The Wrong Cowboy

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.