The Wrong Cowboy

by Lauri Robinson

  “Mick.” She waited for him to pull the spoon from his nose. “I’d like to speak with you after breakfast.”

  “Sure,” he said, waggling an eyebrow toward Terrance.

  She chose not to chastise the boy for his smirk. Mick’s silliness wasn’t harmful, just tiresome—to her, not the children.

  It was close to an hour later when Marie finally settled in the front parlor. Gertrude had taken the children outside as requested. The other woman was far more than a cook, she’d become the best friend Marie had ever had, and had taught her about several other things.

  Mick strolled in, the spurs always attached to his boots jingling as he walked. “So,” he said slowly. “Have you set a date?”

  Marie honestly didn’t know if he was teasing when it came to her marrying him or not. “No,” she answered as he sat in the chair on the other side of the small table. “That’s one of the things we need to discuss.”

  If only there was a way to chase aside the nervous energy inside her. Her trembling hands made her stomach queasy and that made concentrating difficult. She was about to be rather bold, assuming things, but she had to believe she was right. Starting with an explanation might help. “I’ve explained that the Meekers hired me over a year ago, and how I’ve been with the children every day since.”

  He held up a hand. “I’ve already decided I’m not taking them to Texas. Stafford was right. It would be too much for my mother.”

  Marie couldn’t stop the way her mind shot off. “Stafford? When have you spoken to him?”

  “Just that first day I was home, before he went to town. Red saw him yesterday, though, said he’s almost done designing the plans for those precut houses for Otis.”

  She nodded, having heard all about how Stafford was staying out at the lumber company on the other side of Merryville, helping the man who owned the mill design houses that people just had to hammer together. Everyone at church had talked about it on Sunday. As had Ralph Peterson when she, Gertrude and the children had joined him and his family for dinner that day. That had been two days ago, and she’d once again seen flashes of the future she wanted.

  Stafford hadn’t been kissing her that time, but he’d been in the images, and that night, when they arrived home, Gertrude had helped her to understand all the things happening inside her and to figure out a way her wishes could come true.

  Wrestling her thoughts back to the children, Marie said, “I’m glad you’re no longer considering sending them to Texas.”

  Mick twirled his hat around and around by the brim. “Marie,” he said somberly. “I...uh...well, I rightly don’t know how to tell you, other than to flat-out say I’m not cut out for marriage.”

  That was the understatement of the year. She did her best to refrain from letting him know how deeply she agreed by offering a small nod.

  “But I can’t raise those kids on my own.” His blue eyes reminded her a lot of Terrance’s when he’d been attempting to decipher the ins and outs of his parents’ deaths. “I don’t want them adopted out, either,” Mick said. “So the only thing I can think of is for you to continue on as their nursemaid. I’ll pay you anything you ask.”

  His offer was sincere, and at one time that was exactly what she’d wanted, yet she had to shake her head.

  He slumped in his chair.

  “I do have another idea,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  She took a deep breath before answering, “You could let me adopt them.”

  * * *

  Stafford stared at the can of beans he’d planned on opening for supper. There were also half a jar of pickles and two biscuits left over from the lunch that Ralph had delivered that day. The three of them, him, Ralph and Otis, had eaten right here in the lumberyard office he was staying in, talking about the number of orders already coming in.

  It had been what he needed, a diversion, a place to stay away from his house for a while. Let Marie get to know Mick, see if she was still willing to become his partner’s bride.

  His stomach revolted at the thought, and he turned from the shelf where the can of beans sat. The sun was just about to disappear, ending yet another long day, and he walked to the open doorway.

  The big water wheel was still but the paddles continued to drip, having grown motionless only a short time ago when all the workers left. Otis and his family lived a short distance away, in a nice two-story home, and the shouts of children not yet being called in for the night filtered down the hill.

  Stafford couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the kids back at his ranch. Grasping the doorframe overhead with both hands, he stood there, just listening. This wasn’t where he’d planned on going when he rode away from the ranch nine days ago. It’s just where he’d ended up. The excuse of checking on his lumber order made one thing lead to another and here he was, drawing up plans that specified exactly how many boards, and their exact size, were needed for each home. Everyone liked the idea, and with the orders they already had, real homes would soon replace a good number of tents in Merryville. That was a good thing, considering winter wasn’t too far off.

  Dropping his arms, he turned, glancing toward the extra set of clothes sitting on a small table in the corner. Otis’s wife had washed them for him. Once he’d agreed to stay here to draw up the plans, he’d sent word to the ranch, asking Shorty to see that a few things were delivered to him.

  The small office was like an oven, and left him smelling about as ripe as an old man who only came to town once a year. Stafford gathered the clothes and headed for the river. He’d stretched out this stay as long as he could. Tomorrow he’d go home. Back to the ranch. Marie should have made her mind up by now.

  At the riverbank, he stripped to his skivvies and then dove into the flowing water. When he surfaced, filling his lungs, he flipped onto his back and relaxed, letting the current carry him downstream.

  It felt good to let something else be in control for a moment. Every part of him had been strung tight the past few days. Not from work. From worry. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do if Marie and Mick chose to marry.

  When that had happened before, with Sterling and Francine, he’d been angry, but not hurt. He understood the difference now. He also understood this wasn’t Marie’s doing. She wasn’t breaking an engagement with him. He’d never asked her to marry him, and he worked hard to remember that.

  He flipped over and started swimming upstream, working against the current with every stroke. The exertion felt good, and once he’d reached the spot where his clothes lay on the bank, he flipped onto his back again, catching his breath as he once more started floating in the opposite direction.

  His heart was thudding from the swim, and he closed his eyes to let everything relax again. That didn’t happen. Instead something snapped in his mind. What on earth was he doing? He’d rather swim upstream than float downstream any day.

  He dropped his feet to sink below the water, and when he came up, he started swimming again. He’d walked away from something he’d wanted once and wasn’t about to do it again. Mick might be his best friend, and an all-around good guy, but he wasn’t responsible enough to take on six kids.

  A rather sarcastic laugh sputtered out of Stafford’s lips. Sterling had said practically the same thing about him at one time. Said he wasn’t responsible enough for marriage.

  He hadn’t been then, but he was now. Furthermore, Marie needed to know just what her choices were. He loved her in a way he’d never loved Francine. Couldn’t have. He hadn’t known something this powerful existed.

  Stafford shed his wet underclothes and pulled on his britches, socks and boots. He flipped his dry shirt over one shoulder and bundled his dirty clothes along with his wet ones. He’d shove them all in his saddlebags in a few minutes. He was heading home. Tonight rather than tomorrow.

  Walking bet
ween the big water wheel and the office, he paused, seeing a horse and rider coming up the road. He’d heard of mirages, but had never experienced one. Several blinks later it was still there. It was the murky time of evening, where day hadn’t yet given in to night, yet he made out the image. Clearly. The horse was Ginger and Marie was the rider.

  She didn’t even know how to ride a horse.

  He barely paused long enough to throw his soggy bundle toward the platform the office sat upon while marching forward. The need to pull her out of the saddle, make sure she was all right and then kiss the daylights out of her had his hands balling at his sides.

  She was wearing that peach-colored dress again and the hat he’d given her. Breathtaking, that’s what she was. More so even than he remembered.

  Keeping his breathing even was harder now than when he’d been swimming. He did it though, even managed to voice a question.

  “When did you learn to ride?” he asked as she brought the horse to a stop.

  Her grin was adorable. “I don’t know that I have,” she answered. “I’ve just held on, hoping I wouldn’t fall off.” Tilting her head to one side, she added, “Terrance gave me instructions before I left the ranch. He said they were the exact ones you gave him on how to ride.” She glanced toward the ground. “However, I didn’t ask how to get down.”

  Stafford reached up, took her waist and held his breath as a bolt of heat almost split him in two. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong at the ranch?”

  She placed both hands on his shoulders. “Everyone is fine. The children asked me to tell you hello. They miss you.”

  He lifted her out of the saddle and not pulling her close was difficult. His shirt must have fallen from his shoulder because his skin burned from the touch of her palms and fingertips.

  Her feet touched the ground, but he didn’t let go of her waist. Couldn’t just yet. Not with the way she looked at him.

  “I’ve missed them, too,” he said, unable to come up with anything else. His throat felt as though it was coated with sand.

  She bit the corner of her bottom lip, blinked once and then said, “I’ve missed you.”

  The physical ache in his chest, the one that had kept him awake every night since he’d left the ranch disappeared, leaving nothing in its wake except profound joy. He bent his head, ready, so very ready, to take her lips.

  A hand, well, the tips of four fingers, intercepted his action.

  “No, Stafford,” she whispered. “If you start kissing me, I won’t be able to say what I have to tell you.”

  Half afraid he’d imagined she’d said she missed him, he took a step back and dropped his hands from her waist. Something he could only compare to fear clutched his guts and clung there. “Tell me what?”

  Regret instantly formed. His bark had startled both Marie and Ginger. He reached around her and took Ginger’s reins to lead the animal toward the paddock holding Stamper.

  “So this is where you’ve been staying?” Marie asked, walking beside him.

  Not in the mood for small talk, he nodded.

  “Are you almost finished?”

  Not bothering to unsaddle the animal, he simply knotted the reins so Ginger wouldn’t stumble on them, looped them over her neck and opened the gate. Once he’d latched it closed, he turned to Marie. It was close to being dark now, but he could see her as plainly as if the sun was shining. “What do you want to tell me?”

  * * *

  Marie had never been so lightheaded. It could have been from the long ride—the sun had been fierce—or it could be from seeing Stafford. He must have been swimming. His hair was still wet. A water droplet fell from a strand every now and again, and his glistening skin took her breath away.

  That could be why her head was spinning. No air. Then again, it could be because she’d stopped his kiss. That had taken all the strength she’d ever possessed for she had wanted it so badly. His lips against hers. His tongue inside her mouth. His hands touching her in the most wonderful and scandalous places.

  “Marie?”

  Stafford wasn’t an overly patient man. She knew that about him. She liked it, too. There really wasn’t anything she didn’t like about him.

  He had that look in his eye right now, the one that said he didn’t have all day to wait for her to say what she had to say. It made her want to smile, and she bit her lips together, trying not to.

  The way he cocked his head said his tolerance was slipping. It was just as well. She could think until she was blue and not have a clever way of saying it, so she simply took a breath and asked, “Will you marry me, Stafford?”

  He took a step backward, a slight stumble actually, and her instinct was to reach out and grab his arm.

  Snapping shut the jaw that had gone slack, he said, “What?”

  It wasn’t the exact reaction she’d hoped for, so she started the explanation she’d rehearsed while traveling upon the horse’s back mile after mile. “I asked Mick if I could adopt the children, and they don’t want to leave your ranch, your house. If you were to marry me, we could stay right where we are. Mick would be next door. He is their only living relative and—”

  “You want me to marry you so the kids don’t have to leave my house?”

  “I just can’t uproot them again and—”

  He grabbed both of her arms. “The children? This is only about the children?”

  The annoyance in his voice forced her to snap her mouth shut. He cared so much about the children, was so wonderful with them, she’d thought that would be the part he’d understand, accept. It didn’t feel that way though, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she and Gertrude had been wrong.

  Glancing up, refusing to let the burning in her throat make speaking impossible, she said, “No, it’s not only about the children. It’s about me. I tried, Stafford, I truly did, to obey all the rules, to not...to not want certain things, but I want—” The burning was growing stronger, as was the sting in her eyes. She swallowed and pressed on. “I want you. I want to be your wife.”

  His features had softened, or maybe it was the shadows of night, the mist in her eyes.

  “Why?” he asked quietly.

  She didn’t exactly know for sure, since it had never been in her life, yet it was the only explanation she had. With a shrug, she posed it as a question, “Because I love you?”

  He lifted a brow. “Do you or don’t you?”

  Explaining her past might have been a better way to approach all this. “I was left in the hallway at the orphanage in Chicago as a baby. That’s where I got my last name. Hall. I was adopted twice, but neither one worked out. So I lived at the orphanage until I was old enough to go to Miss Wentworth’s school, and—”

  Frowning, he held up one hand. “What do you mean, didn’t work out? People can’t return an adopted child.”

  “Yes, they can,” she told him. “People get rid of things that aren’t needed.” Refusing to let that take hold, she continued, “A rule at Miss Wentworth’s school included servitude of seven years to those who couldn’t pay their tuition upon acceptance. I only had a little over a year left when I was assigned to the Meekers. It was to be short term, just until they could find someone else. When Emma Lou wanted to hire me permanently, Miss Wentworth said the only way that could happen was for them to pay off my debt.”

  He smoothed back the hair on one side of her head. “That’s all interesting, but I believe my question was whether you love me or not.”

  “I’m getting to that part.” She wanted him to understand why it had taken her so long to figure out what was happening. How she’d fallen in love with him. “When the Meekers died, I still owed them, and if I didn’t find a way to keep the children all together, I’d have to return to Miss Wentworth’s. Start all over.”

  His other hand was on the other
side of her face, holding it still. “That’s why you brought them out here?”

  “No. Yes.” This wasn’t going as she’d planned. How could it, with him touching her and looking upon her so tenderly? “I thought the life insurance policy and Mick, was the answer. I didn’t want to see the children separated. They’d already lost so much.” She had to close her eyes, break connection with his penetrating gaze in order to think straight. Lifting her lids, she said, “But there was more to it. I love them. I didn’t realize that until you left. Mainly because I didn’t know what love was.”

  “And you do now?”

  She nodded.

  “You love the children?”

  “Yes, and I love you.”

  She couldn’t say he grinned, for his lips didn’t curl upward, but his eyes sparked. “What about Mick?” he asked.

  Moving, even her head, was impossible with his hold, the way his fingertips were combing her hair. “He’s nice enough, and the children like him, but...” Mick did have many redeeming characteristics and she didn’t want to sell him short. “I can’t marry him.”

  Stafford cocked his head to one side. “I make a good second choice, huh?”

  That sent Marie right off the cliff. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” He’d frustrated her before, but not to this extent. “I just told you I love you.”

  Laughter rang out. “You are so adorable when flustered.”

  Before she had a chance to respond Stafford’s lips met hers, and everything else ceased to exist. She clung to him, working her fingers into his warm, firm flesh, while his tongue danced with hers.

  He ended the kiss by tilting her head back slightly. “I love you, too,” he said. “And I was going to ask you to marry me.”

  The moon was out, the sky dark, yet it was as if sunshine was being poured over her, filling her very soul. Gertrude had insisted Stafford loved her, yet Marie had to ask, “You do?”

  After kissing the tip of her nose, he said, “Yes, I do. I was going to ask you to marry me before Mick arrived home, and as soon as I arrived home tonight. I even contemplated asking you while lifting you out of the saddle a few minutes ago.”