The night before she’d allowed the boys to sleep on the ground, as Stafford and Jackson had, but after the snake incident she wasn’t about to let that happen again. Therefore, with the children practically lying on top of one another, she’d squeezed into the corner of the wagon and attempted to sleep sitting up. No one, neither her nor the children, had slept much.
Once the children were safely tucked into the back of the wagon, she climbed onto the bench seat, barely acknowledging the glare coming from Stafford.
“Ready?”
Tucking her skirt beneath her knees, she nodded. “Ready.”
He let out a disgusted-sounding sigh and slapped the reins over the backs of the horses.
“We won’t be stopping for anything this morning,” he said after they’d traveled several miles. “I want to be home by noon.”
Her lack of response—a simple nod—seemed to irritate him all over again.
“Another day like yesterday,” he continued, “traveling through that heat, would be more than the horses can take.”
“I’m sure it would be,” she said, while smothering a yawn. A glance into the back of the wagon proved the gentle sway had lulled the children to sleep. It was playing on her already-tired body, as well, and making her eyes heavy.
* * *
Stafford’s mind was fighting a plethora of things, including how Marie’s head bobbed and then snapped back up. No wonder, they must have all sweltered beneath the canvas of the wagon last night. Even lying on the ground had been hot. She couldn’t have gotten a wink of sleep, sitting up with her head resting on the tailgate. He’d battled with himself half the night, forcing himself not to go to her and promise there wasn’t a snake within a hundred miles. She wouldn’t have believed him, and that, too, bothered him.
With each moment that passed, he was having a harder time not liking her, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. Although, he had to admit she did have a couple of endearing qualities. Right now, the way her chin bobbed against her chest tickled his insides and made her look about as adorable as any woman had a right to.
The wagon rolled over a bump—had he been looking he’d have steered around it—and her head jerked, but she didn’t wake.
Unable to hide his grin and accepting he couldn’t let her fall out of the wagon, Stafford reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her to his side.
She mumbled slightly, but didn’t wake as her cheek nuzzled his shoulder before she let out a sigh and slumped fully against him.
Despite the way his blood warmed—or maybe because of it—Stafford questioned his sanity all over again. The flowery, unique scent he’d come to know surrounded him, making him breathe deeper. He also repositioned himself, just so she’d be more comfortable as the miles brought them closer and closer to home.
Stafford had mixed feelings about that, too. Home. Mick would be there soon. The telegram he’d sent from Huron told his partner to return as quickly as possible. He still didn’t want Mick marrying her, but another man would. Practically anyone in the territory—six kids or not.
Terrance and Samuel had answered a few questions last night while he built a fire. He’d still been wondering about her lack of cooking when the boys had piped up, said she’d grown up in an orphanage and that’s why she wouldn’t let the same thing happen to them. All in all, that had created more questions in his head, but he’d stopped before grilling the boys.
She on the other hand, hadn’t ceased her questions—the ones she’d asked Jackson about cooking. It appeared she may not know how to cook now, but wasn’t afraid to learn. He had to give her credit for that, even though he didn’t want to, at least that’s what he kept telling himself.
A good hour later, when they were less than a couple of miles from the ranch, she stirred. One lid opened and Stafford’s insides jolted at her sleepy smile before her eye shut and she snuggled against him a bit closer.
Stafford knew the instant Marie realized she was sleeping on his shoulder. Her entire being went stiff and she bolted upright like a branch snapped in two. He laughed. “Have a good nap?”
She glared.
Just to keep the blush on her cheeks, he rubbed the shoulder she’d used as a pillow. When she frowned, he said, “Just wiping off the drool.”
Eyes wide, she insisted, “I did not—”
“No, you didn’t drool on my shoulder,” he assured her, though he wouldn’t have minded if she had. That notion set his smile aside. What was he thinking? She was his partner’s soon-to-be wife.
Stafford let that thought take root and turned his attention to the horses in front of them. “You might want to wake up the kids. We’ll be at the ranch in another mile or so.”
She agreed and turned toward the back, but Stafford didn’t acknowledge either her answer or her movement. He was too busy telling himself he was not attracted to her. Not at all. He barely knew her, and what he knew he didn’t like. Teasing her wasn’t fun, either.
They’d been on the trail too long. That’s the problem. He’d met hundreds of women over the years, and not one of them had affected him the way she had, because he hadn’t spent more than an hour or so in their company. Getting back home, becoming engrossed in his work was exactly what he needed.
By the time his house rose up on the horizon, Stafford was convinced he was back to his old self.
“Is that your ranch?” Terrance asked, leaning over the seat back.
“That’s the Dakota Cattle Company,” he answered. “Mick and I each own fifty percent of it.” Stafford wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted Marie to know that, but he did.
“You do?” she asked.
He’d purposely not made mention of the exact terms of his partnership with Mick while traveling. There were a few other things he’d kept to himself, too, and he was telling himself he would enjoy telling her about them. “Yes,” he answered. “I do.”
Lips pinched, she eased her gaze off him to look toward the buildings they approached, several barns and other sheds, his house as well as Mick’s place. An offshoot of the river, a little creek most of the time, ran between their two places. Mick had claimed the acreage on the north side of the creek, Stafford had taken the south and they’d built the ranch itself right in the center, sealing their partnership.
“You both don’t live in the same house?” she asked.
“No. We each have our own place,” he answered, noting her gaze was on his house. It was rather large. Besides being a good carpenter, he’d wanted a place that would put his brother’s to shame. That had been his goal when he’d started building it. Mick thought he was crazy, especially since it took him two years to complete it. Three stories, plus a cellar, nine bedrooms, three parlors, an office, a kitchen and several other rooms he hadn’t necessarily named, but most were furnished—everything shipped in from the east.
“That’s our house?”
Charlotte asked that, she was the older of the two girls, and for a moment the pleasure of showing Marie the house they’d live in dimmed. Mick’s place only had one bed, and there wasn’t enough space to add a second one, let alone a third or fourth.
Stafford let the wagon roll past his place, toward the bridge that arched over the creek. “Nope,” he said.
* * *
Marie couldn’t help but stretch her neck to examine the large, rather unusual house as they moved past it. Painted white, with a porch that appeared to be never ending, it looked a lot like one of the plantation mansions she’d read about and seen pictures of in books about the South before the war. Her heart had started pounding when the house had first come into view. There would be more than enough room in there for all of the children. That had been something she’d worried about. “It’s not?” she asked, when the billowing canvas blocked her view.
Stafford didn’t a
nswer until after they’d rolled over a short bridge to where another cluster of barns and buildings sat. There, he stopped the horses in front of a small, square shed of sorts. “This,” he said, pointing toward the squat building, “is your house.”
All of the children were vying for space behind the seat to get a look at their new home, and it was Samuel who said, “That’s not a house.”
“It’s a cabin,” Stafford answered. His gaze, steady and rather cold, landed on her. “Mick’s cabin.”
The large house was in view again, over her shoulder, and after a glance that way Marie drew a deep breath. An overly large lump formed in her throat, and the tingling of her spine said she already knew, yet she asked, “Whose house is that?”
“Mine.”
Chapter Five
Marie refused to jump to conclusions. The little cabin could be larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Plenty of buildings were like that. Stafford was instructing a few men who’d walked across the bridge to help Jackson unload the freight wagon and the children were running about, stretching their legs after the long ride and investigating their new surroundings.
Attempting to summon up a positive attitude, Marie pushed the dead air out of her lungs, drew in a fresh breath and made her way to the cabin. It didn’t even have a porch, just a path of well-worn dirt that led to the windowless door. It, too, reminded her of pictures she’d seen in books, those of the homes the first settlers of the West had created. That had been years before, though, and the country was well settled now. At least, that’s what she’d told the children before they’d embarked on their journey.
Without further ado, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. The space was dark, but she saw enough to make her close her eyes and hope the image would change before she opened them again.
It didn’t, and dread once again welled up inside her.
Four walls stood before her, containing a small cast iron stove, a table with two chairs and a bed. That was it. Besides being small, the space smelled of dust and dirt. The mud caked on the floorboards was the cause of that. Footprints could be made out. Large ones.
Still not willing to give in to panic, Marie entered the cabin fully. There were two windows on opposite walls, one over the bed and the other behind the stove. Both were covered with what appeared to be old saddle blankets. She went to the one over the bed first. The ends of the woven material were frayed and tacked to the wall with small nails. One tug and it let loose, the movement sending dust into the air. She sneezed, twice, and then had to rub her palm over the window to see if there was glass behind the thick coat of filth.
A glint of sunlight peeked through the area she’d wiped, which revealed a heavy layer of dust covering everything else in the cabin.
Unlike cooking, she was well versed in cleaning. Not from her nursemaid classes but from the orphanage. A bucket and mop were the first things young girls were introduced to. She wasn’t afraid of that kind of work and made her way to the other window, uncovering cobwebs along with the dirt. She turned back to the room then, imagining it clean and orderly.
The cabin would look better then, once she’d finished, but it wouldn’t be any larger. Her optimism was waning, and her anger growing. Stafford could have mentioned this. From about any point in the small cabin, she could see out the door, and the view was the same. The little bridge and the big white house. What kind of man expected children to live in this when he had all that room?
A quiver twisted around her spine. Was he married? Did children and perhaps a wife live in that big house? If so, why hadn’t they come out to meet him? Heat warmed her cheeks. She’d dreamed on the way here that she was sleeping next to him, and when she’d awakened and seen him smiling down at her, for a brief moment she’d believed it was real and had never known such joy. It had shattered, though, the moment she’d realized she was snuggled against him. With a shake of her head, Marie stopped several other questions from forming and marched out the door.
Jackson was climbing onto the freight wagon, now empty. The other wagon, canvas collapsed, was parked next to a large barn, which is where Stafford stood.
“Mr. Burleson,” she said loud enough for him to hear. “May I speak with you for a moment, please?”
He said something to Jackson and gestured toward the other side of the creek before walking to her. Marie used the few moments it took him to cover the distance to scan the area, counting the heads of all six children. Seeing them frolicking, with Polly barking beside them as they went from building to building, increased her determination.
When Stafford arrived, looking smug, something snapped inside her, even before he lifted a brow.
“So what do you think of your new house?”
Ignoring his question, she asked sternly, “Who lives in your house with you?”
“No one.”
A touch of excitement fluttered in her stomach, which she promptly ignored. “You and Mick Wagner are equal partners in this ranch, aren’t you?”
“The ranch, yes, not the homes.”
She pulled her eyes off his big house to ask, “How can that be?”
“We each own separate parcels of land, and the buildings on them, but are equal partners in the cattle operation.” Gesturing toward each place, he added, “That side of the creek is mine, this side is Mick’s.”
“I don’t understand why Mr. Wagner wouldn’t have built a larger house,” she said, trying to keep her frustration under control.
“Guess he figured the cabin was all he needed.”
“And you needed a house that large?”
“I wanted a big house,” he said. “Like the one I grew up in down in Mississippi.”
“Why? Do you plan on having a large family?” Her question caused her heart to flutter, a very unusual happening.
“Nope. Don’t plan on having a family at all.” He turned then. “I’ve got things to do, and I’m sure you’ll want to get settled.”
Marie couldn’t say exactly what she’d imagined their new home would be like, but this wasn’t it. She grabbed his arm, stopping him from walking away. A tingle entered every finger and shot up her arm, but she didn’t let loose. The children depended on her for everything, to keep them safe, healthy and happy.
“Surely you realize the children and I can’t live in this cabin.”
His eyes went from her hold to her face. “Why not?”
“There’s only one bed. Where will they all sleep? Furthermore, the bed practically touches the table, which almost touches the stove. There’s barely enough room in there for one person, let alone seven.” A wave of longing she’d lived with her entire life sprang forth. “Children need space of their own, to put their belongings and feel as if they, too, belong there.”
He stared at her for an extended length of time, and she could only hope he was taking what she’d said into consideration. She didn’t want to beg, plead with him to let the children and her live in his house, but she’d never lived outside the city before, and the vast countryside, along with the fact the ranch harbored nothing but men, had fear overtaking her senses. Stafford was a man, too, but at least he was one she knew, and he’d provided for them, kept them safe the entire trip here.
“Well,” he finally said.
Hope leaped inside her.
“I guess Mick should have thought of that before he ordered a bride.”
Stunned, it was a moment or more before Marie realized he’d walked away. She hurried forward, catching him before he stepped on the bridge. The cabin was close to the water, little more than several yards away, whereas his house was up the hill on the other side and grass surrounded it. Green grass the children could play in. Surely he had to see his home was a much more suitable place for children. And her. There might even still be Indian raids in this part of the country.
“Why not?”
Having already explained her reasons, she pointed out a suitable compromise. “It simply would make more sense for you to live in the cabin and us to live in the house.”
He laughed. “That will not happen, Miss Hall.”
She’d taken to calling him Mr. Burleson, but was a touch annoyed to hear him call her Miss Hall again. Actually she was more than a touch annoyed by everything. This wasn’t the Stafford she knew, the one she’d come to like—strangely enough.
He patted the back of one of her hands. “Maybe when Mick gets home he’ll build you a bigger house.”
His complacency grated on her nerves. “We cannot live in that cabin all winter, now, I insist—”
“Insist all you want,” he interrupted, “but that’s your house.” His grin increased. “A person who graduated at the top of her class must be smart, Miss Hall. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Too put out for a comeback, Marie let him walk away. He was right, though, she was smart and she would figure it out, and in doing so, she’d wipe that smug grin off his face.
She’d been in unknown situations before, every time she’d taken a new position, and had managed. This was no different. She’d just have to pretend they weren’t alone, that the cabin was a fine home. No matter what, she couldn’t let the children see her fears. However, she wouldn’t pretend Stafford Burleson was anything less than the insufferable brute he was.
A tug on her skirt had her glancing down.
“I’m hungry,” Weston said.
The fury inside her doubled.
* * *
Stafford didn’t turn around until he was almost to his house, even though he wanted to. Marie and those kids would be wedged in Mick’s cabin tighter than they’d been packed in the wagon. He was trying his darnedest for it not to trouble him, but it did.
The Wrong Cowboy Page 7