The Wrangler's Inconvenient Wife Page 5

  “Morning.” Whoever it was didn’t get the same effusive greeting Edgar had given his brother. Someone he didn’t know well?

  The wagon shifted again, much less this time, as Seb must’ve gotten into the wagon seat.

  “I’m looking for two young ladies that arrived on a train yesterday.”

  Fran’s breath lodged uncomfortably in her throat. Could this be the same man from the Lincoln station two days before? Or someone else Mr. Underhill had hired to find them?

  “Both small of stature, dark haired.”

  “No young ladies here,” said Edgar, his voice stiff.

  Fran strained to hear over the pounding of her heart in her ears. Would he direct the man to his family’s ranch and give them up?

  “They’re only a couple of runaways, see, and I’ve got to get word back home.”

  This time the stranger got no response.

  Leather creaked and a horse blew again. Edgar mounting up? Hooves thumped in the packed dirt and from behind her, Seb clucked to the horses and set the wagon in motion.

  It seemed they were safe for now. But how long could it last?

  Chapter Four

  “I’m so bored,” Emma burst out, sending the blanket flying. “I can’t breathe under this thing, and I can’t lie still another moment!”

  Fran was joyful for a moment that Emma had spoken, even in an outburst, but then she sent a panicked look to the front of the wagon, where indeed Seb was revealed to be sitting. Now looking over his shoulder right at her, he winked. And whistled shrilly.

  “Whoa,” he shouted to the horses, and began slowing the wagon.

  By the time they had rolled to a stop, she could see through the front opening of the canvas as Edgar rode a beautiful big black horse toward them.

  “What’s going on?” he called out.

  Seb jabbed his finger over his shoulder, and Edgar’s eyes flicked back into the wagon, widening in surprise when they clashed with Fran’s gaze.

  “What are you doing? How did you get in there?”

  He didn’t sound happy to see her. At all.

  Seb cleared his throat.

  Edgar shot a look at his brother as he swung one muscled leg over the horse and dismounted. He rounded the wagon, briefly stepping out of sight and then opened the back flap and took the tailgate down.

  “Hop down.”

  Fran slid her legs over the side and dropped to the ground, but after a morning spent nearly motionless trying not to be noticed, her legs were like jelly.

  Edgar’s strong, wide hand settled at her waist, both steadying and unsettling her.

  He frowned down at her, quickly releasing his hold on her as she straightened her spine. “Watch your step,” he ordered.

  Bossy man.

  He stared down at her for a long moment, looking half confused and half angry. Beneath his cowboy hat, his eyes were stormy.

  At their feet, a barking white dog interrupted the moment.

  “What’s that critter doing here?” Edgar threw the words at Seb.

  Behind her, Seb chuckled as he rounded the wagon and helped Emma down. “He’s been following the wagon all morning. Thought he’d turn back, but he hasn’t.”

  He caught his brother’s eye, and the chuckle turned into a cough that he quickly tried to hide behind his own hat.

  “May I...have a moment to stretch my legs?” Emma’s soft question seemed to affect the man in charge, softening him the slightest bit.

  “I guess.”

  Fran watched Emma swirl through the golden grasses at their feet. She bent and said something soft to the dog, reaching out to pat its head.

  Her sister’s small animation was such a relief after several days of near silence that Fran would’ve braved Edgar’s wrath all over again, just for this moment.

  Edgar clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ride ahead and tell Ricky the wagon had a delay but we’ll be on the way shortly.”

  Seb didn’t question his brother’s order, but he looked back over his shoulder as he walked away.

  “What am I supposed to do with you?” her paper husband asked, still with that torn look on his face.

  Fran swallowed hard. The unending prairie surrounded them, not a house in sight. Edgar wouldn’t just leave them here in the middle of nowhere, would he?

  His frown gave her no answer.

  “What exactly did you think you were doing? Did you think you were going to ride along in the wagon without being caught?”

  “I hoped by the time we were found, it would be too far away from civilization for you to turn us back.”

  * * *

  Edgar had to look away from the woman’s saucy, endearing grin. He waited for his rolling stomach to settle. The two biscuits he’d downed for breakfast that morning must’ve been bad.

  It was the only thing he could think of that would have caused that hitch in his breathing when he’d touched her and that swoop in his stomach when she smiled.

  What he couldn’t explain was the dizzying relief he felt when he’d realized both sisters had hidden in the wagon.

  The man that had approached him at the holding yard had asked after two small dark-haired young women. Which could easily have been Fran and Emma. But for some reason Edgar couldn’t explain, he had held back from answering the man.

  Or maybe he could explain it. The man had had the look of a crook or a confidence man, with beady eyes and a half-chewed cigar hanging from one corner of his mouth. He’d been much too sly...too oily. Edgar had had a bad feeling about him, but had trusted that Davy would be able to keep the two women safe on Jonas’s ranch. Mostly.

  It was the relief at their presence that made him edgy, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here? Why’d you sneak onto that wagon?”

  “I thought I could help with your cattle drive. You’ll be tired after a long day in the saddle, and I can cook supper—I can at least take on that one task so you don’t have to do it.”

  She had a lot to learn about the life of a rancher. She’d just described about every day of his life. Long hours in the saddle and then chores at home. “You said you couldn’t cook.”

  “I said I couldn’t cook much. But I’ve been reading these and I think I’ve got the idea....”

  She turned back to the wagon and then held up a small wooden box that had been tucked inside. A box he recognized from his ma’s kitchen. “You stole my ma’s recipe box?”

  “I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.”

  She clutched it protectively to her chest, as if offended that he would suggest she would take something of his ma’s.

  The corner of his mouth wanted to tick upward, so he narrowed his eyes instead. “Why’d you really hide in that wagon all morning?”

  She huffed and looked past his shoulder. So did he. Nearby, her sister walked through some tall meadow grasses, hands gently touching the tops of some tall buffalo grass. Emma’s eyes were on the horizon—she wasn’t paying any attention to them—and she looked almost peaceful.

  The younger girl’s previous soft question had twisted something in his gut. She was afraid of something. Something that had been enough to send them West?

  He looked back to her sister, watching Fran until she spoke again, eyes still on Emma.

  “I thought it might be better if we kept moving, rather than stay in one place. Even with your brother for protection.”

  “You gonna tell me what you’re runnin’ from?”

  She considered him with her big brown eyes. “Not today.”

  He shifted his boots, nodding toward the double tracks the wagon had left in the soft grass as it had traveled along. “I oughta leave you out here to find your way back to Bear Creek.”

  Her eyes widened
, a flicker of fear or uncertainty flashing through them.

  For some reason, his chest started aching. It made his voice gruff when he spoke.

  “It’d take too long to drive you back. You’ll have to ride along. But when we get to Tuck’s Station, you and I will have a serious talk about what the future holds.”

  He started off toward where he’d left his big black grazing and tossed his last words over his shoulder. “I’ll send Ricky back to teach you how to drive the wagon. Might as well make yourself useful.”

  He’d been thinking on it all morning. His ma frequented a seamstress in Calvin, a good thirty miles from Bear Creek, who was in high demand. If she could use a helper, he might be able to use his ma’s connection to talk her into taking on the two girls.

  Then all he would have to do would be find a place for them to board, and he could wash his hands of the whole situation.

  Calvin was close enough that he could help if she needed it, but he wouldn’t have a woman messing up his orderly life.

  It was a workable solution. He could only hope.

  * * *

  Fran had never been so glad to see the sun dipping toward the horizon.

  Surely now the man beside her would have mercy and stop this torture.

  The wagon topped a rise, and she saw the cattle spread out in a loose knot before them, dust flying. She’d never thought one could choke on dust, but she’d been proved wrong. She felt as if she’d swallowed several mouthfuls of it over the course of the day.

  Edgar rode point, all the way out front, tall in the saddle of his big black horse. The other cowboys kept strategic places around the herd. Ricky, beside her on the wagon seat, had explained the placement when her curiosity had prompted her to ask.

  Swing riders were about a third of the way back, flank riders two-thirds back and tail riders were at the very rear of the herd. Ricky hadn’t explained what the young Seb had done to deserve eating trail dust all day long, but it was obvious that riding behind the herd wasn’t a coveted position.

  Driving the chuck wagon wasn’t much better.

  “Shouldn’t we be stopping soon?”

  She’d vowed not to ask, but the screaming pain from her shoulders and arms wouldn’t let her keep silent any longer.

  Ricky chuckled and took the reins from her.

  A half gasp, half sigh escaped as the tension from driving the two massive animals harnessed in front of her was suddenly gone.

  “Ooh...” she moaned, reaching up to rub her left shoulder, which felt a little worse than the other.

  “I was waiting on you to say something,” the man beside her said. “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.”

  Because she hadn’t wanted to give Edgar the satisfaction of knowing he’d assigned her a task she couldn’t do.

  She glanced behind them to check on Emma, who’d walked beside the wagon for a long time that afternoon, watching after the little white dog. Ricky had told them it belonged to his sister, Breanna.

  Several times during the day, Emma had listened in on Fran and Ricky’s conversations, although she hadn’t spoken again after her question to Edgar. She had dropped off to sleep inside the conveyance not long ago. Now she slept on, something she hadn’t been able to do on the train out of Memphis. What was it about being out on this open plain that calmed Emma?

  Fran hoped she’d done the right thing by not telling Emma her suspicions that they were being followed. Her sister’s peace was so fragile. Fran would do anything to keep away the plaguing fear and desperation.

  “Ed’s calling a halt.” Ricky pointed to where Edgar appeared to be talking with one of the other cowboys, then the taller, broader man rode back to speak to each of them in turn.

  “Let’s drive a little farther and see if we can’t find a place near that stream to camp for the night.”

  “What stream?” She strained her eyes but didn’t see anything resembling the sparkle of water, only an endless prairie and a snaking line of trees.

  “It’s beneath the trees—it’s what’s sustaining them.”

  “Ah.”

  By the time they’d found a campsite Ricky deemed good enough—somewhat close to the stream she still couldn’t see and somewhat flat—Fran was drooping with exhaustion. Even though she’d ridden on the bench seat most of the day, the strain of guiding the two horses in their traces had taken a toll.

  It was a relief to stand on firm ground and stretch her back. She hadn’t realized her legs would be sore from bracing against the front of the wagon. She twisted from side to side, loosening muscles that had stiffened with the same activity all day.

  “Ed will leave a couple of fellas with the cattle, but the rest of them will be along soon for supper. You want some help?” Ricky asked.

  Edgar hadn’t specifically told her to cook the evening meal. He hadn’t specifically told her not to, either.

  During her only break from driving the team, she’d catalogued everything in the wagon, from the cast iron frying pan to the large ham hanging from the cross poles to the covered jugs of flour and salt.

  She had an idea of what she thought she could cook without botching it too badly. But she was at a loss for how to begin.

  “How do I... We’ll need a fire, won’t we?”

  The charming cowboy grinned at her. “Seems like you’re starting to think like a rancher’s wife after all.”

  Fran preened a little with the praise and leaned as far as she could into the wagon to wake her sister.

  “Emma. I’ll need you to start peeling potatoes. We’ve got a lot to do.”

  She was determined to prove to her taciturn husband that she could pull her own weight and not be a burden until they got to Tuck’s Station.

  * * *

  Hours later, Fran was dozing over her food when an empty plate and tin mug clattered to the ground in front of her.

  She startled awake, heart pounding, to see her husband stalking off away from the fire and into the night.

  “Mighty good fixin’s, ma’am.”

  Fran looked up as Matty knelt next to her and added his empty dishes to the pile.

  She shouldn’t have been miffed. She’d expected very little from her paper husband, but the man could have at least praised her effort. Awful though it had been.

  “Don’t lie. The ham was only half cooked and the potatoes were burned.”

  “I was trying to be nice. The food wasn’t inedible. And the bread was all right.”

  She gave him a look. “The bread was baked before we left home.”

  “And I did a fine job of it, too.” He smiled, but she couldn’t help looking out after the retreating back of her husband.

  “He’s not very friendly, is he?” she asked. But there had been a moment when she’d been discovered in the wagon... He wasn’t always standoffish, but perhaps that was how he wanted her to see him. She just didn’t know why.

  “He’ll come around. He’s mostly mad at me and Seb right now. And a little worried about getting the cattle where they need to go. I think he doesn’t quite know what to do with you.”

  She shrugged, too tired to think anymore about what she might do to make this trip a little more bearable for Edgar.

  Her gaze fell on the dirty cast iron skillet and the pile of plates that was growing as another cowboy added his.

  “I have to wash all of these, don’t I?”

  Matty’s eyes had a definite twinkle. Or maybe the fire was playing tricks on her. “Somebody’s got to.”

  She sighed. “Where?”

  He nodded, and she followed the bob of his head to the line of dark trees against the night sky.

  “The creek?”

  His nod was anything but reassuring.

  “There’s not anything...dang
erous out there, is there?”

  “Shouldn’t be. Your sister gonna help?”

  “I’ve already sent her to bed. She’s exhausted.”

  “Oh, she is?”

  Fran shooed off the pesky cowboy, who only chuckled as he went. She gathered the rest of the cowboys’ plates and utensils and piled them all in the large skillet. Then she flung a towel over her shoulder and tossed a small chunk of soap on top of the whole heap and began lugging it toward the dark silhouette of the trees.

  By the time her eyes had adjusted to the darkness that made the firelight seem overly bright, she’d stumbled on a large tree root, knocked her elbow into a thick tree trunk and submerged one booted foot completely in the icy-cold creek.

  But at least she’d held on to the pan and all the dishes.

  With the bottom of her skirt already drenched, she figured she couldn’t do much worse by kneeling on the creek bank to wash the dishes.

  The farther she’d gone from the campsite, the quieter it had gotten. Now all she could hear was the rustle of leaves in the night breeze and her own heartbeat. She realized she was holding her breath, and tried to force her shoulders down. Surely the men wouldn’t have let her come out here if it was dangerous.

  But she couldn’t quite believe it, and so she rushed to scrub the dishes clean as quickly as she could.

  She was elbow deep in the freezing water when a twig snapped behind her. She whirled, and the tin cup she’d been scrubbing flew from her fingers and landed in the water with a plunk.

  “Oh!” she cried in dismay, quickly leaning out to reach for the cup. The bank beneath her knees shifted.

  “Watch it!”

  Edgar.

  His voice registered just as he grabbed the back of her dress and kept her from tumbling headfirst into the water.

  Her relief melded with irritation that he’d snuck up on her, and she slapped at his hand. “Let go!”

  He did, but caught her as she went off-balance a second time and this time drew her away from the water’s edge.

  “You made me drop a cup—it’s there.” She was breathless from fear, not from his nearness. Mostly.

  “Leave it. I’ll come fetch it in the morning.”