The Wrong Cowboy

Aw, the real question. “Enough,” he answered, noting how Marie was staring at him. Making light of the truth might ease her anxiety, but it wouldn’t do any of them any good. “Rattlesnakes don’t like humans and tend to shy away, but if you startle one, or corner him, he’ll strike. There’s no doubt about that.”

“If you shoot another one, can I have the buttons off it?” Samuel asked.

Jackson had given the rattle he’d cut off to Terrance, who’d spent the last half hour making sure everyone in the wagon didn’t jostle about and break his new treasure.

“Yes,” Stafford answered, figuring that was fair. Then, just to encourage Terrance to share his bounty, he said, “Let me see that rattle.”

The oldest boy shouldered into the opening beside his brother. “Jackson says it’s fragile. That means it’ll break easy.”

“That’s what it means, all right,” Stafford said as he held the reins toward Marie. “Hold these.”

* * *

Still humiliated, Marie shook her head. Never, ever, had she been so embarrassed in her life. It would help if Stafford—as she was now forced to call him—didn’t find such humor in it all. He’d been grinning ever since he’d shot that snake. Every time she glanced his way, she could tell he was remembering what he’d seen, almost as if he’d pressed the image in a book the way one would a flower, to take it out and look at it every so often.

“If you’re going to live out here, Marie,” he said, thrusting the reins toward her, “you’ll need to learn to drive a wagon. Now take the reins. I’m right here, nothing’s going to happen.”

It would help, too, if he wasn’t so, well, right, and so bull-headed about everything. And if he hadn’t come to her rescue as he had. Swallowing a growl, she took the reins.

“That’s it,” he said. “Just hold them loosely. You don’t have to do anything. The horses know to follow the road.”

If she hadn’t just been found with her bottom as bare as an infant’s, she might have been nervous to drive a wagon of this size—of any size—but right now she wasn’t going to give Stafford anything else to laugh about. Consequently, she did as instructed, telling herself she could drive a wagon twice this size, and snuck a peek as he took the snake’s tail from Terrance.

“There’s twelve buttons,” Terrance said.

“I see that,” Stafford answered.

“Does that mean that snake was twelve years old?” Samuel asked.

“No,” Stafford answered.

Marie couldn’t help but relax a bit and appreciate how comfortable the children had become around Stafford. Yesterday, she’d feared the opposite, that he might have terrorized them. It appeared the children simply understood he wouldn’t tolerate misbehaving, and therefore they’d conducted themselves remarkably well ever since. In some ways she’d grown more comfortable around him, too, before the snake.

Actually, he’d probably saved her life this morning. Something she did need to be grateful for. Men had always made her nervous. Before this trip west, she’d never had to deal with them, and still wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. Stafford was different, though. He was certainly stubborn and demanding, but, especially when it came to the children, she saw a softer side to him. One she couldn’t help but wonder about. Even admire—just the tiniest bit.

“These rattles are about as breakable as our fingernails,” he was telling the children, “and you know how easy it is to break one of them.” He shifted and held the snake’s tail in front of the boys. “See this bottom button? It’s called the nub. One that’s never been broken is smooth and round, but this one, see how it’s kind of pointed and split?”

When the boys nodded, he continued, “That means this rattle’s been broken.”

“So it was older than twelve?” Terrance asked, clearly enthralled.

Marie could no longer hold back her smile. Teaching was an integral part of being a nursemaid, and whether Stafford knew it or not, he was providing the boys a lesson in animal science.

“No. There’s no real way of guessing how old that snake was. Depending on the climate, how much it’s eaten and how much it’s grown, a snake sheds its skin several times a year. The only thing that’s for sure is the more buttons, the bigger the snake.”

Stafford glanced her way. He was smiling and lifted a brow as he asked, “Do you know what that means?”

Marie refrained from asking what, knowing the boys would, and they did.

“The bigger the snake, the farther away you want to stay,” Stafford answered his own question.

The humor in his eyes tickled her insides, making her want to giggle, but she held it in. Terrance and Samuel, though, laughed aloud. Stafford reached below the seat then, and pulled out a box. He lifted the lid and, after searching a bit, closed it and pushed the box back under the seat. Handing a piece of cloth to Terrance, he said, “Here. This is just a rag for greasing the wagon hubs, but it’ll work. When you’re done admiring your rattle, tie it up in this and then tie the rag to a brace bar holding up the canvas. That way you won’t have to worry about your brothers and sisters breaking it.”

“Thanks, Stafford, I will.” Terrance said, taking both the rattle and the rag.

The boys sat down, still guessing the age of the snake and Marie, a bit tongue-tied at the moment over how thoughtful and caring Stafford was being, had forgotten all about the reins in her hands until he spoke.

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Oh, here,” she said, handing over the reins. She wasn’t usually addlepated and it was a bit disconcerting that he made her feel as if she was. The way she was thinking about his looks was a bit distressing, too. How when he smiled the lines around his eyes deepened, enhancing his handsomeness. Thoughts like that should not be crossing her mind. She was a nursemaid, first and foremost. The children and their safety should control her thoughts at all times.

Not taking the reins, Stafford shook his head. “No, you’re doing a good job.” Leaning toward her, he then added, “Actually, let me show you how to lace the reins through your fingers, so you’ll have more control.”

One at a time, he wove the reins through her fingers. The leather was smooth and warm; however, quite unexpectedly, it was the touch of his skin on hers that caused her hands to burn and tremble.

“You’ll want to wear gloves when driving, if at all possible,” he said. “The leather can chafe the skin, like a rope burn.”

She nodded, not exactly sure why. Other than that she was feeling too out of breath to speak. Yesterday, sitting next to him had been no different than riding beside a stranger in a coach, or standing next to one in line somewhere, yet today, a new awareness had awakened inside her. One she’d never experienced. He was still a stranger—a somewhat overbearing one whom she really didn’t like very much—and sitting next to him shouldn’t be any different. But it was. Although she couldn’t say exactly how or why, perhaps because she was putting too much thought into it. She was known for that. Miss Wentworth had said one of her best attributes was how she could concentrate on a problem and ultimately come up with the best choice.

“Just curve this finger a bit,” Stafford said, forcing her finger to bend. “See how it tugs on that rein? And if you bend this one—” he maneuvered a finger on the other hand “—that rein moves. It doesn’t take much, and is pretty easy when the road is this smooth. You’ll soon learn that the rougher the road, the more control you’ll need over the horses.”

Marie was listening, but it was difficult to concentrate with him holding her hands as he was, and with the way he smelled. It was pleasant, spicy, and made the air snag in her chest. Telling herself not to think of such things didn’t help at all.

Attempting to focus all her thoughts on the children proved to be impossible, as well. But perhaps that was her way out. She could tell Stafford that watching over six children would take all her time and, therefore, she most assuredly would not need to learn to drive a wagon. No matter where they lived she had lessons to teach—reading and spelling, geography and grammar, philosophy, civil government and a smattering of other subjects, unless of course there was a school within walking distance for the older ones to attend. It would be good for them to learn social graces by interacting with other children their age.

“You got it.”

It was a moment before Marie realized he was speaking of driving the team. It had worked. Focusing on the children, what she’d need to do, had pulled her mind off him.

“You’re a quick learner,” he added with a nod.

A surprising jolt of happiness flashed inside her. “Thank you,” she said. “I was always quick at school. Actually Miss Wentworth said I may have been her best student ever. She said I had a natural ability.” Heat rose upon her cheeks. She was proud of her accomplishments, but hadn’t meant to sound so boastful. A part of her just wanted him to know she wasn’t a simpleton. Mainly because, even thinking of the children, the episode with the snake was still causing a good amount of mortification to fester inside her. Miss Wentworth would be appalled, too, to learn she’d let a man see her bare backside.

“I see,” he said. “And who is Miss Wentworth?”

Not being from Chicago, it made sense he would never have heard of Opal Wentworth. “She owns the Chicago School of Domestic Labor. Her training classes in all positions are renowned. It’s close to impossible to obtain a position without a certificate of completion within the city.”

He was looking at her somewhat curiously, as if she’d said something he didn’t quite believe.

“It’s true,” she said. “A certificate from Miss Wentworth’s opens doors.” A different sense overcame her, one of achievement, perhaps. It could be because she’d never driven a wagon before and was quite proud of herself for learning so quickly, or because she had graduated at the top of her class.

Then again, it could be because of something entirely different. She’d never been around a man so much before, and it was rather bewildering. All of her placements had been with married couples, but it had been the wives who’d managed the household help, including her.

Glancing forward, she attempted to keep her thoughts on their conversation. “Miss Wentworth said I was the best nursemaid she’d ever had the pleasure to train.”

“You don’t say,” he said.

She nodded. Perhaps if she convinced him of her nursemaid abilities, he could convince Mick Wagner that hiring her would be more beneficial than marrying her. She’d always believed earning a wage would be far more pleasurable than getting married. No matter what Sarah had suggested. “Yes,” Marie said proudly. “The best nursemaid ever.”