Teresa Bodwell Read Online Free Page B

Benjamin Lansing had better not intend to take Jonathan away from Mercy—not months after she’d taken the boy into her home, treating him like her own son. It wasn’t fair. Miranda wouldn’t allow it.
    She looked at the baby in her arms. “He wouldn’t be doing that, would he?”
    She brushed her nose against Hal’s soft, warm cheek and inhaled his sweet baby smell. It had been years since she’d held a baby in her arms. She’d forgotten the wonder of them. “Fine time you picked to remind me of what I’m missing.” She sighed.
    “I reckon it is time, though, isn’t it?” The fist that seemed to be squeezing her heart loosened a little. “I’m gonna help my sister with her baby, and maybe one day . . . Do you suppose I’ll find someone like my pa—a good, honest, gentle man who will love me and . . . ?”
    And maybe she would have a family of her own. She wasn’t ready to make that wish out loud.

Chapter 3
    Benjamin Lansing eyed the diverse goods displayed around the cramped mercantile. No doubt the shop had been arranged to be convenient to the proprietor, rather than be aesthetically pleasing to visitors. The result was dizzying.
    His eyes rested on the bolts of fabric displayed against one wall. Unlike the rest of the shop, someone had taken care with this arrangement. The simple ginghams and calicoes were displayed by color—dark browns, blues and greens at one end; vivid yellows, pinks, and reds at the other. A small selection of white muslin, silk and lace separated the colored fabric from shelves covered with threads and yarns. After weeks of traveling across the plains, with endless stretches of drab browns and grays, the bright hues were a feast for his eyes.
    “Mr. Lansing?”
    He turned to face a petite woman with a pretty, heart-shaped face and bright azure eyes.
    “Can I help you, sir?” Her voice was polite and calm, with the genteel inflection of the southern regions of the country. But her eyes made it clear that he had better state his business.
    “I hope you can, ma’am.” He made a polite bow, knowing a southern gentlewoman expected courtesy from a proper gentleman even beyond what the ladies of Boston demanded. “I’m Benjamin Lansing—Arthur Lansing was my brother.”
    The lady covered a quick spark of surprise with her air of formality. “I’m Mrs. Wyatt. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lansing.” She gave him a nod and a stiff smile that betrayed her complete lack of pleasure at meeting him. “Now, how can I be of service?”
    Ben was astonished that the lady made no expression of condolence for his brother’s death, but decided the oversight was attributable to her surprise at seeing him and was not intended to offend.
    “I understand my brother left both his ranch and son under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Buchanan. I wonder if you’re acquainted with the Buchanans.”
    Her eyes dropped to his dusty boots and made their way slowly back to his face. “Yes.” She locked the fingers of her hands together, as one might do in prayer. “My brother and sister-in-law as it happens.”
    He wondered why she had hesitated to reveal her relation to the Buchanans. “How fortunate for me.” He broadened his smile, hoping to set the lady at ease. “Then you’ll be able to tell me how my nephew is faring?”
    “He’s thriving.” This time her smile was genuine. “Mercy and Thad have taken very good care of Jonathan.” The smile faded. “And he’s grown to love them as they love him.” She raised her chin almost as though she dared him to argue.
    In fact, he couldn’t be more pleased. The last thing he wanted was responsibility for a young child. But the boy was his own blood, and Ben would make certain the lad was in a suitable home before he got the hell away from this dismal settlement. All he wanted to take with him was the money he’d loaned Arthur. He wouldn’t even demand the interest. The Buchanans could use that for the boy’s care. The