The Tenderfoot Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  Inwardly, Linnea chastised her cowardice. She should be stronger. This man was bigger than both her father and her husband, but he was nothing to her. He had no claim on her. She had the freedom to leave if she chose. If he hit her.

  She covered her mouth, so she wouldn't give herself away with a sob of hopelessness. If she'd had a place to go, she wouldn't be here. Security was imperative, and until now this had been the best place she'd ever found.

  But now he knew just how weak and vulnerable she was.

  A twig snapped. Her heart stopped. The sound of someone—Will Tucker—walking through the undergrowth was unmistakable. Her trail was in plain sight, of course, a trail that would lead him right to her. He would send her away for sure now. Knowing his demands for stamina and strength, as the next months passed, she would never be able to fill his requirements.

  She had been fooling herself to think this would work. Pressing her knuckles against her mouth, her mind whirled in confusion. Now what? she thought in desperation. There were very few choices left.

  "Linnea?" he called, his voice deceptively, unthreateningly quiet. "I don't know what you thought I was going to do back there, but I wasn't going to hurt you."

  Was this a trick to get her to come out? She'd seen the anger on his face, and she knew just how mad he was. He was an enormous man, built of solid muscle; he could snap her in two with no effort. Lying curled in an uncomfortable ball caused her baby to move as though in protest. Instinctively, she moved her hands down to her swollen abdomen. She had to protect this innocent life within her. She was responsible for this baby.

  If only she'd carried the gun in her pocket and hadn't left it in her room, thinking she needed protection only at night.

  Her thoughts flew to the coins so carefully hidden under the mattress in that narrow room back at the house. Her earnings. Her future. Her baby's future. Her mind ran in a hundred directions. What did she think she was going to do? He would beat the bushes until he found her. Even if he didn't try to find her, even if he went away and left her here, what then?

  Wait until dark and sneak out? Then what? She couldn't hide in the woods forever. If she tried to make her way on foot, she'd get lost. Besides, wild animals prowled this country. She was helpless on her own.

  She supposed if he left her here, she could sneak into the house and get the coins and the gun. But then what?

  She was hiding in the woods like a child who feared punishment. Linnea called on every ounce of fortitude she possessed to bolster her courage. She was not a child. And if she wanted him to respect her—if she was ever going to respect herself—she had to face him.

  If she wanted her money, she had to face Will Tucker's music. Her heart raced again at the terrifying thought, so she fought to calm herself.

  Will Tucker had made a home for his stepmother. He was good to animals. His men respected him. She wasn't convinced that he wouldn't be violent if provoked, but based on what little she knew about him and the choices available to her, she was going to have to take the chance that he wouldn't harm her.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up onto her knees and crawled out into the open. Standing, she brushed leaves and twigs from her clothing, then her palms before facing him.

  He studied her without moving any closer. His expression was still thunderous. His size, his scowl, everything about him made her knees quake. It took all her resolve to stand her ground and not bolt. She raised her chin and composed herself. "I'll be packed and ready to go in the morning."

  She'd never noticed the color of his eyes before. They were as gray and stormy as an ominous thundercloud. He stood a good six feet away, however, and the distance gave her hope. "Where will you go?" he asked.

  She had no answer, so she shrugged.

  Will looked her over, trying to make some sense out of her. "Were you ever really married?"

  She looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "I sure didn't get this way by my own choice."

  Will didn't understand that reply, nor was he going to try to, because he was angrier than ever and trying not to show it. Not only was the woman small and unsuited for ranch work, but she was in a delicate condition! She shouldn't be lifting buckets or standing on her feet all day. Now what was he going to do with her? Worse yet, he'd had completely unsuitable physical reactions to her on more than one occasion.

  "How long before that baby comes?"

  "Three months, I think."

  Holy— She would never find a job in the fix she was in, especially the closer she got to her time. What the hell had she been thinking?

  "Your trickery doesn't sit well with me," he said gruffly.

  She nodded her understanding.

  If she had no money and no one to help her, he knew why she'd kept that detail a secret. Nothing justified the deceit in his opinion. He had a ranch to run, and he needed someone to help him do that. He already had one helpless female on his hands, he didn't need another.

  The woman wasn't completely helpless, he amended his thinking, and she did cook well. The men were content and that was important. But he'd already noticed that they carried and fetched things for her. And she had taken on the extra work of their laundry.

  Experience had taught him that anger would get the best of him if he said the first things that came to mind. He took a slow deep breath and said, "I'm gonna have to think."

  She studied him warily.

  "I'm not inclined to send you off like this." He scratched his head and turned in a frustrated circle, surveying the woods without seeing the trees. The question finally burst from him. "Damn, woman, what were you thinking?"

  He glared at her, not even hoping she had an explanation. Nothing she could say would change the mess she'd made of his life by coming out here. A smudge of dirt darkened her cheek, and seeing it helped soften his anger.

  "If you want me to go, I'll be ready," she said. "If you let me stay, I'll work hard. You won't be sorry."

  "That's just it," he said. "I'm already sorry. I can't let you kill yourself working too hard. I can't let you hurt yourself…or…" He made a gesture, indicating the baby she carried.

  Linnea hunched her shoulders forward protectively. Evidenced by the way he held himself and the modulated tone of his voice, his anger was barely controlled. Should she believe he cared whether or not she worked too hard?

  He narrowed a look at her. "How long has your husband been dead?"

  "Six months."

  "And you don't have any family?"

  Oh, she had family—a father who'd sold her to Pratt five years ago to be rid of her. She wasn't about to go back there, no thank you. She shook her head.

  "And your husband has no family?"

  A couple of illegitimate children somewhere and a brother in a Missouri prison. She shook her head again.

  He narrowed his gaze. "Did Corinne know?"

  She looked at him without comprehension. Her thoughts were swirling in her head.

  "My sister. Did she know about…your condition?"

  Linnea shook her head. "No. No, she didn't."

  Grateful that he was talking and not swinging, she chose not to mention that his sister had most assuredly known what a cantankerous man he was and hadn't bothered to tell Linnea.

  A muscle clenched in his jaw and his stare bored into her. "What did you think would happen? You knew you couldn't keep it a secret forever."

  Her priorities were food and a place to stay. She had hoped to earn enough money to get her through the weeks ahead when she couldn't work. She had a good start on that, too. If only he would let her stay a while longer, she could afford to pay for room and board later on—and buy whatever necessities she'd need for a baby.

  "Aggie is the only other woman within miles," he said in exasperation, "and she's too old to be of help to you."

  Linnea studied his face in puzzlement. "I don't need any help."

  "You will. You can't have a baby by yourself."

  Flustered now, she didn't have
a reply.

  "There's a doctor, but he's half a day's ride from here."

  Her blood ran cold at that declaration. "I don't need a doctor. I don't want one."

  "If you're staying here, you'll have a doctor check on you. Head back." He gestured for her to move forward.

  She did, walking toward him, but keeping her distance and allowing him to lead the way. "I don't need a doctor," she told him again. "There's nothing wrong with me, and I won't spend my earnings for something I don't need."

  He gave her a dark scowl. "There won't be any more argument on the subject."

  In the side yard they reached the basket of folded shirts and towels. A few handkerchiefs and an apron still flapped on the clothesline. Linnea reached to take them down.

  "Is there anything else I should know?"

  She folded the fabric and settled the apron on the pile without looking at him. "No."

  "There'd better not be."

  She had deceived him, and his anger had been justified. "I knew you would never let me stay if you knew."

  "You had that right."

  She picked up the basket and carried it to the house, feeling his glare on her back the entire time. Hard work wasn't enough for any man, she'd learned that the hard way. She didn't dare think she could prove herself and win his approval and therefore a safe place to stay.

  Resting the load on the kitchen table, she pulled the note he'd given her from her pocket and stared at it, regret and fear still her constant companions. There was more Will Tucker didn't know. But this was a secret she could prevent him from learning.

  Taking a few minutes, she went to her room and pulled the sock that held her money out from under the bed. She counted the coins, hoarding them for the inevitable time when he was finished with her for sure. She would never be strong enough or smart enough to please the man who hadn't wanted to hire her in the first place; the only reason she was still here was pity. Just as her father and husband had always accused, she was no good to a man.

  Her only hope was that by the time Will discovered the rest of her inadequacies, she would have saved enough to make a fresh start for her and her baby.

  And God help her poor child if it was a girl. Linnea closed her eyes and prayed fervently for a son.

  Linnea helped Aggie get changed and tucked in to bed for the night, then she blew out the kitchen wall lamps. Instead of going to her room, however, she slipped out of the house into the darkness. She moved stealthily across the yard and skirted the corral, taking the long way to avoid being seen. With the corner of the bunkhouse in sight, she crouched in the long grass at the corner of the corral and waited.

  Some time later Clem made his way to use the outhouse. Roy and another hand sauntered out to roll cigarettes and smoke them beneath the eaves. The scent of tobacco drifted to her on the night air. Eventually they returned to the bunkhouse. Her legs were cramping and she'd been bitten by mosquitoes before she finally saw Cimarron exit the doorway and head for the barn.

  "Pssst!" Head low, she ran toward him.

  Quick as lightning, he drew a pistol and aimed it at her.

  Stopping in her tracks, she raised both hands and whispered, "It's me."

  "Miz McConaughy?" Squinting into the darkness, he holstered the gun and walked toward her.

  "Shhh," she said, glancing around. "I don't want anyone to see me."

  "Okay." He glanced toward the barn. "Let's go in there."

  "What about Mr. Tucker?"

  "He's not in there."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure. He's down at that end of that paddock with a horse."

  Linnea glanced in the direction Cimarron pointed.

  The hand led her inside the barn, into the tack room and lit an oil lamp. "What's this about?" he asked.

  She pulled the note from her pocket and unfolded it. "Mr. Tucker gave this to me today."

  Cimarron accepted the list and glanced at it. "You want me to get this stuff for you?''

  Relief washed through Linnea. Cimarron could read. "No, he wants you to take me to town so I can get these things for him.''

  Cimarron handed the paper back to her. "All right. I'll have a wagon ready first thing in the morning."

  Face warm with embarrassment, she swallowed her pride. She needed this young man's help. "There's a problem, but I want you to promise that you won't tell Mr. Tucker."

  Cimarron scratched his head and his expression revealed his discomfort with her request. "I—I don't know, ma'am."

  "Please, you have to help me. If he finds out I can't do something he's asked me to do, I'm out of here. I need this job."

  "I need my job, too, ma'am, and Will, well, he's a fair boss and a good man.''

  "Mr. Northcoat."

  "Yes'm?"

  Linnea opened her mouth to state her predicament for the first time ever. "Truth is…" She squared her shoulders and looked Cimarron in the eye. "I'm going to have a baby."

  His eyes widened and he almost glanced down at her belly, but then he caught himself. His cheeks reddened.

  "That's not the secret," she hurried to say. "Mr. Tucker knows about that already."

  Cimarron swallowed hard.

  "But if I can't stay here, I don't know what will happen to me or my baby. All I need is a little bit of help. Tell you what, I'll explain what I need help with, and then you can decide. That way if you think it's too awful of a secret, you don't have to promise. Fair enough?''

  He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and then conceded with a shrug. "All right."

  "I need you to read the list for me. And any other lists Mr. Tucker gives me."

  The young man studied her, the glow of the lamp revealing his puzzlement. "You can't read, Miz McConaughy?"

  Cheeks warm, she shook her head.

  "Well." He glanced around. Stuck a hand in his pocket. "That's not such an awful secret."

  Linnea had lived with the humiliation of being unable to read or write her entire life. Her father hadn't believed females needed an education. It only gave them notions of importance, he'd claimed, and her husband had forbidden her to learn, as well. "You'll keep the secret then?"

  Cimarron nodded. "I have a better idea," he said, smiling excitedly.

  "What's that?"

  "I'll read the lists for you," he assured her with his palm toward her, "for now. Meanwhile I'll teach you to read them yourself. Wouldn't that be better?"

  Linnea blinked at the paper in her hand, at the con-fusing squiggles that made no sense to her, and imagined being able to read the words. Her hand shook with a trembling anticipation. She glanced up at the ranch hand in awe. "You would do that for me? You would teach me?''

  "Well, sure. Ain't that much trouble, ma'am."

  "Did you go to school?"

  He nodded. "My mama made sure I went every day during the winter. Spring and fall I had to help my pa with the plantin' and pickin'. I never much wanted to be a farmer, so I liked the school part. My pa said I needed to read and cipher, so I could manage on my own."

  Linnea pictured him as a boy, dressed in a shirt and knickers with suspenders, carrying books on a strap, and a little smile touched her lips. "Did you have any sisters?" she asked.

  "Two of 'em. Redheaded and ornery as the devil." He laughed.

  "Did they go to school, too?"

  Halting for a moment, as though he didn't want to reply and make her uncomfortable, he finally said, "Yes, ma'am, they did."

  Carefully, Linnea folded the note and tucked it back into her pocket. "I would like very much if you taught me to read, Mr. Northcoat."

  "Cimarron."

  "But it must be our secret. Mr. Tucker mustn't know. Promise me."

  "We won't be hurtin' anyone, ma'am. Most of the hands play poker or sit by a fire and swap yarns of an evenin', and the boss don't mind. He won't mind me teachin' you to read, either."

  "Just the same, I don't want anyone else to know."

  "Okay," he finally agreed. "It's our secret."

&nb
sp; "Where will we meet?" she asked.

  He scratched his head thoughtfully. "We could meet down by the stream of an evening. The boss spends most of his time in or around the barn here, so we'll be out of his way."

  She nodded her agreement to his choice of locations. "We'll start tomorrow night?"

  "Tomorrow," he replied.

  No one had ever made her such a generous offer. No one had ever really cared about her one way or another, except as to how she inconvenienced them by being alive.

  "Thank you," she said, hearing how inadequate the words sounded.

  "No need for thanks," he replied. "I spend my days with cows and horses. It's not exactly gonna be a hardship to spend evenin's with a pretty lady."

  Those words caught her completely by surprise. Her expression must have shown her dismay, because Cimarron hastened to add, "No disrespect intended, ma'am."

  "I'll be ready to ride into Rock Falls right after breakfast," she said, and left the barn ahead of him.

  Since she'd come to Colorado, Linnea had been completely out of her element. Some days she stopped her outside chores just to gaze in wonder on the countryside, layer upon layer of variegated greens that blended into hues of blue and gray the higher the elevation. She would close her eyes and smell the air, feeling the sun on her face and through her clothing and simply enjoying being.

  But it wasn't just the lush countryside, the crisp air and the breathtaking mountains that were different from anywhere she'd ever lived. The circumstances were beyond her experience as well.

  After Pratt's death, she'd made her way to Saint Louis, hoping to find a job and a place to live far from the plains of Kansas where her husband had dragged her. It was while she was there, sleeping in a back room in exchange for sweeping floors and hauling water to a kindly old blacksmith, that she'd felt her baby move for the first time and realized she'd been carrying it in ignorance for some time.

  A fierce desperation had washed over her. She experienced anger at the husband who had done this and left her destitute. Still, she never regretted for a moment that he was dead. Having another life to consider added to the burden of looking out for herself and added a time pressure. But she didn't wish him back.

  She'd asked the livery man to read the ads in the paper to her, and had responded to the one placed by Corinne Dumont.