Free Adrienne deWolfe by Texas Lover Page B

the children. It touched him in an unexpected way to see the value she placed on things of no monetary worth.
    In the next instant, he was making a face at himself. Yep. My brain is most definitely turning to mush.
    The remaining two drawers revealed little more than school supplies, so he turned his attention to the sideboard, with all its drawers and doors. He knew a grim sense of satisfaction when he found it was locked.
    Apparently Rorie kept something in there that she valued even more than handmade gifts.
    Removing his hat, he fished from the inner lining the widdy that he'd confiscated from a weasel-eyed stagecoach driver, who'd tried to jimmy a passenger's trunk. Wes had a whole collection of ring shiners, knuckle dusters, shaved dice, counterfeit money, and other outlaw memorabilia back home in a box. He kept the widdy with him, though, because it was useful in detective work. He wasn't any Pinkerton, but he'd been known to turn up a fair share of verdict-clinching evidence with helpful gadgets like widdies.
    Setting his hat back on his head, he went to work, jiggling the old, stubborn lock with his thief's pick. He'd no sooner swung open the door, when a bobbing, pig-tailed shadow upon the sideboard caught his eye.
    "Hello, Mr. Wes."
    He didn't know what jumped harder, him or his heart. Turning, he found Merrilee standing in the open doorway holding a basket of flowers at least half her size.
    "Hello, Merrilee."
    He tried to smile, but it was hard to appear innocent when facing those big, mahogany eyes.
    "What are you doing in Miss Rorie's private cabinet?"
    "Well, I..." He glanced down, straining to come up with a plausible lie, and noticed the wilted flower twined around his belt loop. Remembering the annoying honeybee he'd had to squash earlier, he looked back at Merrilee. "I, er, was looking for medicine."
    Merrilee's eyes grew even bigger, if that was possible. "Medicine? Are you sick?"
    With a sleight of hand that a cardsharp would have envied, he slipped the widdy into his back pocket. "Not as sick as that honeybee is."
    This humor was clearly lost on Merrilee. She frowned. "What's wrong with the honeybee?"
    His smile was genuine this time as he struggled not to laugh. "That old bee had a run-in with my belly, and since I don't much like to be stung—"
    Merrilee's gasp cut him off, and she dropped her basket, spilling flowers all over her moccasins. "Bee sting?"
    She was backing for the door, and Wes saw instantly that he'd made a mistake;.
    "It wasn't a very big bee sting—"
    "I'll get Miss Rorie."
    "Merrilee, wait!"
    But she was already hurrying down the hall, her pigtails bouncing behind her.
    Wes muttered an oath. God love the child, she meant well, but he was going to have a helluva time explaining to Rorie how he'd opened her locked cabinet, not to mention why he was snooping in the first place. He didn't think she'd believe the medicine story, and that meant he would have to come up with some other whopper. Unless...
    He smiled wickedly to himself.
    Unless he found some way to distract her.
    * * *
    "Miss Rorie!"
    Rorie started to hear Merrilee—shy, respectful Merrilee—call her by her childhood nickname. She supposed it was inevitable, though. The previous night during prayers, Topher had slyly tested the waters in front of the other children by asking God to bless "Miss Rorie."
    That morning, she'd learned Topher's influence had spread to Po, when the toddler presented her with the biggest, ugliest toad she'd ever seen in her life and crowed, "Lookie, lookie! I named him Miss Wor-wee!"
    Somehow, she'd managed to greet her new namesake with decorum.
    In truth, Rorie didn't mind the orphans using her childhood name, since she'd often wished Jarrod would do the same as proof of his affection for her.
    What Rorie did mind was the implication behind Wes's use of the name. She had no intention of encouraging a greater familiarity with her hired hand, nor did she want her children to. Unfortunately, the