Mail Order Cowboy (Love Inspired Historical) (5 page)

B
efore Josh had begun speaking, Nick had watched the conflicting emotions parading across Milly's face—doubt, trust, fear, hope. Now, at the old cowboy's urging, the battle was over and trust had won—trust in old Josh's opinion, if not in Nick himself, as yet.

“Josh has never steered us wrong,” she said, smiling down at the old cowboy and then back at Nick. “So I will take you up on your very kind offer, Nicholas Brookfield, at least until Josh is back on his feet.”

He gave both of them a brilliant smile, then bowed. “Thank you,” he said. “I'm honored. I shall endeavor to be worthy of the trust you've placed in me.”

Milly looked touched, but Josh gave a chuckle that had him instantly wincing at the movement to his ribs. “Boy, that was a might pretty speech for what you just signed up for—a lot a' hard work in the dust and heat.”

“I'll be very dependent on your advice, sir.”

“I—I can't pay you anything for the time being,” Milly said apologetically. “Just your room and board.”

“My needs are simple,” Nick said. “Room and board
will be plenty.” He was only a third son of a nobleman, but he still wasn't exactly a pauper, so he had little need of whatever sum most cowboys were paid a month beyond their keep. He would have to write to the bank in Austin that was handling his affairs and notify them that his address would be in Simpson Creek, for now.

“I suppose you could have my father's bedroom when the doctor leaves…” Milly mused aloud.

“That won't be necessary,” he replied quickly. “The bunkhouse will be fine for me.”

Her forehead furrowed. “But…surely you've never slept in such humble circumstances,” she protested. “I mean…in a bunk bed? I imagine you're used to much better, being from England and all.”

He thought for a moment of his huge bedchamber back home in East Sussex at Greyshaw Hall, with its canopied bed and monogrammed linen sheets, and his comfortable quarters in Bombay and his native servant who had seen to his every need. Yes, he had been “used to much better,” but he had also experienced much worse.

“Miss Matthews, I told you I was a soldier until recently, and while on campaign I have slept on a camp cot and even on the ground. I assure you I will be fine in the bunkhouse. Besides, I cannot properly be a cowboy unless I sleep there, can I?” he asked lightly, knowing it had been innocence that had led her to offer him her father's old room.

“But—”

“Miss Milly, you can't be havin' him sleepin' in the same house with you two girls,” Josh pointed out, with a meaningful nod toward the kitchen, from where the
sounds of conversation and the clinking of silverware against plates still floated back to them. “Once the gossips in town got wind a' that, they'd chew your reputation to shreds.”

Nick could see that in her effort to be properly hospitable, Milly hadn't thought of how it would look for him to stay in the house.

“He'd best sleep out in th' bunkhouse, where the greatest danger'll be my snorin', once I get back on my feet,” Josh said with a wink.

“It's decided, then,” Nick said. All at once his long night in the saddle caught up with him and before he could catch himself, he yawned.

“Good heavens, I'd forgotten how exhausted you must be, Mr. Brookfield!” Milly exclaimed. “You've been up all night! Go on out to the kitchen and get yourself some breakfast, like I said, while I take some sheets out to the bunkhouse and make up a bed for you,” she said, making shooing motions.

He remained where he was for a moment. “I suppose if I'm going to work for you, Miss Milly, you had better start calling me Nick,” he said, holding her gaze.

He was delighted to see he could make Milly Matthews blush—and such a charming blush it was, too, spreading upward from her lovely, slender neck to her cheeks and turning them scarlet while her eyes took on a certain sparkle. Immediately she looked away, as if she could pretend by sheer force of will that it hadn't happened.

He saw Josh watching this little scene, too, but there was no censure in the old cowboy's gaze, only amusement.

“You'd best hurry on out to the kitchen like Miss Milly said, Nick. The way those galoots out there eat, they're liable not to leave you a crumb.”

 

Snatching up clean, folded sheets from a cedarwood chest in the hallway, Milly followed Nick. Caroline Wallace was in the kitchen, pouring coffee. She and the handful of men standing around forking scrambled eggs from their plates nodded at her or mumbled “Good morning.”

Threading her way through them, she found Sarah at the cookstove, talking to Doc Harkey.

“How's Josh?” Sarah had taken the evening watch, but she was no night owl, and had gone to bed when Milly relieved her. But Milly was never at her best in the morning or at cooking, so she was grateful Sarah was up with the sun and feeding the hungry men.

“Awake. I can tell he's going to make it, 'cause he's already ornery,” Milly said with a laugh.

“I'll go in and have a look at him,” Doc Harkey said, and waded through the throng of men toward the back hall.

Sarah looked questioningly at the armload of sheets Milly carried.

“Mr. Brookfield has very kindly offered to stay on and help us while Josh is laid up,” she said, keeping her tone low so only Sarah could hear, and nodding toward Nick. He was talking to one of the other men while spooning clumps of scrambled eggs onto his plate to join a rasher of bacon and a thick slice of bread. “I'm just going to make up a bed in the bunkhouse for him.”

“I see.” Sarah's knowing eyes spoke volumes and she
grinned. “Well, isn't that nice of him? You have your very own knight in shining armor.”

“Yes,
we
do,” Milly corrected her in a quelling tone. “It is very kind of him, though he's never done ranch chores before. But he seems to think Josh can advise him and Bobby can show him what he needs to do.”

“He seems like the kind of man who can do anything he sets his mind to,” Sarah commented. “All right, you go make up the bed, but once these fellows go home, you go on to bed.”

“Oh, I slept a little in the chair,” Milly protested. “I'll be all right.”

“I'm sure it wasn't enough.”

“Thanks for handling breakfast,” Milly said. “How did you ever manage?”

“The eggs were from yesterday morning, the bacon from the smokehouse. I'm sure I don't know what we're going to do after that. I found a few hens roosting in the trees, and that noisy rooster, but I'm sure the barn fire killed the rest of them.”

“We'll make it with God's help, and one day at a time,” Milly said, determined not to give way to anxiety. Only yesterday morning Sarah had been gathering eggs, while she had been planning a meeting to marry off the women in Simpson Creek. Now she had bigger problems to worry about.

“You're right, Milly,” Sarah said, squaring her shoulders. “I guess we won't be eating chicken for a while until the flock builds up again.”

“Or beef,” Milly said.

“We'll have to send Bobby to look in the brush. Maybe some of the pigs made it.”

 

Weariness nagged at Milly's heels by the time she finished making up the bed in the bunkhouse and trudged back across the yard. The men who'd ridden in the posse were in the process of departing, some saddling their horses, some already mounted up and waiting for the others. Caroline was riding double with her father.

At Milly's approach, Bill Waters handed his reins to Amos Wallace and headed out to intercept her.

“Mr. Waters, I want to thank you for taking charge of the men and doing your best to find our cattle,” she said, extending a hand.

“You're welcome, little lady,” he said in his usual bluff, hearty manner. “I'd do anything for Dick Matthews's daughters, and that's a fact. Wish we could've caught them thievin' redskins and gotten all of the cattle and horses back, instead of just some.” He shrugged. “It's a shame this has happened, it surely is,” he said, gesturing at the charred remains of the barn, from which a wisp or two of smoke still rose. “Now, I think you ought to reconsider my offer to buy you out. You could find rooms in town, take jobs…or move on to some big city somewhere. Don't you see it's the only sensible thing to do now that this has happened?”

“Thanks, Mr. Waters. We'll think about it,” she said, as she had so many times before, ever since Pa had died. She saw by his exasperated expression that he knew she was only being polite.

“You need to do more than just think about it. Your pa would want me to make you see reason, I know he would!”

He was getting more red in the face as he talked. A vein jumped in his forehead. Milly fought the urge to pluck the hanky he had sticking out of his pocket and wipe his brow.

“The good Lord knows I'd hoped somethin' might grow between my boy Wes and you or Sarah, once the war was over. But it didn't work out that way.”

Wesley Waters was one of the Simpson Creek boys who had not returned. Milly, Sarah and Wes had been friendly, but never anything more. But Milly believed his father hadn't wanted a romance between Wes and either of the Matthews girls nearly as much as he'd wanted a means of joining the Matthews land to his.

“Just tell me, how are you two going to cope out here, with Josh laid up and only that no-account boy t'help you?” He made a wide arc with his arm, including the whole ranch.

“We'll be all right, Mr. Waters. Mr. Brookfield has very kindly offered to stay on and help us while Josh is laid up.”

He blinked at her. “That foreigner? What does he know about ranchin'? Beggin' yer pardon, Miss Milly, but have you been spendin' too much time in the sun without your bonnet? And that scheme of yours of invitin' men here t'marry is just plumb foolishness. Your pa would want me to tell you that, too!”

Temper flaring, Milly went rigid. “Mr. Waters, the way you're talking, I'm not sure you ever really knew my father after all. My pa always encouraged me to pray about a problem, then use my brain to solve it.”

“And this is the solution your brain cooked up?” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Nick, who had
just come out onto the porch. “Bringing an outsider—a
foreigner
—to Simpson Creek?”

Nick crossed the yard in a few quick strides. From where he had been, Milly knew he could not have heard Bill Waters's words, but he'd seen the finger pointed at him, for he asked quietly, “Is there a problem, Miss Matthews?”

She could have kissed him for coming to her side just then. “No, Mr. Waters was just fretting about his need to leave and go take care of his own ranch. But I assured him we'd be fine, with you to help us.”

She saw Waters try to stare Nick down, but Nick returned his gaze calmly. “I'm sure Miss Matthews appreciates your concern,” he said. “And I assure you I'll do everything in my power to ensure her safety and that of her sister.” He offered his hand, which Waters pretended not to see.

“I'll count on that, Brookfield,” he growled. “Good day, Miss Milly,” he called over his shoulder as he stalked off to his waiting horse.

Bill Waters is nothing but a patronizing hypocrite, trying to hide his greed under a cloak of concern!
thought Milly.

“What did he say to you? You're shaking,” Nick observed, still keeping his voice low as Waters led the way out of the yard.

Milly was still stinging at Waters's condescending words, but she didn't want to repeat what the old rancher had said about Nick. Just then, she was saved from the necessity of talking about it by the arrival of the circuit preacher's buggy rolling into the barnyard.

“Reverend Chadwick, how nice of you to visit,”
she called, reaching the buggy just as the silver-haired preacher set the brake and stepped out of his buggy.

“Miss Milly, I was in Richland Springs. I was so upset to arrive back in town this morning and hear what had happened to you,” he said, embracing her, then staring with dismay at the blackened ruin of the barn. “I came straight here. I didn't stop any longer than it took to water the horses,” he said.

“Reverend Chadwick, a circuit rider can't be everywhere at once. We certainly understand that,” Milly protested.

“And how is Josh?”

She told the preacher about their foreman's injuries. “I'm sure he'd be pleased to see you,” she said. “Come inside. But before you do, Reverend, I'd like you to meet Mr. Nicholas Brookfield, who'll be helping us out here while Josh recovers.”

A
fter introductions were made, Milly mercifully excused Nick and sent him to get some sleep. He'd thought at first he'd never be able to fall into slumber on the thin ticking-covered straw mattress in the middle of the hot Texas day.

The next thing he knew, though, the creaking of the door opening woke him as Bobby clumped into the room and started rummaging in the crate at the foot of his bed.

“Oh, sorry, didn't mean t'wake you, sir,” the youth apologized, straightening.

“No need to apologize,” he told the youth. “I never meant to sleep so long. And you'd probably better start calling me Nick, too,” he told the boy.

Bobby looked gratified but still a little uneasy. “How 'bout Mr. Nick? Uncle Josh says t' be respectful to my elders.”

“Fair enough.” The angle of the shadows on the wall told Nick hours had passed even before he reached for the pocket watch he had left on the upended crate
that served as bedside table and saw that it was four o'clock.

He'd slept the day away! Milly, her sister and Bobby had no doubt taken on tasks he should have been doing.

“What needs to be done?”

Bobby traced a half circle with the toe of one dusty boot, apparently also uncomfortable with the idea of giving an adult orders.

“I—I dunno, s—Mr. Nick. Mebbe you best ask Miss Milly.”

“All right, I'll do that.”

He found Milly in the kitchen, shelling black-eyed peas into a bowl in her lap. Sarah, her back to the door, was kneading dough. The delicious odor of roasting ham wafted from the cookstove.

“Oh, hello, Nick,” Milly said. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Too good,” Nick said. “I want to apologize for lying abed so long when there's so much to be done.”

“Horsefeathers,” Milly Matthews responded with a smile. “You must have needed it.”

Her lack of censure only made him feel guiltier, somehow. “Did you get some rest, ma'am?”

She shook her head. “I'll sleep tonight.”

“As I should have waited to do. I only meant to lie down for an hour. This won't happen again, Miss Milly, Miss Sarah.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Nick,” Sarah admonished, looking over her shoulder.

“Thank you, but I intend to be more of a help from now on. What should I be doing now?”

Milly's hands paused, clutching a handful of unshelled pods. “It's a couple of hours 'til supper—not enough time to get started on any rebuilding projects…. It might be a good idea if you and Bobby were to saddle up and go for a ride around the ranch so you can get an idea of how far the property extends and make a survey of what needs to be done. Oh, and you'll be passing the creek that runs just inside the northern edge. You and Bobby could take a quick dip and get cleaned up,” Milly added, eyeing his cheeks and chin.

“A dip sounds good.” Nick ran his fingers over the stubbly growth, imagining how scruffy he looked. He was glad he'd kept his razor in his saddlebag. He didn't want to look unkempt around this lovely woman he was trying to impress.

“Take your pistol with you,” Milly called as he headed for the door. “You never know what you might meet out there in the brush.”

“Do you mean Indians?”

She nodded. “Or rattlesnakes. They like to sun themselves on the rocky ledges that line one side of the creek. There's a little cave in those ledges. Sarah and I used to play there and pretend it was our cottage until we saw a snake at its entrance.”

“Then I'll be sure and take my dip on the other side.” He'd had enough encounters with cobras in India to have a healthy respect for poisonous snakes of any kind.

“Don't let Bobby dillydally in the creek,” she admonished. “Supper's at six and Reverend Chadwick brought a big ham with him on behalf of the congregation.”

“If Bobby wants to stay in the creek, I shall eat his share of the meat,” he said with a wink.

 

Nick was as good as his word, riding into the yard with Bobby at quarter 'til the hour. By the time they'd unsaddled and turned the horses out in the corral, the grandfather clock in the parlor was chiming six times.

“Here we are, ma'am, right on schedule,” Nick said, pronouncing it in the British way—“shedule” instead of “schedule.” She watched him, noting the way his still-damp hair clung to his neck while he sniffed with obvious appreciation of the savory-smelling, covered iron pot she carried to the table with the aid of a thick dish towel.

“Your promptness is appreciated,” she said lightly, although what she was really appreciating was the strong, freshly shaved curve of his jaw. Nick Brookfield was compelling even when tired and rumpled; when rested and freshly bathed, he was a very handsome man, indeed. She wrenched her eyes away, lest he catch her staring. “You can sit over there, across from Bobby,” she said, pointing to a chair on the far side of the rectangular, rough-hewn table that had been laid with a checkered gingham cloth.

“How about Josh? Would you like me to take him his supper and help him eat first?”

“Oh, he's already eaten,” Sarah said. “He's not up to anything but a little soup yet, but he took that well at least. Maybe tomorrow he can eat a little more and even join us at the table.”

Milly was moved that Nick had thought of the injured old cowboy's needs before his own. She watched now as he seated himself gracefully, then waited.

“Nick, since this is your first meal with us, would
you like to say the blessing?” You could tell a lot about a man by the way he reacted to such a request, Pa always said.

Nick hesitated, but only for a moment. “I'd be honored,” he said, and bowed his head. “Lord, we'd like to thank You for this bountiful meal and the good people from the church who provided it, and the hands that prepared it. And we thank You for saving the house, and Josh, and please protect the ranch and those who live here from the Indians. Amen.”

“Thank you. That was very nice, wasn't it, Milly?” Sarah asked.

“Uh-huh.” Milly thought Nick sounded like a man accustomed to speaking to his Lord, but Pa had also said sometimes folks could talk the talk, even if they didn't walk the walk. “Here, Nick, take some ham,” she said, handing him the platter, while she passed a large bowl of black-eyed peas flavored with diced ham to Bobby. He took a couple of slices, then passed it down to Sarah.

“We always pass the meat to Bobby last, because there'll be nothing left after he's had a chance at it,” Sarah teased from her end of the table.

Bobby, who'd been watching the progress of the ham platter as it made its way down the table, just grinned.

“He's still a growing lad, aren't you, Bobby?” Nick said, smiling.

“I reckon I am,” Bobby agreed. “Uncle Josh says I got hollow legs. Look, Miss Milly, I think my arms have growed some.” After helping himself to a handful of biscuits, he extended an arm. The frayed cuff extended only a little past the middle of his forearm.

“
Grown
some,” Milly corrected automatically, taking a knifeful of butter and passing the butter dish. “I suppose I'll have to buy some sturdy cloth at the mercantile next time I'm there and make you a couple of new ones. Josh probably needs a couple, too, though I know he'll say just to patch the elbows.” She sighed. While making clothing was actually something she was good at, even better than Sarah, trying to find the cash to buy cloth or anything extra right now would be difficult. “Nick, what did you think of our land?” she said, deliberately changing the subject. She could fret about Bobby's outgrown shirts later.

“It seems good ranch country, to my novice eyes,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “Much bigger than I thought. We didn't even get to the western boundary, or we would have been late returning.”

“It's actually one of the smaller ranches in San Saba County,” Milly said, but she appreciated how impressed he seemed.

“Is that right? Back in Sussex, you two would be prominent landowners. They'd have called your father ‘Squire.' Most English country folk have very small plots and rent from the local noble or squire. I noticed there's fence needing repair along your boundary with Mr. Waters's land, by the way.”

Before she could stop herself, another sigh escaped. “Yes, he won't repair it. He doesn't think there should be fences—‘Just let the cattle run wild 'til the fall roundup, just like we always did,'” she said, deepening her voice to imitate the man. “I suspect he used to brand quite a few yearlings as his that were actually ours, before Pa put up his fence.”

“Has he always been a difficult man?”

Milly shrugged. “He isn't really difficult, only set in his ways.” He hadn't acted this way when Pa was alive, of course. And before the war he had cherished dreams of gaining the ranch by his son marrying Milly, or even Sarah. Milly supposed she couldn't blame the man for wanting to enlarge his property by persuading her to sell out—and only time would tell if he had been right that a woman couldn't manage a ranch.

Suppertime passed pleasantly. Nick Brookfield had perfect table manners and ate like a man with a good appetite, although not with the same fervor that Bobby displayed, as if he thought every meal would be his last. When it was over, he thanked them for the delicious meal, especially Sarah for the lightness of her biscuits, which brought a grateful warmth to her sister's eyes.

“Perhaps you should tell me what I should be doing tomorrow,” he said to Milly, as Sarah began to clear away the dishes.

“I think I'll let Josh do that,” she said. “Why don't you go visit with him now for a while? Bobby can see to the horses and the chickens.”

“I will.” He rose. “Would it be all right if sometime tomorrow I went into town? I need to pick up my valise at the boardinghouse, and let the proprietress know I won't be needing the room.”

“Of course,” she said. So he had taken a room at the boardinghouse before coming to meet her and the rest of the ladies, she mused. He'd intended to spend some time getting to know her. “Actually, we need sugar from the general store, if you wouldn't mind picking it up. Oh, and perhaps some tea? Don't Englishmen prefer to
drink that?” At least, she thought she had enough egg money in the old crockery jar to cover those two items. She was going to have to scrimp until they had enough eggs to spare from now on.

“Coffee is fine, Miss Milly. You needn't buy anything specifically for me.”

 

An hour later, he found Milly ensconced in a cane back rocking chair on the porch, reading from a worn leather Bible on her lap.

“What part are you reading?” he said, looking down at it. “Ah, Psalm One—‘Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful,'” he quoted from memory.

Her hazel eyes widened. “Were you a preacher, as well as a soldier and occasional field surgeon?” she asked, gesturing toward the rocker next to her in an unspoken invitation to sit down.

He sat, smiling at her question. “No, but my second oldest brother is in holy orders, vicar of Westfield. They'll probably make him a bishop one day. Any Scripture I know was pounded into my thick head by Richard when I was a lad.”

“And do you read the Bible now?” she asked.

He wished he could say he did. “I…I'm afraid I haven't lately.”

He could see her filing the information away, but her eyes betrayed no judgment about the fact.

“And how did you find Josh? Does he need anything? Is he in pain?”

“He's not in pain, no, but he needs a goodly dose of
patience,” he said, appreciating the fine curve of Milly's neck above the collar of her calico dress. “He's restless, fretting over the need to lie there and be patient while he heals. But I think he's reassured that I can help Bobby handle the ‘chores'—” he gave the word the old man's drawling pronunciation, drawing a chuckle from her “—and keep this place from utter ruin until he can be up and around again. Oh, and he says there's no need to sit up with him tonight, if you'll let him borrow that little handbell of your mother's he can just ring if he needs you.”

“Hmm. That sounds just like him. I'd better check on him a couple of times tonight at least. I can just picture him trying to reach the water pitcher and tearing open those wounds again. That old man would rather die than admit a weakness.”

Nick chuckled. “He said you'd say that, too.”

They were silent for a while. Nick appreciated the cool breeze and the deepening shadows as the fiery orange ball sank behind the purple hills off to their right.

“Nick, why did you leave India, and the army—if you don't mind my asking, that is?” she added quickly.

She must have seen the reflexive stiffening of his frame and the involuntary clenching of his jaw.

“It's getting late, and I'm keeping you from your reading,” he said, rising.

“I'm sorry, that was rude of me to pry. Please forgive me for asking,” she said, rising, too. Her face was dismayed.

“It's all right,” he told her. “I'll tell you about it some
time. But it's a long story.” He'd known the question would come, but it was too soon. He wasn't ready to shatter her illusions about him yet.