do you need, dear?”
The child whispered in her ear.
“Very well.” Still without glancing his way, she said, “Mr. Burleson, we need to stop.”
“Stop?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
Marie played with the bow at her chin that kept her bonnet from fluttering off with the wind, willing herself to maintain the nursemaid calm she’d perfected. The man’s tone was laced with impatience—as it had been all morning—which grated on her nerves. Patience was the number one trait a person working with children needed to maintain, and he was souring hers. “Weston needs to take care of something,” she stated.
“What?” Stafford Burleson asked, as he flapped the reins over the horses’ backs, keeping them at a steady pace.
“I’m sure I don’t need to explain what he needs to take care of,” Marie said, nose forward. “At least, I shouldn’t have to.”
A low growl rumbled before he said, “Didn’t you tell them to do that before we left town?”
Biting her tongue would not help, even if she had a mind not to speak. “Of course I did,” she declared, “but small children have small bladders.”
“Not that small,” he exclaimed. “I can still see Huron behind us.”
She couldn’t help but glance around and gaze through the front and back openings of the canopy covering the wagon. The dark cluster on the horizon ignited yet another bout of tremors. She and the children were now completely at the mercy of this insufferable man, with nothing more than prayers for protection. Refusing to panic, she said, “In country this flat, I’m sure a person can see for ten miles or more.”
“We haven’t gone ten miles,” Mr. Burleson insisted. “We’ve barely gone two.”
“That, Mr. Burleson,” she said, “makes no difference. Weston needs to relieve himself and you will stop this wagon immediately.”
The snarl that formed on his face was frightening, but it also snapped her last nerve in two. He was the most insufferable man she’d ever encountered. If it had been just her, she might have cowered at his bullying, but she was the only protection the children had. She would not see them harmed, and that gave her the courage, or perhaps the determination, to return his stare with one just as formidable.
Marie was sure he cursed under his breath, but since he also pulled the horses to a stop and set the brake, she ignored it—this once—and turned around.
Climbing out of the high wagon was like climbing down a tree. Instead of branches there were steps and wagon spokes to navigate—an extremely difficult task with her skirt flapping in the wind. The alternative, having Mr. Burleson assist her as he’d tried to in town, was out of the question, so Marie managed just fine, apart from a stumble or two.
She kept her chin up, suspecting the foul man was now chuckling under his breath, and marched toward the back of the wagon where she lifted Weston to the ground.
“Go behind that bush,” she instructed, gesturing toward a scattering of shrubs a short distance away.
Weston scurried away and Marie glanced toward the wagon, prepared to ask if any of the other children needed to relieve themselves.
“If anyone else has to go, do it now,” a male voice demanded harshly.
Spinning about, she eyed him. “I was about to suggest that, Mr. Burleson.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Were you?”
“Yes, I was.” Arguing in front of the children should be avoided at all measures, so she took a deep breath and turned, poking her head over the end gate. “Does anyone else need to join Weston?”
Five little heads, those she’d protect with her life, gestured negatively. The quivering of Charlie’s bottom lip had Marie’s ire flaming. Whirling round, she grabbed one solid arm and dragged Mr. Burleson a few feet away from the wagon. “I will not have you intimidating these children.”
“You will not—”
“That’s right,” she interrupted. “I will not permit you to speak to them so. There is no need for you to use that tone of voice around them. They are small children and—”
“Where the hell did you come from lady?” Stafford interrupted. One minute she was shaking like a rabbit and the next she was snapping like a cornered she-wolf— demanding things. Their luggage took up one entire freight wagon, leaving him no choice but to buy a second one this morning that included some kind of covering to keep the children out of the sun. It was now well past noon, and at the rate they were traveling it would take three days to get home. If he was lucky.
“There’s no reason to curse. You know perfectly well the children and I are from Chicago,” she said, pert little nose stuck skyward again.
Stafford shook his head. Didn’t anyone know a rhetorical question when they heard one?
“Get that kid in the wagon,” he barked, walking toward the team. Mick was going to owe him so much he might as well sign over his half of the ranch the moment he rode in. Dealing with Miss Marie Hall and her brood was costing more than money. Stafford’s sanity was at stake.
August was the hottest month of the year, and here he was traipsing across the countryside with a wagonload of kids and the haughtiest woman he’d ever met.
If he’d been thinking, he’d have hired another man to drive this rig and ridden Stamper, his horse, back to the ranch.
The wagon seat listed as Marie climbed up the side of the rig with about as much grace as a chicken trying to fly. So be it. He’d offered his assistance once—back in town—and wouldn’t do that again. He’d never been a slow learner.
Eventually, she got herself hoisted up and Stafford had to clench his hands into fists to keep from setting the team moving before she got herself situated on the seat. He’d have gotten a chuckle out of watching her flail about, but he wasn’t in a chuckling mood.
“We may proceed now, Mr. Burleson.”
“You don’t say,” he drawled, simply because he had to say something. Her uppity attitude had him wanting to show her just who was in charge.
Him.
Stafford snapped the reins and let the horses set a steady pace forward. The trail was relatively smooth and driving the rig didn’t take much concentration or effort. Anyone could do it.
“You know how to drive a team?” he asked.
She didn’t glance his way, just kept her snooty little face forward. “Of course not. I am a nursemaid, not a teamster.”
It had probably been a bad idea anyway. He just wanted to be anywhere but here right now. She was like every other woman he’d ever known, with a way of making a man feel obligated to be at her beck and call. He’d given up on that years ago and didn’t want to go back.
“A
