hadn't said anything to Wanda; she didn't need any more distress.
Including John she had lost her daughter Natalie after she had given birth to her granddaughter earlier in the year. The baby was healthy and being raised by father, Mirabelle's brother-in-law.
Wanda doted on the child but she was still heartbroken over losing her only daughter. Mirabelle didn't want to add more to her grief.
"You may not have that option." Bertrum pointed out. "Without a man in charge the place will fold."
Mirabelle bristled.
"Are you saying women can't run a ranch?" she asked stiffly.
"You're a level-headed woman, Mirabelle, and you are smarter than the average female. But you can't cope with this place alone. You should be in a little cottage somewhere with your children living life to the full."
"I was living life to the full until my husband died." Mirabelle snapped. "I am not selling the farm, Bertrum. Sorry to waste your time."
"Don't apologize to him." Wanda growled, her eyes virtually spitting fire at the man on horseback. "He should be apologizing to you for speaking about a despicable topic on the day of your husband's funeral."
She stepped around Mirabelle and pointed down the track towards the gate. "Get out of here before we throw you out."
Even at sixty Wanda Lee was a formidable woman. While she was pleasantly plump, the woman was as strong as any man when she wanted to be. When you crossed Wanda you did it at your own peril.
Mirabelle knew Bertrum knew that and watched with satisfaction as he reared back in the saddle as if to get away before grabbing the reins of his horse and looking over her mother-in-law's shoulder at her.
"You know I'm right, Mirabelle."
"Bertrum, if you have any respect for me at all you will leave,” Mirabelle said through gritted teeth. “Now.”
With one last look at Mirabelle, Bertrum turned his horse round and galloped away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
As he disappeared down the drive Wanda turned to Mirabelle, a sad frown creasing her face. "Unfortunately, he's right,” Wanda said with a tired sigh. “You do need a man to run the place."
"I can handle it for now. Jeremiah and the other farm hands can show me the ropes."
"I hope you’re right." Wanda bit her lip. "But what if you’re not?"
Mirabelle put her arm around Wanda’s shoulders and turned her toward the house.
She didn’t answer the question because she honestly had no idea what she’d do if she was wrong.
* * *
Chapter Three
Mirabelle hadn’t slept well since burying her husband two weeks before. Like so many nights, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, resisting the urge to scream at the top of her lungs as she twitched with restlessness.
She could hear her children snoring softly in the next room but, try as she might, Mirabelle couldn't get herself to fall asleep.
Bertrum's visit and Wanda's words were on her mind and had been all evening.
Mirabelle had been brought up to never bow down when someone threatened to take away things and people she loved.
Bertrum was threatening to take away her home and leave her and the children homeless, not to mention all the men who had worked at the farm for years.
Mirabelle was under no illusions that Bertrum would actually keep the same cowboys around and even if they did they would walk out within days; he wasn't liked at all.
Wanda was right. She needed to find someone who could run the farm and keep it thriving. It wasn't the best thing to have a woman be in charge and Mirabelle knew that.
She knew the ropes and Jeremiah had been her husband's loyal second-in-command, but Jeremiah had admitted that running the whole place on his own was beyond even his capabilities.
They needed to find someone quickly or they were going to lose everything.
Mirabelle had no idea where they were going to find that someone. It would have to take a miracle.
Fed up with trying to sleep, Mirabelle silently slipped out of bed and put a shawl round her shoulders.
She decided a hot drink and a quiet sit-down on the porch would help to settle her thoughts.
It was still very warm at night and no one would be about at this time; no one would complain about her improprieties of being outside in just a nightdress.
She went into the kitchen and was looking for a clean saucepan when she saw a movement outside near the well.
Then she realized it was a horse, its head bobbing.
Then she saw the top of a Stetson appear at the window, the man's face in darkness as he reached into his pocket.
Mirabelle didn't recognize him. All of the farm hands would be asleep in the bunk house. Whoever was in her yard didn't have a right to be there.
She opened the cupboard beside the door and brought out her husband's rifle.
The daughter of a rancher herself, Mirabelle had handled guns since she was small and was more than prepared to use it if necessary.
Checking that it was loaded, she went out onto the porch. She didn't lift it up, merely held it loosely across her body; in her experience just the show of a gun made people uneasy and her body language clearly showed she knew how to use it. There would be no arguments with a gun on display.
"Can I help you?" she called to him.
The man at the well turned to face her. The light fell across his face and Mirabelle found herself staring at the stranger. He was a handsome man, tall, with chiseled features and a few day’s growth of brown stubble across his cheeks.
He was dressed in a tan jacket over a dark blue shirt and jeans, boots with spurs on his feet. With his Stetson pulled low over his face he gave off an ominous air, like a fallen angel.
Mirabelle's heart was pounding as the stranger gave her a nod and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat.
"Beg pardon for bothering you, ma'am. I didn't mean to wake anyone up."
"I was already awake. What are you doing here?"
"I needed to fill up my canteen,” he said, holding up the dripping container. "I was passing and saw you had a well. I was just going to be a few moments and be on my way."
Mirabelle saw the logic in that. And there was something desolate about his expression that had her immediate concerns softening. She stepped over the porch, but didn't approach him.
"Why didn't you come up and knock on my door to ask? Or go around to the bunk house?"
"All the lights were off and I didn't want to wake anyone up for just a few minutes." He lowered his head. "I'm sorry I trespassed on your land, ma'am. If you prefer not to share your water, I understand."
Closer now, she could see that he looked thin. His cheeks were starting to hollow and his eyes were sunken. He looked exhausted and hungry. He probably hadn't eaten properly in a while. Her heart went out to him.
"Are you hungry?"
"Ma'am?"
"I've some leftover biscuits from last night’s dinner. If you're hungry I can warm them up for you. There’s plum jelly and plenty of coffee."
Mirabelle was one of those people who couldn't turn away when she saw someone in need. And this man looked in need.
The man blinked, clearly surprised.
"I don't want to be any trouble, ma'am."
"It's the least I can do."
Mirabelle wasn't taking no for an answer. For some reason she wanted to help this man.
And if she could give him a bed for the night that would make her feel better. He looked ready to drop.
Then she wondered if her offer was a good idea when he smiled and nodded, the smile giving her butterflies in her stomach.
* * *
Chapter Four
Jason Jennings thought he was hallucinating when he saw the woman standing on the porch, nonchalantly holding a rifle in her arms like she knew how to use it and wouldn’t mind doing so.
With her blonde hair loose about her shoulders, almost trailing down to her waist, wearing a clingy nightgown that clung to the curves of her body, she looked like an angel.
It was all he could do not to stare and stutter like a boy meeting girls for the first time.
He had been riding for most of the day, trying not to get caught in the desert when night fell, and he was exhausted.
His last meal had been the night before at a saloon bar before he was kicked out for trying it on with the owner's daughter.
It didn't matter that she had plopped herself in his lap without his consent and tried to kiss him and take him up to her room.
The owner had seen him unceremoniously dump her onto the floor and he had promptly thrown him out.
Jason had been too tired to argue and had spent the night sleeping on a bench, moving on just as people were waking up for their usual goings-on.
So to have this angel say that she could cook his some food, even if it was leftovers from her last meal, was a godsend.
He tied up his horse by the water trough and left the trusty steed to drink his fill as Jason climbed the porch and entered the kitchen.
His angel was at the stove, layering cold biscuits in a frying pan. She waved him towards the table, but Jason paused in the doorway.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked uncertainly, letting his eyes go around the room.
"Please, sit down." She smiled at him and Jason had to swallow. She really was beautiful and she had the most amazing green eyes he had ever seen. "Do you like fat back? I can fry up some if you do?"
It was a moment before his brain caught up with what she had said. Jason nodded and moved towards the table.
"Yes, ma’am, that would be fine. At this point I’d eat just about anything."
She grinned as she lit the first in the stove. Blowing out the match, she said, "I wish my children had that attitude."
Children? That meant she was married. That cooled Jason's thoughts instantly. He wouldn’t lie down with another man’s woman on any grounds; he had too much respect for marriage and women to do that.
Plus, he wasn’t overly fond of getting shot.
Whoever her husband, he thought, was had to be the luckiest man alive.
* * *
C
hapter Five
Jason licked his lips as she set the plate of biscuits and fatback on the table in front of him. She poured them both a steaming cup of coffee and joined him at the table.
"What's your name?" she asked, picking up her cup and blowing a cooling breath across the surface.
"Jason Jennings."
“Nice to meet you,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I'm Mirabelle Lee."
"The pleasure is all mine, ma’am,” Jason said, his mouth full. The food tasted like heaven. His stomach gave a happy growl. He took a careful sip of coffee and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Use this,” she said, handing him a cloth napkin. He wiped his mouth again and gave her a grateful look.
"I'm sorry again for interrupting you so early in the morning,”
"I wasn't really sleeping." Mirabelle said, her smile fading. "I have a lot on my mind right now."
"Is your husband already up and about?" Jason asked, half teasing. “I wouldn’t want to get a back full of buckshot for eating another man’s biscuits.”
Her face fell, her mouth trembling.
"My husband died two weeks ago. We buried him yesterday."
"I'm sorry." Jason ducked his head, hiding his reddening face behind the napkin. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to be so rude."
"You didn’t know." Mirabelle sniffed and squared her shoulders, straightening up in her chair as if to compose herself. "What are you doing all the way out here at this time of morning?"
"I'm just passing through." Jason shoved a bite of biscuit and jelly in his mouth and nodded toward the window. "I've been drifting for a few weeks. Looking for a job and a place to sleep."
Mirabelle dreaded the answer, but asked the question anyway. “And what is it you do?"
"Cowboy work mostly,” he said. “Riding herd, some bronco busting, the usual, I reckon. Anything that requires two strong hands and a saddle, I can do. Problem is, this time of year, most of the cowboy work is already taken, so…”
As he explained his situation, Jason had noticed Mirabelle's expression change. She was looking genuinely interested, leaning forward to listen. He wondered what she could possibly be interested in.