Free Teresa Bodwell by Loving Miranda Page A

Lansing.” Mercy held his gaze, her chin raised in challenge. Lansing turned to Thad.
    “My wife has spent a good deal of time in Arthur Lansing’s books. What we could salvage from the fire and what we could ascertain from his banker. We’ve been able to pay every creditor who has come to us—”
    “I can show you the journal I made to keep track of it all. There were many debts,” Mercy added.
    “We have struggled this past year to keep the ranch running,” Thad continued. “Our men have had to run both herds together; there was no money to keep his cattle separate—”
    “Ah, ha!” Lansing jumped to his feet. “You’ve been profiting from my brother’s estate without regard to my nephew’s inheritance!”
    Thad stood more slowly, raising his hands as though trying to push down Ben’s fury. “Please, sit yourself down, Mr. Lansing.” His deep voice was soothing. “If we can’t discuss this in a civilized manner . . .”
    Lansing dropped back into the chair, his hands resting on the table.
    “The coffee is ready,” Miranda announced, hoping to break the tension.
    Mercy rose to fetch the cups.
    “Mama! Mama!” Jonathan’s voice carried across the yard. Mercy opened the door as the little boy arrived, panting from the exertion of his run.
    “What is it?” Mercy squatted in front of the boy.
    “It’s Grandpa!” Jonathan said between heaving breaths. “I think he’s dead.”

Chapter 6
    Ben stood back as Thad raced out the door, followed by Miranda. Mercy lagged behind with Jonathan. She kept one arm around the child and waved at her sister and husband to go on without them. Ben felt rather helpless as he watched Mercy sit on one of a pair of rocking chairs on the porch. She pulled the crying child onto her lap, brushed the hair back from his face, wiped an errant tear from his cheek, then gasped.
    “Good Lord,” Ben said as he saw the blood. “What happened?” he asked as Mercy wrapped the boy’s hand in her apron, stood, and pulled him into the kitchen.
    “It’s just a cut finger,” she said.
    Ben followed them inside. “How bad is it?” he asked, unable to keep the edge of fear out of his voice. “What do you mean, just a finger?”
    The boy sniffed, staring up at Ben. “Grandpa was showing me . . .” He sniffled. “He was showing me how to use the plane. Then it slipped and the plane cut me, and Grandpa fell.”
    While Mercy washed and dressed the finger, Benjamin bent for a closer look. He swallowed. With so much blood, he’d imagined a severed finger hanging from the boy’s hand. The wound was not bad at all, now that it was cleaned and Mercy had the bleeding under control.
    “Don’t you worry.” Mercy looked into Jonathan’s face. “We’ll wrap it tight and it will be better soon.”
    “Unless it gets infected.” Ben had not intended to speak the words aloud.
    Mercy stared at him. “Sit down, Mr. Lansing!” She growled through clenched teeth, then turned back to Jonathan, her voice once again soft and melodic. “It will be fine, Jonathan.”
    “It hurts,” he said through his sobs.
    “I know it does, sweetheart. You’re a very brave boy.” She wrapped the finger, and then kissed the wrapping. “I want you to stay quiet in my room for a while. Will you do that for me?”
    Before the boy could respond, she had lifted him up to her shoulder. When she stood, Benjamin was struck for the first time by how tall she was, very nearly as tall as he was. Jonathan seemed tiny and fragile in her arms.
    “What about Grandpa?”
    Grandpa. The boy had used the term before, but Ben hadn’t grasped the importance. Only now he wondered what his father would think of his descendent, growing up here in this wilderness. Forgetting his heritage.
    Mercy looked out the open door toward the workshop. There was still no sign of Miranda or Thad.
    “I’m going out to check on Grandpa. I’ll come right back and tell you what I find out. All right?”
    “I want to