Mail-Order Miranda (Brides of Beckham) Read online

  Chapter Nine

  John closed the bedroom door behind him and crossed quietly to the chair Miranda had moved to the corner of the room. He sat down and tugged off his boots, doing his best not to wake Miranda. Not that she woke easily, he thought with a smile. She could likely sleep through a gunfight.

  His gaze shifted to the bed where she’d already fallen asleep. She was lying on her side facing the middle of the bed. She’d braided her hair, but strands had escaped, curling around her face. Her long eyelashes rested on her creamy cheeks and her lips were parted slightly.

  And he wanted her. Lord help him, he wanted to make love to his wife. Desire heated his blood, settling low.

  Shucking off his clothes, he climbed into bed and rolled onto his side to face her. Her dark lashes rested on her cheeks. He watched as her lips curved into a soft smile. Hell, he could lie here and just look at he for hours.

  Her nightgown had twisted, the neckline lowering until he could see the swell of her breasts. The fabric strained against them, and desire pooled deep inside.

  He laughed inwardly. He could probably make love to her and she wouldn’t even know it.

  Suddenly, a cry from the girls’ bedroom split the air.

  Before he had a chance to even roll over and get out of bed, Miranda had already bounded up and was racing out the door.

  How had that happened? How could she have heard it when she slept so soundly? He followed quickly to find Hope wrapped in Miranda’s arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ellie was still asleep, curled into a ball, only the top of her head peeking out from under the covers.

  “Hope just had a bad dream,” Miranda said to John. “She’ll be fine. Won’t you, sweetie?”

  Hope sniffled back a few tears and nodded.

  “John, you go on back to bed, I’ll be there in a bit.”

  John nodded, leaving Miranda with Hope.

  As he trudged back to bed, he realized Miranda had really become their mother. That she’d grown so close to the children and that she loved them so much amazed him. Miranda was exactly the kind of woman he wanted to raise his children.

  She was also exactly the kind of woman who could sneak past his defenses and make him love again. And even though he’d been fighting against it since the minute he saw her, he was losing the battle.

  He was falling in love with Miranda. How was it possible to love two women? He still loved Nancy. He would love her until the day he died.

  Maybe it was loneliness, and lust. Nothing more. He’d been telling himself that for the past few days, but even as he tried to convince himself his feelings for Miranda weren’t love, he knew what love felt like. He recognized the loneliness he felt when they were apart, the contentment when they were together, and the need for physical contact.

  He had no right to feel this way. He’d made a promise, and he’d always been a man of his word. How could he break that promise and still look at himself with pride?

  ***

  Something was preying on John’s mind. Miranda could sense it even though John still kissed her goodnight, still spent as much time as he could with the girls and was polite and friendly toward her.

  She was tempted to ask, but at the same time, perhaps it was best if she didn’t know. What if he regretted their marriage? What if he no longer wanted her?

  Shaking off the feeling, she hurried through her chores, staying out of Ruth’s way as much as possible.

  Hope and Ellie had gone to have lunch with friends of John’s and their children, so Miranda decided to go and have lunch at the diner.

  Every table was occupied when she opened the door to the diner a few minutes later. She smiled at several people she recognized as she made her way to the kitchen. As she opened the door with one hand, she plucked the pin out of her hat with the other.

  John needed help. How he’d managed so long by himself, she didn’t know, but it did explain why he came home bone-tired at the end of the day.

  She had nothing else she had to do for a few hours, so what better way to spend her afternoon than helping her husband. And just spending time with him, she added to herself.

  She never tired of being with him. Even when they weren’t having a conversation, their silence was comfortable and calm.

  John looked up from the stove as she entered, giving her a smile. Her stomach fluttered. It was ridiculous that one smile from him could cause such a reaction inside her, but she was growing used to it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “The girls are with the Andersons, so I decided to come and visit,” she said, returning his smile. “Is it always so crowded at this time of day?”

  He nodded, turning back to stir the contents of a large pot on the stove. “Every day.”

  “John,” a deep voice called out. “More coffee, please?”

  “Be there in a minute,” John replied.

  Miranda grabbed a towel hanging on a hook near the stove and picked up the coffee pot. “I’ll do it.”

  With one hand supporting the coffee pot and one hand on the handle, she shouldered the door open and went into the dining room. As the door closed behind her, she paused. She had no idea who’d asked for coffee. She stood, her brows creased as she squinted, searching for someone with an empty cup.

  A hand suddenly shot into the air. “Over here.”

  With a smile, she hurried across to the table. Three young women and one older man she suspected were Hispanic were finishing their meals.

  “You are John’s new bride?” the man asked. An accent tinged his words.

  “I am,” Miranda replied. “My name is Miranda.”

  “Let me introduce myself,” he went on. “I am Hector Delacruz and these are my daughters, Ariana, Juliana and Luciana.”

  The women nodded and smiled when he introduced them.

  “It is good John has help now and his babies have a new mother. I raised my daughters after their mother passed, and it was not easy.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  “Can we get more coffee over here?” another voice called out.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Miranda said. “Now if you’ll excuse me ...”

  “Of course.”

  Miranda spun around and crossed and refilled more coffee cups. Soon the pot was empty and she headed back to the kitchen where John was spooning stew into bowls on a tray.

  “I’ll take them if you point out who they’re for.” she offered.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to work here. You have enough work at home.”

  “I’m happy to help.” She wanted to add that she wanted to be with him, even if they weren’t talking or in the same room.

  For the next two hours, she served food, cleaned tables and washed dishes. Finally, the diner was empty and Miranda carried the last of the dirty dishes into the kitchen and slid them into the soapy water in the basin.

  Her focus on cleaning the plate in her hands, she didn’t noticed John coming up beside her. He took her hands out of the dishwater and enfolded them in a towel.

  He was so close she could see his pulse in his neck, feel his coffee-laced breath brushing against her cheek. “I appreciate your help, but you’ve done enough,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “If you have free time, you should do something you enjoy.”

  Her heart skittered behind her ribs as she gazed up at him. “I enjoy being with you.” Heat rose in her cheeks at her forward behavior, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

  “I feel the same way.”

  Her throat tightened as he lowered his face toward her. He didn’t usually kiss her during the day, and even at bedtime, his goodnight kiss seemed to be restrained. Her lips parted slightly, her heart thundering in her chest.

  His lips grazed hers, and her knees weakened.

  A cough nearby tore them apart. Miranda spun around at the sound, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

  A tall, very overweight man waddled into the kitchen, letting the kitche
n door swing shut behind him. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

  “It’s all right, Hollis,” John replied, then introduced him to Miranda. “Hollis supplies me with pies every week,” he said to Miranda.

  “Got five of ‘em in the wagon for you,” Hollis said. “I’ll go get them now.”

  After Hollis left, John reached into a cabinet near the back door and took out a metal box. Miranda’s eyes widened as he set some money aside before putting the box back in the cabinet. Mentally, she calculated the cost of baking five pies compared to the amount lying on the counter.

  John was being grossly overcharged. Anger bubbled up inside her.

  Hollis came back into the kitchen with the pies and set them on the counter. “There you go, John. Three apple, a cherry and a blueberry, just like you ordered.”

  His smile widened as John counted out the bills into Hollis’s pudgy hand. After a few comments about the weather, Hollis said goodbye to John, tipped his hat to Miranda, and walked out.

  John was being ... swindled. She couldn’t think of another word that fit better. And she couldn’t let it go on one more day. John might be furious with her, but she was sure he’d see she was right eventually. “I’ll be right back,” she said, then hurried after Hollis.

  Hollis was struggling to hoist himself into his wagon when Miranda called to him.

  He paused, then lowered himself to the street. “Everything okay, Mrs. Weaver?”

  She gave him a sweet smile. “Everything is just fine. I’m sure the pies you delivered are delicious, but we won’t need you to supply the diner after today.”

  His brows lifted. She noticed his jaw tighten, but he made a good show of being concerned rather than angry. She’d give him that. “No? Mind if I ask why?”

  “Now that John has married, there’s no need to have someone else bake for the diner. I’m quite capable of taking care of it.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. And to be honest, your pies are far too expensive,” she said. “You make quite a profit on them.”

  “Well ... it’s a lot of work ...”

  Miranda let out a short laugh. “I’ve been baking pies since I was a young girl. I know exactly how long it takes and how much work it takes. I suspect you’re charging the same amount from all your customers, which is far too much.”

  “And John agrees with you?”

  For a few moments, guilt filled her, but she squashed it down. “He does now that I’ve explained it to him. He had no choice before. He does now.”

  “I see.” He turned away and climbed into his wagon. Looking down at her, his face was flushed. “Then I’ll bid you good day.”

  Miranda watched him drive off. Now she had to tell John what she’d done.

  ***

  “You did what?” John slammed the lid on the soup pot on the stove and spun around to face Miranda. “Why in Heaven’s name would you do that?”

  Miranda’s face paled and she took a step back. Was she afraid of him? Sure, he was angry, but there was no reason for her to flinch as if he was about to strike her. He’d never hit a woman in his life and he never would. Still, if the tone of his voice scared her, he’d have to make sure he changed it.

  “I ... because he was overcharging you.”

  He wiped his hands on his apron and leaned back against the counter. “And what am I supposed to do now?”

  She gave him a tremulous smile and his anger fizzled out like a wet match. Why couldn’t he ever get angry with her?

  “I’ll bake the pies for you. You’ve tasted my pies. You told me they were better than the ones you served your customers here. Or was that just an empty compliment?”

  “No ... they are better ...” he said. It was true. Her pies far outdid the ones Hollis made.

  “And he was charging you far too much,” she went on. “I can make three times as many pies for the same cost.” She slid a glance around the kitchen. “Paper?”

  “In the drawer.”

  She hurried across the kitchen and found the paper, then plucked a pencil out of his shirt pocket. As he watched, she tallied up the cost and slid the paper across the table toward him.

  He looked down at her numbers and did a quick calculation of how much he’d paid Hollis every week since the diner opened. Hell, if these numbers were right, he would have been more than half way toward saving the money to expand the diner by now.

  “Still,” he said, his voice softening, “you don’t have time—”

  She crossed to stand close to him and put her hand on his forearm. “John, the girls will be going to school soon. I want to do this. I want to help you. This is one way I can.”

  He gazed down at her, breathing in her lavender scent, his gaze on the tiny freckles on her nose. How had he gotten so lucky? Not only was she pretty, she was kind and sweet and had accepted the girls like her own. And she was obviously a businesswoman, too.

  And even more than any of that, he’d discovered he liked having her here working beside him.

  “If we’re going to have a real marriage, I need to be involved in everything that affects it. This diner isn’t just your livelihood now. It’s mine, too. I want to be involved. I want to help you to make it successful. You have to let me help you.”

  Nancy had never once wanted to have anything to do with the diner. She’d been quite content to take care of the house and the girls and leave everything else to him. As long as he provided for them, she was happy.

  He didn’t know quite how to deal with a woman who expected to be part of his business, but he had to admit it made him happy that she wanted to. Besides, one thing he’d learned since Miranda arrived was that he couldn’t refuse her anything. And it seemed like this wasn’t the time he was able to start.

  Chapter Ten

  A week later, Miranda, Ellie and Hope hurried down the street toward the diner. Ruth’s constant presence was taking its toll, and Miranda had realized the best way to deal with John’s aunt was to stay out of her way before she said something she might regret.

  Ruth was John’s family, and as such deserved her respect, but every day it was getting harder and harder to bite her tongue. So she’d done the only thing she could think of to do.

  Every morning, she’d hurried to help the girls to make their beds, and then she’d taken them out. Ruth wasn’t pleased, but Miranda had stood her ground. She and the girls had taken long walks down by the river where Miranda had taught them about the birds who lived in the trees and the wildflowers that grew on the banks. They’d picked wild berries in the woods at the edge of town, and Miranda had shown them how to tell the animals by their tracks in the dirt.

  And most days, they’d sat under the trees beside the river and Miranda had read to them.

  She’d noticed a change in the girls. Hope was more talkative now, and even though she’d likely always be quieter than Ellie, she was much happier than she’d been when Miranda arrived.

  Today, Miranda was going to teach them to bake apple pies at the diner. They were excited, and if she was being honest, she was excited to be able to spend the afternoon with John.

  “Well, if it isn’t my three favorite ladies,” John said when they opened the kitchen door and went inside after lunch. Hope and Ellie immediately scrambled into the two chairs at the table.

  Even though it was an off-hand comment, Miranda’s heartbeat tripled. If only she truly was one of his favorite ladies ...

  “I’d like to make the pies here today, if you don’t mind,” Miranda said, taking off her gloves and setting them on top of her reticule on the table.

  John’s brows lifted. “Really? Something wrong with the kitchen at home?”

  Yes, Miranda wanted to say, Ruth’s in it. Instead, she shook her head. “I thought it would be nice for us to work here with you. You have more room here, and I’d like to start teaching the girls how to bake.”

  “Then help yourself to whatever you need and I’ll try not to get in your way.”

&
nbsp; Miranda met his gaze. Her insides buzzed. “You’re never in my way,” she murmured.

  “When can we have pie?” Ellie asked, tugging at Miranda’s skirt.

  Miranda laughed. “We have to make the pastry first and put in the filling, and then they have to cook so the pastry turns golden brown.”

  “Then can we have pie?”

  “After it cools, we’ll have pie.”

  While Miranda prepared the pastry for the pies she’d promised to make for the diner, she also let the girls make their own pastry and roll it out. More pastry clung to the rolling pin than stayed on the floured surface, but the girls were having fun. She’d never heard them laugh so much, and it warmed her heart to think they were enjoying themselves the way little girls should.

  “Mine’s better than yours,” Ellie said to Hope as she picked up a wad of pastry off the table and pressed it against the edge of the tin pie plate. “See?”

  “No it isn’t,” Hope protested. “You got yours all messy. Mine isn’t.”

  “Yeah, but you got holes in yours.”

  “So?”

  “That’s enough!” Miranda stood back from the table and planted her hands on her hips. “Ellie, there’s no need to speak to Hope that way.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Miranda continued. “You and Hope are sisters, and you’re so lucky to have each other.”

  “Do you got a sister?” Ellie asked.

  A wave of grief washed over Miranda. Most of the time, she managed to tamp it down, and keeping herself busy with chores around the house helped. But there were times, especially when she woke before dawn and there was nothing but silence, when her sadness almost suffocated her.

  How should she answer Ellie’s question? She couldn’t quite bring herself to say she didn’t have a sister, almost as if Beth had never existed. Yet telling the girls about Beth’s death might be distressing for them.

  She slid a look in John’s direction, the slight arch of her brows asking the unspoken question. He nodded slightly.

  “I used to have a sister. She was the best sister I could have asked for.”

  Ellie’s brows wrinkled. “Where is she now?”