The Tenderfoot Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  Linnea hurried back to the end of the hall and peered around. Nothing looked out of the ordinary in Aggie's room, and hers appeared untouched, but the scent of fresh wood kept her searching. Puzzled, she had turned to leave when she spotted the board affixed to the wall beside the door.

  He had installed a wooden bar that, once the door was closed, could be dropped into place in two brackets on either side and thus prevent the door from opening. He'd provided her with a sturdy barrier against an intruder.

  She experienced a thread of embarrassment. He knew her nightly practice of barricading her door. What had he thought? Slowly a glowing warmth spread through her at the realization that her safety and her peace of mind were important to him. Because he knew she would feel safer with a lock, he had provided one.

  It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. As kind and meaningful as Cimarron teaching her to read. As helpful as Aggie giving her aprons and recipes. As generous as Corinne Dumont giving her a bed in her lovely home while arrangements for Linnea's trip were made.

  Linnea made her way back to the kitchen with a euphoric lift to her step. Ever since she'd responded to that ad in the Saint Louis newspaper, people had done nice things for her. That had a been a turning point in her life.

  "What did he do back there?" Aggie asked.

  "Fixed the lock on my door," she replied. My door. The door certainly didn't belong to her, and neither did the room, but she felt a certain possessiveness toward that long narrow sleeping space now.

  '"Bout time," Aggie commented.

  As the following weeks passed, Linnea sensed the change that had occurred. Will Tucker didn't seem quite so angry, and she wasn't nearly as skittish in his presence. There was still a tension in the air whenever they were in the same room, but it had taken on a different essence—more of an expectancy…a feeling of anticipation.

  Each time she saw him, she remembered his question about the kiss: If it happened again… would you think it was something you had to do? Or would it be something you'd like to happen ?

  If it happened again. Would it happen again? She'd taken to wondering a dozen times a day. And a dawning realization crept up on her—and scared her witless. She would like for it to happen again.

  "Miz McConaughy, are you paying attention?"

  She and Cimarron were settled on a blanket on the bank near the stream in the dim perimeter of light provided by the lantern. Linnea's thoughts had once again drifted, and she returned her focus to the slate on her lap. Her backside was aching from sitting on the ground and her leg cramped. Mosquitoes buzzed around their heads and a splash sounded in the stream as something, a frog or a muskrat perhaps, jumped to safety.

  "Sorry," she said, and read the words he had chalked. "It was a hot day.''

  The day had been uncomfortably warm, and the air still hadn't cooled off much.

  Cimarron grinned at her. "I have a surprise for you."

  "What is it?"

  "Tomorrow I'm bringin' a book for you to read."

  "A real book? Oh!" She dropped the slate and leaned over to hug him impulsively.

  He returned the hug awkwardly and, chuckling, pulled away to gather his chalk and slate, and stuff them in the saddlebag.

  "What is it?" she asked. "What book will I be reading?"

  "That's the rest of the surprise," he said teasingly.

  "You mean to keep me waiting until tomorrow night?"

  "Yup." He bent and assisted her to her feet. After folding and packing away the blanket, he picked up the lantern and turned down the wick.

  They started up the slope, and he took her hand to lead her.

  "I may not sleep tonight, I'm so excited," she said, "You could give me a hint."

  "Nope. You'll have to wait."

  "Am I going to like it? Of course I'll like it. Will I be able to read it? What if I can't read it? I've only read the words you've written on the slate, not all the words in the book!"

  "You'll figure out the sounds. I'll help you."

  "I read the flour sack today," she told him. "And yesterday the brass plate on the wringer."

  "And you figured those out, did you?"

  "It was nothing I've ever felt before. It made me feel… not smart, but almost as good as other people."

  "Miz McConaughy, you're as good any anybody else and better'n probably half."

  She had grown to appreciate Cimarron's friendship. He was a kindhearted, fun-loving young fellow with views and opinions she respected and stories that made her laugh. She enjoyed sitting by the fire at night and listening to the yarns he and Roy spun for her amusement.

  The Double T felt like home; Linnea experienced an unfamiliar and heady sense of importance and respectability, and it was a joy she meant to cherish while it lasted. Sometimes she let herself pretend that it was her home, that she truly belonged and that she'd never have to leave.

  A tall figure loomed in the darkness ahead of them, stepping directly into their path. Moonlight shone down on a black Stetson and the hair lying against broad shoulders.

  Will Tucker.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Mighty warm night," Will said, not knowing what to think of finding the two of them together.

  "Cooler down by the stream," Cimarron replied, "We took a walk."

  "Thank you for escorting me," Linnea said politely to Cimarron. Nervously, she rubbed her palms together, and Will noted she no longer wore bandages on the freshly healed skin.

  "My pleasure, ma'am. Evenin'." The hand walked toward the bunkhouse, a saddlebag conspicuous on his shoulder.

  Will stepped into place beside Linnea and they approached the house. He'd noticed her behavior around Cimarron more than once. She seemed more at ease with him than with anyone else, especially more than with Will himself. He supposed it was only natural, what with Cimarron being the one who'd brought her from Denver—the first person from the Double T that she'd met. And he was a likeable fellow. Friendly, Handsome. Young.

  Those thoughts ate at him. Worked up his ire.

  Why? Because Will was attracted to her, in some off-kilter inappropriate way. He felt a tenderness toward her that was as unfamiliar as a stiff new pair of boots.

  And because he also felt a fierce protectiveness, he was going to keep an eye on the two of them.

  The next morning, he studied the ground beside the stream, noting the matted grass near a towering oak. A rusty lantern hung on a limb, hidden by leaves and discovered only because he was looking.

  He observed her that day, noting nothing unusual. She served their meals and ate at the end of the table with Aggie as always. Whenever their eyes met, she gave Will a shy smile.

  She and Cimarron exchanged no secret glances that he was aware of.

  Ever since her burn injury, he'd assigned one of the men to her each week. That cowboy was responsible for carrying wood and water, and any other chores too heavy for her. She accepted the help and the men seemed glad to assist. To them she was the best thing that had happened to the ranch since their bunks were built and topped with feather mattresses.

  Nearly every evening, she sat around their fire with them, the dancing embers illuminating her soft features, a smile on her face. The more the child grew within her, the gentler the curves of her face and body became, and the more he worried about what would happen when it was time for the birthing.

  Corinne had written, saying she would be arriving, but that there were matters she had to attend to first.

  That night from the corner of the barn, Will observed Linnea with the men around the fire, her soft laughter creating a hollow place inside him, and he didn't know why. She seemed especially fascinated when the men spoke of places they'd been and where they'd come from, but she never offered insight into her own past.

  Cimarron left the gathering and sometime later, Linnea excused herself. Was it possible they met secretly at the same place often?

  His mind didn't want to grasp the concept, but he couldn't let go of the possibil
ity. He stopped near the corral and spoke softly to the whiskey-colored stallion. The animal was more uneasy than usual at his presence, and Will suspected it sensed the tension he radiated, so he checked on the foals and mares in the barn and raked hay into feeders.

  When he couldn't stand not knowing any longer, he threw down the rake and stomped out into the night. Along the stream grew thickets of shrubs: chokecherry, buffaloberry and box elder. A family of deer mice skittered beneath them at his passing.

  The halo of light beneath the tree could be seen from afar, and it surprised him that he hadn't noticed it before. But the stream was set down in the landscape and quite possibly couldn't be seen from the yard or the ranch buildings.

  They were there, Linnea and Cimarron, their heads together, and her soft voice was stumbling over something she was saying. His heart felt as though a strip of rawhide had been lashed around it and squeezed tight.

  '"You only just tell a boy you won't ever have any—any…'"

  "Anybody."

  '"Anybody but him, ever ever ever, and then you kiss and that's all. Anybody can do it.'" Linnea's words were spoken haltingly.

  Will crept closer.

  '"Kiss? What do you kiss for?'" Linnea was saying.

  "That's good," Cimarron said.

  Will moved into the circle of light and confronted the two who sat close, absorbed in each other and unaware of his approach.

  Cimarron heard the movement, jumped to his feet, and instinctively drew his revolver. Recognizing Will, he lowered the gun and his face took on a mask of guilt. He holstered the gun. "Evenin', boss."

  Will took a few more steps toward him. "This is a cozy scene."

  Linnea struggled to her feet and moved protectively in front of her companion. She stood clutching a book to her protruding belly, her brown eyes wide, staring at Will in fear.

  Her gesture was laughable, really. If he wanted to do harm to Cimarron, there was nothing she could do about it. Will could toss her aside in a heartbeat.

  "It's not what you're thinkin'," Cimarron said, and tried to step around her, but she prevented it by staying in front of him. "Miz McConaughy, I can handle this."

  "No, you won't, I'll handle this." The lift of her chin and the frightened yet defiant look on her face gave Will pause.

  "This was all my idea," she explained rapidly. "I asked Mr. Northcoat to help me read the lists you gave me and not to tell you. He wanted to tell, but I asked him not to. And when he said he would teach me to read, I made him promise to keep it a secret. He was just helping me. We're reading Tom Sawyer.''

  Taken aback, Will absorbed her words. She hadn't been able to read the lists he gave her? Why hadn't she said something? "You couldn't read?" he asked, his minding rolling over the confusing information.

  Linnea gripped the book with both hands and held his gaze.

  Why hadn't she told him she couldn't read the first time he'd handed her a list for supplies?

  In the glow of the lantern, he thought her cheeks were flushed.

  She hadn't wanted him to know. She'd been afraid that if she couldn't perform the tasks he'd assigned to her, her position would be at risk. And it had been But not for the reasons she thought. He wouldn't have let her go because she couldn't read.

  "My father never let me go to school." Years of yearning and shame edged her words. "My husband forbid me to learn. He agreed with my father that it only gave women foolish ideas and made them uppity."

  That admission added a whole passel of insight to her past and to her marriage. It also said something about her character. Even though she'd assumed that Will would feel the same as her husband, she wanted to read so badly that she had risked his anger.

  It also said something about Will's character. He was so angry and closed-minded that she'd been afraid to let him know her perceived shortcomings.

  The spark of admiration he already felt for her blazed into a steady flame.

  "I don't give a fig if you want to learn to read and that Cimarron is willing to teach you," he said gruffly. It pained him that she wasn't able to share these elemental, crucial facts with him in the first place.

  Surprise crossed her features.

  "Just don't be sneakin' around like you're doing something wrong. What will the others think of the two of you meeting in secret out here in the bushes?"

  His insinuation obviously embarrassed both of them, and they didn't look at each other.

  "Then it's okay with you?" Linnea asked in a hopeful voice.

  "It's okay with me if you sit in the kitchen where the gallinippers won't eat you alive, and where anyone looking in can see you're simply readin'."

  Linnea's whole posture relaxed. The hand with the book dropped to her side and she turned to cast Cimarron a joyful smile. "And you're not angry with Mr. Northcoat?"

  She watched Will for confirmation.

  Will looked at his young hand. "I think it's commendable that you're helpin' Mrs. McConaughy learn to read," he said.

  "She's a quick learner," Cimarron stated proudly. "Learned the whole alphabet in just a couple o' weeks."

  "You can head back now," Will told him. "I'll see that she gets to the house safely."

  Having been dismissed, Cimarron picked up his saddlebag, wished Linnea a good night, and ambled into the dark toward the ranch yard.

  Will watched him go, then turned toward Linnea.

  She took a few steps away from him and bent to pick up the blanket and shake it out.

  Moving closer, he placed his hand on her wrist, preventing her from her task.

  She raised round brown eyes to his face in question.

  "What happened to make you so afraid of me?" he asked.

  She looked down at the wool clutched in her fingers. "I—I don't know what you mean."

  "You know what I mean. You shy away from me, you're afraid to tell me truths, you barricade your door at night…you walk out of your way to not step close to me. And you look at me as though I'm very devil. What is it you're afraid of?"

  She swallowed, but didn't move her hand. "You have the power to send me away. And I have nowhere to go. You know that."

  "I'm not going to send you away before your baby is born, Linnea." Ashamed of himself for allowing her to remain so insecure and fearful of her near future, he clumsily tried to assure her now. "You're safe here. You have a place to stay until after the baby comes. I wouldn't send you off without a place to go. I'm a cranky son of a bitch, but I'm not coldhearted When it's time for you to leave, I'll make sure you and the baby will be okay. You have my word."

  She looked up again, and he thought tears glistened in her eyes. "You're word is good enough for me, Mr. Tucker."

  "Will," he corrected.

  With that promise, and what had transpired just now, Linnea began to see Will Tucker in a whole new light. His approval of her reading lessons was like a weight lifted from her shoulders.

  He was cranky, as he admitted, but he had never once raised a fist to her. He was loud and he wore fierce expressions, but his wrath always passed quickly, and she'd never seen him strike a person or an animal to get them to do his bidding.

  He unconditionally provided a home for his stepmother, who had never treated him well. He barked at the old woman and at his men, but none of them had actually shown any fear.

  Perhaps his bark was worse than his bite.

  Linnea had no doubt he meant what he said, and he had assured her she could stay until after the baby came. She would worry about that when the time came—day-to-day life was enough to handle right now. As he helped her gather things, fold the blanket, and walked beside her, a profound relief settled over her like a soft wrap on a blustery day.

  For at least a few more weeks she didn't have to worry over her fate. She could take care of herself and her baby, and enjoy a brief peaceful respite. The temporary lifting of that burden made her feel as though her feet barely touched the ground as they approached the house.

  She climbed the back stairs ahea
d of him and entered the kitchen. He placed the blanket and lantern on the table. Linnea pressed the book to her breast.

  "Do you like the story so far?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes! It's wonderfully exciting. I can't wait to go on."

  The sparkle in her eyes and the joy in her voice touched Will. He would have offered to listen to her read, to help her with the words, but she and Cimarron shared a teacher-student relationship that he didn't want to intrude upon.

  "I'm sorry I didn't trust you," she said in a soft voice. "With the truth about not being able to read. And before that about the baby."

  "A person has to show themselves worthy of trust, I reckon," he said. Added to that, he had the impression that she'd never met a man she could trust before. Or one that wasn't threatened by her learning to read.

  Things had changed since he'd kissed her. Until that moment he hadn't known he wanted to. Or that she would have allowed it. But he had. And she had. Now he thought about it all the time. Thought about the way she smelled and how soft her lips had been. Thought about doing it again.

  Right now, he was looking at her standing in his kitchen, and instead of saying good-night and going up the stairs, or pouring a cup of coffee and settling down at the table, he was thinking about kissing her— this brown little mouse with the liquid eyes and the belly swollen with another man's child.

  How was it he could even imagine taking intimacies with her? How was it he would lay awake tonight wondering how her hair would feel in his hands, what the skin of her ivory throat would feel like against his lips?

  He'd predicted that having a woman on the ranch would spell trouble, but he'd never dreamed the trouble would be his.

  "I do trust you," she said.

  "What?"

  "You said a person needed to be worthy of trust, and I do trust you. I won't worry about my place here until the time comes. Until the baby's here."

  "Okay." He struggled to bring his thoughts back into order. Apparently she wasn't worrying about the actual event of the birth like he was. "Maybe we should talk about that."