The Cowboy's Orphan Bride

by Lauri Robinson

  “I ain’t talking about the flour, girlie,” the man said. “I’m talking about what’s in his pocket.” Pointing at Bat with the knife, he said, “He poked something in it. Look how it’s bulging.”

  Garth grasped the man’s wrist and Bridgette could see how hard he squeezed by how the man flinched.

  “Let go of the boy,” Garth demanded.

  “When the sheriff gets here,” the man said through gritted teeth.

  People lined the boardwalk and others sat in their wagons or on their horses, but no one came closer.

  “This is what happens when you cattlemen arrive,” the man shouted for all to hear. “Thieves and hoodlums fill the streets. Even the youngest ones are no good! We shouldn’t let a one of you in our town!”

  Garth must have squeezed the man’s wrist harder because with a growly whimper, he released Bat.

  Everything happened so fast then. She’d been in the process of setting the groceries down in order to check to see if Bat was all right, when she saw the glint of the blade in the man’s hand. He’d spun around and was thrusting the knife toward Garth. Without thought, she grabbed an egg from the basket and threw it. About the same instant the egg left her hand, Garth punched the man, and as he flew backward, onto the ground, the egg, still in route, hit another man who’d just arrived.

  The sheriff.

  Her well-aimed egg hit him square in the face.

  And shattered. Leaving a good portion of the shell hooked on his nose as the yolk and white dripped off his lips and chin.

  The entire street went silent.

  The entire town.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frozen by dread or fear, or a mixture of the two, Bridgette didn’t move as the sheriff plucked the shell off his nose and tossed it aside. Her airway plugged as she lifted her gaze from the eggshell on the ground to the fury in his eyes. This was not going to end well.

  “You have to quit throwing things at people.”

  Turning to Garth, who was at least partly to blame, she pointed out, “He was going to stab you.”

  “I saw him,” Garth growled, “and didn’t need your help.”

  The man was still on the ground. Not moving. Yet, she felt inclined to ask, “How was I supposed to know that?”

  “By thinking,” Garth barked.

  Fury danged near snapped her spine in two. Turning her attention on the sheriff, who waved for two men to come closer to gather the man off the ground, she said, “Bat didn’t steal anything.”

  Not responding to her directly, Sheriff Myers asked Bat, “What’s in your pocket?”

  Shifting the half-full flour bag to one hand, Bat dug in his pocket and pulled out the bar of soap.

  His hand shook as he held the soap for all to see. Stepping forward, Bridgette placed a hand on Bat’s shoulder. “I asked him to put it in his pocket after I paid for it,” she explained. “Our hands were full.”

  Garth took the small white brick out of Bat’s hand and smelled it. His dagger-throwing gaze shot to her. “Soap?”

  “It’s an essential to some people,” she said with clear implications.

  Sheriff Myers stepped between her and Garth. “That’s enough.”

  “She paid for the soap and everything else,” the store proprietor said as he joined the fray. “Wiley had no cause to accuse the boy of anything.”

  “All right, folks,” Sheriff Myers said to the people still watching, “go on about your business.” He then told the two men who’d lifted the accuser off the ground, “Take Wiley to the jail.” Turning to her, he said, “Gather your stuff. Let’s get out of the street.”

  “Come with me, young man,” the shop owner said to Bat. “I’ll replace that bag of flour with a new one.” Looking at Garth, he added, “Free of charge.”

  Garth’s nod, how he thought that was enough acknowledgment, added fuel to Bridgette’s anger. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Come on,” Sheriff Myers said, “out of the street.”

  They all complied, and as Bridgette paused to pick up her basket, she had every intention of completely ignoring how Garth bent down to pick up the other packages she’d been carrying.

  Until he hissed, “Do you have to cause commotion everywhere you go?”

  She grabbed the basket off the ground. “I didn’t—”

  “Move!” the sheriff shouted behind them.

  Snapping her teeth together, she marched to the boardwalk.

  “I’m sorry for what happened here, Mr. McCain,” the shop owner said. “Wiley’s had a beef against the cattle drives ever since his wife ran off with a cowboy a couple years back, but the rest of us, most everyone in Dodge, welcome the cattle drives, and the business you provide. I hope this incident won’t stop you or your wife from doing business with my store.” Without waiting for an answer, he said to Bat, “Come along, son, I’ll get that new bag of flour for you.”

  Now standing on the boardwalk, Bridgette made no attempt to move, but did bite her tongue at how Garth merely nodded to the store owner and Bat as the boy looked for permission. Would it hurt him to actually speak? To verbally acknowledge people and their actions with a kind word? She was going to point that out to him, let him know just how rude that was, once the sheriff was no longer standing beside them. She had no desire to revisit the Dodge City jail. Which was a possibility considering how the sheriff had smeared yolk across his cheek while wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  The small amount of patience Garth had ever admitted to owning had long ago worn thin, but even the last hint had completely disappeared when he’d stepped out of Solstead’s office and seen Bat being dragged into the middle of the street. He couldn’t put all the blame for that on Bridgette, but the egg on Sheriff’s Myers’s face was all her fault.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out several bills. Taking two off the top, he held them out to the sheriff.

  “Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. McCain?”

  “No, just paying her bail in advance,” Garth said.

  “My bail?” she piped loud enough to echo off the building. “You’re the one who knocked a man out in the middle of the street.”

  She clamped her lips tight as both he and Sheriff Myers looked her way. If a few hours in a jail cell would actually do her some good, Garth might consider letting the sheriff haul her off. But this was Bridgette. Sitting behind bars would only give her time to fathom up some other irresponsible scheme, and he didn’t need that. Who knew how far-fetched it might be.

  “Put your money away,” Sheriff Myers said. “I’m not going to arrest either one of you. Harvey Whicker is right. Jud Wiley always was ornery and has gotten worse since his wife run off.” Shaking his head, the man continued, “Now, I normally don’t step in where I don’t belong, between a man and wife that is, but Mr. McCain, your wife’s been causing commotion ever since she stepped foot in town, and—”

  “I have not,” Bridgette spouted.

  As Garth slid the money back into his pocket, he chose to ignore her, as did the sheriff.

  “Her living over at Willow’s set quite a few tongues wagging,” Sheriff Myers said. “Even though most folks didn’t believe...”

  “She was my wife,” Garth finished as the man looked at him with a brow lifted.

  The sheriff shrugged. “Women have been known to claim to be married when they aren’t.”

  This was his out. His chance to set the record straight, but Garth wasn’t sure he wanted it. There was a challenge in Bridgette’s eyes, one that dared him to take it, and a part of him wanted to prove a point, but the other part of him couldn’t do that to her. And not just because he needed to continue the farce for his own sake. Truth be, if there ever had been a time when he’d thought about a future that included a wife a
nd children, she’d been a part of that thought. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was true.

  She didn’t need to know that.

  No one did.

  Garth nodded, letting the sheriff know he’d heard him. “I apologize about the commotion, Sheriff,” he said. “I expected to have already sold off my herd by now and be on my way back to Texas.”

  “Folks are questioning that, too,” Sheriff Myers said with a nod. “The first herd of the season has never stayed in the pens this long. Businesses are ready to see money start flowing through town.”

  The storekeep arrived then, along with Bat carrying a new bag of flour. Garth noted the man’s actions with a nod—despite what Bridgette thought, and she was thinking it again, a nod was more than enough between men. He nodded to the sheriff, too, as he took her elbow. “I’ll keep her close at hand, Sheriff.”

  Conceding their conversation was over with a nod of his own, the sheriff replied, “See that you do, Mr. McCain.” He didn’t sound as if he thought that was possible when he repeated, “See that you do.”

  Garth was inclined to agree, but that was one more thing he’d never admit to Bridgette. Tightening his hold on her arm as she attempted to pull it away, he growled, “Keep walking and don’t say a word.”

  She kept walking, but said, “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Then why’d you open your mouth?”

  “Because I can.”

  “Because you know it’ll irritate me further,” he corrected. “Do you not think I have enough problems without you stirring up dirt at every corner?”

  “I’m not stirring up dirt at every corner,” she said. “We were in the middle of the street.”

  No one had ever been able to drive him to the very edge of his sanity, and then keep him from jumping over like she could. He’d hauled her out of plenty of scrapes back then, and it had always been just like this—she’d point out some tiny little detail that despite all his anger and frustration would make him want to smile at her wit. And shake his head that he was falling for it.

  “What?” she asked. “We were in the middle of the street.”

  “I know where you were,” he said. “Just keep walking.”

  She did, but after a few steps said, “Thank you for arriving when you did. And for offering to pay my bail.” With a sigh she added, “And for keeping me from getting arrested.”

  “Just keep walking,” he repeated before stating, “Once the sheriff takes a look in the mirror, he may change his mind.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit him. I thought that Wiley man was going to stab you.”

  He lessened the hold on her elbow, but didn’t completely let her loose. “I know.”

  After a few more steps, she said, “Go ahead, say it.”

  Garth bit his lips together, mainly to keep from smiling again.

  “Bridgette,” she said in a stern and mocking tone. “You need to think before you act.” Shaking her head, she said, “Actually, it’s more like, Damn it, Bridgette, you need to think before you act.”

  “You’re right. You do. And for the life of me I can’t figure out why that hasn’t sunk in.”

  Head up, chin out, she said, “You don’t scare me, Garth McCain. Never have and never will.”

  This time he chose not to answer. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Never had and never would.

  He steered them all to cross Front Street and then continued down a side road so they wouldn’t have to walk in front of the Crystal Palace. Bat didn’t need to see the girls on the porch whistling and shouting encouragement to come closer.

  As they took the next corner, walking toward the open field they’d cross a couple of blocks ahead, Bridgette looked over at him. “Why haven’t you sold your herd yet?”

  “Politics,” he said. Solstead had given him a history lesson all right, and in the end thought their best bet was to contact the former governor of Kansas who had been more favorable to the cattlemen. Garth wasn’t convinced of that, and had told Nathan waiting around for an answer or the man to arrive only left his cows penned up that much longer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The slaughter houses are trying to play their hand. One house is attempting to option all of the rail cars out of Dodge, leaving no opportunities for the other houses to bid on the cattle.”

  “So it would be sell to them or nothing?”

  “Yes, and they’re lowballing the prices as well.”

  “What are you going to do about that?”

  “We’re still working on it,” Garth answered.

  “Well, you best work faster,” she said. “You heard the sheriff say the businesses are waiting for money to start flowing. Dodge City depends on the cattle drives. For the men,” she glanced his way, “to empty their pockets before heading south again.”

  Her statement, though she’d emphasized it with a bit of intolerance, struck a chord inside him. Solstead wanted the slaughter houses’ plans to be kept quiet for a while yet, but maybe that wasn’t the right way to play this out. The townsfolk had expectations, depended on certain things, namely the money the drives brought to every one of their businesses. Knowing that was in jeopardy—the amount every cattleman, owner or cowboy had to spend—would not settle well.

  As the thoughts continued to swirl in his mind, he gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes that pretty little head of yours does amaze me.”

  She frowned.

  He grinned. “That was a compliment.”

  The smile that arose on her face made her eyes shine. “A first.”

  He was fairly certain he’d never paid her a compliment years ago. Most kids don’t think along those lines, but he clearly recalled last night. He hadn’t been able to get how pretty she’d looked out of his mind all day. Solstead had even commented on how beautiful she’d looked. “I complimented you on how nice you looked last night.”

  “After you fished for one of your own.”

  He clearly remembered that, too, and laughed. “I’d never worn a suit before.”

  She giggled, but stopped and looked him square in the eyes. “You did look very handsome.”

  “And you were the most beautiful woman in town,” he answered with utmost honesty. As her smile formed, he reiterated, “Are. Not were.”

  A blush tinted her cheeks pink. “I wasn’t fishing for another compliment.”

  “So I don’t have to say your aim is pretty good, too?”

  Her laughter floated on the air like a bird’s song, and he liked the sound of that.

  “I can’t believe I threw an egg at the sheriff,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I can. It’s exactly what you would have done nine years ago.”

  “And you would have saved me from getting arrested.” She leaned slightly, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Maybe we haven’t changed that much. You or me.”

  They had changed, there was no denying that, but that was expected; it happened to everyone as they aged. At the same time, they were still the same people. Bridgette Banks and Garth McCain. Two peas in a pod. That’s what Mrs. Killgrove said every time they got into trouble together. Actually, every time she got into a scrape and he bailed her out. Bumping her in return, he laughed. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”

  A light and carefree mood accompanied them the last leg of the journey to the camp. Several of his cowboys, Lowell, Thomas, Gil and Brad, were sitting around; Akin and Trace were down by the horses.

  “Boys,” he said in greeting.

  “Boss,” they replied in unison.

  He caught how they glanced at one another and at him and Bridgette. There were bound to be questions, several of them. “Tired of town?” he asked.

  “Broke,” Gil answered. “It didn’t take long.”

&
nbsp; “Usually doesn’t,” Garth answered as he set the packages he’d been carrying on the tailgate of the chuck wagon. Bridgette set the basket of eggs beside his items and he noted the weighted glance JoJo gave her before glancing at the tent. The tiny quiver that tickled Garth’s neck had him looking at Bridgette, and frowning.

  “Thanks for carrying these back for me,” she said, opening the packages and hastily setting the coffee and sugar in the cubbyholes of JoJo’s cabinet. “I’m sure you’re busy. Have things to do.”

  He did, but got the sense there was something here he should know about. Especially as the cowboys, one by one, started drifting away from the camp. An inner sense told him he’d find whatever it was in the tent. Pulling the brick of soap that had caused such commotion in town out of his pocket, he tossed it in the air and caught it again. “I’ll put this in the tent.”

  “No.” Bridgette jumped in front of him. “I’ll need it out here.”

  “For what?”

  “Washing of course. What else do you do with soap?”

  “According to you, I don’t know.”

  With a glare that said she didn’t appreciate his humor, she reached for the soap.

  He pulled his hand away and held the soap out of her reach. “What’s in the tent, Bridgette?”

  “Give me the soap, Garth.”

  Keeping it away from her as she jumped to reach it, he said, “Tell me what’s in the tent and I’ll give it to you.”

  Bridgette clenched her teeth together as Garth held the bar of soap out of her reach. “Just give me the soap,” she growled. He couldn’t find Ellen. Not right now.

  “Not until you tell me what’s in the tent.”

  She jumped for the soap again, but then realized that while she’d attempted to get the soap from his hand, he’d maneuvered around to be standing right next to the tent flap, and before she could stop him, he pulled it open.

  She managed to get a hold of his arm and the soap, but it was too late, he was already staring at Ellen. He let go of the flap and turned to give her a glare that was as hard as the one in the street earlier. “Who is that?”