LOVING MIRANDA
©Teresa Bodwell
Benjamin Lansing glanced around the busy hotel dining room. As he had found in much of the West, the room was overdecorated. On top of gaudy striped wallpaper hung several immense gilded mirrors and a half-dozen vivid paintings of women carrying baskets of food. His eyes settled on the pretty blonde at the next table. It seemed to him that she was overly intent on watching her spoon dip into her soup bowl. Ben suspected she'd been observing everything that transpired between the moody Mrs. Wick and him. Perhaps the young lady was a painter. Or a painter's model.
She was dressed for riding and dusty from the trail, yet she was lovely. Petite and delicate as a porcelain doll. A ribbon tied at the base of her neck barely contained her wild curls. Her slight, feminine body made a perfect match to her dainty features. Ben's left hand twitched with the wild desire to paint her image. He shoved the useless appendage into his pocket and traced his thumb over the stubs of missing fingers his gloves hid so well. His mangled hand made painting this vision impossible.
“I'll give you fifteen dollars and not a penny more.” Mrs. Wick's words called Ben's attention back to her.
“You drive a hard bargain, ma'am.” Fifteen dollars was half what the painting was worth, but more than he needed to take him to Fort Victory.
Mrs. Wick gave him a triumphant smirk before digging into her bag for the coins to pay him. "Well, then." She handed Ben the money and stood to leave. "I shall give you a word of advice, young man. Don't imagine anyone would want to have”--she gestured toward his remaining paintings--“death spread across the wall of their parlor." She stood and tilted her nose upward as though his painting had insulted her. "If you want to sell more pictures, I'd suggest you do some flowers. Something pretty that a lady would want hangin' in her home."
Benjamin ground his teeth to keep from shouting. "Thank you for your suggestions, Mrs. Wick."
He stood and gave the white-haired lady a stiff nod as she gathered her things and stepped away. Shoving the hard-won coins into his pocket, he turned back to the table and spread his remaining paintings out over the smooth surface.
During the three days of their stagecoach trip Mrs. Wick had talked endlessly about her interest in fine art. Turned out the woman only wanted pretty colors to complement her furniture. Perhaps she should talk to the man who had purchased the dreadful pictures for this hotel. They obviously had similar taste.
War might not be suitable decoration for a family parlor, but he'd never come closer to creating art than he had with these two scenes from the war. He'd have plenty of money now if his damn foolish pride hadn't kept him from selling the two battle scenes in Boston when he had the chance.
If circumstances forced him to sell them here on the frontier, he'd never get a decent price. No point in worrying about that. If he had any luck at all in Fort Victory, selling these paintings would prove unnecessary.
A pair of small, fair hands rested on the table next to the painting. "May I look?"
Benjamin shrugged and the woman drew closer, touching one corner of the painting. Even without looking at her face, he knew the light voice and graceful fingers belonged to the petite blonde. She leaned in front of him--so close he could smell an intriguing blend of sweet lavender and musky horse. He kept his head down, his gaze fixed on the paintings. He did not need to have another pretty face distract him. His mission was clear and it didn't include time for dalliances along the way.
"That Mrs. Wick don't know art. This is fine--alive almost." The young woman lifted the top canvas and peered at the painting below. "I think they're both wonderful."
He lifted his head, meaning only to glance, but her eyes captured his. It was the color of the large, round orbs that drew him first--an astonishing cornflower blue. The rich color made a stunning contrast to her skin--pink and cream with freckles sprinkled over her nose and across her cheeks. She was smiling, showing a set of flawless white teeth framed by generous rosy lips. Perfect.
"Your paintings, I mean." She drew her lower lip into her mouth and released it. "They're amazin'."
He forced his eyes from her lips and saw it--a thick scar traced a jagged path from her right ear nearly to her chin. He dropped his gaze back to her hands for fear he'd show some expression of pity in his eyes. It had to be difficult for a beautiful woman to live with that imperfection, and he wouldn't make it worse for her.
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"A spirited tale of romance in the Old West that will tug at your heartstrings.
Ms. Bodwell will keep you turning pages!" -
Kat Martin, New York Times Bestselling Author.
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LOVING MIRANDA