The Wrong Cowboy

After leaving the depot, he’d rented one of Skip Wyle’s freight wagons—had to after learning about the amount of luggage she had. From what he’d heard, it took up one entire hotel room. “The children’s things,” she’d called them—that’s what he’d been told.

This woman was pulling one over on Mick. That was clear. A part of Stafford didn’t mind that. It was time Mick learned a lesson, a hard one about women. All the warnings Stafford had supplied over the years sure hadn’t done anything.

The wagon had been sent to the hotel, along with a couple of men to load it, and though Stafford considered leaving his hair and beard as they were, since it clearly disgusted Miss Marie Hall, he couldn’t take it. His razor had snapped in two last month and he’d been itching—literally—to get a new one ever since, not to mention how his hair had grown so long it continuously whipped into his eyes.

Besides, men waiting for a haircut gossiped more than women sewing quilts, and that alone was enough to make Stafford head straight for the barber shop. By the time Mick arrived home—which would hopefully be soon because Stafford had sent a telegram to Austin, knowing his partner would make a stopover there—Stafford would know everything there was to know about Miss Marie Hall. He’d fill in the blanks for Mick—those that he instinctively knew she’d leave out—long before wedding bells rang.

Stafford just didn’t want to see Mick bamboozled. They might both get married some day, raise kids across the creek from each other, but neither of them would be conned into it. He wouldn’t because he was smart, had long ago learned what to watch out for, and Mick wouldn’t because they were best friends, and friends looked out for each other.

* * *

Stafford’s confidence was still riding high the next morning as he headed toward the hotel. He hadn’t learned a whole lot more about Miss Marie Hall, but what he had fit perfectly with what he already knew. He still doubted—as he had from the beginning—that Mick had ordered her. It was possible she’d somehow heard about a cowboy—well on his way to becoming a wealthy rancher—who spouted off about wanting a bride. The fact that Mick wasn’t around played into Stafford’s thoughts, as well. Without his partner to interfere, he’d be able to show her just what living on the plains meant. Men had to be tough, but women, they had to be hard, and that was the one thing Miss Marie Hall wasn’t. He could tell that by her hands. They were lily white.

There was a definite spring in his step as he made his way down the hotel corridor to knock on her door. Upon hearing movement, he shouted, “Burning daylight.”

All Marie saw was the back of a stranger turning the corner, heading for the hotel stairway, when she opened the door. She’d been awake for some time, assembling the essentials the children would need this morning and making sure they each had specific items in their satchels. The men who’d packed the wagon yesterday said they’d have to spend one night on the road, most likely in the wagon, before they arrived at Mick Wagner’s ranch, and she wanted to make sure the children wouldn’t be put out much by the travel. The train trip had taught her to pack books and toys, things to hold their attention. It was for her sake as much as theirs. She’d been frazzled by the time the train had arrived in Huron, and didn’t want to be that way upon meeting Mr. Wagner.

“Is it time to leave?” Beatrice asked.

“It’s time to get up,” Marie answered, glancing toward the child sitting in the middle of the bed. Peeking back into the hall, though she knew it was empty, Marie frowned. The voice had made her skin shiver, and she’d thought it was Mr. Burleson, yet it must not have been. At least, the man turning the corner hadn’t been him—far too well groomed. Which was just as well, she’d see enough of Mr. Burleson for the next day or two, and not telling him he needed a shave and haircut was going to be difficult.

He’d occupied her thoughts since meeting him yesterday. For the first time since embracing her plan, an unnerving dread had settled in her stomach and remained there. She’d imagined Mick Wagner would be like his cousin. Refined, with a kind and gentle nature. Someone who would see the children’s welfare as the priority. That’s how Emma Lou and her husband, John, had been. If Mr. Wagner was anything like his partner, he wouldn’t have any of those qualities. Mr. Burleson surely didn’t. The only time he’d looked remotely pleasant was when he’d winked at Weston. Thank goodness there would be others traveling with them today. Being alone with Mr. Burleson...

She gulped and slammed two doors shut, the one to the room and the one allowing crazy thoughts into her mind.

Beatrice and Charlotte chatted excitedly about the adventure of riding in a covered wagon, and Marie feigned enthusiasm, to keep them from worrying. That was part of her job. Children should never worry about being safe, or going hungry, or any of the frightening things she’d encountered growing up.

In no time, the girls and all four boys, who’d been staying in the adjoining room, were dressed and ready for breakfast. After checking under the beds one final time to ensure nothing would be left behind, Marie led her charges out the door.

In the dining room she settled everyone upon the chairs at their customary table and caught her breath before taking her own seat. That’s when she noticed the man watching her. Her cheeks grew warm from his stare, and she quickly averted her eyes. A good nursemaid never noticed men, no matter how handsome, and she was the best.

His ongoing stare gave her the jitters, and Marie did her best to ignore the stare and her fluttering stomach. Meals were ordered for the children, along with toast and tea for herself, which she would once again pay for separately. She’d never be indebted to anyone ever again, including Mr. Wagner. Her meager savings were dwindling quickly, but hopefully Mr. Wagner would see her worth and hire her. She’d be able to replenish her monies then. Right now, the children’s future was her priority and worth every cent she spent. They were also what gave her the courage to stand up to the men at the bank, the railroad, even the hotel and everyone else they’d encountered during this journey.

With appetites that were never ending, the children cleaned their plates, even Charlotte, who was a finicky eater. Marie was savoring her last sip of tea when a shadow fell upon the table. It was the man. She knew that without looking up, and fought the urge to do so, hoping he’d move away. He was a stranger, not one of the locals they’d come to know the past week.

“You should have eaten more than that,” he said. “It’ll be a long time until we eat again.”

The voice sent a tremor down her spine, and Marie couldn’t stop her head from snapping up. It couldn’t possibly be Mr. Burleson, yet the vest, the hat, the gun belt...

One brow was raised when her eyes finally found their way all the way up to his face, which was clean shaven. His features were crisp now, defined, including an indent in the center of his chin, and his eyes seemed no longer gray but faded blue and almost twinkling. That’s when Marie saw his smile. It slanted across his face in a cocky, self-assured way that was extremely vexing. Not exactly sure she could, or should, speak at this moment—for something deep in her stomach said he wouldn’t be as easy to deal with as the other men she’d encountered—she pinched her lips together.

“You said it was bath night,” Stafford Burleson stated, as he practically pulled the chair out from beneath her.

Chapter Two

The tension inside her was not a good sign, especially when Marie knew it had very little to do with the children or the wagon or even the bumpy ride. It was him. Stafford Burleson was the reason. Not just his good looks. Her efforts to ignore him weren’t working. Who would ever have known that under all that hair...

She shook her head, tried again not to think about his looks. If only her friend Sarah were here now, she’d have some thoughts on what to do about that. And other things.

Sarah was the Hawkins family’s nursemaid. They’d lived down the road from the Meekers and the two of them often took the children to the park together. Sarah had said the Hawkinses had made inquires about eventually adopting the twins—Charles and Weston—having only girls themselves. Knowing how Marie felt, Sarah had helped formulate this mission—taking the children to meet the guardian named in their mother’s will.

Sarah had known a woman who’d gone west as a mail-order bride, said the man who’d ordered her promised the railroad he’d pay for her fare at the other end, and insisted Marie could do the same thing. Uncomfortable expecting Mick Wagner to pay for her fare, Marie had sold the jewelry the Meekers had given her for Christmas—it wasn’t like she’d ever have the occasion to wear such things, anyway. The children’s fares were a different issue. Therefore, she’d used the mail-order bride ruse, and was thankful it had worked as well as it had.

Sarah said Mick Wagner would probably be glad to hire her as the children’s nursemaid, which is exactly what Marie hoped. She couldn’t imagine being separated from the children. However, she wished she’d asked Sarah a few more questions. Her friend had a much broader understanding of men, and often spoke of the day she’d be married with her own children to raise. She’d declared that marrying Mick Wagner would be a good choice, if he was so inclined, because Marie would never have to worry about finding another job. She didn’t want another job, but every time she glanced at the man beside her, the idea of marriage made her insides tremble.

She closed her eyes and fought against another tremor. If Mick Wagner was anything like the brute sitting beside her, he could very well demand things. Things she couldn’t even fathom. Holding her breath, Marie pressed a hand to her stomach. Surely a man with six children to raise wouldn’t insist on embarking upon behavior that might produce another one? Miss Wentworth’s lesson on copulation had been extremely embarrassing to sit through, and the lesson on childbirth downright dreadful.

“Marie.”

The whisper in her ear had her turning around, purposely not glancing toward Stafford Burleson beside her on the front seat of the wagon. The bouncy ride made the train journey they’d experienced seem comfortable in comparison, and the hot sun blazing down on them was relentless.

“Yes, Weston,” she replied to the child standing behind the seat, protected from the sun by a billowing canvas. “What do you need, dear?”

The child whispered in her ear.

“Very well.” Still without glancing his way, she said, “Mr. Burleson, we need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

Marie played with the bow at her chin that kept her bonnet from fluttering off with the wind, willing herself to maintain the nursemaid calm she’d perfected. The man’s tone was laced with impatience—as it had been all morning—which grated on her nerves. Patience was the number one trait a person working with children needed to maintain, and he was souring hers. “Weston needs to take care of something,” she stated.

“What?” Stafford Burleson asked, as he flapped the reins over the horses’ backs, keeping them at a steady pace.

“I’m sure I don’t need to explain what he needs to take care of,” Marie said, nose forward. “At least, I shouldn’t have to.”

A low growl rumbled before he said, “Didn’t you tell them to do that before we left town?”

Biting her tongue would not help, even if she had a mind not to speak. “Of course I did,” she declared, “but small children have small bladders.”

“Not that small,” he exclaimed. “I can still see Huron behind us.”

She couldn’t help but glance around and gaze through the front and back openings of the canopy covering the wagon. The dark cluster on the horizon ignited yet another bout of tremors. She and the children were now completely at the mercy of this insufferable man, with nothing more than prayers for protection. Refusing to panic, she said, “In country this flat, I’m sure a person can see for ten miles or more.”

“We haven’t gone ten miles,” Mr. Burleson insisted. “We’ve barely gone two.”

“That, Mr. Burleson,” she said, “makes no difference. Weston needs to relieve himself and you will stop this wagon immediately.”

The snarl that formed on his face was frightening, but it also snapped her last nerve in two. He was the most insufferable man she’d ever encountered. If it had been just her, she might have cowered at his bullying, but she was the only protection the children had. She would not see them harmed, and that gave her the courage, or perhaps the determination, to return his stare with one just as formidable.

Marie was sure he cursed under his breath, but since he also pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake, she ignored it—this once—and turned around.

Climbing out of the high wagon was like climbing down a tree. Instead of branches there were steps and wagon spokes to navigate—an extremely difficult task with her skirt flapping in the wind. The alternative, having Mr. Burleson assist her as he’d tried to in town, was out of the question, so Marie managed just fine, apart from a stumble or two.

She kept her chin up, suspecting the foul man was now chuckling under his breath, and marched toward the back of the wagon where she lifted Weston to the ground.

“Go behind that bush,” she instructed, gesturing toward a scattering of shrubs a short distance away.

Weston scurried away and Marie glanced toward the wagon, prepared to ask if any of the other children needed to relieve themselves.

“If anyone else has to go, do it now,” a male voice demanded harshly.

Spinning about, she eyed him. “I was about to suggest that, Mr. Burleson.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Were you?”

“Yes, I was.” Arguing in front of the children should be avoided at all measures, so she took a deep breath and turned, poking her head over the end gate. “Does anyone else need to join Weston?”

Five little heads, those she’d protect with her life, gestured negatively. The quivering of Charlie’s bottom lip had Marie’s ire flaming. Whirling round, she grabbed one solid arm and dragged Mr. Burleson a few feet away from the wagon. “I will not have you intimidating these children.”

“You will not—”

“That’s right,” she interrupted. “I will not permit you to speak to them so. There is no need for you to use that tone of voice around them. They are small children and—”

“Where the hell did you come from lady?” Stafford interrupted. One minute she was shaking like a rabbit and the next she was snapping like a cornered she-wolf— demanding things. Their luggage took up one entire freight wagon, leaving him no choice but to buy a second one this morning that included some kind of covering to keep the children out of the sun. It was now well past noon, and at the rate they were traveling it would take three days to get home. If he was lucky.

“There’s no reason to curse. You know perfectly well the children and I are from Chicago,” she said, pert little nose stuck skyward again.

Stafford shook his head. Didn’t anyone know a rhetorical question when they heard one?

“Get that kid in the wagon,” he barked, walking toward the team. Mick was going to owe him so much he might as well sign over his half of the ranch the moment he rode in. Dealing with Miss Marie Hall and her brood was costing more than money. Stafford’s sanity was at stake.

August was the hottest month of the year, and here he was traipsing across the countryside with a wagonload of kids and the haughtiest woman he’d ever met.

If he’d been thinking, he’d have hired another man to drive this rig and ridden Stamper, his horse, back to the ranch.

The wagon seat listed as Marie climbed up the side of the rig with about as much grace as a chicken trying to fly. So be it. He’d offered his assistance once—back in town—and wouldn’t do that again. He’d never been a slow learner.

Eventually, she got herself hoisted up and Stafford had to clench his hands into fists to keep from setting the team moving before she got herself situated on the seat. He’d have gotten a chuckle out of watching her flail about, but he wasn’t in a chuckling mood.

“We may proceed now, Mr. Burleson.”

“You don’t say,” he drawled, simply because he had to say something. Her uppity attitude had him wanting to show her just who was in charge.

Him.

Stafford snapped the reins and let the horses set a steady pace forward. The trail was relatively smooth and driving the rig didn’t take much concentration or effort. Anyone could do it.

“You know how to drive a team?” he asked.

She didn’t glance his way, just kept her snooty little face forward. “Of course not. I am a nursemaid, not a teamster.”

It had probably been a bad idea anyway. He just wanted to be anywhere but here right now. She was like every other woman he’d ever known, with a way of making a man feel obligated to be at her beck and call. He’d given up on that years ago and didn’t want to go back.

“A nursemaid?” he asked, when his mind shifted. “I thought you were a mail-order bride.”

Her sigh held weight. “A person can be two things at once.”

“That they can,” he agreed. Snooty and persnickety.

A cold glare from those brown eyes settled on him, telling him she knew he was thinking unkind thoughts about her, and he couldn’t help but grin. Let her know she was right. He even added a little wink for good measure.

Huffing, she snapped her gaze forward again.

Darn close to laughing, Stafford asked, “So how’d you and Mick meet?” The ranch was still a long way off and he might as well use the time to gather a bit more information. If she and Mick had corresponded, and if she had sent Mick a picture of herself, Mick would have waved it like a flag. Therefore, Stafford was convinced there had been no picture sharing. He also knew he’d need all the ammunition he could get once Mick saw her. Even as testy as a cornered cat, Marie Hall was a looker. Her profile reminded him of a charcoal silhouette, drawn, framed and hung on a wall to entice onlookers to imagine who the mysterious woman might be.

Not that he was enticed. He knew enough not to be drawn in by the graceful arch of her chin or how her lashes looked an inch long as she stared straight ahead.

After another weighty sigh, she said, “Mr. Wagner and I have not officially met, yet.”

“Lucky man,” Stafford mumbled, trying to override the direction his thoughts wanted to go.

An owl couldn’t snap its neck as fast as she could, and he was saved from whatever she’d been going to say when one of the kids—he couldn’t tell them apart for other than a few inches in height they all looked alike—poked their head through the canvas opening and whispered something in her ear.

Stafford’s nerves ground together like millstones at the way her voice softened. When she spoke to those children honey practically poured out of her mouth. When it came to him, her tone was as sharp as needles. He couldn’t help but imagine it would be the same for Mick. The poor fool. What had he been thinking?

An hour later, Stafford had flipped that question around on himself. What had he been thinking? Though he wasn’t an overly religious man, he found himself staring skyward and pleading. Save me. For the love of God, save me.

Traveling with six kids was maddening. They flapped around more than chickens in a crate and argued nonstop, not to mention he’d had to halt the wagon again, twice, for people to relieve their “small bladders.” No wonder. She passed the canteen between those kids on a steady basis. Insisting they drink in this heat.

He’d had enough. That was all there was to it. Enough. Even before discovering the dog—which looked more like a rat—the kids had been hiding in the back of the wagon. It had been clear Marie hadn’t known the older boys had smuggled it aboard, not until it, too, had to relieve itself. A dog that size wasn’t good for anything except getting stepped on, and from the looks of its round belly and swollen teats, there’d soon be a few more of them running around. Marie had been surprised about that, too. When he’d pointed it out, her cheeks had turned crimson.

Before she began loading the children and the dog back into the wagon, Stafford leaned through the front opening of the canvas, gathered up both canteens and stashed them beneath the seat.

They’d be putting on some miles before anyone got another drink. He wasn’t being mean, wouldn’t let anyone die of thirst, he was just putting his foot down.

It was a good ten minutes before everyone was settled in the back of the wagon and she’d once again stationed her bottom on the seat beside him. Stafford didn’t bother waiting for her signal, just gave out a low whoop that sent the horses forward.

A short time later, when the little guy with the lisp said he was hungry, Stafford merely shook his head.

She on the other hand, said consolingly, “I’m sure we’ll stop for lunch soon, Weston.” Flipping her tone sour as fast as a cook turns flapjacks on a grill, she added, “Won’t we, Mr. Burleson?”

“Nope,” Stafford answered.

“Yes, we will,” she insisted. “Children have small stomachs, and—”

“And Jackson is probably a good five miles ahead of us.” Pointing out the obvious, in case she’d forgotten, he added, “He has all the food with him. You were the one who said it wouldn’t fit in this wagon.”

Marie had to press a hand to her lips to contain her gasp. The wagon bed was so small, barely enough room for each child to sit comfortably, she’d had to insist all other items be placed in the larger freight wagon. Surly even someone as vile as Mr. Burleson could understand that. Though the freight wagon, once a dot on the horizon, was gone.

“Why did you let him get so far ahead of us?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” Mr. Burleson answered with a clipped tone. “You did.” He gave an indifferent nod over one shoulder. “Small bladders.”

Pinching her lips together didn’t help much. Neither did searching her brain full of nursemaid training. None of it had prepared her for this. Her education focused on what to do inside the home of her charges. Improvise. She had to find something to take the child’s mind off his hunger, and then she’d be able to work out what to do about it. Turning she reached for one of the canteens. “Have some water for now, dear.”

Neither container was where she’d left it. “Who has the canteens?” she asked, looking mainly at Terrance. Though she tried not to single him out, he was usually the culprit.

The boy shook his head. “I don’t have them.”

“I do.”

A nerve ticked in her jaw as she turned to look at Mr. Burleson. “Why?”

“Because I’ll say who can have a drink, and when.”

“The children—”

“Won’t starve or die of thirst before we catch up with Jackson.”

That would not do. “Mr. Burleson—”

Despite the heat of the sun, his cold stare had her vocal chords freezing up.

“No one is getting a drink of water, Miss Hall,” he growled. “And we aren’t stopping until I say.” He twisted his neck a bit more, glancing into the wagon bed. “You kids pull out some of those books she made you pack and start reading.”

Six sets of startled eyes—for the children had never been spoken to with such harshness—instantly turned to their bags. In a matter of seconds, they were all reading. Or, at least, holding books in their hands with their heads hung over the pages.

She shouldn’t feel this thankful to see them all sitting quietly, but in truth they hadn’t sat still for more than five minutes since leaving town. If someone hadn’t been complaining they didn’t have enough room, someone else was hot, or thirsty, or had to go. Yet she was their nursemaid, not Stafford Burleson, and he had no right to speak to them so.

Under her breath, so the children wouldn’t hear, Marie started, “Mr. Burleson, I cannot have—”