Читать книгу The Wrong Cowboy - Lauri Robinson - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThe 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—”
His glare came from the corner of one eye as he once again interrupted, “Don’t you have a book you can read, too?”
Floored, she huffed before finding her voice. “I—”
“I,” he broke in, “need some peace and quiet.”
She hadn’t been spoken to that way, either, not in a very long time. Besides the shivers racing up her arms, her throat locked tight. Peace and quiet. Blinking back the tears threatening to fall in a way they hadn’t done for years, Marie turned her gaze to the horses and focused on the harnesses going up and down, trying to forget. Or just not let the memories come forward. She’d been sent back to the orphanage because of those words. That had been years ago, she told herself, and could not happen now. Could never happen again.
It took effort, lots of it, and by the time everything was suppressed, Marie was breathing hard and deep, as if she’d just run several miles. She’d been here before, this emotionally exhausted, but not in a very long time.
“Here.”
Marie blinked at the canteen before her chin.
“Take a drink,” he said.
Her hands shook, but the tepid water flowing down her burning throat was such relief Marie took several swallows before worrying about the few droplets that dribbled down her neck. Her breathing was returning to normal, and by the time she’d replaced the cap and wiped away the droplets, she had much more control.
“Better?”
“Yes,” she managed, handing back the canteen. She couldn’t bring herself to glance his way, not even as his gaze blistered the side of her face. “Thank you.”
“They’ll be fine,” he said.
His voice was hushed, soft and even kindhearted, which threatened the control she’d mustered. “I’m sure you’re right,” she answered as firmly as possible. He was right. It took more than a few hours before a person’s stomach ached. A day or more until the pain became so strong that cramps set in. Those memories weren’t easily repressed, but they did remind her she was glad to have been sent back to the orphanage all those years ago.
“Look at that,” he said, one hand stretched out, gesturing toward the land covered with brown grass that went on for miles.
She’d been shocked at first, by the landscape so different from that of the city. Barely a green blade could be found, but she’d grown accustomed to it since arriving in Huron. That’s how life was, a series of changes one eventually got used to.
Marie also understood he was trying to redirect her thoughts, and she let him. No good ever came from dwelling on the past.
“It’s a deer,” he continued, “and two fawns.”
It wasn’t until the animal turned and leaped that Marie noticed two smaller ones bounding through the waist-high grass. “How did you see them?” she asked. “The grass is so tall.”
“Practice, I guess.”
“They’re so graceful,” she commented, watching until the deer disappeared. “Do they always run like that? Almost as if they’re flying?”
“Yes, deer are pretty swift animals. Haven’t you seen any before?”
“Just pictures.”
He seemed different, quiet, thoughtful, and the moments ticking by threatened to set her back to thinking, so she added, “There aren’t any deer in the city.”
“The city being Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“You lived there your entire life?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Never left?”
“Not until boarding the train for Huron.” Marie bit her tongue then, hoping she hadn’t just provided him with an opening to start asking questions again. Partner or not, she wouldn’t explain everything to anyone but Mr. Wagner.
“What are their names?”
She had to glance his way, and was a bit taken aback by the grin on his lips. It was really only a fraction of a grin, but friendly nonetheless. How could he do that? Go from formidable to pleasant like someone flipping a coin? Thankful her spinning mind could form a question, she asked, “The children?”
“Yes. What are their names? How old are they?”
All on its own, a smile formed. The simple thought of her wards did that all the time. “Terrance is the oldest. He’s ten. Next is Charlotte, she’s nine, and Samuel is seven. Beatrice is six and the twins, Charles and Weston, are four.”
“And why do you have them?”
Her initial response was to state that it was none of his business, but, in fact, he had come to collect them and was delivering them to Mr. Wagner’s ranch. A small portion of an explanation wasn’t completely out of the question.
After a glance backward that showed the children were indeed reading—well, the older ones were, Weston and Charles had stretched out between the others and were dozing—Marie leaned toward him slightly, so she could speak as softly as possible. “Their parents perished in a fire.”
“I’d heard that,” he answered just as quietly.
“Where?”
“From the ticket taker at the train depot.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t alarming. She had made mention of it, just so the man would understand her delay in payment more clearly.
“That doesn’t explain why you have them,” he whispered, leaning closer yet.
Marie had to swallow and sat back a bit. “I was hired as their nursemaid last year, after the one they’d had for several years got married.”
“Is this your first job? The first time you’ve been a nursemaid?”
Ruffled slightly, wondering if he was suggesting she wasn’t capable, she squared her shoulders. “It was my first permanent position, but I graduated at the top of my class five years ago.”
“Whoa,” he said. “I can tell you’re well trained and confident in what you do.”
“Thank you,” Marie said, although a lingering doubt had her wondering if that had been a compliment or not. Men were difficult creatures to understand. This one more so than any other she’d encountered.
“How old are you?” he asked.
That was an inappropriate question, but being in the wild as they were, he was their only hope of survival, so she should attempt to be civil to him. Besides, he probably didn’t know the difference between appropriate and inappropriate questions. “I’m twenty.”
A brow was lifted as he asked, “Twenty?”
She nodded.
“So, if you graduated five years ago, and just got this job last year, what did you do in between?”
“I worked for several families,” Marie answered. “Just for short terms, helping out as families looked for permanent nursemaids or while others were ill and such.” She attempted to keep the frustration from her voice. Moving from family to family, staying only a few weeks or days at times, was extremely difficult. She’d barely get to know the children in her charge before being assigned elsewhere. It had been expected, though, because of her age. “A large number of families like their nursemaids to be on the older side. Even the Meekers, but they were willing to hire me permanently considering their last nursemaid, though she’d been a woman well into her thirties, had chosen to get married and end her employment.”
“Had she become a mail-order bride, too?”
Marie chomped down on her lip, preventing a startled no. How had she talked herself into this corner? Not seeing a direct escape route, she took the only one she could fathom. “My letter to Mr. Wagner explained everything.”
He was frowning deeply and holding those gray eyes on her. “Mr. Wagner isn’t here right now.”
“I know that,” she snapped, unable to stop herself.
He lifted an eyebrow as his gaze roamed up and down her for a moment, and then he turned and stared at the road ahead of them.
The pressure was enormous, but Marie held in her sigh. They’d talked enough. Silence would be a good thing for a few miles. No longer thinking about her past, the future and its dilemmas were clamoring for her attention.
“He’s not at the ranch, either,” Mr. Burleson said then.
“Mr. Wagner?” she asked, even though she knew that was exactly who Stafford Burleson meant.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
He shrugged. “Texas. Mexico.”
Marie couldn’t deny a quick flash of relief washed over her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to face the marriage issue right away. She and the children could get settled in and... “For how long?” she asked.
His gaze never left the road. “Can’t rightly say. Could be next spring before he gets back.”
“Next spring?” Panic overtook any sense of relief. Her funds were almost gone. The children would starve to death by then, unless... She shivered at the thought, but unfortunately, Stafford was her only hope.
Something in his eyes, the way they shimmered, had her mouth going dry, her nerves tingling as though a storm was approaching. Maybe there was another option. “Who lives at Mr. Wagner’s ranch in his absence?”
“Me.”
She swallowed. “You?”
Nodding, he said, “Yep. I told you I was his partner.”
An icy chill raced up her spine. “So the children and I will be living with...”
“Me.”
Good heavens, what had she done? Not thought her plan out clearly, that’s for sure. Living with this man had to be worse than marrying Mick Wagner.
