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Authors: Pamela BAUER

Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance) (14 page)

BOOK: Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)
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But then she stopped.
It only took a moment for Wood to understand why. A brisk wind carried the first drops of rain. He rolled over and stared up at the ominous clouds hanging over them.
Hannah wasted no time in scrambling to her feet. “We’d better take cover.”
Wood paid no attention. As lightning streaked the sky he realized that this was what he had been waiting for ever since Jeremy had shown him the Nelson forty. A thunderstorm.
“Wood, get in here!” Hannah shouted from the barn.
He didn’t move, but stood in the pouring rain, watching the lightning dance across the sky, wondering if this storm could possibly be the vehicle that would take him back in time.
“Wood, come inside!” Again she screamed at him.
A bolt of lightning produced a crash of thunder that nearly shook the ground he stood on. As the storm crashed around him, he tried not to think about the wisdom of what he was about to do. If he was to return to 1876, he was going to have to risk his life.
Raindrops stung his skin, his heartbeat nearly choked him. He had to go back. To his sister. To the life he knew. He hesitated only a moment, then headed for an ash tree.
“Wood, what are you doing? Come inside, don’t stand under the tree,” Hannah screamed at him but he paid no attention. “Wood, get in here,” she ordered him.
Again lightning flashed and thunder crashed. He thought about his sister, then he looked toward the barn and saw Hannah. She was running toward him, a look of panic on her face. When she reached him, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the barn.
Her clothing soaked, her hair plastered to her head and water dripping over her face, she panted as she said, “Are you nuts! Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be out in a storm and to stand beneath a tree?” She made a sound of disbelief and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I—” Wood tried to apologize but she cut him off, spinning around to face him.
“Just when I start to think you’re a normal guy you go and do something so stupid!” she shouted.
He tried to pull her into his arms, but she jerked away from his touch. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay away from me, Wood Dumler.”
“Hannah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s the third time you’ve kissed me and it’s going to be the last,” she declared emotionally. “I am your boss and you will not forget it.” She took several steps backward, then added, “Now when this rain is ended, you will sweep out the corn bins and you’d better pray that the crop hasn’t been ruined because if it is, I won’t need you, and you’ll be history.” With those parting words, she spun around and went to the opposite end of the barn to wait out the storm.
Wood could only shake his head. If only she knew that he truly was history. Or was he? As he stared out at the stormy skies, he realized that he was more of a misfit than anything else. He didn’t fit in the twentieth century yet he couldn’t get back to the nineteenth.
And for the first time since he had discovered that he had time traveled through one hundred and twenty-two years he faced another dilemma. Did he want to go back to his old life? One look at Hannah reminded him that life in the twentieth century had something he never had found in 1876. A woman he could love.
Chapter Nine
T
rue to her word, Gabby gave Wood driving lessons. After the first session Wood figured it probably would have been easier to go to the driving school rather than learn from a woman who called the turn signal that blinkie thing and got confused as to which position was reverse and which was drive on the shift lever.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Wood wanted to visit the historical society, he wouldn’t have risked learning to operate Gabby’s car. However, he knew that the only way he could go without arousing suspicion would be to go alone. And without any other means of transportation, he had no choice but to accept Gabby’s offer.
Wood had checked out several books from the library, including one on meteorology which explained the causes and effects of lightning. Instead of giving him hope of finding a way to use lightning to travel through time, he had only become more doubtful that he would survive should that be the vehicle to take him back.
In Wood’s stack of books were several biographies of Jesse James as well as eyewitness accounts of the James Gang’s raid on the bank of Northfield. Nowhere did he find any mention of his sister.
So far his search for information on his sister had been fruitless. From a visit to the county courthouse he had learned that there were no death records for a Hannah Elizabeth Harris or a James Woodson Harris.
Wood knew the historical society might be his last hope. Although Gabby had offered to take him there once harvest was over, Wood knew he couldn’t wait. He left a note for Hannah and borrowed the keys to Gabby’s car.
Wood wasn’t sure which was the greater risk—driving an automobile on roads he had never traveled, or skipping out on working for Hannah. However, once he was at the historical society, he forgot about both. It was there he found the personal diaries of the Nelson family. Wood avidly searched for any mention of his sister Hannah. It was there in a journal entry dated September 22, 1876.
It was written by George Nelson’s son, a doctor who had returned home from New York after his father’s death to settle his estate. He wrote that he had met the woman of his dreams, a Miss Hannah Harris from St. Louis, Missouri. There was only that one entry. Nothing more.
Wood read on, hoping to find another mention of what happened to Edward Nelson. Had he courted Hannah and made her his wife? Was she living as a doctor’s wife in New York? They were questions which haunted Wood, as did his own fate.
The only mention of George Nelson’s murder occurred in an entry where Edward stated that his parents’ murderer had escaped justice. Did that mean that Wood was still the person they thought had killed them?
Wood was about to leave the history center when he noticed a museum display titled “Making Journalism History.” Curious, Wood stepped inside. In the center of the room were various printing presses. Also on display were typewriters and telegraphs and other office furniture from the early days of publishing.
Lining the walls were front pages of newspapers throughout Minnesota’s history. Wood paused under the numbers 1876 and his heart nearly stopped. There on the front of the
St. Paul Tribune
was his photograph beneath a headline that read, “Missouri banker suspected of killing two.”
Wood would have read the entire article, but a couple of women were about to step beside him. Worried that they’d recognize him, he left the display and returned to the resource room. Within minutes, the information clerk had shown him how to find the microfiche of the newspaper and make a photocopy of the article. Wood folded the paper, tucked it in his pocket and took it back to the farm.
 
HANNAH WAS GOING to fire Wood. The man was out of his mind. He had to be. Ever since he had arrived at her farm he had pulled one crazy stunt after another. Now today he had left her high and dry. And for what? To run personal errands? From what he had told her, he didn’t have a personal life. So where had he spent the day?
While Gabby prepared dinner, Hannah paced in the kitchen while she waited for his return. Fuming. Fussing. Ready for a fight.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t important,” Gabby said in Wood’s defense.
“Nothing is more important to me than getting that crop in,” Hannah tossed at her. “Or have you forgotten that we could lose the farm if we don’t get it to market?”
“We’re not going to lose the farm,” Gabby said with an annoying calmness. “If I know Wood, he’ll work twice as hard tomorrow to make up for today.”
What Hannah didn’t need was for her aunt to defend the man she was about to can.
Only she didn’t fire Wood. She couldn’t. When he walked through the kitchen door, looking like a stray puppy in need of a place to lay his head, Hannah’s anger dissolved. She couldn’t hit a man when he was down—and he definitely was down. He looked as if he had lost a huge battle.
But it wasn’t just sympathy that kept Hannah from letting him go. Another emotion had coursed through her when he had walked through the door. Relief. Ever since she had found his note that morning she had harbored the fear that he might simply drive away in Gabby’s car and never return. It was a possibility she hadn’t wanted to face. And not because she’d be shorthanded for harvest. Or because he had Gabby’s car.
She wanted him to be a part of her life. And that was a problem for a woman determined to rely on no man.
“I would be grateful if you could forgive me for my absence.” His voice was flat, his face expressionless.
“I needed you today, Wood. Where were you?” There was no anger in Hannah’s voice, just concern.
“I would appreciate you not inquiring about my personal life,” he answered politely.
“I believe I have a right to know when it affects your work here at the farm,” she kept her voice even, despite feeling hurt by his reply.
They stood facing each other until Gabby stepped between them. “It’s time for dinner. I’m sure Wood will feel more like talking after he’s had something to eat.”
Hannah didn’t think so, judging by the look on his face. Although he said nothing as to his whereabouts, he did behave like the gentleman he always was at dinner. Despite her request that he not treat her like a lady, he pulled out her chair for her, then fussed over Gabby in his usual manner.
“We’ll need to work after dinner,” Hannah announced.
“Wood, you look tired,” Gabby remarked, giving Hannah a look that asked how she could even suggest such a thing.
“I am capable of working this evening, ma’am,” he answered.
“What about my game? Last night you said Wood could play basketball with me after dinner,” Jeremy reminded his mother. “You promised.”
Hannah had always made it a point not to break her word to Jeremy. Therefore, she had no choice but to agree to one hour. “But only one hour,” she specified.
While Hannah and Gabby cleared away the dishes, Wood and Jeremy played basketball. As much as she tried to avoid glancing outside, Hannah was at the window more than she was the sink. Jeremy patiently demonstrated different shots to Wood, who listened with the same attentiveness he always gave Hannah whenever she explained the work around the farm.
“They’re having fun, aren’t they?” Gabby commented as the sound of laughter spilled into the kitchen.
“Jeremy loves basketball,” Hannah said wistfully.
“He likes Wood. Go ahead. Admit it.”
Hannah sighed. “Yes, he .likes Wood. There. I’ve said it. Are you satisfied?” She stepped around her great-aunt to retrieve the broom from the closet.
Gabby grinned smugly and folded her apron neatly before slipping it into a drawer. “It’s good for Jeremy to have a man around the house.”
Hannah paused in the middle of her sweeping, leaning on the broom handle to ask, “I’m not going to fire him. Are you satisfied?”
“You’d be foolish to let him go when you don’t know how long Barry will be gone. Besides, he fits in here. I know you don’t want to admit it, but he does.”
Hannah was beginning to think Wood might fit in at the farm. It seemed crazy to her that she should want to trust someone who had arrived under such bizarre circumstances and had exhibited rather odd behavior, but the truth was, despite everything, her intuition told her Wood was a good man. However, she wasn’t quite ready to admit that to Gabby.
“We both know you’re going to have to replace Barry. Why can’t that someone be Wood?”
“Oh, Gabby, it’s not as simple as you think,” Hannah said on a sigh.
“Oh, I think it is,” she said with a giddy look on her face. “He’s a man of character. It’s there in his nose.”
Hannah hoped her aunt was right.
 
WOOD WAS NOT HAPPY with the way history remembered him. He wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer or even a thief, which is what the newspaper article had insinuated. His mysterious disappearance left a cloud of suspicion that had folks not remembering that he had been a man of integrity whom they’d often turned to for help, but wondering if he had stolen and killed to save his sister.
Not the way any man would choose to be remembered. If there was one word that he would want etched on his tombstone it would be
honest.
Not that it mattered now. There probably was no tombstone. Why would there be? With the exception of a couple of cousins in Chicago, Hannah was his only kin. More than likely his disappearance had simply emancipated her from what she regarded as an interfering brother. She certainly wouldn’t search for him the way he had searched for her.
Falling off that horse and through time may have saved him from death, but it had put him in a predicament no man would envy. Using another man’s identity and deceiving the people who had shown him kindness. What irony it was—in 1876 he had lived as an honest man only to be regarded as a man without honor. Now in 1998, he lived a lie yet Gabby regarded him as an honest man.
A man she wanted to marry her niece. As Wood waited outside for Hannah, he debated whether he should tell her where he had been and why. With all the newspaper clippings he might be able to convince her he wasn’t crazy but simply a man out of time. But she’d also learn that he had been wanted for murder. And he didn’t doubt that she’d realize the reason for the rope bums on his neck and wrists had to do with a lynching, not a beating.
No, she’d never trust him if she knew the truth. And right now more than anything else he wanted to earn Hannah Davis’s trust. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. When she came outside, she barely spoke a word to him.
“You’re angry with me.” Wood had to walk briskly to keep up with her as she strode across the gravel drive.
“As I said, I needed you today.”
“You have my apology. I’ll work as late tonight as you believe is necessary.”
“The beans can’t be harvested at night. Corn yes, soybeans no.” She cut across the grassy knoll separating the chicken coop from the grain bins and headed toward the machinery shed. “And another thing, you shouldn’t be driving Gabby’s car. You don’t have a license.”
“Gabby said lots of people drive these back roads without a license.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” She stopped outside the large metal shed and said, “Wait here.”
A few minutes later out came a truck with Hannah behind the wheel. She pulled up alongside Wood, and called out to him. “Hop in.”
Wood did as she instructed, and had barely shut the door when she took off down the dirt road. Even though he had ridden in her pickup and Gabby’s car, Wood wasn’t quite prepared for the experience, although Hannah handled the truck as easily as she did any of the other machines. He noticed that except for the steering wheel, few things inside the truck resembled Gabby’s car.
“I figured as long as you’ve been sneaking around driving Gabby’s car, you might as well learn to drive this so you can haul the corn for me,” she told him, then came to an abrupt halt.
Dust erupted like a giant cloud. Wood thought he saw Hannah stifle a grin, making him wonder if she didn’t know the effect the ride had on him.
“This is a stick shift.” Her hand rested on a ball atop a stick protruding from the floor. “You don’t move this until you press in the clutch. It’s the pedal to the left of the brake. The trick to getting started is to release the clutch as you step on the gas. Like this.” She put the truck in first gear and slowly moved forward.
Wood listened intently to her instructions, trying not to be distracted by the way the setting sun cast its golden glow on her blond curls. It didn’t help that she smelled like orange blossoms, or that her pink shirt clung to her curves in a most tantalizing way. She was pretty, and even though she could be as stubborn as a mule, she had a way about her that could make a man’s blood rush through his veins until he ached.
Maybe it was the fact that she was capable. He had never met a woman who could run an entire farm by herself. But it wasn’t just the physical labor she tackled. Hannah was strong, inside and out. And it was that thought that oddly he found comforting. Those tiny hands on that big steering wheel maneuvering this giant piece of metal as if it were a kettle on the stove.
BOOK: Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance)
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