The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  Her entire frame, though it was no taller than JoJo when his rheumatism didn’t have him stooped over, stiffened. “There’s no need for cursing,” she snapped. “Just as there is no need to kill an innocent calf. Such actions border on despicable.”

  “Border on—”

  “Despicable,” she repeated. “It means appalling. Disgraceful.”

  “I know what it means.” Holding back a few choice words that she probably didn’t know the meanings of, he glared at JoJo with one eye. “Where’s the calf?”

  “Brad is...” JoJo gestured with his chin. “Was looking for its momma. Looks like he found her.”

  Garth spun around and made out the blurry sight of a rider climbing off a horse. There was a cow behind the horse, and sure as hell, a calf beside the cow.

  Sucking in air hot enough to blister his lungs, Garth walked past the woman, heading directly towards Brad. The young cowhand was probably shaking in his boots. As he should be.

  “What part of my order didn’t you hear this morning?” Garth asked as he strode forward.

  “No part of it, Boss. I—I was ready to shoot it when this woman’s husband—”

  “He’s not my husband,” she interrupted.

  Garth didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. Feeling her following was enough.

  “The boys ain’t had eggs since we left Texas,” JoJo said. “It sure would help their morale. The green beans, too.”

  Garth spun to glare at his cook. He had expected JoJo to stay behind. Cooking. That was his job. “I know how long it’s been since we had eggs, and there’s nothing wrong with the morale around here.” They’d traveled dang near six hundred miles since heading out. Six hundred grueling miles of dust and dirt, and wind and rain, and sun hot enough to fry a man’s brains in his head. Every man here knew that before they headed out. If any one of them was pissing and moaning about it now, it was their own fault, and they damn well better be keeping their complaints to themselves. His hornet-stung face was their first injury.

  “If’n you say so, Boss,” JoJo said. “It’s your call, but it’s a mighty fine deal. A mighty fine one. Eggs and green beans. A mighty fine deal.”

  “You’ve. Said. That,” Garth growled, emphasizing each word. His head hurt, and what he wouldn’t give to have two good eyes right now.

  “I sure enough did,” JoJo answered.

  He didn’t need to see JoJo, there was a grin in his tone. The old coot never questioned authority, because he knew in the grand scheme of things, he was the only one who could share his opinion without fear of repercussion. Turning back to Brad, Garth asked, “Why didn’t you shoot that calf?” He expected orders to be followed at all times, and the kid better have a good reason for not doing as told.

  Brad shifted from foot to foot. Watching the movement made Garth’s eye water more, and his temper flare.

  “I—I was about to, Boss, but this man rode up and asked if he could have the calf.” Still shifting from foot to foot, Brad continued, “I—I figured that was as good as shooting it. Knew it wouldn’t live long without its momma.”

  “So you’d rather it suffered than putting it out of its misery?” Garth asked.

  Brad took off his hat and then put it back on.

  Garth balled one hand into a fist. Fidgeting was a sure sign of weakness, and he was close to losing his patience with this kid. He’d fired a man for fidgeting before, and probably should have again. He hadn’t because he’d hoped Brad would grow up during the trip, and hadn’t wanted to be wrong.

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” Brad said. “I guess I thought the man had a cow it could nurse on.”

  Holding his temper was difficult. If the woman hadn’t been there, he might not have kept it in control. That might not be true. If his face wasn’t on fire and if he could see, he would have already lost his temper. Completely. As it was, it just boiled inside him. “I told you that’s rare.” Garth growled. “It takes a lot of work to make a cow take on a calf that’s not her own, and that’s hard on a calf. Smelling milk and not getting any.”

  Shifting again, Brad shook his head. “I didn’t think of that, Boss. I didn’t know that.”

  Garth wasn’t sure what increased his irritation more. Brad’s constant fidgeting and lack of knowledge, the pain throbbing in his head, or how the woman had stepped forward to pat the cowboy’s arm consolingly.

  As much as he didn’t want to have to order it again, there was a lesson Brad needed to learn here for future reference. “Take that cow back to the herd,” Garth ordered. “And then shoot the calf.”

  “He most certainly will not!” the woman bellowed as she stomped forward to put herself between Brad and him.

  Damn, she was uppity. And full of herself. She had a lesson to learn, too. “Fine.” He’d had enough and pulled out his pistol.

  She launched forward, grabbing his arm. “You can’t shoot it.”

  “Like hell I can’t.” Except he couldn’t see the animal very well. Good thing he was a good shot.

  “Like hell you will!”

  She had gumption, and that reminded him of Bridgette. They’d both been kids, but he’d never forgotten how she’d stepped up to his defense all those years ago. “I thought you didn’t take to cursing,” he pointed out.

  Ignoring his statement, she tried pushing his arm down. “You will not be shooting this calf, nor will anyone else.”

  She was stronger than she looked, but not strong enough to move his arm or change his aim. “It’s not going to survive without its mother,” he said.

  “I know that,” she said. “That’s why I brought the eggs and beans, to trade for the mother and the calf.”

  “The mother is worth a lot more than a few eggs and some green beans,” he said.

  “How much more?”

  He wished he could see her better. She smelled clean. Like clothes did after being hung on the line. Though blurry, he could see her dress. It might smell clean, but was well-worn and the same dull gray as her bonnet. Even a poor man has scruples, so he didn’t judge a person’s character by their clothes, but he did use their appearance to judge the size of their pocketbook. Hers was empty. “You don’t have enough money to buy that cow.”

  “What do you need besides money?”

  When Brad had called the man who’d taken the calf her husband, she’d quickly pointed out that he wasn’t her husband. But how then had she got the calf? Her uppity stance didn’t fit with a loose woman, but Garth’s instincts said if that man had been her brother or father, even an uncle, she’d have supplied that information. She hadn’t. That left one thing. Aggravated, he twisted out of her hold. “Get on your horse and go home.”

  “No. Not until I get what I came for. What do you need for the cow and the calf, besides money?”

  “Nothing.” He pointed his pistol toward the calf. His stomach churned at the idea of shooting the calf, but his point had been made.

  She jumped in front of his gun as he pulled back the hammer.

  He swung the gun aside. “You trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No, I’m making sure that calf doesn’t.” She stepped closer. “Please, mister. There’s a woman I’m taking care of. She’s about to have a baby, but is ailing. She needs the milk and butter this cow can provide. If you won’t trade me for them, loan them to me. Just for a few weeks. You can come back and get them when the calf is big enough to travel. Take them to the sale barn then.”

  Her pleading was far more difficult to deal with than her demands. He wasn’t wavering though. “I sell cows by the lot, not singularly.”

  “Garth,” JoJo said. “What’s one cow? You got over two thousand others.”

  Though the cook had spoken to him, JoJo’s words had caught the woman’s attention. Her head had snapped up and her stare grew int
ense. Like she was trying to see something inside him. Or maybe she was just staring at his swollen face. Either way, her eye-to-eye stare made Garth’s stomach quiver. Very few things made his insides quiver. “Stay out of this, JoJo,” he said without breaking eye contact with her.

  “Garth?” she asked almost as if testing if she could say it or not.

  “That’s my name,” he said. “It’s not a long or complicated one.”

  “Garth what?”

  “McCain. And those twenty-five hundred cows JoJo just mentioned are all mine.”

  “Garth McCain.” She repeated it as if it was a curse like no other.

  Then along with a hiss, she hauled off and smacked his cheek so fast and hard he had to blink at the shock. And hold his breath at the renewed throbbing of his eye.

  He grabbed her wrist before she could strike a second time. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Bridgette wondered the exact same thing. If this was Garth. The Garth McCain she’d been waiting to see for the past nine years, why wasn’t she happy? Ecstatic? And good heavens, why had she slapped him? His face was already swollen and red, and looked extremely painful. The mud had dried and cracked making his eye and cheek look horrific.

  The whiskers didn’t help either. He looked nothing like the boy she remembered, or the man she’d imagined he’d become. He didn’t act like him either. Her Garth wouldn’t have ordered a calf killed, or threatened to kill one. Yet, there couldn’t be two Garth McCains. Could there?

  “Where are you from?” she asked while continuing to search for familiarity somewhere in his features. His eye that wasn’t swollen shut, was so narrow she couldn’t see if his eyes were brown or not and the dark hair that hung past his shirt collar was as coated with dust as his clothes.

  The last time she’d seen him, his hair had been short. Shaved clear to his scalp. That had happened to all the boys before they’d left New York. She and the other girls had received a good dip in a kerosene bath. Both measures had been to prevent any of them from carrying the head lice that lived at the orphanage along with them.

  “Texas,” he said.

  “Before then?”

  “Why?”

  Bridgette didn’t realize she was nibbling on a thumb nail until his eye widened a touch, as if noticing that was exactly what she was doing. She pulled her hand away from her face. Mrs. Killgrove had used whacks from a wooden ruler to break her of her nail biting habit back in the orphanage, and she hadn’t bitten them for years.

  Suddenly she didn’t want to know if this was Garth—her Garth—or not. Didn’t want to believe he could have changed that much. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe he had deserted her. Forgotten she existed.

  Walking around him, she said, “Keep your cow and your calf.”

  The cook, who had introduced himself as JoJo—no last name, just JoJo—fell in step beside her. “Listen up here, missy. That’s a fine cow and Garth there—”

  “I no longer want the cow and her calf, but you can keep the eggs and green beans for the trouble.”

  “That wouldn’t be right. Garth is a fair man and he won’t—”

  “Good day, sir.” She’d arrived at Cecil’s plow horse, and gathered a handful of her skirt to climb into the saddle.

  “What’s your name?”

  The question didn’t surprise her. Footsteps had followed her to the horse. The fluttering inside her wasn’t surprising either, nor was it welcomed. Whether this was her Garth or not, she had nothing more to say to him. Without answering, she stuck a foot in the stirrup and using the horn, hoisted herself into the saddle. Before he could stop her, she slapped the reins over the horse’s rump.

  The animal wasn’t overly fast, but she urged it into a gallop that was surprisingly smooth for an animal of its size. It felt as if she was running away, and that wasn’t something she did. Despite how often she’d dreamed of it. Furthermore, if she was hoping for freedom, there wasn’t any. Not from inside her that is.

  The heat of the sun was sweltering, yet, she was cold. Shivering. The hope, the dream of Garth finding her and finally living a life full of brightly colored rainbows, seeped out of her like a bucket with a hole in the bottom. She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to be like when they met again, but this man—the one who’d order a young man to kill an innocent calf—wasn’t it. Nor was one who would shoot the calf himself, just in order to prove a point. That’s what he’d been doing. Proving a point.

  A heavy sigh left her chest and she let the plow horse slow to its regular sluggish pace. Proving a point was something Garth would do. Always had. From the time he’d arrived at the orphanage, he’d taken it upon himself to be a leader. A guardian to those who needed one. He’d also been a teacher. Making sure if there was a lesson to be learned, it was learned.

  That was where the problem lay. She could believe the man she’d just encountered was her Garth. The Garth McCain she’d wasted nine years waiting for. What angered her, what hurt, was what JoJo had told her before he’d arrived.

  JoJo had only called him the boss man, and had said he was fair and honest, and would be the one to decide upon her trade. He’d also said the boss man had been bringing cattle from Texas to Kansas for years and had often made trades such as the one she’d offered.

  Years. He’d been traveling past her home for years and never once bothered to look for her. Not once, and that hurt. Hurt her more than she’d ever been hurt before.

  She understood on the way north he might have been too busy. Driving thousands of cattle wasn’t an easy job. But, once the cattle were delivered, men often hung around, spending a large portion of the money they’d earned in Dodge before slowly making their way back down to Texas.

  The idea of Garth chasing naked women down the street and hooting and hollering when he caught one turned her stomach rock hard. Of all the people who’d deserted her, disappointed her, this betrayal hurt the worst.

  Straightening her spine, she drew in a deep breath. That she wouldn’t stand for. She’d forget all about him, just as he had her. That would be easy.

  A low moo had her looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, a horse and rider followed her, leading the cow and calf. She wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed, or simply beyond caring when she recognized the young cowboy as the rider.

  Garth hadn’t bothered to look for her in over nine years so there was no reason he’d come after her today. Which was fine, because after today, she was going to forget Garth McCain ever existed.

  The bawl of a calf had her stopping the plow horse. She’d learned the freckle-faced cowboy’s name was Brad Martie when JoJo had sent his young helper, Bat, out to find Brad when she’d arrived at their camp with the calf.

  Brad had the calf laid over his lap, and her heart took a tumble for the little animal. Unlike when she’d ridden with the calf, it was struggling, wanting down now that it had been reunited with its mother. The mooing said the cow wanted her baby near her, too.

  The leaner cattle horse walked much faster than the plow horse, and in no time, Brad arrived at her side. “The boss wants you to have the cow and the calf. Told me to follow you home, make sure you got them both there.”

  Holding no animosity toward the cowboy, she replied. “Thank you.” Despite the encounter, she truly hadn’t wanted to arrive back at the Chaney residence without either the calf and the cow, or the eggs and beans. Cecil would have been furious. That wouldn’t have bothered her as much as failing Emma Sue. “It’s not too far,” Bridgette said, setting the plow horse in motion again. “Only a few miles.”

  “Don’t rightly matter to me how far it is,” Brad said. “I’m glad to get away from those cows even for a bit. Reckon I didn’t realize what I was getting into when I signed up.”

  “This is your first cattle drive?”

  He nodded. “Yes,
ma’am. Ain’t never been outta Texas afore.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Over the years, she’d encountered people of all ages, and had figured out that age didn’t mature a person as much as the life they’d lived, despite the number of years. She stopped the plow horse when the calf bellowed again. “Go ahead and put him on the ground. He’ll be happier walking next to his mother.”

  “Reckon he will.”

  She waited as he dismounted and then lifted the calf down. The baby latched on to nurse almost instantly. “Let’s wait a bit,” she said as Brad climbed back into his saddle. When he glanced around nervously and twisted the reins in his hands, she asked, “Why’d you decide to join a cattle drive?”

  He bowed his head and shrugged. “Mr. McCain is somewhat of a legend down by San Antone, and I wanted to be like him.”

  “Do you mean San Antonio, Texas?”

  “Yes.”

  “What sort of legend? Why would you want to be like him?”

  “He’s the youngest trail boss ever. Been leading drives north for over six years. He started out as a cowboy, but within two years, was leading drives. Has been ever since.” With another shrug and while twisting the reins in his hands, he said, “Guessing I got more to learn than he did.”

  “Some people take more readily to things than others.” Forgetting Garth might be easier if she knew a bit more about him. “How old was Garth—Mr. McCain when he became a trail boss?”

  “Seventeen. Some folks didn’t believe it, but Mr. Johansson, that’s the rancher he worked for, said it sure enough was true. That Garth McCain was only seventeen when he became a trail boss. One of the best, too. If not the best.”

  Seventeen. Garth had been fourteen when they’d traveled on the Orphan Train West together. The last time she’d seen him, when he’d been called out to the platform at the rail station, he’d told her he’d see her again. That she just had to follow the rules, be good, and that he’d find where she ended up as soon as he could.

  That was a broken promise if there ever had been one. Had she known that he’d forgotten all about her, she wouldn’t have stayed here all these years. Waiting for him.