How to Lasso a Cowboy (7 page)

“Evenin', miss.” One man stood as she neared. Tall and thin, his mustache hung below his jawline.

“Evenin', miss,” the other echoed in a slurred voice. “Nice night for a walk.” He tried to stand, but fell over the arm of the chair and almost tumbled off the porch. “Wanta join us?”

Fear contracted Mary's muscles. Her lungs refused to pull in air, her hands clutched the books she carried as if they somehow could hold her afloat. She heard the jingle of their spurs as the two cowboys moved on either side of her. Their shadows crossed over her, landing invisible blows, stirring terror into her blood.

“How about we walk you home, Miss Woodburn?” The first cowboy took her arm as her name rolled too freely off his tongue. “Whatta you say, Frank? We should walk the Yankee's sister home?”

She attempted to pull away. The music from the saloon door was so loud no one would hear her if she screamed. “No,” she tried to say without sounding frightened. “I can make it home fine. I've only a short way.”

“Yeah.” Frank moved closer, almost falling into her as he tried to take her arm. His breath polluted the air with the smell of bad whiskey. “We'll walk you home, girl.”

“N-no,” Mary managed to say. “Leave me alone.” She
fought to free her arm, but the tall cowboy held tightly. “I have to go. My brother is waiting for me.”

Frank snickered. “No, he ain't. We seen him driving out of here with a load of apple crates.” He snorted a laugh as if Mary were simply playing a game with him. “Only one place your brother would be taking them: Kiley's farm. He won't be back for an hour, maybe more.”

The hold on her arm tightened as the other drunk leaned closer. “We'll have time to get to know one another real well by then. We heard tell you like getting to know cowboys.”

“No!” Mary dropped the books and tried to free herself. “Leave me alone!”

As panic and fear strangled her, she heard the jingle of a third man's spurs coming up from behind her in quick, pounding strides.

Suddenly the thin cowboy turned loose her arm as he flew across the porch and hit against the saloon's wall with the thud of a ripe pumpkin. Frank stumbled away, mumbling that he wanted no part of a fight.

Mary felt his nearness even before the man behind her stepped into the light.

“Miss Woodburn, are you all right?”

He stood so close she could feel the warmth of his words against her cheek. She was so relieved to see Cooper Adams she almost hugged him. He bent and picked up the books she'd dropped. When he stood, he whispered, “Would you allow me to see you safely home?”

Shyly, she took his arm, unsure she trusted him, but knowing she didn't trust the two men watching them.

He placed his hand over her fingers as they rested on his sleeve. “It's all right, Mary,” he added as soon as they were far enough away that the two drunks couldn't hear. “You're safe now.”

They moved between the shadows of the stores, strolling as if they were no more than a courting couple out for a walk. She couldn't stop shaking and hated herself for being so weak. This was a country where bravery was highly
valued and she must be proving herself the greatest coward in the state.

Cooper slowed to a stop. “Mary, are you really all right?”

“No.” Panic still darted through her veins like tadpoles swimming in warm water. “I-I'm sorry.” It made no sense. The unpleasantness with the cowboys was over. But she couldn't relax, her body wouldn't stop shaking.

At the steps between porches, Cooper faced her. He stood one stair below so that their eyes met. “Mary?” he asked as he opened his arms.

If he'd tried to hold her, if he'd made a move toward her, she would have run. But he didn't. He just stood there and waited.

Mary closed the space between them. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let her entire body melt against him. Needing the comfort he offered. Wanting, for once, not to be afraid.

Cooper gently closed her into the circle of his arms. He held her tightly, protectively. “You're all right now, Mary,” he whispered against her hair. “No one is going to hurt you.”

The shaking stopped; she breathed. For the first time in years she relaxed, feeling shielded from all harm. This man she'd watched for so long, wondering what he thought, had somehow read her mind tonight and offered the one thing she needed, shelter from fear.

Cooper Adams, a man she hardly knew, took no advantage, made no improper move. He held her safe in his solid arms. The warmth of his body pressed into hers like a soothing, healing balm.

For a long while, she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Finally, he lifted her up as if she were no more than a sleeping child and carried her to the mercantile.

When he lowered her at the door, he touched his hat. “Good night, Miss Woodburn,” he said formally as if they hadn't just held one another a moment before. “Will you be all right until your brother gets home?”

Mary nodded. She thought of asking him in but knew Miles would be furious if he came home and found Cooper Adams inside the store. “Thank you,” she said as she unlocked the door.

“You're welcome.” He stepped away without another word.

She climbed the stairs to the apartment. Once locked inside, she crossed to the window before she turned on any lights. There, across the street, hidden in shadows, she saw Cooper's outline leaning against a wall. He watched, waiting to make sure she was safe.

Mary smiled. She had her own private guardian angel.

An hour later when Miles pulled the wagon to the side entrance, she looked out the window again. As Miles climbed down from his wagon, she saw Cooper move away, unnoticed by anyone but her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, wishing he could hear her.

He glanced up at her window as if he caught her words on the wind, then disappeared into the night.

 
COOPER COULDN'T GET
Mary Woodburn out of his mind. The woman was a plague worse than yellow fever. For the next few days she managed to creep into his every thought. It was just a matter of time before he talked about her the way Winnie talked about Woodburn, relating every topic of conversation to him. His sister hardly knew the man, yet somehow he'd become her center.

Johanna and Emma convinced Cooper they needed to schedule the shindig before the weather turned cold. By the end of the week they had half his men doing odd jobs for them and running errands as though the cowhands were part of the social committee.

Cooper worked longer hours rounding up cattle for the season's last drive to market and trying to stay out of his sisters' way. After a day of branding, he returned just before sundown covered in mud. He brushed and fed his horse, then walked toward the house, musing that it would take more than one tub of bathwater to get him clean.

He'd almost reached the porch when he spotted Miles Woodburn's delivery wagon pulled up by the front gate. The man sat there as if unsure whether he wanted to come onto Cooper's land.

Removing his hat, Cooper waved the mercantile owner forward. Maybe Woodburn had had trouble on the road while making a delivery. Maybe he needed help. Not liking the man wouldn't keep Cooper from being neighborly.

Woodburn pulled the rig forward, but stopped short of the front porch, and well out of sight of anyone inside the house.

Cooper walked up to the side of the wagon, wishing Mary were here with her brother. “Evenin',” he said without smiling. “Having trouble, or is this a social call?” If Woodburn had stopped by to warn him to stay away from Mary one more time, Cooper might have to knock some sense into the man.

“It's not a social call. In fact, I'd just as soon your sisters not know I'm here.” Woodburn appeared hesitant, uncertain.

“All right. What's on your mind?” Cooper wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling this wasn't about Mary. He would bet his best cutting horse Mary hadn't told her brother about the night he'd walked her home. Cooper wondered if she felt him against her the way he swore he still felt her body against his.

Woodburn climbed down from the rickety old wagon and faced Cooper. “I don't know how to say this other than straight out.” He looked like he swallowed poison with each word. “I think your sister stole my luggage.”

“What?” Of all the things Cooper thought might be on the Yankee's mind, this wasn't even on the list. “That's impossible.” None of his sisters ever stole anything in their lives.

Woodburn seemed embarrassed to say more, which was all that kept Cooper from swinging at him. “The stage line only has one unclaimed bag and it's mostly filled with sewing notions. They keep saying it's the bag that I shipped
from Sherman. I traveled by horseback from there the same day your sisters arrived by stage. I remember them climbing into the coach at Sherman as the driver tossed my bag up top and said he'd see me in Minnow Springs. All I can figure out is that one of them took my luggage and left her own unclaimed.”

Cooper swore. “Impossible!”

“I thought so too, at first. My case was new, brown. The one at the station is black, but it looks brand new and made about the same as mine. Your sisters were the only ones who could have taken it unless it fell off the stage somewhere along the trail. That still wouldn't explain the extra unclaimed piece. If one of them took mine, why wouldn't she claim her own?”

“You've got some nerve, Woodburn, accusing one of them of such a thing,” Cooper shouted as he remembered the morning Winnie arrived. She hadn't remembered the color of her bag, or how to get it open. She'd worn her traveling clothes until he'd taken her to town to shop. “My sisters are not thieves!” He yelled the words as if ordering them to be true.

Woodburn looked as miserable as Cooper felt. “Then why didn't they return my luggage? Theft is the only reason I can come up with and that doesn't make much sense since my bag only contained clothes and the journal I've kept since the war.”

Cooper wanted to flatten Woodburn. The man had been asking for it for years. The way he talked, reminding everyone he was not a Southerner. The way he looked down on folks in town. The way he wormed his way into every conversation Cooper had with Winnie lately. Anyone would think she'd known him for years, knew his every thought, the way she talked about him.

Grabbing the front of Woodburn's jacket, Cooper pulled him forward as his right fist connected with Woodburn's jaw in a powerful pop.

The Yankee made no move to defend himself.

Cooper seized the other side of his jacket and hauled
Woodburn to within an inch of his nose. “No man insults my sisters.”

He shoved the Yankee hard against the wagon and delivered a blow to his midsection. Just as his fist connected, Winnie's scream shattered the air.

“Stop!” She ran toward them. “Stop!”

Cooper backed away, letting Woodburn crumple to the ground like a broken toy. He held his arms open to Winnie, planning to assure her he was all right, the Yankee hadn't landed a single blow.

But Winnie ran right past him and knelt beside Woodburn. “Miles! Miles! Are you all right?”

Hooking his hand under Winnie's arm, Cooper tried to pull her to her feet. The shock of seeing her brother fighting must have pushed her over the edge. Woodburn was also trying to push the crazy woman away from him, but Winnie would have none of it. She felt Woodburn's face and patted on him as though trying to fluff a pillow, while she searched for any breaks or blood.

“Winnie.” Cooper pulled harder, but lifting her was like trying to shovel quicksand. “You don't know what this is about. Stay out of it.”

“No! You don't know.” She leaned over the shop owner, wiping her tears off his lapel. “Miles won't fight you. He swore he would never lift a hand against another man after the war. He's never told anyone, not even his sister, but he'd let someone beat him to death before he fought again.”

She continued patting on the man. Cooper stepped back, trying to clear his mind. He'd caught his sister's insanity. She worried over Woodburn and, in Cooper's opinion, Woodburn wasn't making near enough protest.