Bought by the Lone Cowboy

by E. Walsh

  When he was gone she stood up from the desk. She laid the newspaper she had been reading aside, and began going through her dresses.

  Whatever the morrow brought, she would need something suitable, and with any luck she would soon begin the new life she had hoped to find in the golden west.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  It was nearly a week before Joseph made the trip back to Sacramento to check on the results of the advertisement. The interval was, he admitted to himself as the wagon rolled down the packed dirt of the road, longer than he probably should have waited.

  No doubt some of the girls who answered – if there were any answers at all – would have moved on to greener pastures already.

  That did do him the service of telling him who was serious about the job, he supposed. And the trip into Sacramento was a full day’s drive out and back.

  It was reasonable not to do it again immediately. He’d had to wait for Emmaline Haney to have a day free.

  Somehow, though, the reasons only felt like excuses.

  The truth was, Joseph was nervous about inviting another woman into his home.

  Yes, Emmaline had watched the children, but she had as often taken them back to her mother’s house as she had cared for them at his, and she’d never had to stay the night.

  This new woman – whoever she might be – would be living in his house, sharing his table, sleeping down the hall. Would it make the longing for Rachel even more difficult to bear?

  The old man at the post office greeted him with a knowing smile.

  “You got quite the stack of mail here, Joseph,” he said, holding out a neat bundle of at least half a dozen letters. “Sending out east for one of them mail order brides?”

  “No,” Joseph answered immediate, the word spilling a little too eager from his mouth, startled from him by the old man’s unexpected guess at his affairs.

  “Sure got a lot of women’s correspondence, if that isn’t the case.”

  Oh. Yes. Of course. Joseph breathed a little easier despite his irritation. Couldn’t the old man see that the letters were not addressed from Eastern cities? Most of them must have come from right here in Sacramento.

  “I’m looking for a new nanny to care for my children,” he explained. “The girl who used to do it is married and with a little one of her own on the way now. She doesn’t have time for someone else’s babies.”

  The old man nodded sagely. “Newlyweds have their hands full, darn sure. Though if you don’t mind some unasked for advice from a man who’s spent a good few years on this green earth, you wouldn’t go amiss looking for a new gal.”

  Joseph opened his mouth, and the old man held up a gnarled hand.

  “Before you protest, listen. My Clara died back in ’59. I thought I’d never find another after her, told God I was ready to live out my days alone. But I met Gertrude just a few months later, and we’ve been married these twelve years, happy as two people can be. There may be someone out there for you yet, Joseph Beyer. Just you be sure you keep an eye out. Missing your second chance at happiness would be a sad thing indeed.”

  What right, Joseph fumed silently as he left the post office – What right did the old man have to act as though he knew better than Joseph what he ought to do with his life?

  He was a postal worker, not Joseph’s father. Not even his friend. Just a man he occasionally exchanged words with on his infrequent trips to Sacramento.

  He’d bet a silver dollar the man only knew his name because it was on his mail.

  Joseph flicked through the little stack of envelopes as he walked, all of them addressed in flowing, feminine hands. Violet Thomas… Eleanor Nichols… Rachel Moore…. Rachel…

  That one he tossed aside, mouth pressing tight. It would be difficult enough to have a woman wandering around the house without her sharing his dead wife’s name. Mabel Todd… Amelia Vartain... Miss Laurel Ennis … She signed her name “Miss”...

  Respectable names, all, he supposed, good Christian names. He wondered what history might be behind those names. Had any of them been previously wed? Might they be divorced or widowed?

  The west was a harsh place. Surely there was a chance of finding a widow or two among the number. Joseph hadn’t yet decided if that would make things easier, or harder, having a widow come into his house. He supposed it depended on the widow.

  Surely there were a few around who weren’t any more interested in finding a new husband than he was in finding a replacement for Rachel.

  But there were a fair share of widows desperate for new male companionship, and he wasn’t going to play host to that sort.

  It would only end in disappointment for both of them.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Back on the wagon seat, Joseph began opening the letters, one by one. He hadn’t initially wanted to do it in Sacramento. He’d thought to take them back home, open them at his leisure, and maybe write a few more letters back and forth before making a choice.

  But Emmaline was due before too long now, and with no one to watch the children while he went back and forth between the farm and Sacramento, he couldn’t keep making the trip.

  So that meant staying in the city for the afternoon – maybe even for the night – and talking with the young women in person.

  Provided she agreed to come, he’d be taking the final choice back with him when he returned home. The prospect didn’t exactly fill him with joy, but Joseph Beyer was a practical man.

  If something had to be done, it got done, and that was the end of it.

  The name he kept coming back to was Miss Laurel Ennis. For some reason the sound of it, Miss Laurel Ennis, made him smile.

  He liked the direct formality of her letter – the way it got straight to the point with no loitering over meaningless details.

  She had not – as two of the others had – mentioned her looks, which was promising.

  Nor had she made any point of insisting that certain things must come with her.

  She was, however, young, and lacking the experience some of the other applicants had in child-rearing.

  It left Joseph torn, which meant that it was time to stop reading again and again through the letters and go call on some of the ladies who had sent them.

  His decision to go to Miss Laurel Ennis first was simply a matter of practicality.

  As a recent transplant to the city, she was unlikely to have much of a social circle, and the most likely to be available for an unexpected afternoon call.

  If she proved to be suitable, then so much the better; his journey could be over almost as soon as it had begun.

  Joseph’s confidence remained until he arrived at the hotel where Miss Laurel Ennis was staying.

  Standing in the shadow of its grand façade, he felt the new certainty falter, and glanced down again at the address written on the face of the envelope as though he might find that he’d come to the wrong hotel. He hadn’t. What, he wondered, did someone as obviously well off as Miss Laurel Ennis want with a job caring for the children of a plum farmer?

  In the lobby, the man at the front desk asked who Joseph had come to see, and looked politely skeptical when he explained that he was there to call on Miss Laurel Ennis in room 15.

  Joseph, of course, didn’t have a card to send up to the young lady, and so he stood awkwardly waiting while it was ascertained that Miss Ennis was, in fact, waiting for a reply from a Mr. Joseph Beyer. Whether or not she was surprised that he had come in person the messenger didn’t say.

  Thirty seconds later, Joseph was being led down the gleaming hall toward the room where the young woman awaited.

  It was a short trip. They stopped, and the bell boy reached up and knocked: three short, efficient taps against the spotless white of the door.

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  This time, the knock was not unexpected. Laurel, already standing, stopped her somewhat nervous pacing and turned to face it.

  It was onl
y a job, she reminded herself. There were always other jobs, if she didn’t get this one.

  There was no reason to worry. It didn’t stop her from worrying, just a little. She wanted the job.

  “Come in,” she called quietly toward the door. It opened.

  The man on the other side was tall, his ash blond hair parted to one side. His hands and face were tanned a brown that almost didn’t suit the pale hair, his eyes startlingly blue against it.

  In one hand, he held his hat, which he was fidgeting with in uncertain little motions she doubted he was aware of. He seemed like the kind of person who would stop himself fidgeting, if he knew he was doing it.

  ‘Hello,” Laurel offered. “Please sit down, if you like. I’m Laurel Ennis. Did you need anything? A cup of tea? Water?”

  He swallowed hard and shook his head.

  “Straight to business, then,” Laurel said.

  He hadn’t sat, and so she didn’t either, just stood in front of the settee with her hands clasped in front of her skirt.

  After a moment, he seemed to realize what she was waiting for, and took a chair, perching himself stiffly on the edge as though afraid to sit in it.

  “I’m Laurel Ennis,” she offered, one corner of her mouth tipping up into an almost-smile. “Though I hope my letter told you that much, at least.”

  The man across from her didn’t laugh.

  “Joseph Beyer,” he said, as though she hadn’t known.

  There was a moment of silence she wasn’t sure how to fill.

  “So,” he said, halting, a little awkward. “You say you have experience caring for children?”

  Laurel nodded. “Not a great deal, I’m afraid, but enough to know my way around it. When my sister’s daughter was very young, she fell ill for a time, and I stayed with them and cared for her until Lillian was well.”

  His nod was stiff as a board. Laurel wondered if his neck had been injured.

  “I suppose I ought to mention that we’re about twenty miles outside of Sacramento,” he said. “ It’s half a day’s ride out here, so if you have friends in town or places you hope to regularly visit, that’ll be a bit hard to accommodate.”

  Laurel shook her head, swallowing down the laughter that wanted to escape. The poor man looked uncomfortable enough.

  “No friends in town, Mr. Beyer. And no reason to come back to it aside from the occasional bit of shopping. Besides which, I should think that taking care of the children will take up most of my day.”

  That seemed to reassure him, at least. He loved his children, Laurel thought, watching the relief that finally settled into his shoulders at her assurance that she didn’t intend to go gallivanting off every spare minute.

  “Your day, and some of your night as well, likely,” he said. “Sarah still wakes up sometimes. Bad dreams. I need someone who can soothe her so I don’t have to lose too much sleep. Mornings come early in farm country.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind that, Mr. Beyer. Not a bit. Ada wasn’t resting through the night yet when I took care of her for Lily.” She smiled. “I have the ‘go back to sleep’ routine down pat.”

  “I suppose it’s just wages left, then.” He set the hat he had been fidgeting with beside him on the couch. “I can pay you $9 a week, plus room and board.”

  Laurel, who had enough money sitting in the bank to keep her comfortably for some years to come, smiled. “That’s acceptable to me, Mr. Beyer.”

  He looked, she thought, a little startled by the easy yes, as though he had half expected her to argue, but he didn’t speak. Silence stretched between them.

  Laurel reached for the cup of cooling tea she’d left sitting on the end table before his arrival, and took a careful sip. She set it back in its saucer. When she looked up, he was watching her.

  “Yes, Mr. Beyer?” she tried.

  The tall man shifted. “There’s a question I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re looking for work, but it’s plain to see you aren’t hurting for money, staying in a place like this. It’s also plain that you’re pretty well educated. What makes you want to come live on a farm and take care of children?”

  It was a question she supposed she ought to have expected.

  “I’m not one to sit about,” she said after a moment. “My father’s recent passing left me here alone in California, and I’ve no desire to go back east just yet. What better way to learn a little about this beautiful state than to spend time on one of its farms? And I love children, Mr. Beyer. I would far rather care for little ones than spend my time taking dictation.”

  The nod that answered her announcement was thoughtful. This time, the silence that settled over the room wasn’t awkward. It was simply there.

  “When could you begin?”

  “This very minute, if it suited you,” Laurel answered.

  For the first time, he smiled. It was a small thing, like he had grown unused to wearing one, but she liked the way it changed the lines on his face. He looked kinder with it. Less sad. She wondered suddenly how long ago his wife had died, and how much he must still miss her.

  “I suppose, Miss Ennis, that’s as much of a sign as I’m going to get.” He stood. “I’m looking for someone who can return with me this afternoon, so I don’t have to find someone to care for the children while I make another day trip over here to pick up the new nanny. If you’re amenable, I think you’re quite suitable for the job.”

  Laurel was on her feet almost the second the words had left his mouth, warm excitement bubbling up in her chest. It didn’t occur to her to wonder at the strength of the feelings; she had always liked succeeding in an endeavor.

  “My trunks are already packed. There are just a few small things to tidy away, and then I’ll be quite ready to go with you, Mr. Beyer.”

  In the doorway to the bedroom, she paused, and turned back.

  “I want to thank you,” she said. “For giving me this opportunity. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  Before he could answer, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, moving to gather up the handful of items that, for convenience sake, had not yet been packed away.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Laurel Ennis was both exactly what Joseph had imagined, and something he had not even known to guess at.

  Though she had been perfectly polite – as graciously formal as her letter – her obvious enthusiasm had not been at all hidden.

  It was a positive trait, in working with children. But it hadn’t been entirely that fact which had solidified his decision.

  From the moment he walked into the room, it had been obvious she had no need of a job. The blue dress she wore was as obviously suited to the rich surroundings as Miss Ennis herself.

  She wanted to care for his children simply because it was something she wanted to do.

  Surely, he told himself as he stood waiting in the sitting room, such unforced initiative meant she would treat them well. Of course, it could easily turn ‘round the other way.

  If she decided she didn’t like living on a remote farm in the central valley, there was no money holding her there.

  But if she decided she hated the work, or the house, it would be better to find someone new anyway.

  It had been a relief to find that Miss Ennis looked nothing like Rachel. His wife’s hair had been nearly as blonde as his own, her eyes warm brown.

  Miss Ennis was raven-haired and blue-eyed. Shorter than Rachel too. Not so slender. A beautiful girl, anyone would say. But – thank God – nothing like Rachel.

  The door to the bedroom opened, and Laurel emerged once more, carrying with her a small carpet bag.

  She had changed, he was relieved to see, into something a little more suitable for a long wagon ride than the bustled and ruffled blue dress she had been wearing when he arrived. A hat sat atop her curls.

  “All packed,” she said brightly.

  Moving past him
, she rang the bell for the bus boy, who quickly appeared. Two trunks, Joseph noted. Both of them very large.

  He hoped she had some more practical clothing in them. In silence, he followed her down to the desk where she checked out, then into the bright sunlight of a California spring afternoon.

  “It’s that one,” he said, pointing to where the wagon waited.

  The bell boys hauled the trunks over, loading them heavily into the back of the light wagon. Laurel moved directly for the horses.

  At least, Joseph thought, she wasn’t afraid of them. His heart twisted a little in his chest. Rachel had done what she was doing – stroking their soft noses with her fingertips, murmuring to them like they were friends.

  What if he’d made the wrong decision, bringing a woman in?

  Laurel stepped back, and Joseph took a deep breath. The children needed a nanny, he reminded himself. The woman had been nothing but professional, and he would be fine.

  Everyday things were bound to remind him of Rachel. Most women shared a few common traits. He couldn’t avoid everything that made him think of her.

  The trunks loaded, one of the bell boys offered a hand to help Laurel up into the wagon, and Joseph was a little relieved he hadn’t had to do it himself. He untied the horses from the hitching post and climbed up beside her, taking the reins.

  “Have everything you need?”

  She smiled. “Right there in the back. I’m ready when you are, Mr. Beyer.”

  Joseph glanced sideways at the young woman sitting tall on the seat beside him. An excited flush colored her cheeks. He looked away.

  A flick of the reins and a click of his tongue, and the horses started forward, carrying them both toward the farm, and the future.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  “Tell me a bit about the farm,” Laurel said when they’d left the city limits behind and were trotting along the road that led east toward Newcastle. “And about the children?”