The Wrangler's Inconvenient Wife

by Lacy Williams

  He’d watched her light out from camp and guessed she had. Would she admit to it?

  He squatted beside her. “Sorry. Did you overhear John and me talking?”

  She frowned.

  And he thought about her promise that she wouldn’t lie to him. Her expression made it clear she didn’t really want to answer.

  Finally there came a reluctant “Yes.”

  “I don’t want you coming out in the dark alone, not without us knowing who’s following behind.”

  She nodded, not looking at him. She switched out one plate for another.

  “Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No.”

  He fought the smile that twitched one corner of his mouth up. “Let me rephrase. I’d like to hear about the reason you left Tennessee now.”

  She sighed and her shoulders drooped. She switched out the plate for the big pot, probably the last thing she had to wash. “I already told you that our parents passed away and then Daniel’s tuition payments stopped coming. Emma and I were on the headmistress’s last bit of mercy when he came calling. Underhill.” She spit the name like it was poison.

  “He must’ve seen Emma out with the other young girls. Picnicking or shopping or some such. I don’t know exactly how he became enamored with her.”

  She scrubbed the pot harder, water splashing up her arm and onto his boots. Like if she scrubbed hard enough, she could rub away the past.

  “I think Emma was flattered at first. He was older—probably thirty, much too old for her. She tends toward shyness anyway, always has. But we didn’t have any options and I don’t know what she was thinking. Maybe that a handsome man was interested in her. She’s only fifteen. She didn’t know better.”

  Sounded like an excuse to Edgar. But then, both girls were away from any family who could’ve—should’ve—protected them.

  She threw the rag into the pot and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

  She still didn’t look at him. “I always sat in when he called for her. Always. Except one day I came in from laundering some of the bedclothes. They were in an embrace, but Emma was struggling against him.”

  Her hands made fists in her lap, the pot seemingly forgotten on the bank.

  “Her dress... The sleeve of her dress was ripped.” Fran’s voice shook as she spoke the words.

  Hot anger swirled in his belly. If anyone dared do something like that to Breanna, they’d have the whole passel of White boys on them so fast...but who had been there to protect Emma? Only her sister.

  “I called out, but when one of the teachers came to help, Underhill claimed the embrace was mutual. Emma denied it. Anybody with eyes to see would’ve known that he’d tried to force himself on her. But the damage was done. The school couldn’t have any hint of impropriety, and it was Emma’s word against his.

  “The headmistress asked us to leave. She was afraid, too—she wouldn’t use any of her connections to help us, other than offering to deliver Emma to an orphanage. I don’t know where I would’ve gone.... We were packing our few things when Underhill showed up again. He told Emma he would have her—whether she wanted his attentions or not. It frightened us both. The headmistress escorted us to the orphanage, but Underhill threatened to return. One of the orphanage administrators believed us, though, and put us on the westbound train.”

  “Did she know your real age?” He couldn’t contain the question.

  She paused again, looking up at him. Moonlight filtered through the canopy of brushy trees above them. She frowned again. “No. I’ve always looked younger—”

  He could believe it. Her petite stature and pixie features made it a natural assumption.

  “By that point I was so afraid that I couldn’t see any other way.”

  “It doesn’t make it right,” he pointed out.

  She sighed. Looked down. “No, it doesn’t.”

  She picked up the pot again and gave it one more swish with the water and rag, then dumped the remaining water in the creek.

  “What’s his interest in Emma? Do you think he’s really followed you all this way?”

  “I can only guess his motives,” she said quietly. “It’s as if he became obsessed with her. I overheard a man asking about us on the platform at the Lincoln stop.”

  Edgar would’ve questioned her further, but remembered his ma’s issues with just such a man. Why were some men bent on evil? He didn’t know, but he did know that the surge of emotion in his chest meant he wouldn’t let any harm come to Emma.

  “We can’t be sure that whoever is following us is after you two. It could’ve been a farmer curious as to who was passing by. It could be someone interested in our cattle—which isn’t good, either. Until we figure out who it is, I want you and Emma to stick close to the wagon or camp. Don’t head off by yourselves. Understand?”

  * * *

  Oh, she understood.

  Fran was thankful that Edgar wanted to protect Emma. He’d believed her on the most important thing, and that was all that mattered.

  But...

  Part of her thought maybe she should tell him the rest.

  She hadn’t lied to him.

  But she hadn’t told him about Underhill’s accusations against her, either. They were entirely untrue, but given that she’d arrived under false pretenses and Edgar still questioned her trustworthiness, she didn’t want him to have any reason to doubt her.

  She piled the clean dishes back into the pot and rose to stretch her back before she reached for it.

  “I’ll haul it for you,” her husband said.

  “Your hand—” she protested, but he’d already picked up the lot of it and was heading back toward camp.

  “It doesn’t hurt that bad. You coming?”

  Walking along next to him the darkness, nothing had been solved, but somehow she felt reassured.

  Was it possible God had put her on that westbound train here, to Wyoming? Had God set her on a path to meet this man?

  Looking up at the shadow of his profile against the starry sky, she was strangely comforted.

  Maybe, after days of restless, worry-filled sleep, she would finally rest tonight.

  * * *

  Hours later, Edgar urged his horse across the grassy field, as careful as he could be in the darkness. Morning was coming, and he needed to get back to the cattle camp before it was time to ride out.

  His hunt hadn’t turned up what he was looking for. They must’ve hit a patch of unclaimed land, because there seemed to be no farmhouse close. The fact that there were no farmhouses nearby meant that whoever followed them hadn’t just been checking on who was passing by.

  Which amounted to one of two things.

  Rustlers.

  Or men coming after their two female stowaways.

  Neither option was pleasant.

  He was a decent tracker and hadn’t been able to find hide nor hair of anybody. John had seen two sets of tracks the day before, but they’d been covered over when Edgar had returned to where John had told him they were. And there weren’t that many places to hide out here in the open prairie. Not like there would be closer to the mountain range.

  Someone was being extracareful not to be seen.

  And that didn’t sit well with Edgar.

  His hand was still swollen and near to useless, but he had his equilibrium back, and riding in the early morning had been a relief.

  He whistled a welcome to Seb, who’d been assigned sentry duty, and was gratified when a return whistle came quickly. The boy must not have been sleeping on the job.

  He dismounted as the first rays of light started sliding over the eastern horizon. He tied off his mount and knocked softly on the side of the chuck wagon, where Fran and Emma slept.

  There was a frantic rust
ling, a whisper, then dead silence.

  He knocked again. “Fran, it’s me.”

  The canvas flap kicked open and she hissed, “You about scared the life out of me!”

  Her pert nose peeked out of the darkness inside. He imagined she was on her knees in the wagon bed, and so they were pretty much face-to-face. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, teased him with the desire to touch it.

  His mouth kicked up in a smile at her petulant adorableness before he even realized it.

  “C’mon. Rise and shine. We’ve got work to do.”

  He heard her soft groan. Knew being out here must be hard on her, if she’d been used to city living and had grown soft from days of train travel. But she hadn’t complained yet.

  “All right, I’m— Emma!”

  Her soft exclamation came only a second before she tumbled out of the wagon.

  He caught her against his chest.

  And for the first time, didn’t want to let her go.

  * * *

  Fran landed hard against her cowboy husband. At least that was the excuse she would give if anyone asked her why she was breathless.

  The frantic beat of her heart had changed from the stark fear she’d known at his soft knock against the wagon to something entirely different.

  She was attracted to her bear of a husband.

  It wasn’t light out yet, and standing together in the darkness like this, with his hands at her waist... At least the semidarkness would hide the heat in her cheeks.

  Emma was likely watching from inside the wagon. The little goose had shoved her, and only Edgar catching her had stopped Fran from falling facefirst to the ground.

  But she forgot about her sister and all their troubles in the safety of his arms.

  “Does no one tell you you should cut your hair?” she asked, daring to reach up and touch one of the long locks trailing out beneath his hat. It was surprisingly soft.

  “My ma,” he gruffed. “But not in a while.”

  “Hmm.”

  Was it her imagination, or was he leaning closer...as if he might kiss her....

  “Arf!”

  The sharp bark from within the wagon startled them both and Fran stepped away as his arms fell from her waist.

  “Emma!” she called, coming back to her senses.

  Her sister poked her head out, the white dog in her arms.

  “What’s that thing doing in there with all the food?” Edgar demanded.

  “I made sure everything was covered,” Fran protested, defending her sister. As if there wasn’t trail dust and grass coming in the wagon at all times anyway.

  He took off his hat and ran one hand through his hair, turning away. Agitated.

  Because of the dog, or because of their near kiss?

  She quickly swept her hair up behind her head, reaching into the pocket of her dress for the pins she would use to secure it.

  He glanced back at her, eyes intense as he watched her contain the full tresses. So it had been the almost kiss that discombobulated him.

  “It’s good you’re both awake. I came after both of you anyway.”

  She sniffed the air. Seemed like Chester had already started the coffee. What more could her husband ask her to do so early in the morning?

  “There’re two things a gal needs to know out here in the West. Seems like I’m going to be the one teaching you and Emma.”

  There was motion from Emma behind the canvas cover. Fran had been trying to figure a way to get her sister out of that wagon and interacting—somehow. If Emma was curious enough to emerge from the cocoon of the wagon, Fran would be grateful. No matter what the idea was.

  “What are the two things?” she asked.

  “Shooting and riding.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up at the incredulous look that must have been on her face.

  “Not milking a cow? Or gathering eggs?” She recited two of the items she could remember from his list of chores that first night.

  “Nope. Shooting and riding. You gonna swoon?”

  She wrinkled her nose at his reference to the moments just before their wedding.

  “No.” She sighed. “Lead the way.”

  She could suffer through, if it would get Emma out of the wagon.

  “We’ve only got time for one this morning. Y’all can take a few private moments, then meet me back here and we’ll head off for some practice.”

  The sun was a half of a burning orange ball on the horizon when she and Emma followed Edgar down to the creek, crossed it in a narrow part and wound back behind to a bluff rising out of the prairie.

  “We want to be far enough away from the cattle that they won’t startle when we start shooting,” he explained. “I’ve scouted and there’s not a house or anything back behind here that might indicate someone’s out there. You never want to shoot where there’s a chance you might hit someone.”

  She shivered, imagining what a bullet could do to a human body if they weren’t being careful. Beside her, Emma clung to her elbow a little tighter.

  On the other hand, being able to protect herself, and her sister, could be something she really needed.

  Edgar showed them both a rifle and a pistol, showed them how to tell if either was loaded or unloaded, let them feel the weight of each in their hands.

  Then he showed Emma how to load and fire the pistol. The recoil threw Emma back a step, but he was there at her shoulder, showing her the correct way to reload and fire again.

  He was so good with Emma. Like the older brother Daniel had never really been. By the time Fran had been old enough to understand, Daniel had been immersed in his studies and preparing for a career in law.

  But it was clear to see that Edgar must dote on his younger sister.

  He made Emma comfortable. Fran hadn’t been sure how her sister would react. But Edgar’s gentle teaching had somehow eased her. And after everything she’d been through, that was of utmost importance to Fran.

  Then it was Fran’s turn behind the weapon. Her hands shook as she leveled the gun on the white scrap of linen Edgar had hung over a bush up against the bluff.

  “Steady now,” he said.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen if she ever had to shoot the thing at a person.

  She started to lower the weapon, but he moved up right behind her, so close her bent elbow brushed the fabric of his shirt.

  And then she was trembling for an entirely different reason.

  * * *

  Edgar felt the tremor go through Fran.

  Having the shakes could get someone shot, so he put his arms around her from behind—she was so petite, the top of her head didn’t even reach his chin—and covered her hands with his, steadying her, guiding her to where he knew she’d be able to sight the target.

  “Your hand,” she whispered.

  “Hmm?” he asked.

  “Is it...better?”

  He imagined she could see it was still yellow and purple, still a little swollen. “The worst of the pain has passed. Go ahead.”

  She shot once, the sound ringing in his head. She bumped back into him from the recoil.

  She was still shaking.

  He wanted her to relax a little. So he teased. “You might be worse than my ma when Pa taught her how to shoot.”

  She tilted her chin and looked back at him. “I’d like to meet her.”

  Looking down into her warm brown eyes, fringed with those sooty lashes and with that spray of freckles across her nose, he realized he was in trouble.

  He knew she’d felt the attraction sparking between them when she’d fallen out of the wagon and into his arms. They both had.

  Attraction or not, it didn’t change things between them. His pas
t had taught him that he couldn’t trust a woman, not when his own birth ma had abandoned him.

  “I’ve been thinking about what happens after I get the cattle to Tuck’s Station.”

  She kept her eyes on the target but spoke softly. “Oh?”

  “I know a woman in Calvin—” Wait, that didn’t sound right.

  She fired a shot. Miss.

  He started over. “My ma frequents a seamstress in Calvin who is always busy. If she’s willing to take you and Emma on, it’ll be a start for you.

  “How are your sewing skills?” he finished lamely.

  She broke from his light hold and turned to face him, lowering the gun. “Passable. But I thought—”

  He didn’t want her thinking anything other than that they were going their separate ways. “I promised to provide for you, and this seems like the most workable solution.”

  She was silent, looking up at him with an assessing gaze.

  “I told you when we got into this marriage that you could have my name. That’s all I can give.”

  That had sounded better in his head.

  Her face scrunched and for a moment he thought she might tear up, but she only turned her back to him and raised the gun again. This time, her hands didn’t shake at all.

  She shot out the rest of the chambered bullets, kicking up dust near the target and once flapping its corner.

  When she turned back to him, gun lowered at her side, her lips were set in a firm white line.

  He didn’t like the silence, the distance between them. It made his gut ache. But it was for the best, right?

  “Good job,” he praised. “If any of those goons come after you two again, you’ll at least have some level of protection against them.”

  “What ‘goons?’” Emma asked, coming near.

  He hadn’t noticed she’d gotten up from her place among the prairie grasses. The daisy chain she’d been weaving fell to the ground at her feet.

  “Fran?” Emma asked.

  He and Emma came shoulder to shoulder as they both turned on Fran.

  “You didn’t tell her?” he asked. He held his hand out for the gun. “Your coddling could put her in danger. She needs to know what’s going on.”