The Wrangler's Inconvenient Wife

by Lacy Williams

  “D’you think Fran will wait for me back at the homestead for a couple of days?” he asked Seb.

  His brother shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Unless that brother of hers talks her into movin’ on.”

  That was a real worry. Daniel didn’t seem to harbor much respect for Edgar, and he could well understand why not. Edgar was sore at himself for putting both girls in danger, and couldn’t forgive himself for letting Fran get hurt.

  Would she understand if he asked her not to make any decisions until after he got the cattle sold and got back to the homestead? He hadn’t made the best of showings as a husband and would like her to see him in his familiar surroundings, where he might be able to impress her with his work.

  “If I was you, the thing I’d regret most was not asking her,” Seb said.

  He slapped his brother on the back. “You are wise beyond your years.”

  Seb just grinned. “I know. Don’t tell Ma.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three days later, finally home, Edgar snuck behind the bunkhouse and eyed the main cabin. Waiting, hoping for a glimpse of Fran.

  The early-morning light reflected off the kitchen window where his ma usually spent the morning washing up. He couldn’t detect any movement there at all.

  Another two weeks and Ma and Pa would be home. Would he have a wife to show off to them?

  It had taken a couple days to work out the issues with the cattle buyer. They’d been blessed to find a new buyer when the other had backed out.

  In the meantime, Fran had agreed to come home to Jonas’s place, her brother and sister tagging along.

  Edgar had arrived late the previous evening, and although he’d seen Fran briefly, he hadn’t had a chance to really talk to her. She’d had some leftovers that she warmed on the stove for him and Seb and Matty.

  While they’d been settling the cattle deal, it was obvious she’d charmed Davy in their absence. He was all smiles in the bunkhouse the night before, until Edgar had had to tell him about Ricky.

  Now that Edgar was there, he was unaccountably nervous.

  What if she really couldn’t forgive him for letting Underhill take her, and for his momentary doubt of her trustworthiness?

  If she walked away, he would deserve it.

  And with her brother there, probably encouraging her to do so, what chance did he really have?

  But he wasn’t a kid anymore. When his ma had left him at that orphanage, he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop her.

  With Fran, he could try. He could proclaim his love, or at least let her know how he felt and let her make the decision from there.

  He had to try.

  He looked down at the piece of mirror and straight razor in his hand. Might as well give the best showing he could. Fran had cut his hair, but it was time—past time—that the beard went away.

  He walked around the side of the bunkhouse to the wash bucket back behind. He assumed his brothers were working or in the barn, since he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them yet that morning. Better to shave in privacy.

  He dunked his whole head in the bucket. The splash of cold water was bracing. He shook like a dog, droplets slinging through the air.

  He worked up a lather with the shaving soap and spread it into his beard.

  He took a deep breath and only hesitated briefly before he took the first swipe with the razor.

  With every stroke, he thought of Fran. Of the way she’d cut his hair, her tender care for him when he’d been nothing but harsh to her.

  Of her in the moonlight, begging him to let her in.

  Of kissing her.

  He ran his palm over one side of his freshly shaved face and wondered if she had been right when she’d accused him of hiding.

  Did he let himself reach such an unkempt state to make sure no eligible girls got close? Was that the real reason he’d always kept distant?

  Why had he let himself be so closed off?

  Was it too late for him?

  “There he is.”

  A voice snapped him from his thoughts. He tossed his towel over the side of the barrel and let the straight razor fall to the ground.

  He turned to see Davy, Seb, Matty and Fran’s brother waylaying him.

  “Whoa!” Seb exclaimed.

  “Who is that?” Matty teased. “Don’t recognize ya, pardner.”

  He sent a stream of water from the top of the wash barrel splashing toward them. “Morning, boys,” he said. What was going on?

  “Dan here wants to talk to ya,” Seb said.

  He nodded, facing off with Fran’s brother.

  Although Dan was only slightly shorter, Edgar probably had sixty pounds of muscle on the man—Dan was slender and still looked like he could stand to gain some weight after his illness.

  “You’ve regained a little color,” Edgar commented.

  “It’s been a relief to be reunited with my sisters and to have the accusations against Fran resolved. I wired some business acquaintances back in Tennessee, and it seems the witnesses Underhill claimed could accuse her didn’t exist. There is no case against her.” But instead of looking relieved, Daniel looked very serious.

  Edgar was glad they’d been reunited. Families should be together. That was why his responsibility for Ricky and his brother’s desertion still weighed heavy on him. But while Ricky was of age, the girls had needed a protector.

  “How’s Emma?” he asked.

  “Having nightmares nearly twice a night. She wouldn’t tell me—the difference in our ages—but Fran has shared some of it.” The other man looked weighed down by his sister’s situation.

  But he seemed to rouse himself from his internal musings. “Fran seems to have developed some affection for you,” Daniel said, and Edgar’s heart thumped wildly.

  Did he still have a chance to win Fran?

  “And he wants to know what your intentions are,” Seb put in gleefully.

  Davy stood looking on, arms crossed and silent.

  “I...” Edgar hadn’t even expressed his feelings to Fran yet. He didn’t want to tell her brother he loved her first. “I care about her. I want to make things right for her.”

  “Do you really think you can? Do you even know what she’s been through? What it’s been like for her, a city-raised girl thrown onto the prairie with a bunch of cowboys?”

  “Fran’s tougher than you think” was his immediate response.

  Daniel did not look pleased with the comment. His expression grew even more perturbed.

  “I’d like to know where you were when the girls needed you,” Edgar went on quickly. “Fran wrote to you more than once.” He hated that he sounded so confrontational, but was not sure he appreciated someone who hadn’t been there for Fran taking him to task.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” the other man said.

  Edgar gave him a long look. He was Fran’s husband. He didn’t have to explain himself to her brother.

  “I’ve had a bad bout of tuberculosis,” Daniel finally said. “It came on quickly, and I suppose the truth is I almost died.”

  Seb stepped back from the other man.

  Daniel smiled ruefully. “My doctors have assured me that I am no longer contagious.” He looked back at Edgar. “As soon as I learned of our parents’ deaths, I came looking for the girls. I found that they’d left the finishing school, been to the orphanage and sent West. The woman who ran the orphanage told me of their troubles with the unfortunate Mr. Underhill—”

  “He got what he deserved,” Seb interrupted.

  Daniel shook his head. “I believe it’s up to the courts to mete out punishment.”

  “He was trying to shoot her,” Edgar put in.

  Daniel shrugged, eyes hard. “We’re gettin
g off track here. I want to know whether you intend to do right by my sister or not.”

  Davy finally broke in. “I’d like to know that, too.”

  Edgar looked at all of them watching him expectantly. “Yes. I want her around....” It was such an understatement that he choked on it. “I...I love her.”

  Daniel didn’t look totally appeased, but Seb’s face had lit and Davy was smiling.

  A wagon rolled up the drive, distracting all of them.

  “Looks like the neighbor.”

  “Wonder what he wants.”

  It didn’t take long to find out.

  * * *

  Fran had been so relieved to see Edgar the night before that she’d begun crying again, so she’d rushed inside with the excuse of warming some supper for the cowboys. But it was really to hide.

  And this morning she was still hiding inside the Whites’ warm kitchen with its overlong plank table. When she should’ve been outside locating her husband, she was slinking around indoors.

  She was afraid he was going to send her away.

  With Daniel there and available to take care of her and Emma, the stark fear for their survival was gone.

  Especially with Underhill out of the picture. Although Emma still had some healing to do from the whole encounter.

  No, Fran’s fear had to do with loving the incorrigible cowboy and knowing there was a chance he couldn’t return her love because she hadn’t been upfront with him about Underhill’s accusations.

  The kitchen door opened and he was there, filling the frame with his height and wide shoulders.

  “Morning.” He took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door.

  When he turned back to the kitchen, she caught sight of his face and sucked in a surprised breath.

  “You shaved,” she said.

  He nodded, red climbing his cheeks. Without the thick blond beard, she could see how easily his fair skin changed color.

  He was even more striking without his beard. A sharp jaw and fine, full lips... Even his nose appeared handsomer.

  He rubbed a hand across his jaw as if she was making him uncomfortable, and she realized she was staring.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked.

  She turned, grateful for the excuse to delay, even for a moment. She needed to gather her thoughts. She was going to tell him that she loved him. She just needed to get her courage in line.

  “I made Daniel bring us back to where the wagon had been that night,” she admitted. “I was able to salvage some of your mother’s recipe cards. I’ve been copying the recipes to new ones, so she will still be able to use them.”

  Most of the old cards were readable, though mud spattered and torn from the cattle’s destructive hooves. The new cards were stacked neatly in the center of the table. It was a paltry offering, because Fran knew some of the cards held sentimental value for Edgar’s mother. The project had really been to keep her hands busy while she’d waited for his arrival.

  Remembering the mangled, decimated wagon cinched her chest tight. Half of it had been sheered completely away, splintered to dust.

  “The men...” She took a breath. She’d cried so many tears in the past few days, purging her fear and desperation. She didn’t want to relapse into a sobbing ball of emotion now. She wanted her husband to see her strong.

  She started again. “Underhill’s men had said you’d fallen in the stampede.”

  He nodded slowly, idly fingering one of the cards with her handwriting on it. She watched his broad fingers sweep across the tabletop.

  Seeing him alive, hale and healthy and vital, clogged her throat with emotion.

  He glanced up at her, seemed to see she was struggling. His hand closed over hers, and he squeezed. “I’m all right.”

  She fought off the urge to throw her arms around him. She didn’t know where they stood.

  “What about you?” he asked, hand still warm around hers. “Your back?”

  “Sore,” she admitted. “Probably about the same as yours.”

  His jaw tightened—it was so much easier to read his expressions without his face covered in the beard.

  “This was awful nice of you.” He motioned to the cards spread across the table.

  “It was my fault they were on the wagon,” she reminded him.

  She’d meant the words to be somewhat of a jest, but he shook his head. “Underhill coming after you wasn’t your fault. And his boys starting that stampede wasn’t your fault, either.”

  Now tears truly did mist her eyes. He folded her to his chest as hope rose in her heart.

  He held her close for a long moment.

  “If that’s true, then Ricky leaving wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

  At her words, he set her slightly back, his face dark and upset.

  “Seb told us last night,” she admitted.

  His brow creased. “Pa left me in charge. I should’ve done something about it.”

  She touched his hand. “You did. Every day, he knew you loved him, knew he could come to you if he chose. But he chose to leave instead.”

  He hung his head, eyes squeezing shut.

  The fact that he was showing her his emotion, not shutting her out, made her heart soar. Did this mean he wanted to be with her?

  “Can we...can we talk?” she asked through a throat tight with hope.

  He nodded slowly. “I think we should. Let’s start with this.”

  He put an envelope on the tabletop between them and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Curious, she picked up the missive. Spidery handwriting listed the return address as being in Chicago.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Edgar watched Fran’s face go pale as she looked at the letter’s return address.

  He’d quickly recognized it from the orphanage where he’d been abandoned as a child. And he’d only had to read the first part of the letter to discover Fran had a hand in the letter’s arrival.

  And it was clear by her expression she recognized it, too.

  “You want to tell me what that is?” he asked.

  “A letter?” she said, as if she wasn’t sure.

  He raised one eyebrow at her. Let her squirm. After all, she’d been nosing into his personal business. Again.

  She sighed heavily, as if expelling all the air out of her entire body.

  “All right,” she said. “I sent a letter to the orphanage in Chicago. I hoped it might give you some closure, that someone might know about your mother.”

  “When?”

  “Back at Tuck’s Station. Before you came and got me for supper.” She spoke in a small voice, chin tucked down.

  She was adorable.

  He waited until she peeked up at him, then held out his hand, palm up.

  “Let’s have it.”

  She handed it to him, looking up at him from beneath thick lashes. “You’re not...mad?”

  “Dunno yet,” he teased.

  She shifted on her feet, raising up on her tiptoes to see as he ripped open the envelope.

  He went to a bare spot on the long table and motioned her to come with him. “Sit with me?”

  She didn’t hesitate, and his heart bumped as she settled in at his elbow, her ear brushing his shoulder.

  He unfolded the letter, his stomach dropping as he did so. Did he really want to know why his birth ma hadn’t wanted him anymore? Why the director had put him on that train?

  Wasn’t the past better off just left where it was—in the past?

  Fran bumped his upper arm with her shoulder. “You don’t have to be afraid of whatever is in there,” she said quietly. “You’ve built a life that suits you. You have a...family that loves you.” She hesitated. “Whatever that letter says
, you won’t lose any of that.”

  She was right. She’d been right the whole time. Telling her about his mother and the director, just saying the words aloud, had somehow lessened his pain. It didn’t hurt more to share his burden with someone else, it hurt less.

  He cleared his throat. “‘Dear Edgar and Mrs. White,’” he read.

  He had to stop and glance at her askance.

  Her cheeks had gone a little pink, and she didn’t directly meet his eyes. He went back to the letter.

  “I was so glad to receive your letter. Next week will be my last as director for the orphanage here, and so I might not have received it if it came at a later time. God’s timing is always right!”

  He had to stop. “She always used to say that,” he remembered to Fran.

  She placed her hand over his wrist and squeezed gently.

  “Edgar, you have been in my heart many times over the years since I last saw you. Many prayers have been sent Heavenward on your behalf. I am so happy to know that you were adopted into a good family. Sending you West on the orphan train was the hardest thing I have ever done.

  You see, I loved you as my own son. Perhaps I should not have let myself get so close to you, or negated your attachment to me in some way, but it couldn’t be helped. You were such a bright, helpful boy. Often playing pranks, but not in a malicious way. You just wanted to make the other children laugh.

  Though I loved you deeply, my calling and my duty was to the orphanage. What kind of life would you have had, being shackled to a single woman whose job was taking care of so many other children who have so many needs to be filled? I hoped—oh, how I hoped—that you would find a family with both mother and father who would see your joyful spirit and take you into their home and fill you with love until you were overflowing. I am brought to tears of joy to know that that seems to be the case.

  I loved you so much that, although it broke my heart, I wanted what was best for you. I hope that with the understanding of a man, you can now see that.”

  He had reached the end of the first page and had to stop. The tightness in his chest made him temporarily unable to go on. Priscilla had loved him. Loved him enough to give him up, so he could have the better life she’d dreamed of for him.