The Wrong Cowboy. Lauri Robinson

option. The only chance the children had of staying together was Mr. Wagner. Emma Lou had listed her cousin as the benefactor on a small life insurance policy. The paperwork for the policy was safely tucked away, and Marie would present it to Mr. Wagner upon their meeting. The policy would be more than enough to reimburse him for the travel and lodging expenses the children had incurred, though not enough to raise all six children to adulthood. That was something Mr. Wagner would have to see to. She’d help, of course, as much as possible. She owed Emma Lou and John for paying off her debts, and this was how she could repay their kindness. If not for them she wouldn’t have the small amount of money she did have. Above all, though, the children needed her, and she would not let them down.

      Clapping her hands, she said, “Children.”

      * * *

      Stafford stared as the woman, nose in the air, marched away, followed by the flock of red-headed kids like a mother duck leading her brood to water. Or like Custer leading the 7th Cavalry Regiment into battle. That conflict might have had a different outcome if Marie Hall had been leading the troops. She fired demands like bullets.

      He’d met her kind before. Saw the way she shuddered and the disdain in her eyes as she took in his appearance. So he needed a haircut and a shave. That was none of her business. He’d considered visiting the barbershop before meeting her, making himself presentable, but curiosity had won out. The chance to get a glimpse of the woman who was claiming Mick had ordered her had been too strong when Walt said the bride-to-be was behind the hotel in Huron.

      Stafford hadn’t planned on heading home until tomorrow, either, but her haughty attitude had changed his mind the moment she’d stood, lip curled, as her eyes roamed over him from nose to tail like he was a mangy cow on the auction block.

      His partner didn’t have any more time to visit the barber than he did—the cattle company kept them both busy. Then again, it was highly unlikely Mick and Marie Hall had ever met. They might have corresponded though. Most likely last spring, while he’d been gone, down in Texas rounding up cattle. Mick had been home, then, and she could have sent him a picture. His partner was a sitting duck when it came to a pretty woman. He went half crazy over them. Women, foolish as they were, fell for Mick’s boyish charm, too.

      Stafford took another long look as the woman turned the corner, kids trailing behind.

      He’d never seen so many freckles. Not all at once. And not one of those freckle-faced little kids looked anything like her. They were all fair skinned with copper-colored hair, whereas she had dark hair and eyes in shades of brown that teetered on black. That had him wondering what happened to her husband. The father of all those kids, or da as one had called him. That little guy had quite a lisp, and as much as Stafford hadn’t wanted it to, a grin had won out when the kid spoke.

      They disappeared around the corner of the hotel, every last one of them. Stafford took a step to follow, but paused. Miss Marie Hall. That’s what Walt had called her. Miss. It made sense, too, considering she didn’t look old enough to have one kid, let alone six.

      Whose kids did she have?

      Stafford scratched his chin, which itched due to the inch-long whiskers. Mick may have ordered a bride, but there was no way he’d have ordered six kids. That much Stafford would bet his life on.

      Huron was a busy place, the railroad made it so, and someone knew something. She’d been here over a week, and with a town this size, people would know her story. He’d start at the depot. Find out about those fares she was referring to, as well as a few other things.

      An hour later, Stafford concluded Mick was going to owe him more than money when he finally returned. Those weren’t her kids—as he’d suspected. They were a stack of orphans she’d rustled up after their parents died in a fire. The ticket master had told him that, and how she’d promised Mick would pay their fares upon his arrival. She’d paid her own fare, though, which didn’t make a lot of sense and left more questions in place of the few Stafford had found answers for.

      After leaving the depot, he’d rented one of Skip Wyle’s freight wagons—had to after learning about the amount of luggage she had. From what he’d heard, it took up one entire hotel room. “The children’s things,” she’d called them—that’s what he’d been told.

      This woman was pulling one over on Mick. That was clear. A part of Stafford didn’t mind that. It was time Mick learned a lesson, a hard one about women. All the warnings Stafford had supplied over the years sure hadn’t done anything.

      The wagon had been sent to the hotel, along with a couple of men to load it, and though Stafford considered leaving his hair and beard as they were, since it clearly disgusted Miss Marie Hall, he couldn’t take it. His razor had snapped in two last month and he’d been itching—literally—to get a new one ever since, not to mention how his hair had grown so long it continuously whipped into his eyes.

      Besides, men waiting for a haircut gossiped more than women sewing quilts, and that alone was enough to make Stafford head straight for the barber shop. By the time Mick arrived home—which would hopefully be soon because Stafford had sent a telegram to Austin, knowing his partner would make a stopover there—Stafford would know everything there was to know about Miss Marie Hall. He’d fill in the blanks for Mick—those that he instinctively knew she’d leave out—long before wedding bells rang.

      Stafford just didn’t want to see Mick bamboozled. They might both get married some day, raise kids across the creek from each other, but neither of them would be conned into it. He wouldn’t because he was smart, had long ago learned what to watch out for, and Mick wouldn’t because they were best friends, and friends looked out for each other.

      * * *

      Stafford’s confidence was still riding high the next morning as he headed toward the hotel. He hadn’t learned a whole lot more about Miss Marie Hall, but what he had fit perfectly with what he already knew. He still doubted—as he had from the beginning—that Mick had ordered her. It was possible she’d somehow heard about a cowboy—well on his way to becoming a wealthy rancher—who spouted off about wanting a bride. The fact that Mick wasn’t around played into Stafford’s thoughts, as well. Without his partner to interfere, he’d be able to show her just what living on the plains meant. Men had to be tough, but women, they had to be hard, and that was the one thing Miss Marie Hall wasn’t. He could tell that by her hands. They were lily white.

      There was a definite spring in his step as he made his way down the hotel corridor to knock on her door. Upon hearing movement, he shouted, “Burning daylight.”

      All Marie saw was the back of a stranger turning the corner, heading for the hotel stairway, when she opened the door. She’d been awake for some time, assembling the essentials the children would need this morning and making sure they each had specific items in their satchels. The men who’d packed the wagon yesterday said they’d have to spend one night on the road, most likely in the wagon, before they arrived at Mick Wagner’s ranch, and she wanted to make sure the children wouldn’t be put out much by the travel. The train trip had taught her to pack books and toys, things to hold their attention. It was for her sake as much as theirs. She’d been frazzled by the time the train had arrived in Huron, and didn’t want to be that way upon meeting Mr. Wagner.

      “Is it time to leave?” Beatrice asked.

      “It’s time to get up,” Marie answered, glancing toward the child sitting in the middle of the bed. Peeking back into the hall, though she knew it was empty, Marie frowned. The voice had made her skin shiver, and she’d thought it was Mr. Burleson, yet it must not have been. At least, the man turning the corner hadn’t been him—far too well groomed. Which was just as well, she’d see enough of Mr. Burleson for the next day or two, and not telling him he needed a shave and haircut was going to be difficult.

      He’d occupied her thoughts since meeting him yesterday. For the first time since embracing her plan, an unnerving dread had settled in her stomach and remained there. She’d imagined Mick Wagner would be like his cousin. Refined, with a kind and gentle nature. Someone who would see the children’s welfare as the priority. That’s