The Wrong Cowboy

“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.

Chapter Four

Marie came up as quickly as she’d gone down, coughing, but it wasn’t until Stafford saw the laughter in her eyes that he let the air out of his chest. He tore his eyes away, a bit disgusted he’d been holding his breath. People could drown in just about any amount of water, he understood that, but there were enough of them around to prevent that. What irritated him was how every time he caught a glimpse of her air snagged in the middle of his chest and sat there until it burned.

She was a looker, he could admit that, and what he’d seen this morning kept flashing in his mind like heat lightning—a sudden flash that was nothing but an illusion.

He hadn’t been drawn in by looks in ages. Frustrated in ways he hadn’t been in years, either, he ducked beneath the water again and held his breath until his lungs had a reason to burn. When he surfaced, he stood and made his way to the shore. He’d said it before and thought it again while seeing her running to the stream with the children, but had to repeat it to himself once more. Marie looked like the kids’ older sister, barely more than a child herself.

It didn’t help. She was a woman. An attractive one who took her job seriously. He was also willing to admit, she did it well. Not one of those kids could make a peep without her responding immediately, and right now they were gathered around her as if she was the queen bee.

Stafford stepped out of the water and bent forward to shake the water from his hair before he made his way over to where he’d left his shirt, boots, socks and hat. Right next to hers. Her little bonnet lay there, too, and he ran a hand over it, testing the thickness of the fabric. Just as he’d suspected, it was nothing more than thin cotton that didn’t offer much relief from the sun. Not on a day like this.

He sat to pull on his socks and boots, and his gaze locked onto the game of water tag happening in the stream. He watched as Marie caught both twins, one in each arm, and planted kisses on their wet heads before she let them loose and chased after the two girls.

A smile tugged at his lips, and he let it form. He remembered days like this. When it was too hot to do much else, his family would head to the river and spend the day frolicking in the water. It had been fun, and something he hadn’t thought of in a long time. Crazy as it was, he felt a touch homesick.

Boots on, Stafford stood and shrugged into his shirt before he made his way to the wagons where he checked hubs and axels and anything else he could think of to keep his mind from wandering deeper down memory lane. He was trying, too, to keep his thoughts off Marie. In reality, that is what he should be thinking about, figuring out what she wanted with Mick, but when he did let her into his mind, Mick didn’t accompany her.

“I feel like a new man,” Jackson said, leading two of the horses out of the water.

“It felt good,” Stafford agreed.

“Good for those kids, too,” the other man said, handing over the reins. “I know how hard it is keeping them cooped up in a wagon.”

“You do?”

Jackson, already heading back to gather the other team, paused with his gaze on the group still splashing about. “Yeah. I got two boys, five and nine, we moved out here from Wisconsin last year. That was a long trip.”

Stafford hadn’t met the man prior to hiring him and figured it made sense, the man having kids, given the way he’d taken to Marie’s bunch so readily.

“My wife’s name is Marie, too.” Jackson laughed then. “Maybe it’s the name. Marie. I can’t say, but mine is the best wife ever. She’s a dream come true, and there’s few prettier. Although that one comes close.”

Stafford ignored the feelings nettling inside him, almost as if he didn’t want other men looking at Marie and commenting on how pretty she was. He’d felt that way once, about Francine, and was never going to do that to himself again.

Jackson retrieved the other horses, and as soon as the man approached, Stafford, still trying to gain control of his mind, asked, “What are your sons’ names?”

“Jack is the oldest and Henry the youngest.”

“Jack Jackson?” Stafford couldn’t help but ask, glad to have something his mind could snatch up. When they’d been introduced, the man had simply said to call him Jackson.

“No.” The other man laughed as he started hitching his team to the freight wagon. “Jackson’s just the name I go by. My real name is William Borgeson.”

Buckling harnesses, Stafford asked, “How do you get Jackson out of that?”

“My folks had nine girls before I came along. My father’s name was Jack, so the entire town took to calling me Jack’s son. It stuck. I was about ten before I learned my real name was William.”

“That’s an interesting story.”

The female voice, all soft and tender, caught Stafford so off guard he lost his hold on the drawbar yoke of the singletree harness, which promptly fell and smashed the big toe on his left foot. He almost cursed. The expletive didn’t leave his lips because his breath had caught again, sat there in his chest as though it didn’t have anything better to do than sting as sharply as his toe.

Marie was wet from top to bottom and was finger-combing her long hair over one shoulder. Her hands slid all the way to the ends, which hung near her waist, and her wet dress—once a pale blue, now much darker—and white pinafore clung to her in ways dresses shouldn’t cling. Not while he was looking, anyway.

“Thank you, Miss,” Jackson answered, hitching the yoke to the harness of his team. “Now that my father has passed on, the name has a bit more meaning for me, and it’s pretty much the only thing I answer to.” Chuckling he added, “Other than to my wife. She can call me anything she wants and I come a-running.”

Toe throbbing and lungs burning, Stafford wasn’t in any mood to hear how happily married the other man was, no matter how he got his name. He didn’t want to think of Marie being a wife, either, not to anyone. It would be nice, though, if his partner was here right about now. Then Stafford could wash his hands of this entire mess and not have to sit beside Marie for the next several hours.

“Get the kids loaded up,” he said, gruffly. “With any luck, we’ll be home before dark.”

Luck, it appeared, had left him so far behind he might never see it again. A couple of hours later, the freight wagon cracked a hub, and though they got it fixed, it was too late to take off again, even though he was so close to home he might be able to see it if they were atop a hill instead of in another river valley. And sitting next to Marie had been even more disagreeable than he’d imagined. This time, to keep the children occupied, with a sweet, perfect voice, she’d sung songs with them. Jaunty and silly tunes that had them all laughing and encouraging him to join in.

He hadn’t, of course, and he’d bitten his lip so many times to keep from grinning there probably wasn’t any skin left on his bottom one. His sister Camellia had been the singer in his family. She was married now, living down by Galveston, and he couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing.

It seemed everything had him thinking about his family, his home, and the bottom line was he didn’t like it. He’d rid himself of those memories at the same time he’d erased the ones of Francine and how she’d chosen Sterling over him. For ten years he’d gotten along fine without those reminiscences and didn’t need them back. The few times he’d seen his family since leaving home, he’d made new memories. They were enough.