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There had been rumors, after a man named Walt Darter had ridden out to Mr. Wagner’s ranch last week, that Mick hadn’t ordered a bride. No one mentioned it to her, especially not Mr. Darter. He’d simply said Mick wasn’t home but that a message had been sent to him. She’d thanked Mr. Darter for his efforts and never let it be known she’d heard the whispers or seen the finger-pointing. Partially because it wasn’t a rumor. Mick Wagner hadn’t ordered a bride. And partially because she had no idea what she and the children would do if he didn’t claim them—soon.
“I—” She had to clear the squeak from her voice. “I’m assuming you’re Mr. Wagner.”
“Nope,” the man said.
Marie was still processing a wave of relief when Weston asked, “You’re not our new da?”
“Nope,” the man repeated.
“Are you a cowboy?” the child asked.
“Yep.” He winked at Weston. “Just the wrong cowboy.”
Marie couldn’t let Weston’s questions continue, yet hers floundered as she said, “Is Mr. Wagner...”
“I’m his partner,” the man said. “Stafford Burleson.”
Terrance snorted and bumped his shoulder into Samuel’s. “Stafford,” he whispered, as if finding great humor in the name. Samuel, seven and always eager to follow his older brother, snickered, as well.
Marie chose to ignore them. She’d learned, while being trained as a nursemaid, which battles were worth fighting when it came to children of every age. This wasn’t one. Besides, she couldn’t quite fathom a cowboy having such an unusual name, either. Not to mention she was more than a bit relieved to know this wasn’t the man she’d told everyone from here to Chicago had ordered her as a bride. “Is Mr. Wagner in town?” she asked. Several people had told her Mick Wagner’s ranch was a distance from Huron—too far for her and the children to travel alone.
Tipping the edge of his hat back, and giving her a very penetrating stare from eyes that looked to be as gray as a storm cloud, the man acted as if he wasn’t going to answer her questions.
Marie’s nerves started jumping faster than the grasshoppers the twins had been chasing. She’d been charging things in Mr. Wagner’s name since leaving Chicago. Soon the bills would be more than she’d be able to repay. That wasn’t her major concern—the children were—but with each day that passed, their financial situation had started to trouble her more and more.
Finally, when the air in her lungs had built up a tremendous pressure from his stare, Mr. Burleson said, “I’m here to take you to Mick’s place.”
It wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but her sigh was so long she wondered if her toes had been holding air. When it was all out, she nodded. “Well, thank you. We’ve been expecting he’d send someone.” In truth she’d been praying he’d come, or send someone, but she’d never allow the children to know she’d been worrying about the outcome of their adventure.
The man nodded. “We can head out in an hour.”
“An hour?” Still shaky with relief, it took Marie a moment to process his statement. Her thoughts shifted to everything that needed to be done before they left, and she shook her head. “That’s not possible. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Burleson’s stormy eyes glared again. “We’ll leave in an hour.”
“No, we won’t.” She spun about, gestured to the children. “Gather your playthings. It’s time to return to our rooms.”
They minded without question, for once, and she turned back to the man. “We’ll be ready to leave tomorrow morning, after breakfast.”
“It’s barely noon,” he said. “We can get a good number of miles under our belt yet today.”
“Tonight is bath night, Mr. Burleson,” she said, holding her ground. When it came to the children and their needs she’d argue until the sun set—dealing with the solicitor back in Chicago had taught her to not back down. No matter how frightening it was. “I will not have the children’s schedule upset.”
“You will not—”
“That’s correct,” she interrupted. “I will not.” No good nursemaid would, and she was the best nursemaid that had ever come out of Miss Wentworth’s training course. The owner herself had said as much. Marie had a document that proclaimed it in writing. She’d used it as a testimonial when interviewing for positions. Not that she’d need it anymore. Abandoning the Meekers was something she’d never do. That’s what she’d told Mr. Phillips, the solicitor, back in Chicago, as well as several other people who’d suggested such a thing. She’d been hired as their nursemaid, and she would fulfill her duties.
The children had gathered around again, holding their toys and looking at her expectantly. So was Mr. Burleson. With so much to do, Marie couldn’t waste any time. “You can see to the hotel bill and the train fares, Mr. Burleson, and then bring the wagon around. A large number of our possessions can be loaded this afternoon.”
“Hotel bill? Train fares?”
“Yes. For the children.” She didn’t explain she’d paid her own way, by selling her necklace and ear bobs. It wasn’t necessary. The letter she’d written Mr. Wagner prior to leaving Chicago explained it all. How his cousin, Emma Lou Meeker, and her husband, John, had perished in the fire that burned down the entire block surrounding the gas-fitting firm Mr. Meeker had owned. And how, a mere week after the funeral, Mr. Phillips had appeared at the Meekers’ big brownstone home, explaining that the bank owned everything. He’d stated the children were to be put in an orphanage until Mr. Wagner could be notified. Upon his approval, the children could then be put up for adoption. Mr. Phillips had gone on to explain a few neighboring families were interested in adopting one or two.
Marie held off her shiver of horror. That would not happen. Either option. The only chance the children had of staying together was Mr. Wagner. Emma Lou had listed her cousin as the benefactor on a small life insurance policy. The paperwork for the policy was safely tucked away, and Marie would present it to Mr. Wagner upon their meeting. The policy would be more than enough to reimburse him for the travel and lodging expenses the children had incurred, though not enough to raise all six children to adulthood. That was something Mr. Wagner would have to see to. She’d help, of course, as much as possible. She owed Emma Lou and John for paying off her debts, and this was how she could repay their kindness. If not for them she wouldn’t have the small amount of money she did have. Above all, though, the children needed her, and she would not let them down.
Clapping her hands, she said, “Children.”
* * *
Stafford stared as the woman, nose in the air, marched away, followed by the flock of red-headed kids like a mother duck leading her brood to water. Or like Custer leading the 7th Cavalry Regiment into battle. That conflict might have had a different outcome if Marie Hall had been leading the troops. She fired demands like bullets.
He’d met her kind before. Saw the way she shuddered and the disdain in her eyes as she took in his appearance. So he needed a haircut and a shave. That was none of her business. He’d considered visiting the barbershop before meeting her, making himself presentable, but curiosity had won out. The chance to get a glimpse of the woman who was claiming Mick had ordered her had been too strong when Walt said the bride-to-be was behind the hotel in Huron.
Stafford hadn’t planned on heading home until tomorrow, either, but her haughty attitude had changed his mind the moment she’d stood, lip curled, as her eyes roamed over him from nose to tail like he was a mangy cow on the auction block.
His partner didn’t have any more time to visit the barber than he did—the cattle company kept them both busy. Then again, it was highly unlikely Mick and Marie Hall had ever met. They might have corresponded though. Most likely last spring, while he’d been gone, down in Texas rounding up cattle. Mick had been home, then, and she could have sent him a picture. His partner was a sitting duck when it came to a pretty woman. He went half crazy over them. Women, foolish as they were, fell for Mick’s boyish charm, too.
Stafford took another long look as the woman turned the corner, kids trailing behind.
He’d never seen so many freckles. Not all at once. And not one of those freckle-faced little kids looked anything like her. They were all fair skinned with copper-colored hair, whereas she had dark hair and eyes in shades of brown that teetered on black. That had him wondering what happened to her husband. The father of all those kids, or da as one had called him. That little guy had quite a lisp, and as much as Stafford hadn’t wanted it to, a grin had won out when the kid spoke.
They disappeared around the corner of the hotel, every last one of them. Stafford took a step to follow, but paused. Miss Marie Hall. That’s what Walt had called her. Miss. It made sense, too, considering she didn’t look old enough to have one kid, let alone six.
Whose kids did she have?
Stafford scratched his chin, which itched due to the inch-long whiskers. Mick may have ordered a bride, but there was no way he’d have ordered six kids. That much Stafford would bet his life on.
Huron was a busy place, the railroad made it so, and someone knew something. She’d been here over a week, and with a town this size, people would know her story. He’d start at the depot. Find out about those fares she was referring to, as well as a few other things.
An hour later, Stafford concluded Mick was going to owe him more than money when he finally returned. Those weren’t her kids—as he’d suspected. They were a stack of orphans she’d rustled up after their parents died in a fire. The ticket master had told him that, and how she’d promised Mick would pay their fares upon his arrival. She’d paid her own fare, though, which didn’t make a lot of sense and left more questions in place of the few Stafford had found answers for.
After leaving the depot, he’d rented one of Skip Wyle’s freight wagons—had to after learning about the amount of luggage she had. From what he’d heard, it took up one entire hotel room. “The children’s things,” she’d called them—that’s what he’d been told.
This woman was pulling one over on Mick. That was clear. A part of Stafford didn’t mind that. It was time Mick learned a lesson, a hard one about women. All the warnings Stafford had supplied over the years sure hadn’t done anything.
The wagon had been sent to the hotel, along with a couple of men to load it, and though Stafford considered leaving his hair and beard as they were, since it clearly disgusted Miss Marie Hall, he couldn’t take it. His razor had snapped in two last month and he’d been itching—literally—to get a new one ever since, not to mention how his hair had grown so long it continuously whipped into his eyes.
Besides, men waiting for a haircut gossiped more than women sewing quilts, and that alone was enough to make Stafford head straight for the barber shop. By the time Mick arrived home—which would hopefully be soon because Stafford had sent a telegram to Austin, knowing his partner would make a stopover there—Stafford would know everything there was to know about Miss Marie Hall. He’d fill in the blanks for Mick—those that he instinctively knew she’d leave out—long before wedding bells rang.
Stafford just didn’t want to see Mick bamboozled. They might both get married some day, raise kids across the creek from each other, but neither of them would be conned into it. He wouldn’t because he was smart, had long ago learned what to watch out for, and Mick wouldn’t because they were best friends, and friends looked out for each other.
* * *
Stafford’s confidence was still riding high the next morning as he headed toward the hotel. He hadn’t learned a whole lot more about Miss Marie Hall, but what he had fit perfectly with what he already knew. He still doubted—as he had from the beginning—that Mick had ordered her. It was possible she’d somehow heard about a cowboy—well on his way to becoming a wealthy rancher—who spouted off about wanting a bride. The fact that Mick wasn’t around played into Stafford’s thoughts, as well. Without his partner to interfere, he’d be able to show her just what living on the plains meant. Men had to be tough, but women, they had to be hard, and that was the one thing Miss Marie Hall wasn’t. He could tell that by her hands. They were lily white.
There was a definite spring in his step as he made his way down the hotel corridor to knock on her door. Upon hearing movement, he shouted, “Burning daylight.”
All Marie saw was the back of a stranger turning the corner, heading for the hotel stairway, when she opened the door. She’d been awake for some time, assembling the essentials the children would need this morning and making sure they each had specific items in their satchels. The men who’d packed the wagon yesterday said they’d have to spend one night on the road, most likely in the wagon, before they arrived at Mick Wagner’s ranch, and she wanted to make sure the children wouldn’t be put out much by the travel. The train trip had taught her to pack books and toys, things to hold their attention. It was for her sake as much as theirs. She’d been frazzled by the time the train had arrived in Huron, and didn’t want to be that way upon meeting Mr. Wagner.
“Is it time to leave?” Beatrice asked.
“It’s time to get up,” Marie answered, glancing toward the child sitting in the middle of the bed. Peeking back into the hall, though she knew it was empty, Marie frowned. The voice had made her skin shiver, and she’d thought it was Mr. Burleson, yet it must not have been. At least, the man turning the corner hadn’t been him—far too well groomed. Which was just as well, she’d see enough of Mr. Burleson for the next day or two, and not telling him he needed a shave and haircut was going to be difficult.
He’d occupied her thoughts since meeting him yesterday. For the first time since embracing her plan, an unnerving dread had settled in her stomach and remained there. She’d imagined Mick Wagner would be like his cousin. Refined, with a kind and gentle nature. Someone who would see the children’s welfare as the priority. That’s how Emma Lou and her husband, John, had been. If Mr. Wagner was anything like his partner, he wouldn’t have any of those qualities. Mr. Burleson surely didn’t. The only time he’d looked remotely pleasant was when he’d winked at Weston. Thank goodness there would be others traveling with them today. Being alone with Mr. Burleson...
She gulped and slammed two doors shut, the one to the room and the one allowing crazy thoughts into her mind.
Beatrice and Charlotte chatted excitedly about the adventure of riding in a covered wagon, and Marie feigned enthusiasm, to keep them from worrying. That was part of her job. Children should never worry about being safe, or going hungry, or any of the frightening things she’d encountered growing up.
In no time, the girls and all four boys, who’d been staying in the adjoining room, were dressed and ready for breakfast. After checking under the beds one final time to ensure nothing would be left behind, Marie led her charges out the door.
In the dining room she settled everyone upon the chairs at their customary table and caught her breath before taking her own seat. That’s when she noticed the man watching her. Her cheeks grew warm from his stare, and she quickly averted her eyes. A good nursemaid never noticed men, no matter how handsome, and she was the best.
His ongoing stare gave her the jitters, and Marie did her best to ignore the stare and her fluttering stomach. Meals were ordered for the children, along with toast and tea for herself, which she would once again pay for separately. She’d never be indebted to anyone ever again, including Mr. Wagner. Her meager savings were dwindling quickly, but hopefully Mr. Wagner would see her worth and hire her. She’d be able to replenish her monies then. Right now, the children’s future was her priority and worth every cent she spent. They were also what gave her the courage to stand up to the men at the bank, the railroad, even the hotel and everyone else they’d encountered during this journey.
With appetites that were never ending, the children cleaned their plates, even Charlotte, who was a finicky eater. Marie was savoring her last sip of tea when a shadow fell upon the table. It was the man. She knew that without looking up, and fought the urge to do so, hoping he’d move away. He was a stranger, not one of the locals they’d come to know the past week.
“You should have eaten more than that,” he said. “It’ll be a long time until we eat again.”
The voice sent a tremor down her spine, and Marie couldn’t stop her head from snapping up. It couldn’t possibly be Mr. Burleson, yet the vest, the hat, the gun belt...
One brow was raised when her eyes finally found their way all the way up to his face, which was clean shaven. His features were crisp now, defined, including an indent in the center of his chin, and his eyes seemed no longer gray but faded blue and almost twinkling. That’s when Marie saw his smile. It slanted across his face in a cocky, self-assured way that was extremely vexing. Not exactly sure she could, or should, speak at this moment—for something deep in her stomach said he wouldn’t be as easy to deal with as the other men she’d encountered—she pinched her lips together.
“You said it was bath night,” Stafford Burleson stated, as he practically pulled the chair out from beneath her.
Chapter Two (#ulink_7b4b48f5-93de-51db-93ce-a2c71d519cf9)
The tension inside her was not a good sign, especially when Marie knew it had very little to do with the children or the wagon or even the bumpy ride. It was him. Stafford Burleson was the reason. Not just his good looks. Her efforts to ignore him weren’t working. Who would ever have known that under all that hair...
She shook her head, tried again not to think about his looks. If only her friend Sarah were here now, she’d have some thoughts on what to do about that. And other things.
Sarah was the Hawkins family’s nursemaid. They’d lived down the road from the Meekers and the two of them often took the children to the park together. Sarah had said the Hawkinses had made inquires about eventually adopting the twins—Charles and Weston—having only girls themselves. Knowing how Marie felt, Sarah had helped formulate this mission—taking the children to meet the guardian named in their mother’s will.
Sarah had known a woman who’d gone west as a mail-order bride, said the man who’d ordered her promised the railroad he’d pay for her fare at the other end, and insisted Marie could do the same thing. Uncomfortable expecting Mick Wagner to pay for her fare, Marie had sold the jewelry the Meekers had given her for Christmas—it wasn’t like she’d ever have the occasion to wear such things, anyway. The children’s fares were a different issue. Therefore, she’d used the mail-order bride ruse, and was thankful it had worked as well as it had.
Sarah said Mick Wagner would probably be glad to hire her as the children’s nursemaid, which is exactly what Marie hoped. She couldn’t imagine being separated from the children. However, she wished she’d asked Sarah a few more questions. Her friend had a much broader understanding of men, and often spoke of the day she’d be married with her own children to raise. She’d declared that marrying Mick Wagner would be a good choice, if he was so inclined, because Marie would never have to worry about finding another job. She didn’t want another job, but every time she glanced at the man beside her, the idea of marriage made her insides tremble.
She closed her eyes and fought against another tremor. If Mick Wagner was anything like the brute sitting beside her, he could very well demand things. Things she couldn’t even fathom. Holding her breath, Marie pressed a hand to her stomach. Surely a man with six children to raise wouldn’t insist on embarking upon behavior that might produce another one? Miss Wentworth’s lesson on copulation had been extremely embarrassing to sit through, and the lesson on childbirth downright dreadful.
“Marie.”
The whisper in her ear had her turning around, purposely not glancing toward Stafford Burleson beside her on the front seat of the wagon. The bouncy ride made the train journey they’d experienced seem comfortable in comparison, and the hot sun blazing down on them was relentless.
“Yes, Weston,” she replied to the child standing behind the seat, protected from the sun by a billowing canvas. “What do you need, dear?”
The child whispered in her ear.
“Very well.” Still without glancing his way, she said, “Mr. Burleson, we need to stop.”
“Stop?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
Marie played with the bow at her chin that kept her bonnet from fluttering off with the wind, willing herself to maintain the nursemaid calm she’d perfected. The man’s tone was laced with impatience—as it had been all morning—which grated on her nerves. Patience was the number one trait a person working with children needed to maintain, and he was souring hers. “Weston needs to take care of something,” she stated.
“What?” Stafford Burleson asked, as he flapped the reins over the horses’ backs, keeping them at a steady pace.
“I’m sure I don’t need to explain what he needs to take care of,” Marie said, nose forward. “At least, I shouldn’t have to.”
A low growl rumbled before he said, “Didn’t you tell them to do that before we left town?”
Biting her tongue would not help, even if she had a mind not to speak. “Of course I did,” she declared, “but small children have small bladders.”
“Not that small,” he exclaimed. “I can still see Huron behind us.”
She couldn’t help but glance around and gaze through the front and back openings of the canopy covering the wagon. The dark cluster on the horizon ignited yet another bout of tremors. She and the children were now completely at the mercy of this insufferable man, with nothing more than prayers for protection. Refusing to panic, she said, “In country this flat, I’m sure a person can see for ten miles or more.”
“We haven’t gone ten miles,” Mr. Burleson insisted. “We’ve barely gone two.”
“That, Mr. Burleson,” she said, “makes no difference. Weston needs to relieve himself and you will stop this wagon immediately.”
The snarl that formed on his face was frightening, but it also snapped her last nerve in two. He was the most insufferable man she’d ever encountered. If it had been just her, she might have cowered at his bullying, but she was the only protection the children had. She would not see them harmed, and that gave her the courage, or perhaps the determination, to return his stare with one just as formidable.
Marie was sure he cursed under his breath, but since he also pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake, she ignored it—this once—and turned around.
Climbing out of the high wagon was like climbing down a tree. Instead of branches there were steps and wagon spokes to navigate—an extremely difficult task with her skirt flapping in the wind. The alternative, having Mr. Burleson assist her as he’d tried to in town, was out of the question, so Marie managed just fine, apart from a stumble or two.
She kept her chin up, suspecting the foul man was now chuckling under his breath, and marched toward the back of the wagon where she lifted Weston to the ground.
“Go behind that bush,” she instructed, gesturing toward a scattering of shrubs a short distance away.
Weston scurried away and Marie glanced toward the wagon, prepared to ask if any of the other children needed to relieve themselves.
“If anyone else has to go, do it now,” a male voice demanded harshly.
Spinning about, she eyed him. “I was about to suggest that, Mr. Burleson.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Were you?”
“Yes, I was.” Arguing in front of the children should be avoided at all measures, so she took a deep breath and turned, poking her head over the end gate. “Does anyone else need to join Weston?”
Five little heads, those she’d protect with her life, gestured negatively. The quivering of Charlie’s bottom lip had Marie’s ire flaming. Whirling round, she grabbed one solid arm and dragged Mr. Burleson a few feet away from the wagon. “I will not have you intimidating these children.”
“You will not—”
“That’s right,” she interrupted. “I will not permit you to speak to them so. There is no need for you to use that tone of voice around them. They are small children and—”
