Love of a Cowboy 1

by Paige Tyler

  Morgan hadn’t seen a spinning wheel sitting around. It must be stored somewhere, like the trunk of seasonal clothing. She didn’t know how to spin, either, but she knew Kate would teach her. Perhaps the time spent spinning this winter would help to strengthen their fledgling bond.

  Jack drained his coffee, then rose tiredly. “I might be a bit late for dinner, love,” he said. “‘Tis best to get this done.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll feed the girls, and wait for you.” She knew Lee would be out with him, working beside him, doing as much as he was capable of doing, and perhaps more than that. The children all worked so hard. Perhaps once the snow fell, they could find some free time, and she could see to their lessons.

  Lee chattered amiably through their late dinner, not the least upset by his afternoon of killing. Morgan wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He started to tell her how it was done, but his father silenced him with a harsh word. Lee shrugged, then continued to inhale her hearty stew. Morgan watched Jack with growing worry. His shoulders were hunched, his face lined, and he seldom smiled now. She just couldn’t add to his worries by spilling her own. And so when they crawled into bed that night, she massaged his back and whispered sweet endearments to him, and made love to him, but she didn’t really talk to him at all.

  The children awoke early the next morning, chattering and bickering about their trip to town. Jack groaned, throwing an arm over Morgan’s breast to hold her there. “D’ye think we can fool them t’ thinkin’ we’re not ‘ere?”

  Morgan giggled, trying to shift away from the gentle teasing of her nipple. “No, we can’t,” she whispered. “When you do that to me, I can’t possibly be quiet!”

  “Did ye say that word to me agin?” he asked, with mock incredulity.

  “No,” she quickly replied. “No, I’d never say ‘no’ to you, love!”

  “Ha! ‘tis as bad as I thought,” he said, chuckling. “Ye’re a right saucy wench!”

  He tugged her over his knee and swatted her bottom. Morgan yelped, burying her face in the quilt to muffle the sound. Her bottom was constantly sore these days. Even his playful swats hurt.

  “Okay, yes,” she pleaded, squirming on his lap. She felt his desire quickly rise, and squirmed a little more right there. “Yes, we can make them think we’re not here!”

  “Aye, what kin a man do wi’ such a wench?” He delivered three more swats, one on top of the other. Then his fingers probed her moist spot, eliciting even more squeals from her.

  “What if they open the door?” she gasped.

  Jack glanced at the door, shrugging his indifference. Then he stood, taking her with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He pressed her back against the door, blocking it shut, and rammed inside her.

  He swallowed her moans with a long, deep kiss, his fingers gripped at her tender bottom, but all her thoughts were centered on the sweet torture he was building inside her. Morgan shattered, climbed once more, and shattered again in an ever-increasing rhythm. He was so deliciously hard and firm and long and if only she could get a little closer… she started to bob, wiggling her hips as close to him as she could. Her back scraped against the rough wood planks of the door. His tongue reached inside her, mimicking actions further south. And finally, his seed filled her as they both found their release.

  “Mama? Mama? Are you sleeping?” little voices called on the other side of the door.

  Jack gave her a crooked grin. “Mayhap a good latch is not such a bad idea?”

  She returned his smile. If only they could carry this closeness with them through the day. Instead she had many long, trying hours before they would snuggle again. Hours where she felt they were growing more distant instead of closer.

  Kate had breakfast all ready before she and Jack emerged. Morgan felt guilty, but Kate had done much of the cooking before she arrived. The children inhaled their food, and jumped up to wash the dishes before Morgan had finished her coffee. Jack chuckled good-naturedly, ignoring their little spats as he knew they were just excited. In less than an hour they were climbing into his wagon, wrapped in sheepskin coats and wool mittens, to deliver the first load of meat.

  Morgan felt queasy riding on the bumpy wagon with Bridget bouncing beside her. She tried to distract herself, thinking how different this was from her trip out. She’d changed so much in just a few months’ time. She’d been ignorant about some things, opinionated about others, and had felt like a bit of a martyr coming out here to be a wife and mother to a needy family. Now she felt humbled. They had taught her far more.

  Lee trotted up beside the wagon, mounted on his own fat pony. His face was bright, his breath making clouds in the cold air. “Can I ride ahead, Papa? I’ll be careful.”

  “Nay,” Jack said simply.

  Lee deflated a little. “But, I’m bigger now! You can trust me!”

  “‘Tis ‘nay’ I said, an’ I’ll naught say it agin!”

  Lee shrugged it off with a careless grin. “You’ll have fun in town, Mama. We go to Barney’s market first, and buy lots of stuff. Then we go to the hotel for a fancy supper. Sometimes we stay the night, or if we come home right away, we don’t get back ‘til way after dark.”

  “I don’t much care for town no more,” Kate hissed. “They look at me funny.”

  Morgan wrapped her arm around the girl. It was probably because of her mixed heritage, but how would a child understand that? It wasn’t right, but Morgan didn’t know what she could do about it.

  Finally the wagon pulled into the dusty, disappointing little town of Weston Corners. The shopkeeper, - Barney, Morgan assumed - came out to look in the wagon. His lips turned down, but his eyes gleamed.

  “Kind of lean this year,” he droned. “Not much meat on the bones. That will knock the price down.”

  Jack didn’t say a thing. Morgan knew men like Barney. Her uncle was like that. He called himself shrewd. She called him dishonest. “Oh, I don’t think they are that lean,” Morgan insisted. “They look better than what we used to buy back in Pennsylvania.”

  “What do I care if your lamb was of even poorer quality?” he snorted disdainfully.

  She sighed theatrically. “I suppose, if our lamb was so poor, then we should ship this load back east. I know we could do much better there.”

  Barney’s eyes widened, a look of fear blasting across his face before he could conceal it. “It takes money to ship it east,” he stammered.

  “Thankfully, I have a bit set aside.” She smiled smugly. She caught her husband’s scornful look from the corner of her eye, but figured a spanking was a small price to pay for a fair deal.

  Barney quoted a better price. Morgan dickered again, until she felt she couldn’t squeeze another cent from him. It was still a far lower price than what she paid for meat back east. Jack unloaded it into the shopkeeper’s icehouse, while she checked the bill of sale. The unpleasant part over with, she delighted in helping the children try on shoes. They bought flour and sugar, coffee and other supplies, fabric, nails, and so many other needs - Morgan had shopped often back east, but she’d never had to purchase six month’s worth of supplies at once! And as each item was transferred to a growing stack, she peered over Barney’s shoulder, double-checking his math. He made countless errors - but she wasn’t convinced they were honest ones. Was Jack’s math less than perfect, that he hadn’t suspected Barney was cheating him?

  When all the dickering was finished, Jack stared at the pile of coins Barney handed him. His eyes widened. “Surely there be some mistake?”

  Barney glared at Morgan. “No. It’s all there. Just ask your wife,” he spat.

  Morgan grinned. She looped her arm through Jack’s. “It must be time for dinner, love.”

  “Oh, aye! An’ surely ‘tis enough for an ice cream after!”

  The children’s squeals were nearly deafening. Morgan’s hand rested on her softly swelling abdomen. Six children! Perhaps Jack could afford to provide for them, but could an old m
aid like Morgan manage to love them all?

  Chapter 6:

  Dinner was lovely. It wasn’t the food, which was mediocre at best, or the dusty surroundings in the shabby eatery. It was the company. Morgan watched her new family with awe. Jack sat tall and straight, his jaw already shadowed with new beard, his eyes clear and animated as he conversed with her and the children. His face was fresh and young, but strong, too. It was the face of integrity. He was an honest, uncomplicated man. He was all man - and he was hers! Her breath came faster, her belly fluttered, and heat pooled down low.

  Jack leaned towards her, clasping her hand. “If ye keep lookin’ at me like that, wife, I’ll have ye here on th’ table right now in front of God ‘n ever’body,” he whispered in her ear.

  Morgan’s face flushed. “I’m sorry, my husband,” she murmured demurely. She moved her fingers in his hand, stroking the inside of his thigh.

  “An’ there’s still th’ matter of a spanking ye’ve earned.”

  “What for?” she gasped.

  The children looked at her anxiously. She gave them a forced smile. “Finish your ice cream.”

  “I’ve long suspected Barney is not an honorable man, but I’ll not be havin’ me wife stoop to his lyin’, thievin’ ways.”

  “But didn’t we fare well today?”

  “An’ that makes it a’right?”

  Morgan dropped her gaze. “No, husband.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Ye shall sleep well tonight. We’ll save it for the woodshed back home.”

  She pressed her knees together, half grateful for the short reprieve, but almost wishing they could just get it over with.

  “How come there ain’t no more kids here?” Bridget squealed.

  “Cause there ain’t,” Lee said, licking the last of the creamy dessert from his spoon. “Folks here don’t like kids.”

  “That can’t be true,” Morgan said. She wished it was bedtime already, so she could snuggle up next to her husband. Perhaps if she focused on the children, the hours until dark would pass more swiftly.

  “Sure it is,” Kate snapped. “Don’t ya see the way they all look at us? Like we was dirt?”

  Were they looking at Kate like that? Morgan hurt for her. She wished she could protect the girl from their narrow-mindedness. At that moment she almost hated Weston Corners. If Jack weren’t so tired, she’d suggest they head right back after dinner, but one of the mules had thrown a shoe. Maybe the best way to deal with prejudice was simply to ignore it.

  “They just don’t see many children around here,” Morgan explained. “Maybe they look at you because you’re all so sweet?”

  Lee groaned and Bridget giggled, ending the tense moment.

  Jack caressed her thigh under the table. He gave her an approving nod. “Thank ye,” he whispered.

  Morgan smiled. Maybe they could go to bed early tonight!

  After dinner, they took the mules to the blacksmith, to have their hooves trimmed and be fitted with new shoes. It was dark inside the blacksmith’s shop, and hot and stuffy. Bridget and Lee started shoving each other. Jack scowled at them. For a moment, they settled down, but it didn’t last.

  “Why don’t you children go outside and play?” Morgan suggested.

  Jack shook his head. “They should stay close.”

  “Please, Papa? We won’t wander far,” Kate begged. “I’ll keep an eye on ‘em all. It’s hot in here.”

  The blacksmith leered at her, showing missing teeth and black gums. Jack saw it, too. “Ye may go,” he said. “But stay nearby. An’ stay out of trouble.”

  Morgan should have gone with them. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. She’d always felt safe back home. Oh, her uncle had ignored her and her cousins had teased her mercilessly, but she’d never really been afraid. Perhaps she had been naive. But Weston Corners was a small town, and she hadn’t known the danger that lurked behind the benign facade.

  Morgan watched Jack as he talked with the blacksmith. Partly she felt she ought to follow him everywhere, to see who else had been cheating him, but mostly he was just such a pleasant sight to look at, she had no wish to wander on her own.

  One mule was finished, and the smith started on the second before Kate raced back into the shop, terrified and bruised, blood dripping from her nose.

  “He took her! He’s got Hannah!” she screamed.

  “Who?” Morgan asked, too stunned to think straight.

  Jack grabbed the first mule, leaping onto its bareback and wrapping the lead around his hand as he kicked it into action. Kate pointed the direction, urging him to hurry.

  “Get the sheriff,” he barked. Morgan saw him pull the rifle from under the seat of the wagon, and then he was gone.

  Kate lunged into Morgan’s arms, crying hysterically. “He touched her, Mama! He grabbed her. I tried to stop him, and he hit me!”

  Then it hit. Like ice in her veins. Dread. Fear. Disgust. Poor, shy little Hannah was at the mercy of some filthy old man. She hugged Kate to her, even as she tried to collect the rest of the children. The smith bolted past her to fetch the sheriff. Quickly, three other men mounted and chased off after her husband. She prayed they would get there in time. She prayed for poor little Hannah. And she prayed God would keep her husband safe.

  Morgan waited on the street for an eternity. She could hear nothing, save the children’s weeping. She could see nothing, once the dust from the horses’ hooves had settled. The hotel owner came out, touching her shoulder to gain her attention. She jumped, glaring at his audacity.

  “Pardon, ma’am,” he mumbled. “But you ought to bring the children inside.”

  He was right. Kate was shivering, and she should put something on her face, which was swelling, one eye beginning purple. Morgan stumbled in the door with four pairs of hands clutching at her skirts. The owner brought her a few small bits of ice wrapped in a dishtowel. Kate winced when she put it on the bruise.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Lee cried. “I should’a done something!”

  “No, Lee. We could all play the blame game. If only I had come out with you children. If only your papa would have kept you inside. If only we had stayed home today. But that kind of thinking will not help Hannah now. We should pray for them both.”

  Time stopped. Morgan couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Someone was going to be hurt. Timid little Hannah? Her kind, gentle husband? One of the lawmen? At that moment she hated whoever it was that had taken Hannah. She hated Weston Corners, and wished they’d never come to town.

  The sun was sinking. It had felt like ages since they’d been enjoying a pleasant dinner together, although a single day had yet to pass. It was the longest day of her life, longer even than the day she’d stood with Jimmy in the small cemetery behind St. Mary’s while her parents were laid to rest.

  Rebecca had curled up under a table and fallen asleep. Lee was trying hard not to cry, but his chin quivered with the effort. Kate was always more comfortable with anger than any other emotion. When she was really upset about something, she lashed out with harsh, hateful words, but now she was strangely silent. Her eyes blazed.

  Shouts rose from the street, startling Morgan. She rushed back out, nearly faint with relief when she saw her husband and Hannah among the lawmen.

  Hannah rode a horse by herself, which seemed strange. She should have been wrapped in Jack’s arms, the only place she might feel safe now. She looked small and terrified. A man’s shirt was draped around her shoulders, for her dress was torn to shreds.

  One deputy at the head of the procession offered to help Hannah down, but she screamed. Morgan rushed to her, pulling the sobbing, frantic child into her arms. She cradled her head to her bosom, searching for strength and comfort from her husband.

  The sheriff led Jack’s mule, and the second deputy led a horse with a body draped across the saddle. Morgan felt a sour lump in her throat, shocked that she was glad that monster was dead. But who had killed him? Her tender husband, who mourned his livestock at bu
tchering time? She searched his face, wanting to console him, as much as to be consoled by him. Jack’s face was dull, devoid of emotion.

  Morgan rushed to him, wanting - needing to touch him. “Jack! What’s wrong! What happened?”

  The sheriff blocked her path, and pushed her away. “Take the girl home,” he commanded.

  Hannah’s sobbing increased with the sheriff’s proximity. Morgan tightened her arms around the child, weeping herself. This couldn’t be happening. “Jack?” she begged, her voice breaking.

  “I killed him,” Jack said. His voice was flat, his eyes weary. “May God forgive me, love. But I killed a man.”

  Morgan awoke to the sounds of hammers. Outside the hotel window a dozen men were busy building the gallows. The sheriff said that Jack was guilty, and there was nothing he could do about it. That Jack had been trying to rescue Hannah wasn’t important. Jack had signed a confession, stating he’d killed the man in cold blood, so they didn’t even need to wait for a trial.

  That was nonsense! No jury would convict a father for protecting his child! Jack wouldn’t have killed without reason! They had seen Hannah, her torn clothing, the blood stains on the back of her skirt. They had to have known what the dead man had done to her! So why would Jack have signed such a confession? She had to see it.

  The confession was nailed to one post of the gallows. Beautiful flowing script, so unlike the letters she’d received, detailing how he’d been filled with the need for revenge, and he’d shot the man in the back. That didn’t sound like her Jack at all, but his name was clearly added to the end of the confession in the same flowing script, with a small X marked on the line.

  Panic shot through her. She ran to the post office to telegraph her brother. She didn’t know what good it would do - he was too far away, and there didn’t seem to be enough time, but she had to do something. She hadn’t waited this long to find love, only to lose it! And her unborn child needed a father.

  The sheriff finally let her see Jack, only because she wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace until he did. Jack sat on the cot, his arms resting limply on his legs, his shoulders slumped. When he looked at her, all the warmth had left his eyes. He looked hollow, empty inside.