“So, when’s the big day, Tex?”
Bent over and in the process of cleaning out the front hoof of one of the steam donkey’s mule team, Noah Lawson shot a startled, upside-down look at Coffee Boiler as the older man stood in the entrance of the Company barn at early sunset. The horse wrangler and his crew were hard at work putting the animals to bed, and the stable buzzed with activity. In his little corner off the entrance, however, Noah remained alone, except for the animal he’d been tending. He was spared an immediate answer, when, sensing his inattention, the mule chose that moment to jerk its leg from his gentle grasp, braying its imminent triumph loudly.
“Whoa! Not so fast, Abe. You’re not leavin’ till I’ve had my way with you,” Noah crooned, the mule’s foot still firmly held within his grasp. A disbelieving snort erupted from behind, while a short-lived tug-of-war between man and beast ensued, with the horse wrangler emerging as the victor. Some, such as the teamster Coffee Boiler, might consider naming a mule after the recently assassinated president impertinent, but Noah had done so out of respect. After all, hadn’t Abraham Lincoln bucked popular opinion to lead their country to freedom for all men, regardless of color, and stood steadfastly behind his choice? And wasn’t a mule just such a mammal, with its superior intelligence, independent thinking, and unwavering loyalty to the owner who earned its trust? Noah felt the comparison held merit, but fully understood peoples’ incredulity when they first heard the animal’s name. Too bad.
“What’d you say, Coffee?” Noah asked, stalling for time over a question which he realized the answer needed to be worded just so. He and Emmaline had been riding the sled to the cookhouse for nearly ten days now, and people had begun taking notice. It was what they wanted, this curious attention from bystanders, but now Noah felt heat crawl up his neck at the thought of out-and-out lying to people he knew, like Coffee Boiler.
“I asked, when you gettin’ hitched to that pretty little hasher over at the cookhouse? I’ve seen the two of you canoodling on that big ole sled of yours every morning. Seems to be boilin’ up between the two of you faster than my morning pot o’ coffee. A man’s got a right to know, in case he wants to throw his hat in the ring for her as well.”
Noah dropped Abe’s foot unceremoniously to the ground and straightened, whipping about and narrowing disbelieving eyes on the heavier, older man grinning across the space at him. You’ve got to be foolin’ me, came Noah’s first thought. The man topped his own age by at least ten years, and carried more weight on him than was healthy! The unbidden image of Coffee flattening dainty Miss Emmaline under him in the marriage bed flashed before Noah’s eyes, and the horse wrangler shook his head to clear the sickening notion from his mind. She was only twenty-two, for crying out loud! The teamster would be robbing the cradle!
Tread carefully, the warning screamed through Lawson’s head as he slapped the hoof pick negligently against the palm of one hand and cocked a hip. Whatever he said here would feed the rumor mill by evening, so therefore he had to lend the answer some credence. Shoving back the very thought of Miss Emmie and Coffee Boiler heating up the sheets from his disbelieving mind, Noah pushed his hat off his forehead using the pick and replied with a hint of his Texas drawl, “Too late, Coffee. Not meanin’ to brag or whatnot, but I’ve lassoed Miss Townsend’s heart pretty firmly. We’ve been seein’ each other in town for a while now, and gettin’ mighty close. I’ve already spoken to her brother, matter of fact. No need to wait for nuptials if both parties are like-minded, I say.” Noah smiled smugly to reinforce his glib comment, the easy-going words belying the anxiety within his mind and heart.
“Piss off!” The other man uttered in disbelief. “The horse wrangler’s gettin’ himself hitched?” Coffee’s eyes narrowed and took on a suddenly mean glint, but it disappeared so fast Noah thought he might have imagined it. But not the words that followed the look.
Pushing his own hat back to expose his round face, Coffee said innocently enough, “That little gal seems like a might too much woman for a hay seed kinda fella as yourself, Tex, if you catch my drift.” Here his hands cupped the air in front of his chest, miming the impressively round bosoms Noah had indeed noticed on the lovely Miss Emmaline Townsend. Noah ignited into a slow burn. “You just seem more comfortable around the stable than the bedroom, all’s I’m saying, Lawson. Addin’ in the fact that with age comes experience, an’ I start to wonder if you got what it takes to satisfy a little filly as…endowed… as that Townsend girl. I’m bettin’ once she’s introduced to lovemakin’, she might just wear you out, Tex!” The older teamster cackled at his own off-color humor, ignorant of the white-hot rage rampaging through Noah Lawson like poison from an Apache arrowhead. It took all the self-control he’d honed over the years not to haul the man up by his collar and sock that lascivious look off Coffee’s fat face!
Regardless of whether they were marrying for convenience or not, Noah did not cotton to a woman being discussed in such an uncouth manner. Add to that the guilt of his own attention to those soft body parts she displayed, and his anger doubled. He’d been guilty of the same ogling. Of course, he alone understood what her body was going through. He’d tended enough pregnant mares in his lifetime to recognize the signs of an expectant female. Certain aspects within nature were replicated throughout the species, and pregnancy was one. Miss Emmaline’s body was readying itself for nursing, and, just like a mare bagging up during its lying-in, so were her…breasts. Oh, Noah had definitely noticed how tightly Emmaline’s clothes were fitting over her chest, as well as how tightly his pants were now pulling just thinking about her enlarging silhouette! Though if she knew he was comparing her to a pregnant horse she’d probably box his ears. And none of these prurient thoughts were putting the lewd-thinking lout before him securely back in his place.
Maintaining the nonchalance he no longer felt, Noah shook his head slowly, replying on an exaggerated drawl, “Don’t you worry none about my expertise, Boiler. I’m pretty confident in my own skills, and that’s a fact. I’ve got the stamina of a racehorse and the tenacity of one of those English bloodhounds. You just worry about your own love life, Coffee, an’ I won’t be worryin’ about mine.” Here Noah concluded with a strained grin, barely refraining from punching the older driver in mid-leer. He remained hip-shot, both hands shoved into his rear hip pockets, flannel shirt pulling across his chest as he waited for Coffee’s response. Anticipation hummed through his body like the last chords of a beloved waltz.
He saw when the older driver lost interest; released the pent up breath he’d been holding as Coffee Boiler let out a final, disbelieving snort, shaking his head and saying while turning aside, “Well, all’s I gotta say is you are one lucky bastard, Tex. That little hasher is a looker, an’ the boys are all gonna be heartbroken when they find out she’s been taken off the shelf. When’s the big day?”
He’d turned back to face Noah just as the wrangler eased his hands from his pockets. Noah straightened, uneasily patting Abe on the rump while cutting another sidelong glance toward the older man, replying, “Soon as possible. Her brother just has to get us the preacher.” He forced his gaze to meet Coffee’s head-on. The implication that he and Emmaline couldn’t wait to get their hands on each other hung unspoken between the two men. This was the test. If Coffee, the dirty old man, believed in his, Noah’s, eagerness to get laid, than the real reason for their shotgun marriage had a good chance of remaining undiscovered. He decided to put down another layer of deceit.
“The morning I’m not here first thing, you’ll know the deed’s been done.” His humorless smile stretched wider, as Noah left it vague as to which deed he was referring. Of course Coffee assumed the more lewd reference, laughing and slapping his knee with his hat while replying, “You’re all right, Lawson, for a horsey kinda guy. Just let me know if’n you ever need any hep! Congrats, son,” and that man about-faced, strolling out of the barn into the darkening Northwest evening, his shadow taking on a menacing appearance even as it retreated from Noah’s presence.
