“I won’t abandon the children,” she said.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She hesitated, but eventually said, “Yes, I’ll marry him.”
Stafford wasn’t exactly sure what that did to his insides. He liked the idea that Mick hadn’t ordered her, but knowing she’d marry a complete stranger—she would, he had no doubt, considering all she’d already done—didn’t sit well with him.
His thought voiced itself before he could stop it. “What if someone else, another man, was interested in adopting the children, all of them, would you consider marrying him?”
Something unusual shot through Marie. A shiver of sorts. She didn’t want to marry Mick Wagner, but the children belonged to him. Allowing Stafford to read the letter, to understand what had happened, was one thing, but all this talk of marriage made her nervous. Realization though, when it arrived, wasn’t as comforting as it should be.
“No one else can adopt the children,” she said. “Emma Lou had a life insurance policy. It lists Mr. Wagner as guardian of the children. He’d have to agree to any adoption.” She blew the heavy air out of her chest. “That’s what Mr. Phillips said. He was the Meekers’ solicitor. He wanted to file an affidavit, one where the courts could put the children in an orphanage until Mr. Wagner contacted him. That’s why I brought them here.”
She could go on, explain to him what orphanages were like. How she’d spent most of her life in one. How she had been adopted out, twice. Once by a man who insisted upon peace and quiet all the time so that eventually his wife took her back to the orphanage, and a second time by a woman who took her back after two weeks, saying having a child underfoot was too much trouble. An adopted child wasn’t always a wanted child, and being returned, proving to everyone you were completely unwanted, made life at the orphanage so much worse.
“But you’re willing,” Stafford was saying, pulling her mind back to the present. “To stay here at the ranch until Mick arrives, decides what he wants to do?”
“Yes, as long as you are willing to allow us to stay.” Fear leaped forward, had her adding, “I have the life insurance policy. It’s not a lot of money, but enough to repay the expenses we’ve accrued.” She cringed. “Not the cabin, though.”
His slanted grin was back. “You don’t need to worry about reimbursement. I— Mick has enough funds to cover it. Including the cabin.”
“But that’s probably not how he’d choose to spend it,” she said aloud, though she hadn’t meant to.
He chuckled. “Probably not. But Mick’s a good guy. He’ll understand. The cabin would have needed to be torn down eventually, so don’t waste another thought on that, either.”
Once again she was thankful his easy demeanor was so calming. “You seem awfully confident about that.”
“I am,” he said. “Mick’s like a brother to me. I know what he wants almost as well as he does.”
“Does he want six children?” she asked.
This time his laugh was so genuine she grinned. Stafford stood then. “We’ve been closed up in here long enough. Mrs. Baker will soon be knocking upon the door.”
Marie allowed him to take her elbow. It seemed so natural, almost as if he was an ally, the first one she’d ever had. “Thank you for not firing Mrs. Baker.”
“Firing her?” He shook his head. “I haven’t eaten so well in years. And don’t worry about her wages, either, I’ll pay them. That’s what I’m going to discuss with her now.”
When Marie opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “I’m benefitting from her being here as much as anyone. I pay the wages around here, and I’ll pay hers.”
He pulled open the door, and Marie couldn’t say the words that had formed, not with Gertrude standing right there.
Stafford and Gertrude were still in his office long after she’d put the children to bed, and the next morning, when she and the children walked down the stairs, the kitchen was full of laughter.
Unable to resist, Marie glanced between the two people in the room. Stafford sat at the table, drinking coffee, and Gertrude was at the stove frying pancakes, which thrilled the children. Wondering what had happened to the animosity that usually hung in the air between the other two, Marie walked to the stove. Though her heels clicked steadily upon the floor, her steps were awkward, as unsure as everything else.
Smiling more brightly than usual, Gertrude said, “Good morning. I was just telling Stafford about my George. He was a prankster, my George was. There wasn’t a day I knew him that he didn’t make me laugh.”
Marie lifted an egg out of the bowl Gertrude gestured toward and cracked it against the edge of a pan already sitting upon the stove. Her stomach swirled. She’d been full of pride when Stafford praised her cooking last night, but there was still so much to learn. Of course he’d hire Gertrude over her. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
She cracked three more eggs, and retrieved a spatula as the eggs sizzled and spat. Stafford was talking with the children, the boys mainly, about hats, and a hard knot formed in the center of her chest. The children were so happy here, and in an odd way, that hurt. They’d be sad, uprooted again, when Mick Wagner arrived, even if it meant just moving across the bridge.
“You only sleep with your hat on when you’re on the trail, ain’t that right, Stafford?” Terrance was saying. “Like you did when we traveled out here.”
Flipping the eggs, Marie waited for his response.
“Well,” he said, “if Weston wants to sleep with his hat on, I don’t see how it’ll hurt anything.”
A yoke on one of the eggs broke when Stafford asked, “What do you think, Marie?”
It wasn’t the first yoke she’d broken. And, most likely, it wouldn’t be the last. She turned and found Weston’s gaze. “I don’t believe it will hurt anything,” she told the child. “But you might accidently crush it in your sleep.”
“That could happen,” Stafford agreed. “Maybe we need to put a hook on the wall in your room. That way you can hang it up before going to sleep.”
“Can I have a hook, too?” Charlie asked.
“Sure,” Stafford answered. “I’m sure there are a few around here somewhere.”
“Those are done,” Gertrude whispered in Marie’s ear, pulling her attention back to the stove.
After placing the eggs on a platter and filling the pan with four more, Marie’s gaze once again shot to the table. Stafford was watching her, just as the tingle in her spine had said. There was something different in his gaze this morning. It was more thoughtful than usual. She shivered. Was he thinking she wasn’t needed at all? Not as a nursemaid or a cook, now that he’d hired the other woman?
“I must say,” Gertrude whispered, “I wasn’t giving credit where credit was due. Stafford is very tolerant when it comes to the children. Charitable, too.”
Marie couldn’t stop the sting that formed behind her eyes.
Gertrude chuckled and patted Marie’s shoulder before carrying the platter of eggs and pancakes to the table.
By that afternoon, Marie could no longer hold her silence. She’d hinted about her curiosity as to why Gertrude changed her opinion of Stafford, but the other woman overlooked each question and simply chatted on about a plethora of other things.
“What did he say to change your mind so completely?” Marie finally asked, bluntly.
“Who?” Gertrude asked as she unfolded a length of material from one of the crates that had also held hats for everyone. “Stafford?”
“Yes, Stafford,” Marie answered. Usually the children attended to their studies after lunch, but today Stafford had asked if they could accompany him out to the barn. She’d agreed, knowing the studies wouldn’t hold their attention—or hers. The frustration she’d held in all morning came out in a gush. “Yesterday you were warning me to not let the childre
n become too close with him. Today you act like he’s your best friend.”
“That should make you happy,” Gertrude said. “You’ve been trying to convince me he wasn’t as bad as I believed.”
“I have not,” Marie insisted. “I never said anything.” She’d bitten her tongue several times to keep from telling the other woman she was wrong about Stafford. He might have hit it rich in the gold fields, but he wasn’t squandering his money, not that she’d noticed, and he wasn’t as boorish as Gertrude made him sound. He wasn’t attempting to take advantage of her, either—not in the way the other woman had implied he would. Of course, Marie hadn’t admitted that he’d kissed her—twice. In a way, she was cherishing those events and didn’t want them tarnished. Not even by her own thoughts.
“Exactly,” Gertrude said. “If you’d believed me, you’d have agreed with me.”
Marie had to take a moment to consider that, but then shook her head. She didn’t have time to figure that all out, she just needed to know if he was going to send her away. That couldn’t happen. Not again. “What did Stafford say last night?”
“He hired me. Not just for two weeks, but for as long as I want to stay.” Gertrude sighed then. “As if any woman in her right mind would want to leave this place.” Smiling, she continued, “And he increased my wage. Twenty-five dollars a month. George didn’t even make that much working for the railroad. Furthermore, the more we talked, the more I came to the conclusion most of what I’d heard was nothing more than hearsay. My guess would be rumors started by Verna Smith. That woman has a penchant for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. Some folks are like that. Hate to see others happy or prosperous.”
Despite the warmth of the room filled with bright sun from the many windows, Marie grew chilled. Verna Smith was the least of her concerns. “Stafford hired you to be his cook?”
“Yes, and to continue teaching you everything I know.”
Hope rose. “He said that?”
“Yes, among other things.” Gertrude held up thread and buttons, and then walked back to the pretty yellow material with tiny red roses she’d laid out on the floor.
“What other things?” Marie asked, trying not to be too hopeful.
“Sewing for one. I think we’ll make you a dress out of this cloth, and one for each of the girls out of the pink striped material,” Gertrude said. “Get you out of those blue ones.”
Still attempting to hide what had grown into excitement, Marie shook her head. “These blue dresses are my uniforms. I have no need for a new one, but the girls do.”
Gertrude smiled. “Verna probably expected some old woman when she read your letter, and I’d guess she’s pretty put out that you aren’t.” Gesturing toward the window, she said, “Now, stand over here, so I can get your measurements.”
* * *
Stafford stood nearby as each of the children took turns riding Ginger—the gentle mare he’d bought last year—as Shorty led her around the corral. But one eye was on the house. He’d figured Marie would have been out by now. To check on the children, if nothing else, although he’d truly expected her to corner him. She’d noticed the difference between him and Gertrude Baker this morning. It was impossible not to, and it had to be driving Marie crazy. He’d been anticipating a few minutes alone with her. There was a tension between them that he found he thrived on.
Pulling his gaze away from the house, Stafford leaned back against the wooden corral, where five little bodies sat along the top rail like birds on a branch. He thrived on them, too, though in a different way. Having the kids around was fulfilling in a unique sense. All in all, the changes that had happened lately fit him.
Even Gertrude Baker. She’d turned out to be more than a cook. She was smart, and didn’t mind telling him exactly what she thought.
It had been an eye-opening conversation—the one the two of them had participated in last night—especially concerning the town of Merryville. Seems Verna Smith was not only exorbitant in her prices, she was quite masterful in starting rumors, too. Mainly about him and Mick. Sure, both of them had visited the saloon in town, but not that many times.
He’d set Gertrude straight, and as they’d talked, about the railroad, her husband and the town of Merryville, they’d both come to the same conclusions. Verna Smith was not only telling tales, she probably was already coming up with a plan to publicly ridicule Marie.
The thought had his jaw tightening. Marie had told Gertrude about the children losing their parents and how Mick was their only living relative. Long after their conversation had ended and Stafford had climbed the stairs to his bedroom, a variety of things circled his mind. Past and present concerns.
He waved to Shorty. “That’s enough for now,” Stafford said. “The kids have lessons this afternoon.” And he had things to see to.
Groans sounded, but one by one the children climbed down, with his help, and made their way to the gate. Stafford followed them toward the house, absently answering their supply of never-ending questions. His mind was on another track, wondering what would be the best way to handle Verna Smith, when a plume of dust in the distance caught his attention. Company was a rarity, and he stopped near the steps, watching until a wagon grew close enough for him to make out who it was.
He was biting the inside of his bottom lip when the wagon rolled into the yard. Verna Smith sat on the bench seat, beside a man dressed completely in black, and three other women were in the back of the wagon, the wind tugging at the flowers and feathers on their hats.
“Hello, Mr. Burleson,” the man said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Reverend Saxton.”
Stafford had already noted the white collar, and he’d noticed how the three women in the back were shifting their hefty weights to exit the wagon. He supposed he should offer assistance, but since he was already convinced this wasn’t a neighborly visit, he wasn’t overly concerned about manners.
The preacher assisted Verna Smith, who was also dressed in black, as usual, and the two of them approached side by side. “It’s been brought to my attention, Mr. Burleson,” the preacher said, “that you have a young woman living out here, one you aren’t married to.”
So that was Verna’s plan, and she’d wasted no time in putting it in place.
“Hello, Reverend Saxton,” a voice said behind him. “How nice of you to visit.”
Stafford looked round and found he was very glad he and Gertrude Baker had formed a friendship last night. She cast him a knowing glance as she walked down the steps while Marie ushered the children through the front door.
The Reverend frowned. “Mrs. Baker, I wasn’t informed you were living out here.”
Gertrude grinned while nodding his way. “Mr. Stafford hired me. He completely understands how some folks might misconstrue Miss Hall and the children staying in his home while he builds Mr. Wagner’s new house.” She then waved a hand toward the staked-out ground on the other side of the bridge. “Marie and the children attempted to live in the cabin, but it wasn’t nearly large enough. Mr. Burleson decided to start from scratch, and that’s when I was hired. To keep everything proper.”
“Hilda, Wilma, Noreen,” Gertrude continued, remaining steadfast as she addressed each of the plump women who looked no worse for wear from their trek in the back of the wagon all the way from town. “I’m glad you came to visit. Do come inside for coffee. Marie just baked a brown-sugar cake. It’s fresh from the oven.”
Stafford didn’t intrude as Gertrude guided the women toward the steps. It was evident she knew how to handle this situation far better than he might. Besides, it allowed him to focus on Marie, who’d walked down the steps and now stood nearby. When the time came—and it would, considering the glare Verna Smith was bestowing upon her—he’d intercept the woman’s wrath.
His instincts were to put an arm around Marie, but that would give Verna more
ammunition, so he settled for putting himself between the two women by stepping forward. “After you, Mrs. Smith,” he said with a wave of one hand.
Nose in the air, and with a huff that folks probably heard in Colorado, the old bag marched up the steps. Stafford wouldn’t have minded if she tripped, but she didn’t. He chanced a glance toward Marie then, who was chewing on her bottom lip. Unable to verbally offer comfort, or to let her know he wouldn’t let the old woman harm her or the children, he winked and then gestured for Marie to precede him. A bashful grin formed as she bowed her head and walked into the house. He grinned, too, liking the fact he could come to her aid when needed, and followed, taking the door the Reverend was holding open when he arrived on the stoop.
Gertrude had stationed herself under the arched opening of the front parlor, directing the flow of women into the room. “Marie,” the cook said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee while you see our guests are comfortable.”
Stafford couldn’t help but let his gaze relay his thoughts. Marie was literally trembling in her shoes. He tossed caution to the wind and laid a hand on her shoulder while holding his disapproving glare on Gertrude.
He felt the breath Marie inhaled and squeezed her shoulder as her stance stiffened. “Of course,” she said.
There wasn’t a tremble in Marie’s tone or a stumble in her step, yet Stafford leaned toward Gertrude to harshly inquire, “What are doing? Throwing her to the wolves?”
“No,” the woman hissed back. “She’ll have to learn how to handle them sooner or later, and I’d say, the sooner the better.”
Stafford’s gaze followed hers to where Verna’s cold stare was still focused on Marie. He held in the desire to shake a shudder off his shoulders and asked himself how he’d ended up in the middle of this. A house full of women, a preacher who was ready to damn his soul and a nursemaid who mattered more to him than she should.
There were no signs of the children, and assuming Marie had sent them upstairs as soon as they’d entered the house, Stafford emptied his heavy lungs and walked into the parlor. An afterthought had him removing his hat and setting it on a table near the doorway. Then he crossed the room to where Marie was pulling an additional chair to the edge of the sofa. Thelma (or was it Wilma?) along with Noreen filled the sofa, so the third one, Hilda—she was Doctor Kramer’s wife, he recognized that now—needed the chair.
The Wrong Cowboy Page 16