The Wrong Cowboy

by Lauri Robinson

  From there she saw Stafford walking across the bridge with Shorty. Her insides skipped and she turned away, telling herself she didn’t want the children to notice the patch of black ground where the cabin had been.

  “There’s no furniture up here yet because Stafford doesn’t know what kind to put in this room,” Terrance explained.

  The twins were running from one end to the other, and as Marie rounded them up, heading them toward the doorway, she could imagine the children playing up here on long winter days. Though there was only one staircase leading to this floor, there were two leading to the ground floor from the second floor. The one that ended in the front parlor and a second one that ended in the kitchen, which was the set they used.

  Her eyes went to the stove. It was four times the size of the one in the cabin, and she could only imagine how difficult building a fire in one that big would be. She would never find out. Using it would never happen.

  The sound of voices and a door opening had her and the children entering the hall and hurrying toward the front door. Two ranch hands, the ones that had helped put out the fire, were carrying things through the open doorway.

  “Hey, that’s our stuff,” Samuel said.

  “It sure enough is,” the younger of the two men said.

  Marie believed his name was Mike, from what the children had told her.

  Shorty entered the house next, and he must have noticed the confusion on her face because he said, “Stafford said you and the kids will have to live in his house now.” He waved a hand toward the children shouting with joy. “He says there’s a bedroom up there that has two beds and suggested the twins take that one.”

  “No,” Weston said. “We want the one with all the windows.”

  “That’s not a bedroom,” Marie said. Although she was more than a little apprehensive, she followed the children up the stairs off the parlor, and ultimately agreed on each of the rooms they picked out.

  “I believe this is yours, ma’am,” the cowhand named Red said as he held up her carpetbag. “Which room do you want it in?”

  She looked at her belongings in one of his hands, and reality shook her. If the cabin, the one she’d just burnt to the ground, had been bigger all of their possessions would have been lost. She should be grateful, instead she grew sick. Everything that had been destroyed had belonged to Mick Wagner.

  “Take this room, Marie,” Charlotte said. “It’s right next to mine.”

  Marie removed the hand covering her mouth to offer the girl a false smile and then nodded at the ranch hand. It truly didn’t matter what room he put her things in, she’d just destroyed someone’s home. A man she’d never met. One she’d hauled six kids across the country toward, expecting him to raise them. If it’d been possible, she’d have stayed in Chicago, raised the children as her own. She’d thought about getting a job to raise enough money, but there would have been no one to watch the children while she worked.

  The squeals coming from across the hall forced her into action. Weston and Charlie were jumping on two beds separated by a table holding a lamp that she caught moments before it tumbled to the floor. “Stop,” she said loudly and sternly enough that it captured both boys’ attention. “There will be no jumping on the beds.”

  Once they were both standing on the floor, with their bottom lips quivering, Marie went into the hall and requested that the rest of the children join her. In the twins’ room, she sat them all down on the beds.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced her mind to recall her training.

  Ground rules—all nursemaids knew they were a must, yet she wasn’t sure where to start. She’d just broken the most important rule by kissing Stafford.

  All six children were waiting expectantly, and for the first time since leaving Miss Wentworth’s, Marie was scared. They were her responsibility—every freckled face and each set of the blue eyes gazing up at her. She couldn’t let them be placed in an orphanage or separated from one another, yet she had to wonder if she’d done the right thing. Not just because she burned down Mick Wagner’s cabin—and kissed Stafford—but because the children needed more than she could give them.

  Not just rules. Not just guidance. They needed a family. All children did.

  Marie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shake the fear building inside her. What entered her mind surprised her. It was a statement Stafford had made.

  A person who graduated at the top of her class must be smart, Miss Hall. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

  Though he’d said it mockingly at the time, it had resonated with her, and did so again now.

  She had graduated at the top of her class, and that meant she wasn’t a quitter.

  Lifting her chin, she drew in air until her lungs couldn’t hold any more. “It’s very kind of Sta—Mr. Burleson to allow us to stay here,” she started.

  “You mean Stafford. He likes being called that better than Mr. Burleson,” Samuel said. “He says Mr. Burleson was his father and he’s not that old yet.”

  Marie bit her bottom lip as the child made his explanation. Other things about Stafford were flashing in her mind. Not just his kiss. Without his kindness, she and the children wouldn’t have a single bed to share between them. They wouldn’t have food, either, or the other necessities they were going to need while she figured this all out. Everyone was allowed one broken rule, as long as they learned from it. Didn’t let it happen again.

  “It’s very kind of Stafford,” she said, eyeing each child individually, “to allow us to stay here.”

  Once they’d all nodded, she continued, “And you each must remember that. We are his guests, and you know what it means to be a guest, don’t you?”

  They nodded, but she felt a refresher course was in order.

  “It means,” she said slowly, “that we must be on our best behavior. No running in the house. No shouting in the house. No touching things that don’t belong to us. Everyone must pick up after themselves, including making their beds each morning, and there will be no arguing.” She took note of that last comment for herself—to not irritate Stafford, even when he angered her. It might be difficult, but it was necessary.

  “What happens if we do?” Samuel wanted to know. “Argue?”

  “You’ll be sleeping in the bunkhouse back over at Mick’s place,” Terrance said.

  Marie pressed a hand to her churning stomach. That was something else she had to figure out. How to replace Mick Wagner’s home. The sinking feeling overcoming her said she didn’t need to think harder. She needed a miracle.

  “What if we don’t know how to make our bed?” Charlie asked with worry.

  “I’ll teach you,” Marie assured him.

  The child smiled, and though Marie smiled back, her lips wobbled. Who was going to teach her all the things she needed to know?

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t help. Visiting the girl at the saloon. Stafford couldn’t even muster up a smile for her, let alone anything else. Not with the taste of Marie’s lips still lingering on his and her image floating before his eyes. Therefore, he spent his time in town seeing to a variety of errands, including a stop at the telegraph office.

  Rex McPherson had seen him ride into town and waved him over. A telegram from Mick had arrived just that morning. It didn’t say much, other than that he couldn’t come home right away. He’d just arrived in Austin and was going to Mexico before coming home.

  Stafford wrote out a reply, with the hope Mick hadn’t left yet. A simple one.

  Your bride is here STOP

  He had it sent right away, and told Rex he’d be in town for the next few hours in case Mick sent one in return.

  That had been before the saloon. He’d planned on killing a few hours there. When that didn’t work out, Stafford went to the feed store and placed an order. Then he
went to the general store, where he placed an even larger order. It hadn’t started out that way, but after listening to two women discussing the dresses they planned on sewing, he tried to remember if he’d seen Marie wear anything other than her light blue dress. He hadn’t; therefore, recalling many shopping trips with his sisters, he added several lengths of material, thread and buttons to his order.

  There was a hat that caught his eye, too. It would provide her head much more protection than her thin bonnet, and as long as he was buying one for her, he picked out six small ones, too. Straw hats, like the one he’d picked out for Marie, for the girls, and ones that looked a lot like his for the boys. Terrance was going to like that, so would Samuel. The twins might not get much use out of theirs. They were always running so fast, hats might not stay on.

  “Anything else, Stafford?” Henry Smith asked, piling the hats on the counter.

  “A dozen of those peppermint sticks.” Stafford pointed to the candy jars lining a shelf on the back wall. “Those I’ll take with me.”

  Henry’s green eyes had been full of curiosity since Stafford had walked into the store, and it appeared the man couldn’t contain it any longer. “You got newcomers out at your place?” he asked, handing over the candy sticks he’d wrapped in paper.

  Word traveled fast, and there was no doubt the merchant already knew. “Yeah,” Stafford answered, pocketing the candy.

  Henry counted the hats again. “So, she really has six kids?”

  “They aren’t hers.” For the life of him, Stafford couldn’t guess why he chose to explain that.

  Bald, with two chins and no neck, Henry leaned over the counter as if to say something he didn’t want anyone to hear. Stafford wasn’t too sure he wanted to hear what that might be. It was hard to know what kind of rumors were already floating about. Nonetheless, disappointment hit his stomach hard when Verna, Henry’s wife, chose that moment to walk through the curtained doorway behind the counter.

  “So, who do I charge this to?” Henry asked, standing straight again. “You, the ranch, or Mick?”

  Verna Smith was a good foot taller than her husband, and her eyes, two narrow beads deeply set above a nose that was as pointed as her chin, leveled on Stafford. He’d been about to tell Henry to charge him, but Verna might use that bit of information, just as she would if he said to bill Mick.

  He’d never been the subject of her gossip, at least not that he knew of, and didn’t want to start now, so Stafford said, “The ranch.” Transferring funds was easy enough, and even if it wasn’t, it would be well worth not having Verna know his business. “Shorty needs his regular order, too,” he added, just to distract her attention. “He’s wondering if that new coffee grinder he ordered has arrived yet.”

  “Yes,” she answered, eyeing him up and down. “Just this week.”

  “Good,” Stafford said, and then repeated what Shorty had told him this morning when he’d mentioned riding into town. “The handle broke on the old one, and this time he can’t repair it.”

  “Do you want to take it with you now, or...” She paused, eyeing the pile of merchandise on the counter. “Have it delivered?”

  Henry already knew, but Stafford repeated it anyway. “Alfred’s bringing a load of seed out later this week. He can bring it out then.”

  Verna elbowed Henry aside to stand directly across the counter. “I suppose you want your mail? Most of it is Mr. Wagner’s so I’ve held it here, knowing he went to Texas.”

  More than one person claimed Verna Smith opened and read letters before delivering them, and since neither he nor Mick ever received anything too important, it had never bothered him before. Today, however, the idea had the muscles in his neck tightening.

  “I’ll take it now.”

  She pushed her husband aside as she made her way to a desk surrounded by shelves in the corner at the end of the counter. The apologetic gaze in Henry’s eyes wasn’t lost on Stafford, and he found himself wondering if the merchant regretted marrying the woman. Most men, at one time or another, probably questioned their choice, but Henry had it worse. Verna had been married twice before, and more than one whisper referred to her as a black widow. Her first husband had died from some kind of infection, her second, from a form of poison. If he were Henry, Stafford would be sleeping with one eye open.

  “Here you are.” She returned with several envelopes.

  Stafford took them and flipped each one over. He normally didn’t do such things, but today, he made a point of examining the wax seals. None appeared to be broken, but the bitter scowl on Verna’s face had him wondering if she’d discovered a way to reseal them.

  He tapped the edges of the letters on the counter. “Thanks, Henry.” Then with a nod, he said, “Mrs. Smith.” Turning, he left the store, and it wasn’t until he was outside that he discovered why his hand felt as if it was on fire.

  One letter, addressed to Mr. Mick Wagner, Dakota Territory, had a Chicago return address and the name above that was none other than Miss Marie Hall.

  An eerie sensation had Stafford twisting his neck, looking back over one shoulder.

  Verna Smith stood on the other side of the window, peering out at him with her lips pulled into an almost wicked smile. He considered staring her down, but in the end he turned away.

  After stopping at the telegraph office, where there was no message from Mick, Stafford made his way down to the bank and found Ralph Peterson pulling the key out of the door lock.

  “Stafford,” the man greeted him. “Good to see you. I was just locking up for the day, but can reopen if there’s something you need.”

  Glancing toward the setting sun, Stafford shook his head. “No, I was just making a social call as long as I was in town.”

  Ralph, a tall, gangly man originally from Boston, had arrived shortly after Merryville was established in order to create The Bank of the West, which was proving profitable. His enthusiasm alone had been enough for Stafford to buy in.

  “Well, in that case,” the man said, “come to the house with me. Becca will be happy to see you. You can join us for supper.”

  The banker’s wife was the complete opposite of Verna Smith. Plump, without a single gray strand in her coal-black hair, there wasn’t a woman more personable than Becca Peterson in all of Merryville. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Stafford said, even while recalling the apple pie she sent to the ranch every time Ralph rode out to visit.

  “Nonsense. Becca always makes more than enough, and she’ll scold me blue if she hears I didn’t make you join us.” Hooking the back of his arm, Ralph started walking. “You can count on there being pie, though it might not be apple.” After a low chuckle, he said, “We can talk business as we walk.”

  As a major investor in the bank, Stafford latched on to that comment. “Is something wrong?” Mind made up, he untied his horse from the rail.

  “No, oh, heavens no,” the banker assured him as they started down the dirt road. “We’ve just had the best quarter ever. I actually want to ask your opinion on hiring an assistant. I’m hardly able to keep up.”

  “I’d say if you need an assistant, hire one.”

  “It would be more of a teller position. Someone to assist the daily customers,” Ralph said. “I’ve run the numbers and our operating budget can afford it.”

  As shareholders, he and Mick, as well as a few other community members, had voting rights on all operational changes. “Anyone opposing it?”

  “No. Joe Jepson and Nick Harmon already cast yes votes. Your vote and Mick’s would make it a majority.”

  Stafford had authority to vote for Mick, as Mick had in his absence, so he asked, “Reed Simons still in Kansas?”

  “Yes, and Axel Turner is up at the railhead.”

  “I can’t believe either of them would oppose,” Stafford said.

  “I can’t, e
ither.” Ralph paused, shook his head. “With the mail clerk we have in town, I try to minimize the information I send through the postal service, so I haven’t tried to contact them about it yet.”

  “I wouldn’t, either,” Stafford agreed. Verna Smith would find a way to get the entire town riled up over the simple hire. “You’ve got my vote and Mick’s, so go ahead. I’ll sign a ballot if need be.”

  Ralph lifted the leather bag he carried in one hand. “Have one right here. We’ll dig it out after supper.”

  Business done, and since they’d stopped at the edge of the yard of the banker’s house so he could tie up his horse, Stafford asked, “Pie, huh?”

  Laughing, Ralph slapped him on the back. “If there isn’t any when you arrive, there will be before you leave. I guarantee it.”

  There was indeed pie, peach not apple. But the entire time Stafford was at the Petersons’ he wondered about things. Lots of things. Ralph and Becca had two children. A boy and a girl, probably close to Terrance and Charlotte’s ages. It would be good, he thought, for the kids to meet. Marie meeting Becca would be a good thing, too, especially considering how hard she was trying to learn how to cook. The pie had literally melted in his mouth, and he declined the second piece Becca offered only because he didn’t want to seem greedy. The ham had been tasty, too, as well as the sweet potatoes and cabbage.

  He almost made a suggestion, that the banker and his family should visit the ranch soon, but didn’t. Neither he nor Shorty—though the cowboys never complained—could put on a meal fit for company.

  After bidding farewell to the man’s family, Stafford walked out the front door with Ralph, and remembered one other thing he’d wanted to ask. “How’s that new lumber mill coming along?” He’d planned on riding the three miles north of town to where the mill was being built, but it was too late now.

  “I haven’t been out there this week,” Ralph answered. “But it was close to completion last weekend. There was a community picnic out there after church. Everyone’s excited we won’t have to have lumber hauled in—except Verna Smith. Lumber orders all went through her before. Why do you ask? Wondering about the loan we made Otis, or planning to build something?”