The Wrong Cowboy. Lauri Robinson

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 like how memories could befuddle a person’s mind, and the thought of telling him she’d been returned, twice, to the orphanage, made her stomach hurt. Especially after he’d told her about his family. That’s all she’d ever wanted. To be part of a family. She’d gotten that when the Meekers had hired her, and she wouldn’t give it up.

      First one, then the other horse nickered, and Marie glanced around, but saw nothing but brown grass.

      “They smell the water,” Stafford said. “It’s just over the hill.”

      The next few minutes seemed to take hours, the hill they ambled up the tallest ever, but when they crested the peak and she saw the sparkling creek trailing along the floor of the valley below, the downward trek became endless. The children had moved to the front opening of the wagon, vying for a spot to gaze at the water with as much longing as the horses showed by their increased speed.

      As the horses trudged closer, the creek grew larger and a touch of anxiety rose up to quell her excitement. The road they were on entered the water on one side and appeared again on the other side. She shivered slightly.

      “There’s no bridge.”

      “No, there’s not,” Stafford agreed. “But the water isn’t deep. We can cross safely this time of year. Springtime is a different story.”

      She had no choice but to trust him, which actually was becoming easier and easier.

      A chorus of voices over her shoulder asked if they could get wet, and as the wagons rolled to a stop a short distance from the water, Stafford answered, “Yes.” He then turned to her as he set the brake. “We’re going to unhitch the teams, let them cool off a bit. You and the children can go upstream a distance and cool off yourselves. Just not too far.”

      Climbing on and off the wagon had grown a bit easier, too, now that she knew exactly where to step. Marie was down in no time and lifting the twins out of the back while the older children climbed out themselves.

      “Can we get wet, like Stafford said?” Samuel asked hopefully.

      She should have insisted the children continue to call him Mr. Burleson. Allowing them to call him Stafford was inappropriate, but in truth, she didn’t have the wherewithal to say a whole lot right now. She’d never been so hot and uncomfortable in her life.

      “Yes,” she said. “But take your shoes off.”

      They took off running and Marie didn’t have the heart to call them back, make them wait for her. So, instead, she ran, too. The water was crystal clear, and she could easily see the rocky bottom. Wasting no more time than the children, she removed her shoes and stockings, and entered the creek beside them, sighing at the heavenly coolness the water offered.

      She held her skirt up, letting the water splash about her ankles, and kept vigilant eyes on the children as they eagerly ventured farther in. She’d never learned to swim, so the water made her nervous, but it was shallow, only up to the twins’ waists, and they were enjoying the experience wholeheartedly, as were the others.

      It wasn’t long before a whoop sounded and Mr. Jackson flew past her like a wild man. Arms out, he threw himself face-first into the water and sank below, only to pop up moments later, laughing from deep in his lungs.

      Samuel instantly copied the man’s actions, and that had everyone laughing all over again.

      A hand caught hers and she twisted, ready to pull it away, for the heat was intense.

      “Come on,” Stafford said, tugging slightly.

      “No, this is deep enough,” she insisted.

      “It’s barely up to your knees at the deepest point.” With his free hand, he pointed toward Mr. Jackson. “He’s sitting on the bottom and it’s not up to his shoulders.”

      “He’s a tall man,” she explained.

      Stafford laughed and let go of her hand, which left a sense of loneliness swirling around her. He was gone in an instant, out in the middle with all of the children and Mr. Jackson, splashing up tidal wave after tidal wave.

      The air left Marie’s lungs slowly. She shouldn’t be staring, but Stafford had taken his shirt off. So had Mr. Jackson, but her eyes weren’t drawn to the other man as they were to Stafford. Dark hair covered his chest, and his shoulders and arms bulged. Muscles. She’d seen pictures of the male form in her studies, but goodness, none of those drawings had looked this...real.

      Marie glanced away, downstream to where the horses stood in the water, drinking their fill, but that didn’t hold her attention. When she turned back, her gaze caught Stafford’s.

      “Come on,” he said again, waving a hand as he now sat on the bottom with water swirling around his burly chest. “It feels great.”

      The children joined in with his invitation, waving and begging her to join them. She could say no to him, but not to them. Dropping her skirt, for she couldn’t hoist it any higher, she edged toward the clapping and squeals.

      And splashing. Water was flying in all directions, and it did feel wonderful. Then, all of a sudden, Marie went down. Though the water was shallow, she was completely submerged, her back thumping off the rocky creek bed.