Chapter 10

10

F ran was awake long before the cowboys began rolling out of their bedrolls, their murmurs soft in the semi-darkness.

She let Emma sleep for a bit longer and crept out of the wagon.

She had no desire to see her husband, so she snuck through the dew-wet grasses to find a bit of privacy. Even though he'd told her not to go off alone. She needed a moment to herself.

The sun was a slip of orange light on the horizon and she watched it grow. The fields all around her remained cloaked in gray as the sky's blue lightened. A line of low-lying clouds at the horizon turned gold.

Bright white light slid into the growing blue in the sky and then began to slide in golden rays across the prairie, turning the green grass golden at its dewy tips. Spreading. Spreading.

Illuminating everything.

Illuminating her.

She glanced behind her to make sure no one was around.

She was utterly humiliated.

Edgar had come to her the night before. Had kissed her breathless.

And apparently found her wanting.

She didn't want to go back to the cowboy camp. Didn't want to drive that wagon all day, her shame visible to everyone.

How could she have kissed him back?

She was falling for him, that's how.

He'd given her the protection of his name, offering her only that.

But in reality, giving so much more. He'd taken her and Emma in, given her a chance to prove herself on the cattle drive.

Helped her in getting away from what was chasing her.

Rescued Emma.

He was so much more than the aloof cowboy he pretended to be.

And she couldn't help admiring him, couldn't help wishing things could have been different. That they'd met under different circumstances.

That he was really attracted to her.

He'd certainly seemed to be, in the throes of that passionate kiss, but….

She froze, her swirling thoughts coalescing into one.

On the afternoon they were married, he'd said and she'd overheard several comments that indicated he never planned to marry. She knew he didn't trust women, but she did not know the reason why.

What if he was attracted to her? Even liked her?

But was still wary.

She'd been reacting to the circumstances in her life for what seemed so long. Her parents' deaths, Daniel's desertion. Then spiriting Emma away from Underhill's reach.

What if she were proactive in…well, courting her husband?

What if she could make him fall in love with her? Or at the very least, realize that she could offer him a comfortable home, companionship. Friendship. Reasons they should stay together.

Time was not on her side. She'd overheard some of the cowboys the night before say they should reach Tuck's Station later that day. That only left a day or so for him to finish the sale of the cattle before he tried to settle her and Emma in Calvin.

Could she change his mind in such a short time?

She didn't know, but she had to try. Didn't she?

"Ricky ain't happy."

Matty spoke in a low, concerned tone. Most of the other cowboys had left after they consumed their breakfasts, but some remained close, saddling up for the start of another long day.

Add him to the list of people who were unhappy with Edgar. Fran couldn't be thrilled with him either, not after how he'd treated her the day before. Confusing her. Confusing the both of them.

Tuck's Station couldn't arrive fast enough.

"He tell you why?" Edgar asked finally, curiosity getting the better of him.

"No. He's keeping to himself, real suspicious."

Edgar nodded. "You think he'll finish the job?"

Matty squinted beneath the brim of his Stetson. He chewed on a piece of grass, the thin green line bobbling between his lips when he spoke. "He knows someone's following us. He ain't gonna leave you in danger. Possible danger."

Edgar wasn't so sure his brother's loyalty was to him, not after the last aborted conversation they'd had. "He owes it to Pa to do right by the cattle. We all do."

Matty's eyes shifted over to him. His brow was furrowed. "Pa didn't take us in to count some kind of debt."

"I know."

"You sure?"

Matty's pointed question made Edgar look away, watching the last of the cowboys swing up into the saddle.

Jonas had never asked Edgar to work on the homestead, now the growing ranch. He hadn't had to. Edgar had wanted to pay back his adoptive pa for taking him in and giving him a home when no one else would. Jonas had given him a place to lay his head, love, support, everything.

It mattered. And that's why Edgar had to do this job right.

What would he do if Ricky left the herd and the job behind? They had just enough cowboys to wrangle the animals where they needed to go. Would his brother be selfish enough to leave the job unfinished?

Should Edgar try to talk to him again, smooth things over?

"Someone's glad to see you."

Edgar followed Matty's nod to Fran as she picked her way across the couple of bedrolls that hadn't been secured on their owners' horses. She moved toward where he and his brother sat, downing the remains of their pan-fried biscuits.

She was smiling, beaming at him.

He looked down, examining himself. Had he smeared some dirt or grease across his body, or otherwise forgotten to button something up?

Nope. Everything seemed in order, from his boots to his chin. He leaned back into the saddle he was propped against and pushed back his Stetson to see her better as she approached.

"Good morning," she greeted.

He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to understand what had happened between last night when he'd left her near tears and this morning.

"Mornin'," he mumbled around a bite of biscuit.

She didn't reprimand him for his poor manners, but leaned down and bussed his cheek.

He choked on his biscuit.

"Let me refill your coffee before I start cleaning up." She took the mug from his suddenly nerveless fingers and turned away.

He registered his brother practically rolling on the ground at the stunned expression he must have been wearing.

"Knock it off," he growled, thumping Matty's leg with his boot.

"You just—hee hee hee—you look so thunderstruck!"

He felt thunderstruck.

He was a cad, and she should be angry with him.

Not kissing his cheek like she was happy to see him.

"Quiet," he warned his brother.

"You charmer you!" Matty was still belly-laughing, swiping at tears rolling down his cheeks with one sleeve, while he fanned his face with his Stetson.

"What's going on?" Seb asked, plopping down a few feet away. He'd been on the last watch of the night and looked exhausted.

Thank goodness they were only a half-day from Tuck's Station.

"Hee hee hee—Ed's gone and found the one woman who likes his crotchety nature."

"Shut. Up!" he hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure she hadn't heard.

Seb brightened, his exhaustion disappearing as he straightened, knocking back his hat with wide eyes.

"There's nothing between us," Edgar insisted. "We're parting ways. I've got an idea to put her up in Calvin."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be kissing her behind the wagon," Matty said, suddenly serious. "Might give her the wrong idea."

Edgar's face and ears went hot.

"Well, I think it's grand that Edgar's finally found someone to love," Seb interjected, clearly trying to play the peacemaker.

"I have not ." Edgar looked over his shoulder again, but thankfully Fran still hadn't reappeared with his coffee.

He kept his voice low when he turned back to his brothers. "She's a pill, all right? Yeah, I like her, a little, but you both know I wasn't looking for a wife."

Seb shrugged. "You got one, though. Shouldn't waste your chance."

Matty kicked his head back and Edgar shot a look over his shoulder to see Fran approaching. She didn't have his coffee mug—instead she had a pair of kitchen shears. He got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I started thinking… If you're going to represent your papa for this deal with the cattle, you should look a little more…a little less…"

He raised one eyebrow at her. "What's wrong with the way I look?" Not that he didn't know. But he wanted to see what she would say.

She had the grace to blush. "I know spring must be a busy time on a ranch. Maybe you haven't realized it's past time for a haircut."

"And a shave," Seb offered helpfully.

Edgar glared at his brother.

"Well, I don't have a razor," Fran said.

That was good, because he wouldn't trust her that close to him with a blade.

"But I found these shears in the bottom of the wagon and I thought I could at least attempt to…" She waved one limp hand toward him, toward his head specifically.

He waited for her to finish.

She frowned at him.

"To make you more presentable," she finished firmly.

Matty slapped him on the back. "Sounds like a fine idea. You're overdue for a trim."

The mark of a smart man was knowing when he was beat. And Edgar knew, between his two brothers and Fran, he wasn't getting out of this without a haircut. Like it or not.

So he gave in with what grace he could muster.

"Fine," he muttered.

He'd ridden through this area before and knew of a little stream farther past the wooded area. It was a little bit more of a hike than they'd had the first two nights out on the prairie, but by the time he'd built that fire the day before it seemed silly to move the wagon for a little less of a walk to do dishes and water the horses.

He followed her there and stood on the still-swollen bank, waiting for her to tell him what she had planned. He took off his Stetson and tossed it up the bank a few feet for its own protection.

"Why don't you…" She looked him up and down and he felt the full difference in their heights.

She set down the wooden bucket and a towel he hadn't realized she was carrying and plunked her hand on her hip, biting her lip and assessing him with her eyes.

He wasn't going to make this any easier on her. It had been her idea, after all.

Even though he knew his ma would appreciate the thought.

"I suppose you should sit here."

He followed her directions to kneel on the bank of the creek—a little too close for his comfort, but he supposed he'd been dunked the night before and this clean stream wouldn't hurt none. It wasn't deep, even with the extra inch or two from the recent rain.

Then with a little pressure from her hand on his shoulder she had him bent over the water and he heard the soft swoosh as she dipped the bucket.

He yelped at the icy sensation of the entire bucket being poured on his head and splashing onto his shoulders.

Water sluiced down his face and cooled him all the way down the neck of his shirt.

Then she pressed on his shoulders and he sat back on his heels. Her palm rested against his forehead, hot on his now-chilled skin, and she flipped back the hair that had been dripping in his face.

He squinted up at her.

She grinned. "Sorry."

"Sure you are," he growled. But he wasn't angry.

It was a little like when she'd served him the frogs' legs. He could appreciate a good prank, couldn't he?

She combed his hair back from his face with her fingers and her touch sent the same jolt through him that he'd felt when he'd kissed her the night before.

He needed to distract himself from that. Dwelling on that connection could only bring trouble.

"You're not going to scalp me as punishment for kissing you last night, are you?" he blurted.

Then winced. Way to bring their kiss back to the forefront by throwing it out there in conversation.

"No." She smiled again, a little ornery this time. Both a niggle of worry and a tingle of attraction shivered through him. Or maybe it was the cold bead of water that slid down the back of his collar.

She reached and pulled a bar of soap from the towel. She worked up a lather and then slid her fingers into his hair, massaging the suds into his scalp.

It felt amazing.

He normally didn't give so much attention to his hair during his twice-weekly baths, and even if he did, he doubted his own hands could make his head feel this good. Why was she doing this to him?

"You done this before?" he asked grumpily. He closed his eyes so at least he couldn't see her.

"No. Well, a few times bathing Emma when she was a tot."

He grunted.

"You haven't told me much about yourself," she said as she moved closer and reached around to scrub the back of his scalp.

He squinted one eye at her. At that moment, a few soapsuds slid down over his brow and he squeezed his eye shut, but not before it stung with the soap.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…I know you came to be with your family after being on an orphan train. But how did you come to meet Jonas?"

Her massaging fingers must've scraped away some of his inhibitions, because he found himself telling her, "Bear Creek was the last stop. And there I was, standing on the platform at the front of the schoolhouse with no one to take me in. By that time, Jonas had taken in Oscar and Seb, and then Matty after the homestead had been settled. Someone said my pa might take on another orphan and they fetched him to town."

He didn't like remembering the pain—kind of the same sting as that soap that had gotten into his eye—of standing there alone.

Of not being chosen.

He'd been humiliated and desperate, but Jonas had simply clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "Let's go home." And they'd gone.

"Jonas came and got me." That's all he could tell her. The rest was too painful to share.

She pushed him forward until he was worried he might fall into the creek, and then she poured another icy bucketful over his head.

She rinsed him twice more, running her fingers through his hair as she did so, removing all the soap.

Then she pushed him back on his haunches again, combing his hair away from his face.

She smiled at him again. Gently.

She took a comb from her pocket and began sliding it through his heavy, wet locks. Unknotting. Untangling.

Settling him, like he'd seen his brother Oscar do with a horse and brush before.

She walked around behind him and used both hands to set him facing straight forward. He felt her pick up a hank of hair.

She snipped and the hank fell onto his shirt.

Snip. Snip.

Thankfully, it didn't look like she was giving him a lopsided cut.

"And what about before that?"

She'd lulled him into such a relaxed state with her hands and her manner that it took him a moment to track back to their conversation.

"Hmm?"

"What about before you got on the orphan train?"

His head jerked to one side, and she gasped as the shears snipped again.

"Don't!" She dropped the shears to the ground and came to his side, gripping his chin with one firm hand and the back of his head with the other. She brushed his hair away and touched his ear.

His ear. It was a part of him that he barely ever thought about—except to remember to wash behind—but somehow it was entirely too intimate.

"I thought I'd cut you," she murmured.

He couldn't remember anyone else ever touching him there. And it seemed so close that he jerked away. Stood all the way up. Realized he was shaking.

"Is that why you brought me out here?" he demanded. "Did you think you could trade a haircut for my past?"

Fran looked up at Edgar. All the way up.

He'd risen to his full height, and she knew she'd hit on something tender.

Not his ear, because blessedly, she'd somehow managed not to cut him when he'd jerked his head to the side.

Something inside him.

"Sit down." Somehow she managed to keep her voice even, when she was slightly frightened, trembling at his intensity.

"I don't talk about my childhood," he said. His firmness offered no option.

But she wasn't one to give up easily.

"Sit down," she repeated.

He did. Stiffly this time. Before, his shoulders had lost their tension.

It was all back now.

She massaged the top of his scalp for a moment before she went back to trimming his hair. It didn't help.

"You can trust me," she said, because she couldn't give up, not when she'd seen the potential they might have together.

He didn't respond. A glance at his face showed that stubborn jaw locked in place and his lips thinned with displeasure.

"I told you something very painful for me—about my parents, about why Emma and I had to run."

She didn't know what she thought, perhaps that he would understand that she'd trusted him with her past, but all he said was, "I said, I don't want to talk about it."

She finished his haircut with jerky movements. Part of her wanted to ruin it, give him a lopsided cut that would make him look ridiculous.

But she refrained.

When she stepped back, brushing a few stray hanks of hair from his shoulders, she froze as she got her first good look at him.

Before, even with his unkempt appearance, he'd been striking.

Now, he was handsome. With his hair trimmed short and curling about his collar and ears, and with his beard washed clean and shining blond, she could clearly see the strong cheekbones and defined brow. His blue eyes were clear and steady.

Her husband was one of the handsomest men she'd had the pleasure of seeing.

Of course he ruined all her hard work when he smashed his hat on top of his head.

And he didn't acknowledge her when he stomped back toward the wagon.

But she still wasn't going to give up.

She had a day left to figure this man out, to find a way to make him realize they could have something together.

She was going to take that day.

Edgar spent the morning agitated and as far away from his nosy little wife as he could.

Matty and Seb had both admired his haircut and tried to tease him. But they seemed to have sensed his foul mood, so they circled around the herd in the other direction. Ricky had stayed away in the first place.

The worst part was, he sorta felt she was right.

She had opened up to him. Told him everything he'd asked, about her past and her parents.

And he hadn't reciprocated.

It bothered him, probably more than it should've, that there was an unequal trade between them.

But he didn't want to talk about his early childhood. Didn't even like thinking about it. Made a practice of just living his life. He didn't need to dwell on it.

It was over and done.

But the fact that he couldn't quit thinking about Fran and her pushiness and the chasm between them made him wonder if maybe it wasn't over and done with.

He took his hat off and fanned his face with it, the early morning sun getting to him. Running a hand through his shorn hair made him think of Fran again, too.

He didn't really think she'd offered to cut his hair to pump him for information. And he appreciated that she wanted to help him look nice for when he met with his pa's buyer.

He was almost relieved when a steer in his vicinity decided to take a meandering side trip. It gave him something to focus on as he galloped his cow pony out and ushered it back to the herd.

Their trip was almost up. And then he and Fran would go their separate ways. She would be in Calvin, and he would be in Bear Creek.

She didn't need to know about his childhood, his insides argued.

John, the cowpoke who'd noticed the riders on their tail before, rode up to him just before noon.

"See any sign of them?" Edgar asked the other man.

John shook his head. "It's strange. Their tracks say they followed us all the way up until last night. I found a small fire where they must've camped. Then nothing."

"No tracks today?"

The man shook his head again. "It's like they decided to give up. You think?"

Edgar pushed back his Stetson, idly scanning the horizon. "Don't know. If you spent two and a half days tracking someone, would you just give up?"

John shrugged. "Probably depend on why I was tracking them in the first place. Or if I got myself a better plan."

"Exactly."

Edgar didn't like it.

If the men were after the cattle, their chances were getting smaller and smaller to make a move, as the cowboys pushed them closer and closer to Tuck's Station.

If they were after Emma, they could beat the crew to the town. The cattle moved slowly. Two men alone on horseback could easily circle around to town and make it there first.

With Fran's tendency to overprotect the girl, he sort of felt like Emma was his own little sister, too. She was Breanna's age. Emotional, like Breanna could be at times.

And she didn't deserve to have someone after her.

He remembered how jumpy Penny had been for months after the man who'd become obsessed with her had tried to abduct her. Edgar had startled her once by rushing into the kitchen and she'd burst into tears, then quickly apologized.

Emma didn't need to be haunted by that kind of fear. She was—sort of—his sister, and he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

"What do you want to do?" John asked, his horse shifting to one side.

"I don't know yet. I'll check in with my brothers and we'll get a plan together for moving into town."

John nodded and rode off.

Edgar stood in his stirrups and surveyed the herd and cowboys.

They'd purposely gone light on manpower when they'd left Bear Creek. Most of the ranches didn't hire cowboys the way they used to, not since fences and the railroad had changed the landscape.

With the extra cattle they'd taken on, they'd make a nice profit.

Rustlers were less of a concern—or had been less of a concern in the past.

Did he have enough cowboys to put up a good fight? He didn't know.

His brothers, especially Ricky, were handy with their rifles. But if this was about Emma, would they be willing to stand and fight? It was his fight, not theirs.

So he would ask.

He spotted Seb dismounting near the wagon. Looked like Fran had stopped for a stretch. He'd go intercept his brother.