The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “Bridgette,” he shouted. “Stop it!”

  “You stop!” she shouted in return. “Better yet, leave!”

  If he hadn’t ducked, the potato she pitched would have hit him square in the head. “Damn it, Bridgette!”

  “You already said that!”

  Another well-aimed potato caught his shoulder. He’d never been hit by potatoes before, and though they weren’t deadly, they stung when they connected.

  Crouching down, and weaving, he ran the last few steps. A potato knocked his hat off right before he dove forward.

  She squealed, and spun about, but he caught her by the legs and dropped her to the ground. Anyone else, their ears would be ringing from the storm she was cussing up, but he knew her. She’d always had a smart mouth.

  Her heels dug into his stomach; holding her down with his body, he shifted enough to crawl forward and grasp her waist. Then he rolled her over and pinned her on the ground by placing both hands on her arms and planting her skirt into the ground with his knees.

  She screeched and hissed, called him names.

  Glancing up, he noticed Bat and JoJo standing near the tent. “Bat, go gather up those potatoes.”

  As the boy took off, Garth leveled a glare on JoJo.

  With a nod, the old man said, “I’ll go help Bat.”

  Leaning down, close to her face, Garth asked, “What has you so riled up this morning?”

  “You left. Never came back. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

  Her squirming hadn’t slowed, neither had the anger in her eyes. “More like you didn’t know where I’d gone and that made you mad.”

  “Of course it made me mad. What was I supposed to do? Sit around twiddling my thumbs while you got yourself shot?”

  Her beauty last night had awed him, but all riled up and flustered, she was adorable. Just like he remembered her. “You’re much better at pitching potatoes than you’ll ever be at twiddling your thumbs. And no one will shoot me. Guns aren’t allowed within the city limits.”

  She wrinkled up her nose and growled at him.

  He had a great urge to tickle her sides. May have if they hadn’t had an audience. He didn’t need to turn around to know JoJo and Bat, as well as a couple of his cowboys were watching.

  “Get off me. You’re getting my dress dirty.”

  The desire to kiss her was eating at his insides, but he couldn’t do that any more than he could tickle her. At least, he shouldn’t. Leaning down he gave her lips a quick smack. “I like your hair like that. You should wear it down more often,” he said before bounding off her. He considered helping her off the ground, but she was already jumping to her feet, so instead, he took the hat Bat handed him and ducked inside the tent.

  Grabbing his suit coat and vest, he left the tent. Then, hooking both garments with one hand, he flung them over his shoulder as he gave her wink and headed to town.

  He felt like whistling again, and did so. Bridgette made him feel happy, relaxed, things he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Town was quiet this morning, and he headed straight for the Dodge House, where he changed his clothes and ate breakfast. Of course he was quizzed as to where his wife was this morning, something that didn’t bother him overly much. He’d grown used to explaining Bridgette’s whereabouts long ago. Mrs. Franklin seemed to readily accept the fact Bridgette was at the tent camp with his men as she handed him a sealed envelope.

  It was a simple message, and upon leaving the hotel, he went to the see Nathan Solstead as the note requested.

  “It was a pleasure to meet your wife last night,” Nathan said from behind his desk as Garth entered the room. “Virginia and I enjoyed ourselves.”

  “Likewise,” Garth answered, taking a seat. Considering that enough pleasantry talk, he asked. “Any word?”

  “Howard Knight, from the Eastman House, was in to see me this morning. He said two more drives will arrive in Dodge today or tomorrow.”

  “Three by night fall tomorrow from what I hear,” Garth said. “I spoke to Slim Jenkins this morning. He’s leading a herd for Bill Seacrest and should arrive later today. Hank Black is a few hours behind him, and Johnny Mac not far behind him.”

  Nathan leaned back in his chair. “Knight said he’s ready to start loading cattle. Claimed the pens aren’t large enough to hold three drives.”

  “They aren’t,” Garth agreed, “but unless he’s ready to pay top dollar, I’m not ready to sell, and neither are the other trail bosses.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Did Knight say if he optioned all the cars?”

  “No, and I spoke with Chuck Bolton at the depot. He confirmed no deal has been made. He’s antsy though, wants to get those stock cars rolling. So do his bosses.”

  “The Chicago house boys aren’t stepping up?”

  “No.”

  Garth glanced around the room, mainly in order to give himself a moment to think. A large painting hung on the wall depicting a herd of cattle. He stared at it a few minutes, letting an idea form, before turning back to Nathan. “What if two of those herds hold back a distance? I could send a few extra cowboys out to help keep the cattle contained while the trail bosses come to town. That won’t fill up the pens and it’ll make four of us, along with you and other local ranches. Could be enough to make the slaughter houses know we won’t take their deal.”

  “It could,” Nathan agreed, “but I have to tell you, Garth, I think there’s more behind this. I don’t know what, but I have a gut feeling.” With a glance toward a flag hanging in the corner, he said, “I think it’s Anthony.”

  “Anthony?”

  Nathan nodded. “George Anthony. He was elected governor last fall, took office this year and he was on the state board of agriculture before taking office. Everyone knows the opposition between the cattlemen and the farmers in this state.”

  Garth had heard plenty about that. “Especially cattle drives.”

  “Anthony would love to see every acre of this state growing wheat. He claimed the winter wheat crop last year surpassed all other states in the nation, and wants that to continue.”

  “You think he’s using his political connections to put wheat above cattle?” Garth didn’t have any experience in politics and couldn’t think of a reason he’d ever want any, other than the twenty-five hundred head of cattle he owned. That was a reason whether he wanted it to be or not.

  “Not connections,” Nathan said. “Power.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Garth admitted. “We’ll need a whole lot more than four trail bosses and a few cattlemen to go against the governor.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “So where do we find the help we need?” Garth asked. “Because I’m not giving up.”

  “I knew I liked you the minute you walked in the door.” Nathan scooted his chair closer to his desk. “Can I give you a quick history lesson on the governors of Kansas?”

  “If it’ll help me sell my cows, I’ll listen to a duck sing,” Garth said, pulling his chair closer.

  * * *

  Concentrating on anything had been difficult ever since Garth’s lips had touched her. She couldn’t call it a kiss. There hadn’t been any tender or loving actions associated with the connection of their lips. Yet, Bridgette couldn’t get it out of her mind. Or the flash she’d seen in Garth’s eyes moments before his lips had touched hers. That’s where the tenderness had been, as well as a hint of something secretive and exciting.

  It made her want to smile, and that confused her. She certainly wasn’t happy about anything he’d done. Not how he’d tackled her, or pinned her to the ground or jumped up and walked away. Again. Her fate appeared to be watching Garth walk away.

  No! Her past had been watching him walk away. Her future was finding a job as a midwife and leaving h
im behind. She’d do it, too.

  Things hadn’t worked out as she’d expected when she decided to come to Dodge, but she’d change that. JoJo didn’t know much about the men from the restaurant, only that the sale of Garth’s cattle had been held up for a few days, but JoJo had suggested she ask the owner of the mercantile about her midwife idea. Which made sense. Back in Hosford, Mr. Haskell knew more about the people living in the area than they knew themselves because they all visited his store.

  “Let’s go this way,” she told Bat as they neared the alleyway she’d used this morning en route to the tent. Still cognizant of the fact she didn’t want to be seen strolling along the streets—now because of those who thought she was Mrs. McCain—she added, “It won’t be as busy.”

  Bat didn’t say a word as he walked along beside her. It could be because he thought he was old enough to go to the mercantile by himself and was upset she had insisted on going with him. In that sense, Garth had been right. Bat couldn’t roam the city alone. Not with a pocket full of coins. Furthermore, he’d need help toting back all the items JoJo had listed.

  JoJo had offered to go with them, but most of the cowboys from the trail drive had set up sleeping areas near the chuck wagon and expected him to feed them, which he was in the midst of doing—using the potatoes she’d thrown at Garth.

  The cowboys appreciated those spuds as much as they had her eggs and green beans back on the trail. She’d only been there two days, but had noted JoJo served three foods. Beans, bacon and biscuits. Cheap and filling, he’d said.

  They entered the alley, and she held in a sigh. She was thankful she and Bat most likely wouldn’t encounter Garth on this route. At least she hoped she was thankful because she shouldn’t want to see him.

  The alley went past the back side of the Crystal Palace and when a muffled sound caught her attention, she paused. Mornings were the quietest time at the Palace, since the girls were sleeping after working all night. “Stay right here,” she told Bat, and as an afterthought, handed him the basket she carried to tote things back to the camp.

  Walking closer, she peered over the fence that surrounded the property. Seeing nothing, she followed the fence to survey the open space between the next building and the fence. Wondering if perhaps she’d heard a stray cat or other such critter, she turned to survey the buildings on the other side of the alley. There were few places for a critter to hide, other than perhaps between the three rain barrels set near the corner of one of the buildings.

  She held up a hand, telling Bat to stay where he was as she crossed the alley slowly. An injured animal was nothing to rush up on. As she approached, her cautious curiosity turned into concern. Rushing forward, she knelt down. “Ellen, what are you doing?”

  Squeezed between two of the barrels, the kitchen girl from the Crystal Palace lifted her head and pulled her hands away from her face. It was apparent she’d been crying. Still was.

  “What’s the matter?” Bridgette asked, brushing the girl’s dark hair away from her face.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something is or you wouldn’t be out here.”

  Covering her face with both hands again, Ellen whispered, “I don’t want to go back in there.”

  The very thing she’d feared since meeting Ellen filled Bridgette. Although Willow had said at twelve Ellen was too young, it was only a matter of time before that changed. Before Ellen would be old enough. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Ellen shook her head.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Bridgette said.

  Removing her hands, Ellen said, “He didn’t hurt me. I ran.”

  Bridgette needed no more of an explanation. “Come,” she said, holding out her hand. “Come with me.”

  “No. I don’t want to go back in there.”

  “Of course you don’t, and you aren’t. You’re coming with me.”

  “To where?”

  The fact it wasn’t her camp didn’t stop Bridgette. “To the tent city.”

  A hint of hope flashed in Ellen’s big brown eyes before she shook her head. “They’ll find me. Willow will send someone looking for me.”

  “They’ll be sleeping for several hours yet,” Bridgette said. “Now, come, hurry so we aren’t seen.”

  Ellen wiggled her skinny frame from between the two barrels. “Willow will be mad.”

  “I’m sure she will, but I won’t let her hurt you, or make you go back,” Bridgette said, helping the girl to her feet. If she’d had anywhere else to go, Ellen wouldn’t still be at the Crystal Palace. Her mother had worked for Willow, up until she’d died last year and her father had run off long before then.

  “How will you do that?”

  At the moment, Bridgette had no idea, but that would change. She’d think of something. “Don’t worry about that.” Taking Ellen’s hand, Bridgette waved for Bat to join them. They walked between the two buildings, and then down the side street that led into the tent city.

  Arriving at the camp and before JoJo could voice the questions on his face, Bridgette said, “This is Ellen. She needs to wait here, out of sight, while Bat and I go to town for supplies. We won’t be long.”

  JoJo’s whisker-lined lips clamped shut, but the questions in his eyes doubled. However, there was no animosity, just as she’d known there wouldn’t be. He’d been the one to take in Bat, and surely wouldn’t shy at helping another child.

  “We’ll be back soon,” she said to him while leading the girl around the chuck wagon. “Ellen, you can wait for me inside the tent. JoJo will watch out for you.”

  “I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” Ellen said.

  “No one will be in trouble,” Bridgette answered while opening the flap. “Just wait here. I won’t be long.” The repercussion of bringing Ellen to the camp made her stomach gurgle. Willow would not be happy to find the girl gone. Ellen had done almost all of the kitchen duties, including most of the cooking.

  Closing the flap behind Ellen, Bridgette turned about. She didn’t look at JoJo, just patted Bat’s shoulder as she walked past him. “Let’s hurry before the store gets busy.”

  “Still got my list?”

  She knew JoJo would have to say something. “Yes. We won’t be long.”

  “We’ll be fine,” he said. “No need to rush.”

  Relief filled her chest, as did warmth. His words meant more to her than he could ever know. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, then bowed his head to give attention to the pan over the fire.

  She took the basket from Bat, and this time steered him down the side street rather than the alley. There were people mingling about, going in and out of businesses and homes, but the side street wasn’t as busy as Front Street and she didn’t want to take the alley again, didn’t want to chance being recognized by anyone at the Crystal Palace.

  No one seemed to notice her and Bat, not even when they turned a corner and walked a block north to cross Front Street. The mercantile wasn’t busy, and the proprietor was friendly, chatting about nothing of importance while filling her order. With Ellen at the camp, Bridgette decided to wait to ask about families in need of a midwife, and while thinking of Ellen and the bath the girl needed, asked for a bar of soap to be included with everything else.

  After she paid the total from the money JoJo had given her, taking note of the amount of the soap so she could reimburse him for that from her few coins, she gestured for Bat to gather some of the items. The basket was full of eggs—JoJo had said the cowboys requested them after having the ones she’d given them—and because she’d have to carry the packets that held the pouches of coffee, sugar and bacon, she handed Bat the bar of soap. “Put this in your pocket.”

  He did so and then hoisted the large bag of flour off the counter. She thanked the proprietor and followed Bat toward the doo
r. The eggs in the basket clicked together as she walked and she paused near the doorway to reposition a few amongst the straw. Even just one broken egg would be one too many.

  Bridgette had to wait for two women to enter the store before she could exit. As she stepped onto the boardwalk, she noticed a man grab a hold of Bat’s arm.

  “Thief!” he shouted while pulling Bat into the street. “Someone get the sheriff! I caught a thief!”

  “Let go of him!” Bridgette shouted. “He’s not a thief! He’s with me!”

  A wagon had to swerve near the boardwalk to prevent hitting Bat as he struggled to get loose.

  Bridgette had to wait for a wagon to roll past, but shouted, “Let go of him!”

  “I caught a thief!” the man yelled. “He’s with the cattle drive! Get the sheriff!”

  Other wagons and horses stopped as the man held Bat by one arm in the middle of the street, yelling. “Get the sheriff!”

  Bridgette marched forward. “He’s not a thief! Now let go of him!”

  Bony and dirty, the man spun around. “This here’s a thief!”

  “No, he’s not,” she insisted. “I just paid for that flour.”

  With a sneer that could make a coyote turn and run, the man stabbed something into the bag in Bat’s hand. As flour poured onto the ground, he asked, “This flour?”

  Bridgette was so appalled she couldn’t speak.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Of all the people who could appear right then, Garth was the one she most wanted to see, yet, at the same time, the one she truly did not want to see.

  “Stay there,” he said, pointing a finger at her.

  Still a few steps away, she didn’t want to stay, but this was not a time to challenge him. Anger had his nostrils flaring.

  “Sheriff’s coming,” the man said. “To take this thief to jail.”

  “Bat didn’t steal anything,” Bridgette told Garth, and the man. The misery on Bat’s face as he held the now half-full bag with both hands, trying to stop any more flour from sifting out, increased her anger. “I paid for that bag of flour you just cut open.”