Читать книгу The Wrong Cowboy - Lauri Robinson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеStafford told himself a hundred times over that he shouldn’t get pleasure out of someone else’s fear, but he just couldn’t help it. When he’d said she’d be living with him, it had scared her into next week, but he was enjoying how it had knocked some of the haughtiness out of her.
She was still uppity, and continued to use that insufferable tone with him—when she had to speak to him—but she was wary. That’s the part he liked. She needed to be wary. Very. A nursemaid hauling someone else’s kids across the country as a mail-order bride? What kind of tale was that? There was more to it. The way she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she talked said that. If he didn’t know better, he’d wonder if she’d kidnapped those kids. She’d left too clear a trail, though. Anyone could have followed her, if that was the case.
He had a lot to learn, and with all that was going on, Stafford was discovering one thing about himself. Flipping the cards, so to speak, on a woman, was rather exciting. That opportunity had never come up in his life before now. Being raised in a family of seven children with only one brother had given him plenty of experience with women. He’d been born in the middle of five sisters. His brother, Sterling, was the oldest, and had already been working alongside their father by the time Stafford had come along. That meant he’d been told what to do and when to do it by women since the day he was born. Not to mention Francine Weatherford. She, too, had thought a man was little more than a dog that needed to be trained. He’d grown and changed a lot since leaving Mississippi ten years ago, on his eighteenth birthday, shortly after Francine broke their engagement and announced she was marrying Sterling.
Out of duty, and at his mother’s insistence, he’d stuck around for the wedding, and he’d even been back a half dozen times over the years to check in on everyone, but there wasn’t a day that went by when he wasn’t thankful he’d made his escape when he had. Sterling had a load of kids now, too, almost as many as their parents’ house had held. And Francine, well, last time he’d seen her, she hadn’t been nearly as pretty as she’d looked to him all those years ago.
A ferocious round of barking had Stafford lifting his head from where he was harnessing the team. The little dog, dubbed Polly by one of the kids, was kicking up a dirt storm near a thick patch of bushes several yards away. Stafford made a quick head count. All six kids were piling things in the back of the wagon as Marie had instructed. It was she, he noted, who was missing from the campsite. He’d quit thinking of her as Miss Hall sometime yesterday. Using her given name seemed to irritate her, and he liked that, too.
“Jackson,” he shouted toward the teamster readying the freight wagon. “You know where Marie is?”
The man, a big blond Swede with a voice that came from his ankles, shook his head. “Nope.”
They’d caught up with the freight wagon before sunset the night before, where Jackson had chosen a good spot to call it a day and had a pot of rabbit stew ready to be devoured by six hungry children. Never unprepared, Stafford had had a bag of jerky and apples they’d all consumed as they’d traveled, but still, once they’d hit camp, those kids had all but licked their plates clean. Actually, the two little ones had licked their plates. Marie had scolded them while he and Jackson shared a grin. They weren’t so bad—those kids—once they’d figured out that they couldn’t run roughshod over him the way they did over Marie.
Polly was still going wild, and Stafford settled a harness over one horse’s neck. “Finish this up, will you?” he asked Jackson, already moving toward the dog. If the crazy thing had a skunk cornered they’d all pay for it.
Stafford was almost to the edge of the thick bush when a noise caught his attention above the barking. It was faint, and subtle, but the kind of sound that a man never forgets once he hears it. Drawing his gun, Stafford scanned the ground cautiously, meticulously. Rattlers were shady and had the ability to blend in to their surroundings like no other creature.
“Get out of here, Polly,” he hissed, kicking dirt to scare the dog aside. It didn’t help. She started barking faster, louder. A movement near the roots of the bush proved it was a snake, shaking the buttons on its tail. The head was hidden and Stafford eased his way around the bush. He saw it then, arched up and drawn back, ready to strike.
Stafford fired.
The bullet hit its mark. The snake flew backward into the bush. At the same time, a scream sounded and Stafford saw little more than a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He took a step, rounded the bush fully and stopped.
Hands over her ears, flat on her stomach with her skirts up around her waist and her bloomers around her ankles, lay Marie. It had to be her. She was the only woman for miles around, and that was about the cutest bare bottom he’d ever seen. So lily white, round and somewhat plump, he had a heck of a time pulling his eyes off it.
Screeching and thuds said the children were approaching so he holstered his gun and bent down, taking her arms to haul her to her feet. “Come on.”
Wrestling against his hold, she demanded, “Why were you shooting at me?”
He grasped her more firmly and twisted her about. “I wasn’t shooting at you. Now pull up your bloomers before the kids see you.”
Her eyes grew as round as dish plates and her face turned redder than last night’s sunset. “Ooh!” She threw into a fit. Mouth sputtering and arms flaying so out of control she couldn’t stand.
He hoisted her to her feet. “Pull up your bloomers,” he repeated and then spun around, blocking her from view of the children racing around the bush.
“What did you shoot?” asked Terrance, the oldest and first to arrive.
“A rattler,” Stafford answered, pointing toward the bush. “Stand back, I gotta make sure it’s dead. Keep your brothers and sisters back, too.”
Terrance held out his arms, stopping the others from coming any closer as they arrived, and Stafford spun back around to check on Marie. The expression on her face was pure mortification. Could be the gunshot or the snake, but he was putting his money on the fact he’d caught her with her bloomers down, and it took all he had not to chuckle. “You all right?” he asked, tongue in cheek.
She nodded.
He picked up a stick and used it to poke at the snake before hooking it. Dead, it hung limply over the stick, and a tiny quiver inched up his spine as he pulled it clear of the foliage. It was a good-size rattler. Pushing four feet or more.
“I thought you said you shot a rabbit,” Terrance said. “That’s not a rabbit, it’s a snake.”
“It’s a rattlesnake,” Stafford explained. “They’re called rattlers because of the sound they make.”
The children oohed and aahed but it was the shuddering “Oh,” coming from behind him that had him twisting around. Marie’s face had about as much color as a cloud, and she appeared to be drooping before his eyes.
Stafford dropped the snake and caught her elbow. She slouched, but didn’t go all the way down. “Here,” he said, “sit down.”
She half nodded and half shook her head at the same time. “No, I’m all right. I don’t need to sit down.” The hold she had on his arm tightened. “Just give me a second to catch my breath.”
An odd sensation ticked inside him. She had guts, he had to give her that. Plenty of women, men, too, might have fainted dead away to see the size of the snake that had almost sunk its fangs into her backside.
“She didn’t get bit, did she?” Jackson asked, squeezing between the bush and the children to pick up the stick holding the snake.
Stafford waited for her to answer. Rattlers usually only bit once, because as soon as they sank their fangs in they held on and started pumping venom.
“No,” she said weakly. “I wasn’t bitten.”
“Good thing,” Jackson answered. “A rattler’s bite can be deadly.”
Her hold increased and Stafford experienced a bout of frustration at the Swede for being so insensitive. Not that he’d been overly sensitive to her during the trip, but that was different. At least, in his mind it was.
“Gotta lance open the wound,” the Swede went on. “Bleed out the poison as soon as possible and the person still might not make it.”
For a split second Stafford’s mind saw her backside again, and he cringed inwardly at how much damage that snake could have done.
“Whatcha gonna do with that?” Terrance asked, nodding toward the snake.
“Well, we could have snake stew for supper,” Jackson answered.
Marie made a quiet wheezing sound as she drew in air. She also straightened her stance and didn’t lean so hard against him. Stafford watched her closely as she shook her head. It was almost as if he could see her gumption returning.
“We will not be eating that,” she said sternly. “Not in a stew or any other way you might consider preparing it.”
Jackson nodded. “Most folks don’t take to eating them very well. I’ll get rid of it.” The man laid the snake on the ground and pulled a knife from his boot. “Just gonna cut off the rattles.”
“Why?” Terrance asked.
“’Cause that’s what you do,” Jackson said. “Look here.” He waved for the children to step closer. “Each one of these buttons, that’s what they’re called on his tail, was formed when it shed its skin. By counting the buttons, you can guess how old the snake might be.”
The children had gathered close, even the girls, and Stafford took a couple of steps backward, taking Marie with him. “You doing all right now?”
Her gumption may have returned, but there was something else about her that caught him off guard. She looked all soft and feminine, especially her big doe eyes.
“Yes, thank you,” she said softly.
“Thank your little dog, there,” he said roughly, not too willing to accept her gratitude. “If she hadn’t started barking, you may have gotten bit.”
Her cheeks turned bright pink. “I threw a pebble at her, trying to hush her up.”
“That couldn’t have been what riled up the snake,” he said, setting her arm loose and stepping away. “They usually skedaddle when it comes to things bigger than them.”
Another shudder of sorts was creeping its way up his spine. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he sensed it had something to do with standing this close to Marie, touching her, whispering. Those were not things he did.
“Well, thank you, and Polly, for coming to my rescue,” she said.
“There was no rescuing involved,” he clarified.
She was wringing her hands and cringing slightly, her face still flushed. He knew why a moment later.
“Mr. Burleson, about...about the position—”
Now that he could laugh at. “No one will ever know I saw your bare bottom, Marie.”
The exact look of mortification he’d seen on her face earlier reappeared. Too bad he hadn’t bet on the cause of it—he’d have won. At that moment, he chose to take it one step further. “That is, if you call me Stafford. I’d say the formality of Mr. Burleson would just be a waste now. Considering what I saw and all.”
Her hiss, along with the snap in those brown eyes told him she was back one hundred percent, and that was a good thing. So much so, he laughed, tipped his hat, and with a wink, turned around. “We’re wasting daylight,” he shouted, once again feeling a genuine skip in his step.
She caught up with him before he made it to the team. “Mr. Burleson—”
One look had her pinching her lips together.
“Stafford.”
He nodded. It really didn’t mean that much, other than that he’d won, and he liked being a winner.
Some of the steam left her as she bowed her head slightly. “I appreciate your discretion,” she huffed and then turned. “Children!”
He laughed, not caring that she heard and cast a very unfavorable look his way.
It didn’t take long before they were loaded up and heading west again. Marie was on the seat beside him again today, and that played a bit of havoc with Stafford’s insides. It hadn’t yesterday and there was no reason for it to this morning, but it did, and try as he might, ignoring it was impossible. Just as it was impossible to ignore how, every so often, his mind flashed back to the image of the lily-white flesh she was now sitting on. That was bound to affect a man. Any man.
“Mr. Burleson?”
“Yes, Samuel?” he answered, thankful he now knew the children’s names. The younger two, Charles and Weston, looked exactly alike and it wasn’t until they spoke that he knew who was who. Weston had the lisp, Charlie didn’t. Weston talked more than Charlie did, too. Probably because Charlie was always chewing on the collar of his shirt. It was pretty amazing how much he’d discovered about these kids in such a short time.
“You’re really a cowboy aren’t you?” Samuel asked.
“Well, I expect I am,” Stafford answered. He hadn’t thought of it much, but had to admit he liked who he was, now. A cowboy was as fitting a word as any, and it beat the heck out of being a cotton farmer. Not that he’d ever have been one of those. Sterling had inherited his father’s farm. That’s how it was with the oldest. The second son had to forge out on his own, make his own way in life. Which fit him just fine.
“Can I call you Stafford?” Samuel asked. “It sounds a lot more like a cowboy than Mr. Burleson, don’t you think?”
Marie opened her mouth, but he shook his head and grinned. Giving the boy a nod, he agreed. “Sure, you can call me Stafford.”
“Are there a lot of rattlers in these parts, Stafford?” the child then asked.
Aw, the real question. “Enough,” he answered, noting how Marie was staring at him. Making light of the truth might ease her anxiety, but it wouldn’t do any of them any good. “Rattlesnakes don’t like humans and tend to shy away, but if you startle one, or corner him, he’ll strike. There’s no doubt about that.”
“If you shoot another one, can I have the buttons off it?” Samuel asked.
Jackson had given the rattle he’d cut off to Terrance, who’d spent the last half hour making sure everyone in the wagon didn’t jostle about and break his new treasure.
“Yes,” Stafford answered, figuring that was fair. Then, just to encourage Terrance to share his bounty, he said, “Let me see that rattle.”
The oldest boy shouldered into the opening beside his brother. “Jackson says it’s fragile. That means it’ll break easy.”
“That’s what it means, all right,” Stafford said as he held the reins toward Marie. “Hold these.”
* * *
Still humiliated, Marie shook her head. Never, ever, had she been so embarrassed in her life. It would help if Stafford—as she was now forced to call him—didn’t find such humor in it all. He’d been grinning ever since he’d shot that snake. Every time she glanced his way, she could tell he was remembering what he’d seen, almost as if he’d pressed the image in a book the way one would a flower, to take it out and look at it every so often.
“If you’re going to live out here, Marie,” he said, thrusting the reins toward her, “you’ll need to learn to drive a wagon. Now take the reins. I’m right here, nothing’s going to happen.”
It would help, too, if he wasn’t so, well, right, and so bull-headed about everything. And if he hadn’t come to her rescue as he had. Swallowing a growl, she took the reins.
“That’s it,” he said. “Just hold them loosely. You don’t have to do anything. The horses know to follow the road.”
If she hadn’t just been found with her bottom as bare as an infant’s, she might have been nervous to drive a wagon of this size—of any size—but right now she wasn’t going to give Stafford anything else to laugh about. Consequently, she did as instructed, telling herself she could drive a wagon twice this size, and snuck a peek as he took the snake’s tail from Terrance.
“There’s twelve buttons,” Terrance said.
“I see that,” Stafford answered.
“Does that mean that snake was twelve years old?” Samuel asked.
“No,” Stafford answered.
Marie couldn’t help but relax a bit and appreciate how comfortable the children had become around Stafford. Yesterday, she’d feared the opposite, that he might have terrorized them. It appeared the children simply understood he wouldn’t tolerate misbehaving, and therefore they’d conducted themselves remarkably well ever since. In some ways she’d grown more comfortable around him, too, before the snake.
Actually, he’d probably saved her life this morning. Something she did need to be grateful for. Men had always made her nervous. Before this trip west, she’d never had to deal with them, and still wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. Stafford was different, though. He was certainly stubborn and demanding, but, especially when it came to the children, she saw a softer side to him. One she couldn’t help but wonder about. Even admire—just the tiniest bit.
“These rattles are about as breakable as our fingernails,” he was telling the children, “and you know how easy it is to break one of them.” He shifted and held the snake’s tail in front of the boys. “See this bottom button? It’s called the nub. One that’s never been broken is smooth and round, but this one, see how it’s kind of pointed and split?”
When the boys nodded, he continued, “That means this rattle’s been broken.”
“So it was older than twelve?” Terrance asked, clearly enthralled.
Marie could no longer hold back her smile. Teaching was an integral part of being a nursemaid, and whether Stafford knew it or not, he was providing the boys a lesson in animal science.
“No. There’s no real way of guessing how old that snake was. Depending on the climate, how much it’s eaten and how much it’s grown, a snake sheds its skin several times a year. The only thing that’s for sure is the more buttons, the bigger the snake.”
Stafford glanced her way. He was smiling and lifted a brow as he asked, “Do you know what that means?”
Marie refrained from asking what, knowing the boys would, and they did.
“The bigger the snake, the farther away you want to stay,” Stafford answered his own question.
The humor in his eyes tickled her insides, making her want to giggle, but she held it in. Terrance and Samuel, though, laughed aloud. Stafford reached below the seat then, and pulled out a box. He lifted the lid and, after searching a bit, closed it and pushed the box back under the seat. Handing a piece of cloth to Terrance, he said, “Here. This is just a rag for greasing the wagon hubs, but it’ll work. When you’re done admiring your rattle, tie it up in this and then tie the rag to a brace bar holding up the canvas. That way you won’t have to worry about your brothers and sisters breaking it.”
“Thanks, Stafford, I will.” Terrance said, taking both the rattle and the rag.
The boys sat down, still guessing the age of the snake and Marie, a bit tongue-tied at the moment over how thoughtful and caring Stafford was being, had forgotten all about the reins in her hands until he spoke.
“You’re doing a good job.”
“Oh, here,” she said, handing over the reins. She wasn’t usually addlepated and it was a bit disconcerting that he made her feel as if she was. The way she was thinking about his looks was a bit distressing, too. How when he smiled the lines around his eyes deepened, enhancing his handsomeness. Thoughts like that should not be crossing her mind. She was a nursemaid, first and foremost. The children and their safety should control her thoughts at all times.
Not taking the reins, Stafford shook his head. “No, you’re doing a good job.” Leaning toward her, he then added, “Actually, let me show you how to lace the reins through your fingers, so you’ll have more control.”
One at a time, he wove the reins through her fingers. The leather was smooth and warm; however, quite unexpectedly, it was the touch of his skin on hers that caused her hands to burn and tremble.
“You’ll want to wear gloves when driving, if at all possible,” he said. “The leather can chafe the skin, like a rope burn.”
She nodded, not exactly sure why. Other than that she was feeling too out of breath to speak. Yesterday, sitting next to him had been no different than riding beside a stranger in a coach, or standing next to one in line somewhere, yet today, a new awareness had awakened inside her. One she’d never experienced. He was still a stranger—a somewhat overbearing one whom she really didn’t like very much—and sitting next to him shouldn’t be any different. But it was. Although she couldn’t say exactly how or why, perhaps because she was putting too much thought into it. She was known for that. Miss Wentworth had said one of her best attributes was how she could concentrate on a problem and ultimately come up with the best choice.
“Just curve this finger a bit,” Stafford said, forcing her finger to bend. “See how it tugs on that rein? And if you bend this one—” he maneuvered a finger on the other hand “—that rein moves. It doesn’t take much, and is pretty easy when the road is this smooth. You’ll soon learn that the rougher the road, the more control you’ll need over the horses.”
Marie was listening, but it was difficult to concentrate with him holding her hands as he was, and with the way he smelled. It was pleasant, spicy, and made the air snag in her chest. Telling herself not to think of such things didn’t help at all.
Attempting to focus all her thoughts on the children proved to be impossible, as well. But perhaps that was her way out. She could tell Stafford that watching over six children would take all her time and, therefore, she most assuredly would not need to learn to drive a wagon. No matter where they lived she had lessons to teach—reading and spelling, geography and grammar, philosophy, civil government and a smattering of other subjects, unless of course there was a school within walking distance for the older ones to attend. It would be good for them to learn social graces by interacting with other children their age.
“You got it.”
It was a moment before Marie realized he was speaking of driving the team. It had worked. Focusing on the children, what she’d need to do, had pulled her mind off him.
“You’re a quick learner,” he added with a nod.
A surprising jolt of happiness flashed inside her. “Thank you,” she said. “I was always quick at school. Actually Miss Wentworth said I may have been her best student ever. She said I had a natural ability.” Heat rose upon her cheeks. She was proud of her accomplishments, but hadn’t meant to sound so boastful. A part of her just wanted him to know she wasn’t a simpleton. Mainly because, even thinking of the children, the episode with the snake was still causing a good amount of mortification to fester inside her. Miss Wentworth would be appalled, too, to learn she’d let a man see her bare backside.
“I see,” he said. “And who is Miss Wentworth?”
Not being from Chicago, it made sense he would never have heard of Opal Wentworth. “She owns the Chicago School of Domestic Labor. Her training classes in all positions are renowned. It’s close to impossible to obtain a position without a certificate of completion within the city.”
He was looking at her somewhat curiously, as if she’d said something he didn’t quite believe.
“It’s true,” she said. “A certificate from Miss Wentworth’s opens doors.” A different sense overcame her, one of achievement, perhaps. It could be because she’d never driven a wagon before and was quite proud of herself for learning so quickly, or because she had graduated at the top of her class.
Then again, it could be because of something entirely different. She’d never been around a man so much before, and it was rather bewildering. All of her placements had been with married couples, but it had been the wives who’d managed the household help, including her.
Glancing forward, she attempted to keep her thoughts on their conversation. “Miss Wentworth said I was the best nursemaid she’d ever had the pleasure to train.”
“You don’t say,” he said.
She nodded. Perhaps if she convinced him of her nursemaid abilities, he could convince Mick Wagner that hiring her would be more beneficial than marrying her. She’d always believed earning a wage would be far more pleasurable than getting married. No matter what Sarah had suggested. “Yes,” Marie said proudly. “The best nursemaid ever.”
Several hours later her confidence was waning. The second day on the trail was better than the first, in many ways, but in others it was worse. The sun was boiling hot today. Sweat poured down Marie’s back and her temples throbbed. Stafford had taken the reins from her long before her arms had started to ache, but they did so now. Her entire body hurt from the endless bouncing, and she had to wonder if the heat and travels were getting to Stafford, too.
He kept taking off his hat and wiping at the sweat streaming down his forehead, and when someone asked for a drink of water, he never questioned it, just handed over the canteen.
The heat was taking a toll on the children, too. Their little faces were red and they drooped in the back of the wagon like a half dozen dandelions plucked from the ground. Marie’s confidence in coming up with a plan to ease their plight had plummeted. There was nothing she could do or offer that would relieve the heat.
At her suggestion, they’d all walked for a while, but that had been worse. At least beneath the canopy of the wagon the children were shielded from the glare of the sun.
“There’s a creek up ahead,” Stafford said, interrupting her thoughts. “We’ll stop there to water the animals and ourselves.”
A wave of thankfulness crashed over her. “That will be nice. This heat is deplorable.”
He frowned, but nodded.
Used to explaining the definition of words, she started, “Deplorable means—”
“I know what it means.”
Marie chose to ignore the bite in his tone. The heat was taxing, but she sensed it was more than the temperature getting to him. He’d turned quiet some time ago, almost brooding. It was just as well. His silence, that was. They’d conversed enough. While showing her how to drive the team, he’d talked about being little and how his father had taught him how to drive. He also shared that he was from Mississippi, where his family still lived. Then he’d started asking about her family, at which point she’d changed the subject and kept changing it every time he tried to bring it back up.
If necessary, she’d explain her history to Mick Wagner, but not to anyone else. There was no need to, and for her, it was better off left buried deep inside. She didn’t like how memories could befuddle a person’s mind, and the thought of telling him she’d been returned, twice, to the orphanage, made her stomach hurt. Especially after he’d told her about his family. That’s all she’d ever wanted. To be part of a family. She’d gotten that when the Meekers had hired her, and she wouldn’t give it up.
First one, then the other horse nickered, and Marie glanced around, but saw nothing but brown grass.
“They smell the water,” Stafford said. “It’s just over the hill.”
The next few minutes seemed to take hours, the hill they ambled up the tallest ever, but when they crested the peak and she saw the sparkling creek trailing along the floor of the valley below, the downward trek became endless. The children had moved to the front opening of the wagon, vying for a spot to gaze at the water with as much longing as the horses showed by their increased speed.
As the horses trudged closer, the creek grew larger and a touch of anxiety rose up to quell her excitement. The road they were on entered the water on one side and appeared again on the other side. She shivered slightly.
“There’s no bridge.”
“No, there’s not,” Stafford agreed. “But the water isn’t deep. We can cross safely this time of year. Springtime is a different story.”
She had no choice but to trust him, which actually was becoming easier and easier.
A chorus of voices over her shoulder asked if they could get wet, and as the wagons rolled to a stop a short distance from the water, Stafford answered, “Yes.” He then turned to her as he set the brake. “We’re going to unhitch the teams, let them cool off a bit. You and the children can go upstream a distance and cool off yourselves. Just not too far.”
Climbing on and off the wagon had grown a bit easier, too, now that she knew exactly where to step. Marie was down in no time and lifting the twins out of the back while the older children climbed out themselves.
“Can we get wet, like Stafford said?” Samuel asked hopefully.
She should have insisted the children continue to call him Mr. Burleson. Allowing them to call him Stafford was inappropriate, but in truth, she didn’t have the wherewithal to say a whole lot right now. She’d never been so hot and uncomfortable in her life.
“Yes,” she said. “But take your shoes off.”
They took off running and Marie didn’t have the heart to call them back, make them wait for her. So, instead, she ran, too. The water was crystal clear, and she could easily see the rocky bottom. Wasting no more time than the children, she removed her shoes and stockings, and entered the creek beside them, sighing at the heavenly coolness the water offered.
She held her skirt up, letting the water splash about her ankles, and kept vigilant eyes on the children as they eagerly ventured farther in. She’d never learned to swim, so the water made her nervous, but it was shallow, only up to the twins’ waists, and they were enjoying the experience wholeheartedly, as were the others.
It wasn’t long before a whoop sounded and Mr. Jackson flew past her like a wild man. Arms out, he threw himself face-first into the water and sank below, only to pop up moments later, laughing from deep in his lungs.
Samuel instantly copied the man’s actions, and that had everyone laughing all over again.
A hand caught hers and she twisted, ready to pull it away, for the heat was intense.
“Come on,” Stafford said, tugging slightly.
“No, this is deep enough,” she insisted.
“It’s barely up to your knees at the deepest point.” With his free hand, he pointed toward Mr. Jackson. “He’s sitting on the bottom and it’s not up to his shoulders.”
“He’s a tall man,” she explained.
Stafford laughed and let go of her hand, which left a sense of loneliness swirling around her. He was gone in an instant, out in the middle with all of the children and Mr. Jackson, splashing up tidal wave after tidal wave.
The air left Marie’s lungs slowly. She shouldn’t be staring, but Stafford had taken his shirt off. So had Mr. Jackson, but her eyes weren’t drawn to the other man as they were to Stafford. Dark hair covered his chest, and his shoulders and arms bulged. Muscles. She’d seen pictures of the male form in her studies, but goodness, none of those drawings had looked this...real.
Marie glanced away, downstream to where the horses stood in the water, drinking their fill, but that didn’t hold her attention. When she turned back, her gaze caught Stafford’s.
“Come on,” he said again, waving a hand as he now sat on the bottom with water swirling around his burly chest. “It feels great.”
The children joined in with his invitation, waving and begging her to join them. She could say no to him, but not to them. Dropping her skirt, for she couldn’t hoist it any higher, she edged toward the clapping and squeals.
And splashing. Water was flying in all directions, and it did feel wonderful. Then, all of a sudden, Marie went down. Though the water was shallow, she was completely submerged, her back thumping off the rocky creek bed.
