Her Last Chance Cowboy

by Tina Radcliffe

  Chapter Three

  Hannah slipped from her seat in a back row pew of the Timber Community Church the minute Pastor Parr dismissed the service. She’d barely taken a step when she ran into a wall of muscle and her Bible fell from her hands to the carpeted floor of the chapel. Stunned, she found herself inches from Tripp Walker as he scooped up the good book and offered it to her.

  Accepting the tome from the lean cowboy, she stepped back and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from her simple cap sleeve lavender dress while avoiding eye contact. She would not notice his clean-shaven face, nor how blue his eyes were in that teal chambray shirt and navy tie.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Without another word, she hurried past him to the church nursery hall to fetch Clementine.

  Eyes on the room numbers, Hannah walked slowly down the long hall until she found Clementine’s class. In the doorway of the next classroom, Lucy Maxwell Harris stood with a baby in her arms, herding three identical children into the hall. The triplets waved construction paper with colorful paintings and all jabbered at the same time.

  Lucy looked up and her gaze met Hannah’s. Her face lit up, and she seemed genuinely pleased at the encounter. “Hannah! Good to see you.”

  Hannah smiled at the unexpected welcome.

  “How’s your arm? I heard about Rowdy.”

  “A scratch. I’ve been upgraded from critical to a small bandage.”

  “That’s good,” Lucy returned.

  “This is your family?” Hannah asked, eager to change the subject.

  “It is.” Lucy put a hand on the heads of each of the tow-headed children, one at a time. “Dub, Eva and Ann. They’re seven now.” Then she smiled down at the dark-haired baby with the sweet curls. “This is Daniel.”

  “Your family is precious.” The words couldn’t be any truer. Love radiated from the children’s faces to their mother. “How old is Daniel?”

  “Five months old this week.” Lucy pressed a soft kiss to the infant’s forehead. “Born on Christmas.”

  A Christmas baby. Like Hannah’s baby would be, perhaps.

  “Would you and your daughter like to join us for lunch?” Lucy asked. “Emma cooks on Sundays.”

  “I, um... That’s very generous of you.” Hannah stumbled over her words, surprised at the offer. “Clementine and I have plans. But thank you.”

  They did have plans, though in truth, until she could prove she was family she was an outsider and didn’t want to be an interloper, as well. Besides, Tripp might be there and she’d had her quota of disapproving glances for the week.

  “Where are we going, Momma?” Clementine asked once they were in the car headed to downtown Timber.

  “It’s Sunday, sweetie.”

  Clementine’s eyes lit up.

  The very least she could do for her daughter was maintain some semblance of routine over the last few weeks since they left Missouri. Sundays were for church and a special meal together. They’d kept that tradition while in Colorado and would continue here in Oklahoma.

  “Pancakes?” Clementine asked with a hopeful lift of her brows.

  “Whatever my girl wants.” When they stopped at a light, Hannah reached into the back seat to straighten the pink bow in her daughter’s hair.

  “With whipped cream?”

  “Of course.”

  Hannah passed the Timber Diner on Main Street and searched for a parking spot, finally pulling in outside the Timber Daily Gazette, which was closed.

  A smiling server met them as they slid into a booth in the diner. “Coffee, ma’am?” the young woman asked.

  “Decaf, please.”

  The server placed crayons and a paper placemat to color in front of Clementine. “And for you, miss?”

  “Strawberry pancakes with whipped cream, please,” Clementine said.

  Hannah glanced around as her daughter examined the crayons. The view from the booth was limited. We could have sat at a table. The thought made her smile. No more hiding from whatever private detective her grandmother had hired. She was free.

  “What did you do in Sunday school class, Clemmie?”

  “I showed you my picture.” Her daughter concentrated on coloring without looking up.

  “Yes, and it’s a beautiful picture of a pink horse and a house.”

  “No, Momma. That’s Big Heart Ranch where my pink horse lives and so do I. Forever and ever.”

  Forever and ever. But only if the DNA test showed they were Maxwells.

  She looked up and met the gaze of a tall, thin cowboy she didn’t recognize. At least not from Big Heart Ranch. He stared first at her and then at Clementine. When the man realized she was looking back, he eased from the counter stool and headed out the door. Hannah shivered, offering up self-talk. Nothing to worry about. Those days are gone. Just a coincidence our gazes met.

  When their server slid their plates in front of them, Hannah released the worrisome thoughts and took Clementine’s hand for a mealtime prayer.

  Hannah placed her napkin on her lap and tried to relax as her daughter dug right in.

  “Good pancakes,” Clementine mumbled.

  “Sweetie, don’t talk while you’re chewing.” She reached for a napkin and swiped at the whipped cream on her daughter’s face.

  Outside the window, budding tree branches reached for the Oklahoma blue sky where the spring sun peeked out from the clouds.

  The clatter of silverware hitting the floor had Hannah turning her head back to the table. Clementine squirmed off the bench to retrieve a fork from the ground. She stood and pointed with the utensil. “Look, Momma. Mr. Tripp.”

  Hannah cringed as several patrons turned at the outburst. “Oh, sweetie, put down that fork. It’s not polite to point.”

  Timber, Oklahoma, wasn’t a big town, yet it still seemed odd that she wasn’t able to go a day without running into Tripp Walker. Hannah dared to look up to confirm her daughter’s comment. Yes, the cowboy’s dusty boots were taking him across the room toward their booth. He’d changed into Levi’s and a plaid Western shirt, but failed to look any less handsome and intimidating.

  “Made it to church and to town, so I guess that means your car is still doing okay,” Tripp said.

  “Yes. Thank you for...” She raised her bandaged arm. “You know.”

  He pushed his hat to the back of his head with a finger and nodded.

  “Did you eat pancakes, too, Mr. Tripp?” Clementine asked.

  Hannah shot her daughter the behave yourself glance, willing the child not to embarrass her further.

  “I did. I always have pancakes on Sunday,” he returned. “Just like you are.”

  Clementine’s face lit up at the words.

  “You don’t have family dinner with the Maxwells?” Hannah asked. The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. What was she thinking asking such a personal question? It was none of her business, nor her matter to consider.

  “Nothing better than a little alone time one day a week,” he said without further explanation.

  “You don’t spend Sundays with family?” Oh, she was really on a roll now. Her mouth was clearly in gear and bypassing her brain. And did she imagine it, or did he tense at the question?

  Tripp stared out the window. “No, ma’am.” The cowboy blinked and his gaze returned to the table, moving from Hannah to Clementine. “I wanted to apologize for being a bit harsh yesterday.”

  “I, um...” Hannah nearly fell out of her seat at the unexpected admission. A suitable response failed her.

  Tripp tipped his hat and turned. “You two have a nice day.”

  “Bye, Mr. Tripp,” Clementine murmured between bites.

  “Bye, Miss Clementine,” he said as his long strides carried him away as quickly as he had appeared.

  What just happened? Hannah sat back and did a men
tal play-by-play of the situation while her daughter finished off her meal, but minutes later, she still remained confused by the cowboy’s hot and cold attitude.

  When Clementine inched a pudgy finger onto her plate to wipe up the remaining syrup, Hannah flagged down the server as she passed by their booth.

  “Ma’am, do you need more coffee?” the young woman asked.

  “No, thank you. We’re done, and my daughter gives your pancakes a thumbs-up.”

  “That’s what we like to hear.” The server grinned as she picked up their dishes.

  “May I have the check?” Hannah asked.

  “Oh, Mr. Walker paid for your meal and left me a generous tip.” She smiled. “Y’all have a blessed Sunday.”

  Stunned, Hannah tried to wrap her mind around the fact that Tripp Walker paid for their brunch as she pulled a wet wipe from her purse and washed Clementine’s sticky fingers.

  “Mommy, I’m clean,” Clementine declared.

  “So you are, Clemmie.”

  Confused, Hannah glanced up and down the sidewalk for the cowboy as they headed to their car. She didn’t know what to make of the gesture. Did he think she needed a handout? She’d taken care of herself and her daughter for many years.

  It was time to put Mr. Tripp Walker in his place. Hannah Vincent didn’t need help, nor did she want any handouts.

  * * *

  “This is the day that the Lord has made,” Tripp said as he unlocked the door to his office on Monday morning and turned on the lights.

  Sunday’s sermon had been about compassion and second chances. Apparently, the good Lord thought he needed to review. And He was right. Tripp repented while kneeling in the pew and followed through with an apology to Hannah at the diner.

  Though he still wasn’t thrilled about working in proximity with Hannah Vincent, he’d manage until further notice or Slats provided him with information that changed the situation.

  Tripp grimaced, not certain contacting the private investigator was a wise move or fell in line with Pastor Parr’s sermon goals. It was a little late for regrets, he reminded himself while absently rubbing his hand over the scar on his face. Slats informed him yesterday as they crossed paths outside the diner that he was on the job. Tripp could only pray that Hannah came up smelling like an Oklahoma rose.

  He glanced at the clock and then his cramped office. Dutch had helped him move a desk and computer into the room for Hannah. It was in the opposite corner from his own desk and faced the window.

  That way she could see into the stables...at least, that was his rationalization of the situation. In truth, he didn’t need to be staring at the woman eight hours a day even if she did have long eyelashes and a pretty face. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone but his horse.

  Tripp turned at a knock on the door.

  Hannah stood in the doorway looking like someone stole her puppy. “Sorry I’m late. It was Clementine’s first day in daycare.”

  “First day? Like, ever? Or just here at the ranch?”

  “Ever, except for the church nursery on Sundays. We’ve always been together.”

  “What about when you worked?”

  “I always found a way to keep her with me.”

  “Overprotective?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how’s she doing?”

  Hannah bit her lip. “Clementine is fine. It’s her mother who’s having adjustment issues.”

  “You can check on her during the day, if that will help.”

  Her eyes rounded with cautious hope. “That would be okay with you?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stood awkwardly for a few seconds before he remembered what he was supposed to do.

  “That’s your desk,” he finally said. “I’ve put your tentative schedule on top. When I’m here, you’re here. That means basically we work one Saturday a month. The staff alternate working Saturdays. Chores are scheduled for Sunday, but everyone is expected to be in church. Those are ranch rules.”

  Hannah offered a short nod as she stepped hesitantly into the office, put her purse in the bottom desk drawer and sat down. She turned to him. “Mr. Walker, thank you for picking up our tab yesterday, but it was wholly unnecessary.”

  Her expression tacked the word unwanted onto the end of her spiel.

  “I’m not looking for handouts,” she continued.

  “First, I’m Tripp. Not Mr. Walker.” He tipped back his tan cowboy hat on his head and then crossed his arms. “Second, there’s no need to get offended. I was paying it forward.”

  “Paying it forward?”

  “Yeah. Don’t overthink the situation.”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

  “Did you complete the paperwork at human resources?” he asked.

  “Yes. They fingerprinted me, and I have my security pass for the gate. I’m ready to go, pending the results of the background check.”

  “Your temporary password and login information are on that paper on the desk. You have an appointment with Iris, Lucy’s admin, over at the administration building this afternoon. She’ll walk you through the programs we use on the ranch, payroll, vendor orders and scheduling.”

  “Oh, I thought you would...”

  “You don’t want me teaching you anything that has to do with a computer. I type with two fingers and I barely speak the language.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “I’ll show you around the boys’ ranch stables today and tomorrow we’ll go over to the girls’ ranch.”

  “’Scuse me, Tripp. Got a problem with Rowdy again. He’s holding his hoof off the ground, and he won’t let me near him.”

  He looked to Hannah. “We can do the tour later.”

  “Of course.”

  Rowdy, again. The horse was a stout nine-year-old Sorrel gelding with a flaxen mane and long, flowing flaxen tail. Perfect for the riding program...or so he’d thought. Besides the horse’s fear of trailers, clearly something had happened since Tripp first saw the horse and now. Rowdy moved back with each step Tripp made toward him.

  “Easy, boy. Easy.”

  When he got close enough to touch him, Tripp ran a hand over his withers, slowly massaging back and forth, until the horse was relaxed. Finally, he eased his hand toward the animal’s affected leg, inching closer, slowly and patiently. He moved toward the horse’s ankle, gaining trust until Rowdy was willing to let him hold his foot and examine the hoof.

  “Stone in here. I’m guessing he came over to us like that. It’s festered. He’ll need the vet and the farrier.”

  “They don’t call him the horse whisperer for nothing,” Dutch said with a nod to Hannah.

  “That’s what they call him?” Hannah asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t listen to that horse whisperer malarkey. What I do is called common sense,” Tripp said as he strode past them toward the stables.

  “Where are you going?” Dutch hollered after him.

  “To call the vet.”

  Hannah walked up and down the equine center looking into stalls as Tripp talked to the vet. By the time his conversation was completed and he was back at his desk, she had moved into the office, sat at her desk and logged into the computer.

  “The sign-up deadline for that mustang competition is coming up,” she murmured.

  Tripp looked up from his calendar. “What?” A glance at Hannah’s computer screen told him she was searching the 100-Day Mustang Challenge site. The woman was a bulldog with a bone.

  “You know.” Hannah pointed to the poster on the wall.

  “I told you. I have a full-time commitment to the ranch.” He didn’t even attempt to hold the annoyance from his voice.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You?” He shook his head
at her offer. “And what makes you think you can help me enough that I’ll have time to train a mustang?”

  “I looked at your schedule on the wall outside. There isn’t anything on that list that I can’t do.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “Pregnant is not a terminal disease, and I don’t need to ride a horse to help you. I saw that ute out there. That’ll work. I mentioned that I have an extensive background with horses. I worked in children’s camps and equine clinics when I was a teenager and when I was in college.”

  “So you keep saying.” Tripp narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure the woman out. “What exactly did you go to college for?”

  “Business administration with a minor in accounting.”

  “Why?”

  “My grandmother was paying.”

  He continued to stare. The woman was a puzzle. “Why aren’t you working as a bookkeeper or accountant then?”

  “Because childcare is expensive.”

  “College isn’t?”

  “I’ve already explained that.”

  Tripp frowned. Yeah, and his gut told him something was not right with Hannah’s explanation. Hopefully, Slats would be able to sort it out.

  “Let me get this straight. A woman with a degree in business, who works as a cook, is telling me how to run my equine facility and the mustang challenge?”

  “Who told you I work as a cook?”

  “You mentioned it during your meeting with the Maxwells last Friday.”

  “Oh.” Hannah exhaled. “My point is that I think you should consider doing the 100-Day Mustang Challenge.”

  “Why?”

  “Is that the only word you know?”

  “Maybe so.” He shrugged.

  “You should enter because you can do it and because the purse is fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Money isn’t high on my priority list.”

  “That’s why you have that poster on the wall?”

  “I like the idea of rehoming the animal.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “But you and I working together? It’d never work. We rub each other the wrong way.”