Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)

by BAUER, Pamela

  “Yes, I am,” Wood agreed soberly.

  “Most people get killed when lightning hits ’em.”

  Similar thoughts had crossed Wood’s mind. Why had he not died? It was true he had heard of instances where folks had survived being hit by the deadly bolt, but they were rare cases. So if it was lightning that had transported him forward in time, he had to question whether it would also take him back.

  The more he thought about returning to 1876, the more grim the picture became. Not only would he have to worry about returning to the scene of the lynching where he could possibly die in the noose, he also had to fear that before he ever made it back in time, he could possibly be one of the not-so-lucky struck dead by lightning.

  Wood racked his brain trying to think of any other means by which he could have time traveled. None came to mind. He had sat on the horse, seen the lightning bolt and then been whisked through time.

  A horrible feeling of hopelessness swept over him. What were the chances that he would be struck by lightning twice? And even if he was, would it take him back in time or kill him?

  When he had left Missouri all he had wanted was to find his sister. Now it appeared that was never going to happen. How was he ever going to rest not knowing what had happened to her?

  The answer was he couldn’t. He would have to find a way to get back. Even if it cost him his life.

  Chapter Six

  “Where’s my baby book?” Jeremy asked as he sat down for dinner that evening.

  Hannah frowned. “Why do you want that?”

  “Because I have to do a family tree for history and write a report about what it was like to live in Minnesota at the turn of the century. My teacher says a baby book is a good place to start. You have one for me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure where it is,” Hannah fibbed, pulling a gallon of milk from the refrigerator. Like most mothers, she had kept a baby book, knowing that one day Jeremy might need to know the name of his paternal ancestors. Now that that day was here, though, she found it disconcerting.

  “I can help you,” Gabby volunteered. “I have several old Davis family diaries dating back to the original homesteaders. What information we can’t find in my collection, we’ll go look for at the library.”

  “You have a library in town?” Wood asked.

  “Oh, yes. I worked there for almost forty years,” she replied proudly. “If you want to know about local history, it’s all there.”

  “I think history is boring. Don’t you, Wood?” Jeremy asked.

  Wood didn’t answer. “Let me get that for you, ma’am.” Wood took the plate of steaming corn on the cob from Gabby’s hands and carried it to the table. Then he held her chair as she sat down.

  “Why thank you, Wood. How gentlemanly of you.” Gabby beamed.

  Hannah rolled her eyes. Before Wood had a chance to help her, she pulled out a chair and sat down.

  “How come you call Gabby and my mom ma’am?” Jeremy wanted to know, the subject of history quickly forgotten.

  “Where I come from, men address women that way out of respect,” Wood answered.

  “Is that why you hold the chair for them, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not all women appreciate being called ma’am,” Hannah said pointedly.

  “She thinks it makes her sound old, but I think it’s rather sweet, Wood,” Gabby remarked, her face glowing. “A man with good manners is hard to find nowadays.”

  Hannah had to admit that Wood Dumler had social graces she wouldn’t have expected for someone who arrived looking like a vagrant. It made her wonder if Gabby was right—he was simply a man down on his luck.

  “Are you feeling better now that you’ve rested?” Gabby asked when Wood was seated across from her.

  “I am.”

  Gabby turned to Hannah and said, “Aren’t we lucky? Now that Barry’s not going to be here for a few days, Wood can take his place.”

  “Why isn’t Barry going to be here?”

  “He called just before you came in and said he was taking Caroline to the hospital.” For Wood’s benefit she added, “Caroline is Barry’s wife, and she’s expecting their first child.”

  “But the baby isn’t due for another month!”

  “That’s true, but her labor pains are five minutes apart. It looks like she’s going to have a preemie.”

  Hannah felt as if someone had taken the wind out of her sails. She was counting on Barry for harvest. “That means I’ll have to do the beans without him.”

  “What about Wood?” Gabby asked. “He’s a little inexperienced with the machinery, but I bet you’re a quick learner, aren’t you, Wood?”

  “I’m here to assist you in any way I can,” he offered. “That is, if you want me to stay.”

  “Of course she wants you to stay,” Gabby answered for her. “One woman can’t harvest 400 acres of beans.”

  Hannah knew what Gabby said was true. Without Barry she had no choice. She looked up at Wood, who stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  “He can stay,” Hannah stated evenly. “Only until Barry returns.”

  “He’ll need coveralls,” Gabby pointed out. “I think Big Fred left a pair in that closet in the bunkhouse.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, ma’am, but Big Fred wasn’t as big as you recall,” Wood interrupted. He stood and pulled the pant legs out of his boots.

  The bottoms of the legs stopped short of his ankles. Wood looked like a little kid whose mother refused to buy him new britches until the old ones had holes in the knees.

  “Well,” Gabby said, “I guess we need to take him to town, Hannah. He can’t work in clothes that don’t fit.”

  Hannah agreed. “We’ll go tomorrow afternoon.”

  “It’s not necessary. If you give me back my things, I reckon I can get by,” Wood told them.

  “I did wash your clothes, Wood, but you’re going to need more than one set if you’re going to work in the fields,” Gabby assured him.

  When they had finished eating, Gabby gave Wood his freshly laundered garments as well as Big Fred’s coveralls which he eagerly took to the bunkhouse. While he changed, Hannah pruned the rose bushes that grew alongside the house. At the sound of a screen door slamming, she glanced in the direction of the bunkhouse.

  Wood was coming toward her, walking as if he had a wedgie. As she shaded her eyes from the setting sun, she realized he was walking funny because he could barely button the cotton shirt and the pants—well, she understood the reason for his scowl.

  “What did she do to my clothes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He chuckled but it was not a humorous sound. “This is worse than those other clothes you gave me to wear....” He looked down at the shirt cuffs that stopped about an inch from his wrists.

  He appeared so comical Hannah had to stifle a giggle. “You can pick out another pair of pants and a shirt at my expense.”

  “You don’t have to pay for anything. I’ll work for whatever it is you give me,” he said irritably.

  “But it was our mistake.”

  “I told you. I don’t accept charity. I work for whatever I get,” he stated firmly.

  She dusted off her hands and wiped them on her jeans. “Fair enough. We’ll go first thing in the morning. Let me put my things away, and I’ll show you where everything is on the farm.”

  When she would have bent over to pick up her knee pad and her garden shears, Wood beat her to it. As he stooped, however, the sound of fabric tearing stopped him in midmotion. The crotch of his pants had come open at the seam.

  Hannah’s eyes met his.

  “It isn’t anything you haven’t already seen, is it?” he said with a lift of one brow, then went back inside the bunkhouse.

  Again, he had successfully turned the tables on her. She was the one who blushed, not him.

  When he reappeared, he wore Big Fred’s coveralls. Although they were old, she didn’t need to worry that he’d pop any buttons o
r split any seams.

  Wood, however, didn’t look any less uncomfortable than before. “Now you look more like a farmer,” Hannah remarked, wanting to chase away the uneasiness on his face.

  “I look like a man wearing another man’s clothes,” he retorted. “But I do believe I am ready to work.”

  “Just about,” she told him. “Give me your arms.”

  As he held them out straight, Hannah rolled back the cuffs until his forearms were bare. “There. That’s better. Now what you need is a hat. Wait here.” She went back into the house and found a brand new baseball cap one of the chemical companies had given her at a co-op meeting last spring. It was a bright yellow with the company logo emblazoned across the front in black.

  “You’ll need this when the sun shines,” she told him.

  Wood took it from her, eyed it curiously, then put it on, with the brim facing backward.

  “Considering you’re recovering from heat stroke, it might be wise to wear it the old-fashioned way.”

  He shrugged. “Jeremy wears his like this. I thought I might look more like one of the local people if I did.”

  Hannah could have told him that it wouldn’t matter how he wore the hat. No one was going to mistake him for a local. When he had turned the cap around she said, “Okay, let’s get started.”

  She led him around the long row of tall pines that separated their living quarters from the farm and took him through most of the farm.

  As they stepped into the barn, several cats wandered over to greet them. “Here’s where most of the animals are.” For the first time all day Hannah thought Wood finally seemed at ease. “We have twelve stalls, but right now I only have six horses.” They walked through the building and out the opposite end into the pasture where the horses grazed.

  Most of them were at the far end fenced area, grazing. One silvery gray Arabian, however, stood not more than fifteen feet from them. “Who’s this?” Wood asked, eyeing the horse with interest.

  “His name is Bullet and I should warn you, he’s rather highly strung.”

  Wood ignored her warning and approached the animal very slowly, his hand stretched out in front of him, palm down. At first the horse shied away, but Wood didn’t give up. He continued to talk to him under his breath, crooning patiently until to Hannah’s surprise, her skittish gelding allowed Wood to run his hand along his neck.

  “He doesn’t normally let strangers get close.” Hannah couldn’t keep the wonder from her voice.

  “He knows I’m not a threat.” His eyes pierced hers with the same message.

  Wood spoke softly into the horse’s ear and Hannah could see that whatever he lacked in machinery knowledge he obviously made up for in animal handling skills. First it was Outlaw, now Bullet. Could it be that Wood was as trustworthy as Gabby wanted Hannah to believe he was?

  When Bullet moved away, Wood asked, “You don’t have any work horses?”

  She shook her head. “No one around here uses horses in the field. I’ve been thinking about getting a couple of draft horses, but they wouldn’t be for work, just to pull my wagons at the shows.”

  Wood pushed the brim back on his hat and squinted. “What the heck is that?”

  Hannah followed the direction of his gaze. “It’s a pig.”

  “In with the horses?”

  “What do you suggest I do with an eight hundred and fifty pound pig?” she asked dryly. “I won Wilbur at the county fair. He was just a little thing back then. I wouldn’t have kept him, but ever since Jeremy saw the movie Babe he won’t let me get rid of him.”

  “He is big.”

  Hannah nodded. “Jeremy made him a box but he broke out of it so we had to put him in here with the horses. He likes to rut around for bugs in the manure pile.”

  “He’s going to start thinking he is a horse if you leave him out here,” Wood warned her.

  “Come here, Wilbur,” Hannah called out to the pig, who snorted, then waddled over toward her. She slapped his backside and tickled the flesh behind his ears. “You’re a good pig, aren’t you, Wilbur?”

  “He gets much bigger he won’t taste very good.”

  “We couldn’t eat him!” Hannah exclaimed. “He’s Jeremy’s pet!”

  He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “A pig for a pet?

  “What’s wrong with that?” she demanded.

  He simply shrugged, hiding a smile.

  “What’s so amusing?” When he didn’t answer right away, she added, “Well?”

  “You’re sentimental.”

  “And you find that funny?” she asked, trying not to bristle.

  “I find it charming.”

  With one look from his dark brown eyes the atmosphere became charged with a sexual awareness. Her heart beat nervously as his eyes glittered with an emotion any woman would recognize. Desire. Not that it should have surprised her. Ever since he had first laid eyes on her there had been a flickering gleam of interest in them. And she would have had to have been blind not to notice the way his body had responded earlier today when she had rubbed liniment into his bruised muscles.

  She was no stranger to sexual attraction, although it did seem to be a strange phenomenon. Why was it that she would be attracted to Wood Dumler, a man who didn’t drive, who came from who knows where and whose past included a beating by God only knows what kind of people?

  Yet she was attracted to him. That’s why she was staring at his mouth and wondering what it would feel like to have those sun-parched lips on hers. Would that mustache tickle?

  As if he could read her thoughts, he bent and brushed her lips with his. Surprisingly, they weren’t rough, but soft and warm, with only the slightest hint of prickliness where the sun had left its mark. She trembled at the sweet stirring of desire that erupted inside her.

  When her lips parted ever so slightly, he pinned her against the fence, a hand on either side of her. Hannah discovered that his mustache didn’t tickle, but tantalized, tempting her to press her body closer to his and open her mouth to his tongue.

  It had been a long time since any man had kissed her, and Hannah felt like a dieter being thrown a pound of chocolate fudge. Although kissing Wood should have been off limits, he tasted so good she couldn’t resist the temptation to enjoy every moment of the pleasure. Her lips couldn’t get enough of his and would never have left his had not Jeremy’s voice rang out.

  “Mom?”

  Hannah could see the disappointment in Wood’s eyes at the realization that their kiss had ended not by choice, but by an intruder. When he looked as if he wasn’t about to let her go, Hannah pushed at his chest.

  “We’re out here,” she called out just seconds before Jeremy appeared.

  “You’ve got a phone call. It’s Red Murphy.” He handed her the portable phone.

  Hannah glanced at Wood and realized that she had been kissing the man that she wanted Red to investigate. Only this morning she had called Red and left a message with the intention that he check Wood’s background.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to Wood, walking back toward the barn. “Red, hi. Look, this isn’t a good time for me. How about if I call you later?”

  After as brief a conversation as she could possibly make it, Hannah ended the phone call. Jeremy had returned to the house, leaving Wood alone in the pasture, petting Wilbur. A warm fuzzy traveled down Hannah’s spine. Dressed in Big Fred’s cast-off coveralls, he should have looked ridiculous. But he didn’t. He looked good. Damn good.

  And that was a problem. Only twenty-four hours ago she had wanted to kick him off the farm; now she was trying to figure out how not to be attracted to him.

  Hannah was well versed in the art of putting men in their places. She’d had enough practice. It was time to nip this little attraction right in the bud. So they were curious about each other—that was normal and to be expected. But that was all that was going to happen.

  She cleared her throat and said, “If you’re going to work for me, I think i
t would be best if we both forgot what just happened.”

  “Yes, ma‘am.” Wood nodded at her and started for the bunkhouse. Then he turned around and speared her with a heated look. “Just to be sure, ma’am, which part do you want me to forget? The part where I kissed you or the part where you kissed me back?” As a wry smile creased his cheeks, he walked away.

  WOOD HAD A RESTLESS NIGHT, most of it spent tossing and turning on the metal bed. Only twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t been able to stay awake. Now he couldn’t sleep.

  But then what man would be able to rest after discovering he had been saved from death by a strange quirk of time. For that’s what it had to have been. He still wasn’t convinced it was the lightning, despite what Jeremy had told him.

  If only he could remember what had happened after the noose had tightened around his neck. Over and over he replayed the details leading up to his hanging and his subsequent leap to the twentieth century. None of it made any sense. Why had he traveled through time and why had he ended up at the Davis farm?

  The thought of not being able to return and never seeing his sister again he didn’t want to contemplate. Not knowing whether she had wasted her life with an outlaw or returned to Missouri to live the life of a lady was a punishment he couldn’t bear.

  He punched his pillow for the hundredth time. If only he knew what had propelled him through time. Was it the something that old crone had given him? He remembered her pouring dirt into his hands and calling it the sand of salvation.

  If it was the sand, he was in big trouble. Any traces of dirt that might have been on his hands had been washed away in Hannah’s tub. At the memory of the bath, he felt a stirring in his loins. He smiled as he recalled the look on Hannah’s face when she had pulled back that curtain. And the color that had been in her cheeks when she had seen the effects on his body caused by her therapeutic massage. And then there was that kiss.

  With a great effort he pushed thoughts of Hannah from his mind. What he didn’t need to do right now was complicate his predicament by taking a fancy to his hostess. Not that it was a fancy, exactly. More like a need to scratch an itch. She bothered him in a way no woman had bothered him in a long time. All that talk about there being no man’s work or woman’s work, just work. And those tight trousers.