The Wrong Cowboy

by Lauri Robinson

  She grasped the shirt at his waist, and Stafford tugged her closer, pulling her graceful curves against him. This, the connection, the bonding, was exactly what he needed. He was no different from her. From the time he’d left home, he’d been searching for one thing, fearing one thing. As much as he’d denied it, he, too, was afraid of being alone.

  That’s why he’d partnered up with Mick.

  Mick.

  Stafford backed out of the kiss, slowly, because he really didn’t want to. Ultimately, knowing he had to, he pulled away and took a step back. “I—uh—I think we need to go to town.”

  “Town?” she asked with bewilderment.

  “Yes, town. Ralph Peterson, he’s the banker, but he’s also the closest thing we have to a lawyer in these parts.” His mind was miles ahead, or days, leastwise. Mick might not be home until next spring, and living with Marie all those months, feeling the way he did right now, would be impossible.

  “What do we need a lawyer for?”

  Stafford slid his hand to the middle of her back to guide her toward the house. “Because,” he said, once they started walking. “We need to find out exactly what rights we both have concerning the children. Mick may not be back until spring, and we can’t have Verna Smith breathing down our necks that entire time.”

  A plan was forming, yet he needed time for it to settle. Or maybe he needed time to justify it. Mick hadn’t ordered her, so it wasn’t as though he was taking her away from his friend. The children were Mick’s, but if he was responsible for them until Mick’s return, that meant he had to do whatever was in his power to keep them safe, which meant preventing Verna Smith from convincing the authorities to pass them out like a litter of puppies. If that meant marrying Marie so she and the children remained right here until Mick returned, so be it. And if that wasn’t his only reason, then that was his business.

  “Stafford, I—”

  “Go get your paperwork,” he said. His rationalizing wasn’t working as well as he wanted it to. A hard lump had formed in his stomach, but still, he said, “I’ll go get the wagon.”

  Marie was balancing somewhere between a dream and reality, thanks to Stafford’s kiss. Her thoughts were still lingering in a wonderfully misty place, making anything he said incomprehensible. Going to town, where they could very possibly encounter Mrs. Smith, made absolutely no sense.

  Stafford patted her back before he turned and jogged around the house. Jogged. Why would he be in such a hurry to go to town? She’d just told him things that should have left her completely vulnerable, yet she didn’t feel that way. His kiss had made her feel wanted in a way she’d never imagined. His other kisses hadn’t done that. Maybe because then—when he’d kissed her before—she hadn’t understood other things. Such as the fact she liked Stafford. Really, really, liked him. In a way that made her heart beat faster, and recalling he’d said he did want her here—all of them, her and the children—still had her head in the clouds. He hadn’t said he liked her, but he was proud of her.

  She drew in a deep breath and climbed the back porch steps. It was silly—wrong even—the way she wanted Stafford to care about her, to like her. Her focus should be on the children. Yet what she’d told him was the truth. She’d been using the children since the beginning. Her true fear had been being returned again. This time it would have been to Miss Wentworth’s instead of the orphanage, but a return, nonetheless. Now, however, she couldn’t return to Miss Wentworth’s school. Not after kissing Stafford.

  Sounds drew her down the hall, and she took a moment to find a smile to plant on her face before she turned the corner to step into the kitchen. Charlotte and Beatrice rushed forward, wrapping their arms around her waist.

  “You sure told that Mrs. Smith,” Terrance said, stepping up behind the girls.

  Marie grimaced. “That was not something you should have been listening to.”

  “I made the rest of the kids go up to the window room,” he said, as if that justified his actions.

  Since she had her own mistakes to live with, Marie chose not to chastise him. “There’s nothing to worry about.” She lifted her gaze to include Gertrude. “Stafford and I are going to town.” A thrill shot through her, which she tried to ignore.

  Gertrude nodded. “Don’t fret about anything here, we’ll be fine.” Her gaze roamed over Marie from head to toe. “Children, clean up the table. I’ll be back in a moment.” Curling a finger, she added, “Come with me.”

  Marie planted a kiss on several foreheads before she followed the other woman up the stairway. Gertrude hadn’t been shy about voicing her opinion, and wouldn’t be now. Listening was Marie’s only choice, so she braced herself for what was to come.

  Once in the other woman’s bedroom, Gertrude lifted a lid off a rounded trunk she’d brought with her from town. After setting several things on the floor, she said, “Here it is.” With a flip of her wrist, she unfolded a dress.

  It was a soft shade of orange—peach, really—with white that formed a tiny plaid pattern. A row of pearl buttons went from the waist to the lace collar. “That’s very pretty,” Marie said.

  Gertrude turned the gown around. “There’s barely a wrinkle. Seersucker is like that. Doesn’t wrinkle, and wears well, along with being cool. I made this when George and I were first married and I was a bit thinner.” The woman laughed. “That was years ago, and I kept this dress all these years just to treasure the memories.”

  “It is a treasure,” Marie agreed.

  “And ready to be worn again.” Gertrude held the dress in front of Marie. “I’m sure it will fit you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” Checking the length by leaning over, Gertrude continued, “You can’t be going to town, meeting the banker, dressed in a uniform.” Rising her head, she asked, “That’s who you’re meeting, isn’t it?”

  Marie nodded.

  “Thought so. Ralph Peterson and his wife are good people. You’ll like them, and they’ll help you.” Without pausing, she laid the dress on the bed. “Take off that uniform, and be sure to wear your new hat.”

  That was how Marie ended up wearing the lovely gown and the new hat Stafford had bought for her. Sitting next to him on the wagon’s bouncing bench reminded her of the trip from Huron and all that had happened since. Life-changing things, and despite how challenging they may have been, she still didn’t want to go back to Chicago. Not just because she didn’t want to start over again, but because she wanted to stay here.

  Stafford seemed as lost in his thoughts as she was, and Marie didn’t mind the silence. He did, however, reach over and fold his fingers around hers. Her heart flipped in her chest, but there wasn’t a single part of her that wanted to pull her hand away. They stayed that way until Merryville appeared on the horizon. During the trip she came to a conclusion. She was more than a nursemaid here. Something she’d never imagined, and she wanted that. Wanted to be more.

  He gave her hand a squeeze before letting it loose. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “Ralph Peterson’s a good man. His wife’s nice, too. You’ll like her.”

  “Gertrude said as much,” Marie answered, but had to admit, “I’m still not sure what we hope to accomplish by speaking with Mr. Peterson.” The banker in Chicago had been no help at all. Then again, she hadn’t had Stafford at her side. That filled her with a sense of safety she’d never known.

  His answer, “A solution we can all live with,” did create more questions, though.

  * * *

  Stafford was full of questions himself, and more than a little frustrated he couldn’t come up with satisfying answers. The ride to town had given him plenty of time to contemplate his actions, and ultimately, he found himself thinking of his brother. Taking Marie away from Mick was relatively close to how Sterling had taken Francine away from him, and deep down, Stafford doubted that was som
ething he could live with.

  They arrived at the bank just as Ralph was exiting the building, and he didn’t seem surprised to see them. With a nod, Ralph said, “I’d appreciate a ride home.”

  Stafford scooted closer to the edge, giving Marie more space as Ralph climbed onto the seat beside her.

  “Hello. Miss Hall, I believe it is?” Ralph extended a hand once he’d sat.

  “Hello, Mr. Peterson,” she greeted. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Please call me Ralph.” Leaning forward, to look around Marie, he explained, “Hilda Kramer was over to see Becca this afternoon. Right after returning from your place, I believe.”

  Stafford nodded, already assuming that word of what had taken place at the house would spread like typhoid fever.

  “I told Becca to expect company for supper,” the banker continued. “She’ll be especially glad that includes you, Miss Hall.”

  “Thank you, but we wouldn’t want to intrude,” Marie answered.

  “It’s no intrusion,” he said. “Stafford’s like family.”

  Stafford frowned at that, yet inside he smiled. He hadn’t considered just how deeply he’d already planted himself in his life here, but considering everything else he’d unearthed in himself, he could admit to liking it.

  Becca was not only welcoming, she insisted everyone eat before discussing business, and watching how Marie so readily offered assistance, and provided it, had pride once again glowing inside Stafford. The two women seemed to form an immediate friendship, the way they giggled, and that, too, delighted Stafford. Marie had been alone too long. It was time for her to know what it felt like to really belong. Not just with a family but a community.

  The meal was tasty, though he hardly noticed what it was. Sitting next to Marie stole his attention. Watching her interact with the Petersons and include the Peterson children in the conversation might have some believing her nursemaid skills were top-notch, but he was thinking how perfect a wife and mother she would be.

  He and Ralph stayed at the dining room table, talking about the sawmill, the bank and other topics that didn’t relate to his visit while the women cleared the table. Once the kitchen chores had been seen to, both Marie and Becca returned.

  “Shall we go into the parlor?” Ralph suggested. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”

  Stafford rested a hand on Marie’s back as they followed their hosts into the other room. Becca suggested he and Marie sit on the sofa, while she and Ralph took seats in the nearby chairs.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” Becca said. “I suggested it, because sometimes a woman needs another woman’s support.”

  Marie looked toward him, and Stafford could see that she wanted the other woman to stay, but she also wanted his approval.

  “No, we don’t mind,” he answered.

  “I often seek Becca’s advice,” Ralph said, unfolding the papers Stafford had given him before supper. He shuffled the sheets, briefly glancing at each one. “I’m not a lawyer, I want to emphasize that, but I’ve read many legal documents, and these seem completely genuine. Before I explain my understanding of them, tell me what’s happening.”

  This time it was Stafford who waited for Marie to nod. He’d let her explain things if she wanted to. Her grin was a bit unsure as she gave her permission to go ahead.

  He made the story brief, starting with the deaths of the children’s parents and ending with Mrs. Smith’s departure, promising to have the law investigate who had rights to the children.

  Ralph remained silent, and in those heavy moments, Stafford leaned back and stretched an arm along the top of the sofa back trying to hide how his nerves were ticking. Marie’s were, too, judging by the way she was fiddling with the buttons near the collar of her dress. He patted her far shoulder while turning his gaze back to the banker.

  “From what I’ve read,” Ralph said, “Mrs. Smith is right as far as Miss Hall is concerned. This paper states she has permission to oversee the children during their travels west. Once she reached Mick’s—and your—property, all rights were relinquished.”

  “But Mr. Wagner isn’t there,” Marie said.

  “I know, but these other papers, Stafford’s papers, give Stafford permission to manage all of Mick’s affairs in his absence. In this instance, that would include the children.” Ralph turned toward him. “Since those kids arrived, they’ve been Stafford’s responsibility.”

  It’s what he’d expected. The news didn’t bother him at all; however, Marie was a different story. She was blinking and nibbling on her bottom lip, and refusing to glance his way.

  Ralph, noticing her reaction no doubt, offered, “Of course you could hire Miss Hall to continue being the children’s nursemaid.”

  Stafford nodded, but hiring her was not something he wanted to do. It was too shallow. “What if I adopted the children?”

  Marie’s gasp couldn’t be missed. His arm was still stretched along the sofa behind her and he squeezed her shoulder again as she turned to look up at him with bewilderment in her eyes.

  “You can’t,” Ralph said. “No more than you could buy out Mick’s half of the ranch without his permission. If he was deceased, that would be one thing, but he’s not, he’s just out of town.”

  Stafford was disappointed, even though he’d expected as much. “I just thought that would put an end to Mrs. Smith,” he said, trying to hide his regret. He wanted to marry Marie, was no longer kidding himself that he didn’t. Mick didn’t know her and wasn’t in love with her, so it wasn’t really as if Stafford was stealing her from his best friend.

  “There really isn’t anything Mrs. Smith can do,” Ralph said. “The Meeker children are your responsibility until Mick arrives. With Miss Hall hired as their nursemaid and Mrs. Baker hired as your cook or housekeeper, there isn’t anything illegal happening.”

  “Or unethical,” Becca said. “I’ll see the community understands that.”

  Stafford nodded and voiced his thanks. Becca would see word was spread and people would listen to her, but that wouldn’t solve his dilemma.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The stars seemed almost close enough to touch. Their shining brilliance, along with the full moon, gave plenty of light for the horses to find their way home, the same two that had pulled the wagon from Huron.

  Marie emptied her lungs. The ride home was as quiet as the ride to Merryville had been, but she wasn’t as content with it as she’d been earlier. Ralph and Becca Peterson were friendly and kind people. She did wonder about Mr. Peterson’s long sideburns. Black and bushy, they came way down to his chin. She much preferred Stafford’s clean-shaven face, which was such a silly thing to be thinking about right now. Truth was, she was trying to hold her silence and forcing her mind to think of anything but the suggestion Stafford had made—that of adopting the children.

  He hadn’t agreed to hire her to continue on as their nursemaid, either, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was considering adoption so her services would no longer be needed. That wasn’t really probable. He didn’t need to adopt the children to send her back to Chicago.

  She sighed again, shifted her weight on the hard seat and once more tried counting stars. The sheer number of them made that impossible.

  “What are you trying so hard not to say?”

  Wondering if she’d heard a hint of humor in his tone, Marie turned slowly, hoping to sneak a peek before coming eye to eye. There was more than enough light to see his slanted grin, and when he reached over and took her hand in one of his, her heart jumped.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I was just wondering why you wanted to adopt the children.”

  “Like I said, to put a stop to Mrs. Smith.”

  Even though she didn’t completely believe him, she nodded. “Becca says Mrs. Smith sticks h
er nose in everyone’s business. She said Mrs. Smith will soon find something else to worry about. That’s what usually happens.”

  “I hope so,” he answered.

  “You sound like you don’t believe it.”

  He shrugged. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered.

  A thoughtful silence settled between the two of them. Nothing more than the steady clop of the horses trudging onward echoed through the night until Stafford said, “Look, a shooting star.”

  She glanced up, but saw little more than a fading streak of light. When he pulled on the reins, she asked, “Why are we stopping?”

  “So you can make a wish.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t really see it.”

  His smile rose slowly as he laid the reins over his thigh and twisted slightly so they were angled toward each other. “I did, and I’m giving you my wish.”

  He wasn’t giving her anything tangible, so why did she feel as if he was? “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, it just—”

  “Close your eyes and make a wish, Marie.”

  His breath brushed her lips as he said her name. An inexplicable and blissful sensation rushed over her. She closed her eyes and wished he’d kiss her.

  “Did you make a wish?”

  She nodded, just barely, trying to hold her lips perfectly still. His breath was mingling with hers, making the bliss filling her more intense and creating a pool of warmth deep in her belly.

  “Have you ever had a wish come true?”

  His lips had brushed hers as he spoke, leaving her unable to answer. Her mind however, was wishing beyond eternity her wish would come true. With the dozen other things she should be thinking about, should be wishing for, it seemed trite, but it was the one thing she wanted above all else at that moment.