The Wrong Cowboy. Lauri Robinson

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.”

      Several hours later her confidence was waning. The second day on the trail was better than the first, in many ways, but in others it was worse. The sun was boiling hot today. Sweat poured down Marie’s back and her temples throbbed. Stafford had taken the reins from her long before her arms had started to ache, but they did so now. Her entire body hurt from the endless bouncing, and she had to wonder if the heat and travels were getting to Stafford, too.

      He kept taking off his hat and wiping at the sweat streaming down his forehead, and when someone asked for a drink of water, he never questioned it, just handed over the canteen.

      The heat was taking a toll on the children, too. Their little faces were red and they drooped in the back of the wagon like a half dozen dandelions plucked from the ground. Marie’s confidence in coming up with a plan to ease their plight had plummeted. There was nothing she could do or offer that would relieve the heat.

      At her suggestion, they’d all walked for a while, but that had been worse. At least beneath the canopy of the wagon the children were shielded from the glare of the sun.

      “There’s a creek up ahead,” Stafford said, interrupting her thoughts. “We’ll stop there to water the animals and ourselves.”

      A wave of thankfulness crashed over her. “That will be nice. This heat is deplorable.”

      He frowned, but nodded.

      Used to explaining the definition of words, she started, “Deplorable means—”

      “I know what it means.”

      Marie chose to ignore the bite in his tone. The heat was taxing, but she sensed it was more than the temperature getting to him. He’d turned quiet some time ago, almost brooding. It was just as well. His silence, that was. They’d conversed enough. While showing her how to drive the team, he’d talked about being little and how his father had taught him how to drive. He also shared that he was from Mississippi, where his family still lived. Then he’d started asking about her family, at which point she’d changed the subject and kept changing it every time he tried to bring it back up.

      If necessary, she’d explain her history to Mick Wagner, but not to anyone else. There was no need to, and for her, it was better off left buried deep inside. She didn’t