Waiting on Waylon (Cowboys & Angels Book 6)

by Jo Noelle

  Seffi wadded the blankets and sheets into balls and threw them toward the door. “Tell me about yourself, Vivian. That is if you don’t mind.” She grabbed a broom and started sweeping from under a bed. “You’ve been tight-lipped about it, and I don’t want to pry, so you don’t have to.”

  They’d wash the sheets in a few minutes. Vivian tossed hers, too, then took a deep breath, blowing out slowly. “I was born in England and lived at an orphanage. I was lucky that Mrs. Vaines was a believer. She treated us well and made sure that all her charges had a trade before they left her. I was taught to sew. I made clothes for the other children and a few to sell to help pay for the food we needed.

  “When I turned seventeen, I began to sew for a dressmaker though I still lived at the orphanage because the money I made helped out so much. When the society women donated their castoffs, it was my job to take them apart and make new dresses that the children’s home would sell to buy food.

  “When I was nineteen, a new woman was running the orphanage and said that a dressmaker in America would give the orphanage a large sum of money if I agreed to immigrate. I’d be able to work off the cost of my passage, and then I’d have a new life with freedom and opportunities I could never have in London.”

  “But it didn’t work out that way?” Seffi asked.

  “Each month, the Plems gave me my wages, then demanded most of it back for room and board. Then they took the rest of it to pay for the thread cuttings and trimmings of material that had dropped to the floor.” There was no way to avoid those small wastes. They were just part of dressmaking. “They charged the women for putting coal in the workroom stove although we rarely did so. We had one dress we had to sew for ourselves at night. I really couldn’t see any opportunity. I was bound to a very bad circumstance.”

  Vivian knew she should stop, but the story she’d been hiding fell from her lips. Seffi was a friend, and Vivian sorely needed a friend.

  “At the end of each month, I owed more for my indentured contract than the month before. I knew I would never be able to leave. Then Julia told me about the bulletin for the Brides Train Matrimonial Service, and we left in the middle of the night. I came to America three years ago as an illegal indentured servant—I had broken the law.” Vivian tried not to cry, but the tears leaked down her cheeks anyway, and she couldn’t sniff away the sobs.

  Seffi dropped her broom and took Vivian into her arms. She held her until Vivian stopped crying. Hearing her own story convinced Vivian to abandoned her high hopes for a fine man to be her husband, but if she could have the protection of a husband and the belonging of a family, she would consider herself truly blessed.

  Vivian loved Seffi. The woman had taken her in as if she were already family. She would do anything to keep that friendship. She should make arrangements for herself, and soon. Then she’d tell Waylon that she’d changed her mind and leave. It was one thing to make a choice and another to be discarded. She’d rather make a decision.

  “That’s how I came to be here.”

  Seffi gave her one last hug. “I’m glad you are.”

  Chapter 8

  Waylon Morgan

  Waylon stood outside the door to his brothers’ bedroom, listening to the young woman. He’d come up as his mother had asked to move the mattresses outside for her, but when he heard the story, he leaned against the wall and listened. He knew he shouldn’t, but at first, he just liked hearing her voice. That English accent would be alluring even if she were talking about spreading manure in a garden. She didn’t talk much around him, and he admitted that was his fault, too.

  As she told her story, he had a glimpse into her heart. He saw her making the best of every bad situation she’d been given. He marveled that she had used her talent to feed the children and even moved over an ocean to benefit the orphanage. She was a giver. She was tender and strong.

  He’d stayed hidden in the hallway to learn about her. It took every muscle in his body to keep from charging into the room when he heard how she’d been sold and then held by the Plems. Slavery is what that amounted to.

  He wanted to hold her and protect her.

  But the next part of her story pricked his conscience too. She had honestly signed on to be a bride. Somehow things got mixed up, and she ended out here. He was glad his mother had given her a job and a place to live.

  When the story lagged, he thought he should warn them that he was coming in. “Hey, Ma,” he called out as if just coming up the stairs. He stopped in the doorway, and Miss Leete quickly turned her back to him, her fingers wiping at her face. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “You ready for the mattresses to go down yet?”

  “Yes, grab one and take it to the back porch and lean it against the rail.”

  Waylon stepped up to the bed and hefted the mattress to his back.

  “Here’s the broom, Vivian. It’s not hard. You just beat the daylights out of the mattress.” Then Seffi laughed. “Pretend it’s him.”

  Waylon couldn’t see his ma, but he was sure that she had pointed his way at that remark.

  He deposited the mattress on the porch. He spoke up before Vivian could walk away. “You’ve done a lot of good for my ma, Miss Leete. She seems happier than I’ve seen her in months.”

  “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed her company so much.”

  When she turned to scoot behind him, he asked, “How are you liking Colorado?” He kicked himself. That was a dumb question.

  “I truly love it. The air is clean. The sky is a color that I had never imagined. It’s like I’d never seen blue before. It’s freeing to live here. I can imagine a number of possibilities for my life, and none of them scare me.”

  “What is it you like to do?” he asked.

  She paused before she answered as if contemplating her choices. “I like to sew. I’ve been a seamstress my whole life. Someone might think I’d be happy to be rid of it, but for me it’s calming. I enjoy seeing a dress come together from a design that was only in my mind before. I like seeing a woman transformed by wearing something I create. It’s like they can live in my imagination by wearing the dress.”

  Waylon hadn’t expected her emotion to be so happy after hearing her story of the people who had used her. Doing something she loved had saved her from bitterness. Waylon added to the list of qualities he thought she possessed. She was resilient. She could embrace the good even in bad situations.

  “You have another mattress to bring down,” she said, drawing him out of his reverie. She began hitting the mattress with a broom.

  He went back upstairs. Then, when he dropped the second mattress on the back porch, he spun around to go back in the house. Miss Leete was right behind him, and he turned directly in front of her after she leaned the broom against the house. The moment stretched, and neither of them moved or looked away. She seemed as caught as he was. He felt the way he did around a skittish colt, knowing that a quick move would send her running.

  Waylon found he just wanted to look. Her eyes, the same burnished brown of her hair, had golden sunbursts radiating from the centers. He was right about her lips, too—red and full, and at that moment, they parted slightly. He reached out to take her hand, soft and small, in his. Then he gently traced around the fingers, his finger circling each nail. These hands had fed orphans and served his mother.

  As if being slapped out of a dream, Waylon realized he liked holding her hand and stepped back. “I have to get that first mattress back up to ma.” He muscled the flopping mattress through the kitchen door and tried to walk slowly, but it still felt like he fled. He sped across the house and up the stairs. Stupid, stupid. Leave her alone. There was sweat on his brow, but it wasn’t from climbing the stairs.

  When he entered the room, his mother stood staring at the door with her fists on her hips. Waylon was frozen on the spot.

  “Don’t try denying it. I’m your mother, and I still know everything.”

  How could she see what he’d done on the porch
? It was recessed behind the other walls of the house. It wasn’t possible. Still, when she stared at him like that, he turned to mush and wanted to confess everything.

  Before he did, his mother said, “You stood beside the doorway and listened to our conversation.”

  Waylon wanted to blow a sign of relief that she hadn’t seen the handholding. He couldn’t deny that he’d been in the hallway, either. Hopefully, she didn’t ask about anything else.

  “I saw your big ol’ boots near the floorboards in the hallway. That young woman needs us—you heard it for yourself. That kind of life would beat anyone down, but instead she’s kind and loving and holds no malice for those who’ve wronged her. She’s got a special soul, that one.”

  There was nothing to argue with there. Waylon felt it, too, and was drawn to her. It made his heart race to hear her voice. Although he tried to keep himself busy around the ranch, he always seemed to look for her—near the barren garden spot, with the chickens, hanging the wash out on a bright day. Especially hanging the wash.

  Vivian was a hard worker for sure. He never saw her slacking, and she volunteered to relieve his mother’s burdens whenever possible. She was kind too. After hearing her story, he admired her strength. He was amazed that she could be happy after going through so much.

  The movement of her bending for the next thing then stretching to hang it up was poetry in motion. He laughed to himself—Miss Leete pinned the clothes upside down on the line. His ma didn’t correct her, so who was he to say something? In fact, he found it irresistibly charming. By the end of the batch, more hair had escaped her braid than it held, and he longed to feel the silky tresses. Seeing her putter around his house seemed…right. When he had stood close to her on the porch and felt her skin, he was a goner. He knew he needn’t wonder if he could ever fall in love with her—just that it was inevitable like the next sunrise.

  What was he going to do about that now? He supposed he could move out to the old homestead. It was only a one-room cabin, but it was well repaired since they used it every season except winter. They weren’t using it now since the family liked to be all together for Christmas.

  Even if he did go, he knew that he’d still come to the house often. He’d tell himself that he needed to talk to his mother or brothers about ranch business, but he knew in his heart that it was her who would pull him back. She deserved better than him.

  He’d overheard the part of her story about the Brides Train. There must be someone who expected her, and she’d never showed up. He could ask around about that.

  Chapter 9

  Vivian Leete

  Vivian dressed for her riding lesson. Each day since she had arrived, Seffi had taken her out. The first week, her legs burned, her seat was sore, and her stomach ached when she sneezed or laughed. She had been surprised how hard a rider worked and that she was warm from the exertion even in the chilly weather. Though they said she was riding a gentle horse, being that high off the ground and out of control had been terrifying at times. She felt much more comfortable now, and Miss Ruth was a sweet, gentle mare.

  As Vivian buttoned on her new warm coat, she wondered how she could ever repay Seffi’s kindness. She had thought to make her a dress, but she already seemed to have a different one for every day. She’d have to be alert and think of something. Vivian descended the stairs and met Seffi in the front room. She was sitting on the davenport with her foot propped up on a pillow.

  “Vivian, we were going to ride to Creede today for your lesson. I needed to get a few things, but I can’t go now.”

  “Don’t worry about that. What can I do for you? Is your foot hurt, or your leg?”

  “I stepped a little wrong on my ankle when I was cleaning up after breakfast, and I think it’s best if I keep off it for a while.” Vivian began unbuttoning her coat, and Seffi added, “You go on to Creede without me.”

  Vivian doubted that she could even find Creede alone. She wanted to interrupt her and assure her that she’d rather stay home until Seffi added, “I gave a list of things we’ll need to Waylon, and he’ll give you your lesson today instead of me. Riding on a trail’s a little different than riding on our road.”

  It did worry to think she would be on horseback without the house nearby. She knew from her drive out to the ranch how sparsely populated the area between Topaz and Creede was. But Waylon would be there, and she trusted him to know what to do. Vivian buttoned her coat again.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” Secretly, she welcomed this chance to get to know Waylon better.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Seffi replied. “This will help things along. I mean for my foot.”

  “I would like to pick up some material in town,” Vivian said. She had the leftover money in her room.

  Seffi pointed to a tiny leather bag on the table. “Take that. It’s your pin money.” Although Vivian shook her head, Seffi said, “You’ve been a big help to me these past weeks. It isn’t much, but I need you to take it.”

  Vivian picked up the bag as Waylon walked into the room and removed his hat. His blond locks looked freshly washed, falling in gentle waves above his steel-blue eyes. She’d never thought about men being beautiful before. Waylon certainly qualified—broad shoulders, strong legs, tall, and handsome.

  “The horses are ready if you are, Miss Leete,” he said.

  His voice drew her attention back from appreciating him. Her cheeks warmed, and her stomach sparkled. She had gone from being an orphan to being an indentured servant, to being a criminal and, finally, to being a prospective bride—emphasis on prospective.

  “Yes, in a moment.” She thought that she might like to say yes to him again. Vivian needed a plan to convince Waylon that she would make a good partner for him. She ran upstairs and added her money to the leather pouch, then came back down to say goodbye to Seffi. She was excited to have means for a few small gifts.

  The last real Christmas she’d had was at the orphanage. They were given sugar in their tea with breakfast and a little jam on their bread at the midday meal. A woman who supported the children’s home always came before evening and gave each child three lemon drops. Vivian remembered sucking on hers only until the lemony tartness tickled behind her jaw. Then she would take it out and save the treat for another taste later.

  As she and Waylon left the house, Vivian noticed a cowboy attaching bags and blankets to the back of the saddles. Vivian’s face must have looked as confused as she felt.

  “We never go out in the winter without being prepared for the worst. There’s a little food, some blankets, and other supplies. I doubt we’ll need them.”

  The trip between Creede and Topaz had taken an hour by the buckboard on skids. It would be a little faster on horseback, but she figured she’d have a good long time to talk with Waylon both ways. Occasionally, Waylon led her off the main road along trails that cut corners and provided a new glimpse into the beauty that surrounded them. The shrubs and trees had lost their leaves, and a furry layer of frost hadn’t burned off the twigs yet. The green pine trees towering above them were a stark contrast to the gray world. Even their boughs held a little snow near their trunks. For most of her life, she’d worked in little rooms and rarely saw anything considered nature outside of the little park near the orphanage. The beauty here was overwhelming.

  Waylon and Vivian rode along the Rio Grande and paused to watch deer drinking from its icy waters. Now and again, Waylon would whistle a tune, then as if he remembered she was there, he would stop for a while only to start up again.

  Vivian liked it and hoped he’d continue. “I never learned to whistle. It’s lovely.”

  “Pucker your lips and blow.”

  “You say that like it’s easy.” Vivian pursed her lips and blew, but only air escaped—with a little spit. She was horrified.

  Waylon laughed. Oh, she loved that sound.

  “I admire your commitment,” he said. “You don’t need to blow quite that hard.”

  She looked into his face. A huge smil
e was still there.

  “I guess it matters where your tongue is, too.” Waylon whistled again while facing her. “Like that.”

  Vivian had no idea what she was supposed to notice exactly, but notice she did. His face was clean-shaven as it had been every day. She smiled and nodded at him as if she understood. Vivian continued to practice until the trail narrowed, and her horse plodded along behind Waylon’s toward the outskirts of Creede.

  Then the road widened again, so they could ride side by side when they reached Main Street. “I’d like to buy cloth for dresses. Where should I go?”

  Waylon looked to the right toward the mercantile, then to the left toward the dry goods store a couple of times without answering.

  Vivian didn’t want another run-in with the shrieking girl. “Does the mercantile carry fabrics?” Best to avoid the dry goods store.

  “It does. I need a few things from there myself.” He turned his horse to the right. It was just a few doors up that they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post.

  Mr. Jackson assisted Vivian as she chose several bolts of fabric and a few gifts for the Morgan family. His son, John, helped Waylon.

  “I’m planning to make these dresses to sell. Would you consider taking them on consignment?”

  “That might be more up my alley,” someone behind her said.

  A soft look overtook Mr. Jackson’s face. Vivian could see the genuine appreciation and love he had for his wife. Vivian longed for Waylon to look at her that way.

  “I believe we met when you first came to town, Miss Leete,” she said.

  “Please call me Vivian. We did meet. It was such a whirlwind, being escorted around by Seffi, and I met so many people. I’m happy to see you again, Mrs. Jackson.”