Free At Love's Bidding by Regina Jennings Page B

away from town.”
    Miranda didn’t have the first clue where to procure knickknacks for the table, but surely with the tireless Widow Sanders’ help she could at least have a vase of fresh flowers by sale day. If she could only move the ugly equipment out of the way.
    A large metal frame extended from beneath the floor and spanned the front of the table. She leaned on it and it gave a bit, sinking a few inches into the ground. When Betsy climbed the rungs of the pen, the beam shuddered beneath Miranda’s fingers. What a hazard. It was neither steady nor attractive. Short hooks descended from it on which were hung heavy metal disks—possibly an attempt to stabilize the structure and keep it from swaying so. Whatever could they have been thinking to leave this eyesore sprouting right before the focal point of the room?
    Betsy took a seat at the table and tossed the gavel from hand to hand, imitating a carnival performer.
    â€œDo you miss your family?” Miranda asked. To her surprise, the metal disks were easily removed from the hooks. She wouldhide them beneath the table. Once she found a drape to put over it, no one could see them there.
    â€œI do miss them, but they come to town right often. Especially my brother Josiah. He works here on sale day.”
    And they hadn’t had a sale day for quite some time.
    â€œBesides,” Betsy continued, “Ma says I can learn more city ways here than at home. Someday I’ll be a sophisticated lady like Abigail Calhoun.”
    City ways? Here in Pine Gap? Miranda couldn’t imagine how backward those in the hills must be.
    She’d successfully dismantled the discs and hooks from the beam. The steel beam itself was too heavy for her to lift. She considered pushing it out of the braces where it balanced, but a quick look below the table assured her that she didn’t want to have to pick it up off the dirty floor. Turning her attention to the table, she measured it with an eye used to determining the length of sideboards, bureaus, and the like. With a crisp nod she smiled at Betsy. “You’ll help me find some fabric, won’t you? By Monday I can have this table adorned more appropriately. Widow Sanders might even have a vase I could use for some fresh-cut flowers.”
    â€œYou think Wyatt is going to sit in a mess of flowers?”
    â€œJust wait until you see him dressed up. We’ll get that nasty beard shaved off and get him out of his old stinky clothes, and he’ll look as handsome . . . as . . . as . . .”
    Only one thing could make Betsy look so happy, and that would be if Wyatt had returned and was standing behind Miranda at that moment.
    â€œWhat did you do to my scale?”
    Thankful that he’d chosen to ignore her plans for him, she answered, “I don’t have it.” Besides the steel frame, the table was empty.
    He rushed around the arena pen with remarkable speed. “This.” He grabbed the metal frame with both hands. “You disassembled my scales.”
    Her eyes flickered over the beam, once balancing on the supports but now resting heavily on the struts. “I’ve never seen a scale that big.” Not really an excuse, but in such circumstances one should say something.
    â€œYou’ve never weighed five tons of cattle before, either.”
    Her face burned. The last thing she wanted was a lecture from this ruffian, but he was right . . . and she hated that she must admit it.
    â€œI’m sorry.” She fiddled with the silver charms on her bracelet. “I was trying to help.”
    He didn’t move. His fists were still on his hips and his legs were planted wide, but somehow she could sense the anger had gone. Instead, he was studying her, just like she might study a painting. But she was no masterpiece, and she didn’t appreciate the attention.
    â€œI’ll help you put it back together.” She squatted and