Touch Me Boss: A Single Dad Office Romance

by Aria Ford

  Justine slid off the mare's back, rewarding her with a quick drink before heading back to the corral. There she unsaddled the mare and tied her to a hitching post. She then caught a paint mare and began drawing war paint around her left eye and flanks.

  "Thanks, Justin. I owe you one." It was John again, showing off his dimples in his smile. He wore nothing but buckskin pants and war paint smeared across his face and chest.

  Justine nodded and handed him the mare's reins. Their show was too small to have attracted any actual Indians, so some of the men had to dress the part. Justine found John one of the more convincing ones, since his skin was naturally tan.

  John scrambled onto the mare's back and waved as he rode off. Justine wiped off her hands on her pants and finished taking care of the horses she'd used. The mare's mouth was flecked with drool, so we wiped her clean and brushed her until her chestnut coat gleamed. She gave bay gelding another brushing. He nickered and nudged her with his nose. "Hey there good boy." Justine said, rubbing his forehead. The gelding grumbled in pleasure.

  Since her parts in the show were over, she made sure all the horses were well groomed and untacked before heading back to her tent. She set her Stetson down on an empty crate that served as her table and wiped the sweat from her brow with her handkerchief.

  "Mind if I come in?" A light, feminine voice asked from outside her tent.

  Justine turned towards the voice. "Yeah, come in, Anabelle."

  A blonde-haired young woman ducked into the tent and frowned at her. "Just because you dress like a man doesn't mean you have to live like one."

  Justine narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Shh!"

  "I'm simply stating a fact." Anabelle retorted.

  "Yeah, well, if I were as prim and proper as you, I might be found out." Justine hissed.

  Anabelle shook her head with a sigh. "Perhaps if you had a man to settle down with, you wouldn't need to live like this."

  "I told you, Anabelle, I don't need a man. I like my life just the way it is." Justine snapped.

  Anabelle held up her hands. "Alright. Excuse me for bringing it up."

  "What did you come in for?"

  "I wanted to make sure you were coming to dinner tonight with Mark and me."

  Justine nodded. "Of course. I'll see you later."

  "After you've cleaned up I hope."

  Justine smiled. "As clean as a man can get."

  *****

  A cold night wind blew relentlessly in Justine’s face as she walked back through the nearly deserted town. Dinner with Anabelle and her husband Mark had been good, and notably better than anything she cooked for herself. She pulled her buckskin coat tighter around herself as she ducked her head against the buffeting wind.

  Her path took her passed one of the few businesses still open long into the night, the local saloon. She heard raucous laughter and the shuffling of drunken footsteps as the passed the dimly lit entrance. An old wooden sign creaked above the doorway, welcoming potential patrons to the Silver Dollar Saloon.

  She had nearly returned to the camp when she heard muffled, angry voices. She paused, listening. The wind whistled sharply in her ears, obscuring the voices slightly, but they seemed to be emanating from a back alley not far from the saloon.

  Without thinking, Justine took a step towards the alley. The voices grew louder and then Justine heard the crack of gunfire. Though the sound was a familiar one, Justine jumped. This was not the sound of a blank being fired. There was an actual bullet from this shot.

  The scene unfolded before Justine's eyes in a whirl of events. Out of the darkness, a shadowy figure emerged. Behind him, she spotted the crumpled form of a once living man. The figure's eyes met hers. Justine's heart leapt into her throat. She had just witnessed a murder and the murderer had spotted her.

  He let out a guttural growl and lunged towards her. Justine gasped and spun around, racing down the street as fast as her feet would carry her. She had narrowly ducked down another alley when she heard the crack of gunfire. The bullet burrowed into the wall of a wooden house not two inches from her arm.

  With a breathless gasp, Justine twisted down the side streets, desperate to lose her pursuer. She heard his heavy footsteps behind her, though speed and agility was on her side. As she ran, she spotted a ladder propped beside a house. She scrambled up it and kicked the ladder away, crawling across the rooftop as fast as she could. She slipped to a shadowy spot and hunkered down, her breath coming in shaky gasps.

  She heard gruff curses as her pursuer searched for her. She knew he'd found the ladder when a louder string of expletives filled the air. Justine dug her fingernails into the shingles of the roof, forcing herself to be still and breathe as quietly as possible.

  After what seemed an eternity, the man's voice and footsteps disappeared, leaving Justine shivering on a stranger's roof. She didn't dare to move until her knuckles turned white and her teeth were chattering so hard she had a headache. Stiffly, she slipped down off the roof and stumbled back towards the camp, heart still pounding.

  *****

  By the time dawn streaked the horizon with faint pink tendrils, Justine was already dressed and down at the corrals with the horses. Being among their warm bodies put her at relative ease. She hadn't slept all night. She had sat on her lumpy cot, her mother's old quilt wrapped around her shoulders, shivering long into the night.

  She ran the curry comb over her favorite bay gelding's flanks, brushing him until his coat gleamed. She slipped out of the corral and went to fetch grain. She nodded hello to Hank Thompson as they passed. She had just retrieved a bucket of oats when she spotted Tom Hanson, the announcer, talking to a man. He wore a large black hat with dark eyes shaded beneath the brim. The man gestured towards the camp as he spoke. Tom answered him in a friendly tone, but suddenly none of that was of any importance. The bucket nearly fell from her hands. The man was not just a curious citizen hoping to meet a particular performer. He was the murderer.

  *****

  "You are sure it was him?" Anabelle asked.

  Justine's blood beat in her ears as she nodded. "I know he is."

  Anabelle frowned in thought. "It was dark. You could have been mistaken."

  Justine shook her head. "No, I know it's him. He's here to find me."

  "Then you need to report him to the authorities."

  Justine stared at her. "I can't do that. You know the authorities around here wouldn't be able to protect me. Besides, that would ruin everything I've worked for."

  "You mean all your lies and secrets?"

  "You know why I've done all this, Anabelle. It doesn't matter that other shows are starting to allow women as riders and gunslingers. But most of them are already married. They have someone in their lives so no one else tries to take advantage of them. I don't. It's gotta be this way."

  Anabelle nodded slowly. "I know why you've done this, but what else can you do? If this man is as dangerous as you think, you're not safe here."

  Justine swallowed hard. "I am aware of that fact."

  Before Anabelle could reply, there was a harsh voice just outside the tent. "Open up!"

  Justine jumped, panic gripping her insides.

  "We are changing, sir. We will open up as soon as we are decent." Anabelle replied smoothly as she opened her trunk, pulled out one of her plainer dresses and handed it to Justine.

  With shaking hands, Justine wriggled into clothing that she hadn't worn in years. As Anabelle deftly tied a bonnet around her cropped brown hair, the man outside became impatient and stormed inside.

  Justine let out a surprised gasp, thankful that she now looked the part of the woman. The man that had entered was the murderer himself. His dark eyes roved across her and Anabelle, taking in all the furnishings of her tent. "Who is this?" He growled, pointing a gnarled finger at Justine.

  "This is my younger sister, Maude. She rides in the stagecoach attack with me. She's just starting her career."

  The man's eyes studied Justine for a moment be
fore turning back to Anabelle. "I see. I'm looking for a young man that has hidden himself among your troupe. He committed a crime last night and he needs to be caught and punished."

  "Oh dear! We'd certainly let you know if we saw such a man, wouldn't we Maude?" Anabelle gushed.

  Justine nodded, still not trusting herself with words.

  The man gave a vague description of Justine that could have fit half the young men in the show before leaving Anabelle's tent. Justine let out her breath in a rush, her hands shaking.

  Anabelle took her shaking hands in hers. "Justine, you're not going to like what I have to say."

  Justine cocked her head, meeting her gaze. "Alright, what is it?"

  "I figured out how you'll be safe."

  She stared at her friend for a moment, unsure of what she might say.

  "You are going to be a mail order bride."

  *****

  Chapter Two

  Mail Order Bride

  Justine leaned her head against the rattling glass window of the train car, staring at the scenery as it rushed by.

  How in the world did I let Anabelle talk me into this? She wondered to herself. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic rumbling of the train churn up old memories.

  The past few weeks had flown by in a flurry of activity. After much heated discussion, Justine had finally conceded to Anabelle's plan and had allowed her to place an ad for her as a mail order bride.

  In the weeks that followed, Justine had laid low, posing as Maude if she had to be seen. The man and his henchman had followed the show, intent on finding her. Anabelle had informed the show manager that Justine was very ill and could not participate in the show.

  The letter that informed her that she had a match could not have come soon enough. Anabelle had replied instantly and the plans were made. Her friend insisted on transcribing the letter, since her penmanship was significantly better than Justine's. She could read and write well enough, but her handwriting matched the part she played.

  The letter hadn't contained much information on her future husband. His name was Noah Wilson and he was a rancher out in Texas. Besides that, he was a great unknown. Anabelle had insisted he sounded like a good match based on the letter she'd written for her. Justine wasn't so sure. Anabelle had embellished her depiction, making her sound much more feminine and like a housewife than she really was.

  Justine opened her eyes as the train jolted to a stop. She lifted her head from the windowpane and glanced around. They had stopped at a station and she squinted to read the sign. When she saw that it was indeed her stop, she quickly grabbed her battered suitcase and pushed passed the other passengers.

  She hurried out onto the platform and glanced around until she found the ticket booth. “Excuse me, sir?”

  “May I help you ma'am?” The ticketmaster asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me if a Noah Wilson has been here.”

  “Afraid not ma'am. I haven't heard any on by that name.”

  “Will you let him know a Justine Johnson is waiting for him?” She asked.

  The ticketmaster nodded. “Of course, ma'am.”

  “Thank you.” Justine replied as she walked away. She headed towards the waiting area and took a seat. She adjusted her skirts and tried to remember how to sit like a lady. She fidgeted, hating the feel of her dress. It was so restrictive and awkward, not like the freedom she found when wearing pants.

  The waiting area bustled with activity that ranged from women tugging along insolent children, men arguing over ticket prices and wails from hungry babies. Justine leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, hoping Noah would arrive soon. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was crying babies. The ear-piercing sound grated on her nerves, making her want to scream.

  This is why me becoming a bride is a terrible idea. Justine grumbled to herself. She pulled off her bonnet, running her fingers through her short, spiky hair. She ignored the open-mouthed stares from some of the women that walked past, even though the snickers and whispers from the young girls were loud enough for her to hear every word.

  She glanced down at her reflection in a small puddle of water. Her short brown hair fell just to the tops of her ears, sticking out in random spikes all around her head. "I suppose it does look a little ridiculous and unbecoming as Anabelle would say."

  Her bright hazel eyes stared back at her, wavering in the small puddle's reflection. Justine let out a sigh. All she saw was a face that was caught between two identities.

  The hours dragged by and there was no sign of Noah. She watched every single person that walked up to the ticket booth, waiting for them to look over for her and introduce themselves. But that never happened.

  Growing bored, she got up, paced around the station, people watched, and talked to the ticketmaster until he was annoyed by her existence. As the sun began to set, Justine's anger rose. Where he is? The letter said he would meet me here at the station. Where else would he be?

  She stared longingly down the street at the livery stable, wishing she had enough money to rent a horse, but her current financial situation left much to be desired. She reached her hand into the pouch at her side and her fingers touched a few small metal coins. She let out another frustrated sigh. All the money left to her name was barely enough to cover a meal at the tavern. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything that morning beside a meager bowl of cornmeal.

  She stood up, too hungry to focus on anything else. After informing the grumpy ticketmaster of where she was going, Justine walked down the street to the tavern. She immediately noticed several men turn and look at her when she walked in. She stiffened, hating their leering stares. She strode up to counter and ordered a bowl of vegetable soup and a bread roll. She paid for her meal, which used almost every penny to her name. She sat down in the corner of the room and ate quickly, avoiding looking at anyone.

  Justine stood up quickly and left the tavern, her hunger satiated. She strode back to the station and headed back into the waiting area. With a sigh, she sank back down onto a bench. Darkness was slowly slipping over the horizon, the sky becoming as dim as the hope in her heart.

  She was about to walk up to the ticket booth to ask if there was anywhere safe she could spend the night when she heard a soft cry. She froze, glancing around for the source of the noise. The cry came again from a corner of the waiting room. Justine walked slowly towards the sound. She bent down and stared into the corner. There was a small, trembling bundle tucked between the benches. With a gasp, Justine lifted the bundle into her arms and stared down into the face of fussing baby.

  *****

  It took Justine a moment to process what had happened. There was a whimpering little baby in her arms. And she had found it abandoned in a waiting room. She held it close to her chest and whispered softly to it. "Hey...quiet little one."

  Her soft words didn't seem to console to hungry baby. She started to whimper louder and then it broke into a cry.

  "Oh no...please don't cry." She pleaded with the baby to no avail.

  She hurried out to the ticket booth. "Excuse me sir, I-"

  "Look, I'm sorry your husband hasn't come today, but there is nothing else I can do."

  "No, this is something different." She held out the baby.

  The ticketmaster stared at the baby for a moment. "Is this your baby?"

  "No, I found her in the waiting room. Did you see anyone with a baby lately?"

  "I see lots of people with babies, ma'am. I couldn't tell you whose baby it is."

  Justine stared down at the baby and then back at the ticketmaster. "What do I do?"

  He shrugged. "Take her to the orphanage or the church. I don't know. I'm sorry ma'am, but it's not my problem." With that, he shut the sliding glass window and left her out in the cold with a baby in her arms.

  "Well that was worthless." She muttered to herself. The baby wailed in reply.

  "Oh please don't do that!" Justine cried, holding
the baby to her chest in hopes of soothing her. It only served to muffle her incessant sobs.

  Justine stared out into the darkness, lit only with flickering street lamps. She squinted to focus, hoping that one of the taller buildings was a church. Holding the baby tightly in one arm and her suitcase in the other, she headed down the street.

  *****

  Chapter Three

  St. Phillips Church

  For all the heat that Texas brought during the day, it made up for the chill that nighttime ushered in. Justine shivered and held the sobbing baby closer, tucking her underneath her shawl. Her little body shuddered, as only a thin, ragged quilt protected her from the chilly wind.

  Though Justine had never desired a child in her entire life, the thought of abandoning a helpless child sickened her. She was sure she would make a terrible mother and that she was more suited to horsemanship than mothering, but her heart broke at the thought of this little baby unwanted and left helpless to the elements.

  Justine was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of footsteps behind her. Her heart leaped against her ribcage and a shiver of fear slipped down her spine. She spun around, eyes wide, feet spread apart for optimal balance.

  She was not a moment too soon. A shadowy figure rushed towards her, caught off guard at her quick turnaround. Justine sidestepped him and in his instant of surprise, whacked him as hard as she could with her suitcase. Her attacker let out a grunt of pain. Before he could recover, Justine delivered a swift kick to his abdomen, sending the man stumbling backward, choking on a curse.

  "Stay the Hell away from me!" Justine hissed.

  In the dying street lamp, she saw the man's wide eyes as he realized a woman cradling a baby in her left arm had just bested him. Justine feigned a punch at him and he bolted to his feet, running off before she could damage both his body and pride even more.

  Letting out her pent up breath, Justine shakily retrieved her suitcase and resumed her trek. The rest of her journey was uneventful. She reached the steps of St. Phillips Church unharmed and rapped against the solid wooden door.