The Cowboy's Orphan Bride Read online

  She glanced in the direction he pointed, to where two bales of hay had been situated on each side of a barrel, upon which sat a checkerboard. Empty bottles littered the floor around the barrel.

  “I was keeping Cecil company. Keeping his mind off his wife.”

  “Getting him drunk you mean.”

  “No, I think it was the other way around. He kept pulling out bottles two at a time.”

  Bridgette walked closer to the bales and counted six empty bottles. “Graham Linkletter brews it. I’ve heard it’s awful.”

  “It is.” Garth groaned and rubbed his forehead again. “I thought it would take away the pain, but it’s made it worse.”

  She lifted the lamp from where it hung, off a hook on the center beam and walked a bit closer in order to shine the light on his face. Her heart took a tumble. “What did you do?”

  “I got stung by a hornet.”

  “After that. It didn’t look this bad at your camp.”

  “JoJo scraped out the stinger.”

  As well as a layer of skin. She didn’t tell him that. The misery in his eyes said he was in enough pain. “Sit down,” she said. “I have some cottonwood ointment in the house. I’ll go get it.”

  His hand wrapped around her wrist and though it was much larger and more calloused than the one she remembered, the warmth was familiar.

  “You’ll come back.”

  She had to swallow at how the warmth raced up her arms and into her chest. “Yes.”

  “You promise.”

  A part of her wanted to say that unlike him, her promises meant something. Biting her tongue, she nodded. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  She ought to be questioning her wisdom, but doctoring injuries had been her focus for the past nine years. It some ways, it had taken the place that Garth’s absence had left empty. She pulled her arm from his hold and hurried for the door. Over the years, when she’d found herself missing him intensely, she’d told herself that a nine-year-old child couldn’t fall in love. During those same times of intense longing, she’d concluded that children could love, and that’s what she had done. She’d loved Garth. That’s why she’d married him. The problem was, she’d thought he’d loved her, too.

  Arriving at the house, she paused before opening the door and took a moment to clear her mind. She’d doctor his face and send him on his way. And then forget he ever existed.

  The quilt separating the bedroom from the rest of the house blocked her from seeing in there. She could hear muffled voices, and hoped that meant Cecil was behaving. From her pile of belongings, she gathered what she needed and then the dishpan. She left the house as quietly as she’d entered, and stopped near the well to pour water into the dishpan before continuing to the barn.

  Garth was sitting on one of the bales and holding his head with both hands. Despite everything, deep inside, a place she’d kept hidden, responded to the reality that this was Garth. Warmth spilled out, encircling her heart. She tried to ignore it, but he’d lifted his head and the pain reflecting in his eyes was enough to make her gasp. Setting the dishpan atop the checkerboard, she knelt down. “Let me clean this up. Then I’ll make you some tea for the pain.” She bit her lips for a moment before adding, “This might sting. I have to clean it.”

  He removed his hat and set it on the hay beside him. “Go ahead. It can’t hurt any worse than it does.”

  She didn’t doubt it hurt, but knew, no matter how gentle she was, her actions would irritate the injury, make it hurt worse. Wringing the water out of the cloth she’d dropped in the basin, she asked, “What did JoJo put on this after he scraped it?” His answer wouldn’t make a difference, but she wanted him to think of something besides what she was doing. That wasn’t completely true. She needed something to think about other than touching him.

  He was far broader and more solid than the Garth she remembered, and his features sterner, more set and seasoned. The sun had left permanent tiny crinkles near his eyes, which gave him an aged appearance that was far more of an enhancement than a determent to his good looks.

  He sucked in air as she pressed the cloth to his face. “I don’t know. Something that smells as rank as he does.”

  “You mean as rank as you smell.”

  “It’s the ointment.”

  “No, it’s not,” she argued. They’d always bantered back and forth. She hoped recalling that would anchor her, ground her, because being this near to him had unlocked an unusual sense of chaos inside her.

  “Still smelling that hooch, are you?”

  “That, too.” With her heart racing, she continued to dip the cloth in the water, wring it out, and softly wipe the side of his face. She’d doctored men and woman alike, and had never been this nervous.

  He let out a small groan. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I should be,” she said truthfully.

  “Fredrick Fry told me you went to Wyoming.”

  Finally something to focus on. “When did you talk to him?” Fredrick Fry had been the agent who’d overseen the boys on the train while Agatha Killgrove had overseen the girls. Of the two, Mr. Fry had been far more pleasant.

  “I didn’t talk to him.” Garth groaned again as she continued wiping. “I wrote to him my first winter down in Texas. He wrote back that you’d been adopted out in a town named Oskaloosa, near Topeka, and that the doctor who adopted you had said he was on his way to Wyoming.”

  Bridgette twisted the water out of the cloth again while what he claimed settled in her mind. She couldn’t recall any talk of Wyoming. “They collected me in Oskaloosa, but we came directly to Hosford, and have lived here ever since. In the exact same house. It’s a big house on the edge of town. You can’t miss it.” She wasn’t exactly sure why she said all that, other than she’d always wanted him to find her.

  “Fry said he’d forward me any additional information, but never did.”

  “Because he lied to you.”

  “There was no reason for him to do that.”

  “There wasn’t?” Having cleaned off JoJo’s greasy salve and the lingering film of mud, she collected her tin of cottonwood ointment. “Both Mr. Fry and Mrs. Killgrove tried to keep us separated as much as possible.”

  “That’s true.” He turned enough to look at her. “They thought I’d corrupt you.”

  Unable not to, she grinned, thinking about some of their escapades. “It was a little late for that.”

  He turned and grasped her wrist, stilling her fingers. The way he was looking at her made her quiver on the inside. A warm and wonderful quiver. She couldn’t pull her eyes away, nor could she stop her hand from cupping the side of his face. She’d missed him so much. It had been as if she’d lost a part of herself when he’d gotten off the train in Kansas City. A part she’d never found again.

  “I worried about you.”

  His whisper was gruff, as if he rarely spoke that softly.

  She swallowed against the quickening of her heart and breath. “There was no need to worry,” she answered softly. “The Rodgerses have provided well for me.”

  “That’s good. I hoped whoever had taken you in was good to you. Hoped you were happy. Had food, clothes, a house.” A twinkle flashed in his eyes as he whispered, “Rainbows.”

  If a heart could melt, hers did, clear to her toes. Only Garth knew how much she loved rainbows, and suddenly, it didn’t matter how long they’d been apart, he was here now. She took a breath, preparing to tell him she’d been fine but that there hadn’t been any rainbows, when her name echoed inside the barn.

  “Who’s that?”

  It was a moment before she recognized the voice. “Dr. Rodgers.” The doctor would expect her to be at Emma Sue’s side. Bridgette scrambled to her feet. “He’s here to check on Emma Sue and the baby
. I’ll have him look at your face, too.”

  He didn’t want to, but Garth let go of her wrist, and watched her hurry to the door. His mind was still trying to figure out something to say when she spun around.

  “Stay here.” Briefly glancing out the doorway, she brushed aside a strand of hair that blew across her cheek while saying, “But stuff those bottles under the hay.”

  Garth let the heavy air out of his lungs as she disappeared into the night. His face might still hurt, and his head from Cecil’s hooch, but neither bothered him as much as the pain centered in his chest. He should be elated. Happy to see her after all these years. The problem was, he didn’t know what to do about that.

  She wasn’t the same. The softness of her features had changed. The round, youthful plumpness of her cheeks was gone, giving her a more angled, womanly look. She’d always been cute, now she was pretty, beautiful. Her hair was darker, honey colored rather than yellow, and the curves of her body—something he couldn’t help but admire and sincerely had wished both eyes were working to do so properly—said she’d matured in all ways.

  That had another sigh building tight in his lungs. She’d grown into a woman, and he’d be the first to say women couldn’t be trusted. They were always looking for greener pastures.

  Before standing, he stuffed the bottles under the hay and blew out the lantern. At the doorway, Garth paused long enough to watch Bridgette follow a tall man into the house. He took his time saddling the horse he’d tied beside the barn, and kept glancing toward the house. Leaving was the smart thing to do, but he’d yet to find the wherewithal to actually mount up.

  Maybe because he was still feeling the effects of Cecil’s home brew. That could be why he hadn’t told her everything Fredrick Fry had said in his letter. Fry had said that if Garth really cared about Bridgette, he’d forget about her. She was with good people and would have a good life. The kind of life he could never give her.

  Fry had been right. Even Malcolm, a man Garth had already learned to trust back then, had agreed.

  With a final glance over his shoulder, Garth stuck a foot in the stirrup.

  Chapter Seven

  Garth didn’t welcome the daylight as fondly as he usually did. His head felt like he had a bull rummaging around inside it, and he couldn’t blame that pain on anyone other than himself.

  “On your left!” he shouted. “Heading west!”

  A cowboy named Randy took off toward the brush where Garth had seen a steer running. The cattle seemed as ornery as he felt this morning. Almost as if they didn’t want to leave this place any more than he did.

  Leave Bridgette.

  Garth shook his head at his own thought. Now that he knew where she was, he could come back if he wanted. But that was exactly what he should not want.

  Tarnation but that woman had left his mind a mess, which was exactly why he shouldn’t want to come back. In the years since he’d moved to Texas, he’d kept himself clear of women. All women. And more than once had felt a sense of empathy for those men who found themselves shackled by one.

  A flash at the corner of his eye had him spinning his horse around. Squinting to see through the dust, he hollered at the cowboy entering the center of the herd, “Willis! Get that white-faced one out front!”

  “Got it, Boss!”

  The cattle, stubborn and irritable, were bunching up, blocking the leaders from doing what they did best—leading. Willis was an experienced point rider, and convinced he’d get the herd straightened out, Garth steered his horse around to help the wing riders set the perimeters of the herd.

  It took longer than normal, and he’d eaten a good couple of pounds of dust and dirt by the time the front section had calmed down enough to start moving forward in unison, which set the others to follow. Dusty and sweaty, Garth once again swung his horse about to ride farther back along the herd, to the flank riders.

  “Got any strays still out there?” he asked Lowell Krebs.

  Krebs shook his head. “Got ’em all rounded up. They’re feisty this morning.”

  “More so than usual,” Garth replied.

  “Think that means there’s a storm brewing?”

  The sky was as blue as the gulf waters and the sun was shining, but in these parts, that didn’t mean much. A storm could come out of nowhere. “I hope not,” he answered. “JoJo complaining about his knees?” The cook swore the bones in his legs could predict a thunderstorm, and along this trip, his predictions had been right more often than not.

  “Not that I heard,” Krebs answered.

  “Then let’s just hope the cows liked the grass they’ve been feeding on all night too much to move out.” Garth waved a hand before he took off again to meet up with the drag riders.

  The cowboys were busy pushing the cows trying to lag behind, and Garth took note of each man and the due diligence they used. He also helped. When caught between two cowboys, a cow would easily give up and hurry forward to join the others of like kind.

  Here, too, once all was settled, he steered his horse back up the other side of the herd. The cows were calm now, and moving at a steady pace that didn’t take too much energy but would get them several miles closer to Dodge by the time the sun set. It was a sight to see, one that even after eight years, he wasn’t tired of seeing. This sea of pointy-hipped critters, some red, some black, some brown, some white and most a combination of colors, filled him with a satisfaction he couldn’t have explained if he’d had to. Which was close to how he felt about Bridgette—couldn’t explain what he felt toward her if he had to.

  He spoke to the flank and wing riders before making his way to the point riders at the front of the herd. Riding up next to Willis, he had to shout above the noise of the herd, “Good job!”

  “That was a rough morning,” Willis shouted in return. “Stubborn critters.”

  “They may get more stubborn,” Garth warned. “We’ll be crossing a river midday tomorrow. I’m riding up to check on the crossing now. We may have to steer east.”

  “How far?”

  “I’ll know by evening.” Garth gestured toward the herd. “Keep them heading straight north. The route won’t change much. It’ll depend on the condition of the banks. Don’t need any broken legs.”

  “Good enough. We’ll put some miles behind us today,” Willis answered.

  Garth nodded and rode forward to catch up with JoJo and Bat who had set out right after feeding everyone the last of Bridgette’s eggs.

  Without the cattle holding his attention, his mind drifted and settled on her again. A man couldn’t have a future while living in the past. He’d been successful since figuring that out. Since leaving his childhood behind him. Bridgette certainly had been a part of his childhood. Now that he knew she was safe, taken care of, he should be able to completely forget about her. Shouldn’t he?

  Garth rubbed his beard and twisted the longer stands, pulling at them as if the sting it caused might, in some warped and perverse way, help his thinking. It didn’t of course.

  The clanging and banging of the chuck wagon had him focusing his gaze on the trail ahead of him, and what he saw had him accidently plucking a handful of whiskers from his chin.

  “Damn it,” he muttered at the sting...and the sight of the plow horse. The next moment, he found himself trying not to smile. Deep down, he’d known she would come after him. She hadn’t changed that much. She’d always thought she had to take care of everyone. Especially him at times.

  He spurred his horse to catch up with the wagon and her. The last thing he needed was JoJo chewing her ear off.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as his horse sided up next to hers.

  Swifter than the plow horse, he had to bring his mount to a stop and wait a moment for her to catch up.

  “I wanted to make sure you made it back to camp last ni
ght,” she said. “I told you to wait in the barn. Why didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “No reason to.”

  Her smile was a disguise. The anger that flashed in her blue eyes told him that, and the lump that formed in his stomach told him he should be wary. Bridgette’s wrath had been something to contend with years ago, and most likely had grown as much as the rest of her had.

  “I see your eye is no longer swollen.”

  He grinned. “I can actually see you today.”

  “You could see me yesterday,” she said.

  She was making a point, he just wasn’t sure what it might be. Changing the subject, he asked, “How’s Cecil’s baby this morning?”

  “The baby and Emma Sue are doing fine.” A hint of disgust was included in her glare. “Cecil, however, is moving a bit slow. As I suspect you should be.”

  “Slow?” He chuckled. “I never move slow.”

  “Perhaps you should. It might make you think before you act.”

  She’d always been the impulsive one, not him. “You ride out here just to argue with me this morning?”

  “No, I came to make sure you’d made it. You were in no condition to go anywhere last night. I figured maybe I’d find you lying on the ground with buzzards circling above your carcass.”

  “Figured or hoped?”

  She shrugged.

  Despite knowing better, he was enjoying this. So was she. They always had enjoyed shooting gibes at each other. “Buzzards don’t show up that fast.”

  “They do when they smell something rotten.”

  A snicker reminded Garth they weren’t alone. JoJo had slowed the chuck wagon to the pace of the plow horse, and there was no doubt his ears were as fine-tuned as a church organ.

  With a nod, Garth told Bridgette, “Follow me.”

  Being politer than him, she bid farewell to JoJo and Bat before encouraging the plow horse to veer westward. The Chaney place couldn’t be more than a couple of miles away and that’s where he’d lead her to. Back where she belonged. He’d asked Cecil every question he could think of last night, but the man hadn’t had many answers. He’d been too focused on the baby being born inside the sod shanty.