A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  “I know.”

  “You can’t buy friends with money—not even the friendship of teenagers.” After Jenny said the words, she corrected herself. Those teenagers certainly spoke of Robert with enough enthusiasm to count him a friend. And the checks were awfully big. She’d seen one of them.

  Robert grinned. The kids had managed to keep his secret. Jenny didn’t know why he’d been throwing checks around. “I didn’t give them the money so they’d be my friends.”

  “Well, with the size of those checks—they should be something.”

  “I’m hoping they will be something someday.”

  Jenny looked at him suspiciously.

  “Something for themselves. I’m hoping they’ll go to college—maybe learn a trade—be good citizens,” Robert explained. “Grow up to be their own something. What’s wrong with that?”

  Jenny was silent for a moment. “Nothing.”

  Her sister was right, Jenny thought in defeat. She, Jenny M. Black, was turning into one of those fussy old women. Picking a fight with a perfectly innocent man just because he’d given away some of his money. And that wasn’t even the real reason. The real reason was the kiss. And that was just as foolish. In his social circles, a kiss was nothing more than a handshake.

  “Who you give money to is none of my business,” Jenny said stiffly as she put the lid back on the small coffeepot. “I owe you an apology.”

  “I’ll take a dance instead.” Robert held his breath. He’d seen the loophole and dived through it, but it wasn’t a smooth move. He’d done better courting when he was sixteen. He had no polish left. He was reduced to the bare truth. “I’ve been hoping you’d save a dance for me.”

  Jenny looked at him like he was crazy. “Save a dance? Me? I’m not dancing.”

  “And why not?”

  Jenny held up the coffeepot. She hated to point out the obvious. “I’m here to see that others have a good time. That’s what your mother pays me to do and I intend to do it. I, for one, believe in earning my money.”

  “I could pa—” Robert started to tease and then stopped. He didn’t know how she’d twist his offer to pay for a dance, but he could see trouble snapping in her eyes already. “My mother doesn’t expect you to wait on people all night.”

  Robert looked over to where his mother was talking with Mrs. Hargrove. They were sitting on two folding chairs by the door to the barn. If his mother wasn’t so intent on the conversation, he knew she would have already come over and told Jenny to take it easy.

  “You’re not going to ask her, are you?” Jenny looked horrified.

  “Not if you don’t want me to. But if you’re so determined to give people coffee. I could pass some around for you. With two of us working, it’d take half the time. How much coffee can everyone drink?”

  “I can manage.”

  “No one should be drinking coffee at this time of night anyway.” Robert wondered if he’d completely lost his touch. She shouldn’t still be frowning at him. Any other woman would be untying those apron strings and smiling at him by now.

  “It’s decaf.”

  “Still. There’s all this punch.” Robert gestured to the half-full bowl of pink punch. The color of the punch had faded as the evening wore on, and the ice had melted. The plastic dipper was half floating in the liquid. “Pity to see it go to waste.”

  “The punch drinkers are all dancing.” Jenny looked out at the dance floor wistfully. The only people left drinking coffee were the single men, mostly the ranch hands from Garth Elkton’s place. The teenagers had downed many a cup of punch after dinner, but they were all dancing now.

  Robert followed her gaze. “The kids are doing their best, aren’t they?”

  The swish of taffeta skirts rustled all along the dance floor. A long, slow sixties love song whispered low and throaty from the record player. Most of the teenagers were paired up and dancing with a determined concentration that Robert applauded. He even saw one or two of the boys try a dip with their partners. Now that was courage.

  “They remind me of an old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie—all those colors swirling around.”

  The old prom dresses were lavender, slate gray, buttercup yellow, forest green, primrose pink—and they all seemed to have full skirts that trailed on the plank flooring of the barn. Their skirts reminded Jenny of a bed of pansies.

  “We could be swirling, too—” Robert held out one hand for the coffeepot and the other for Jenny’s hand.

  The light in the old barn had been softened when the music started. Someone had turned off a few of the side lights and shadows crowded the tall corners of the structure. The air was cool and, by the sounds of it, a winter wind was blowing outside.

  When Jenny had looked outside earlier, she’d thought that the snow falling in the black night looked like a snow globe turned upside down—with the barn at the center and an old-fashioned waltz playing while the snow fell around the globe.

  “I can’t dance in this.” Jenny brought her mind back to reality. She gestured to her chef’s apron. Her broad white apron was serviceable for working with food, but it had nothing of taffeta or silk about it. Even Ginger didn’t dance in coarse cotton. “And there’s my hair—”

  “Your hair is beautiful. You just need to get rid of this.” Robert reached over and lifted Jenny’s hairnet off her head.

  Jenny’s hands flew up. “But that’s my hairnet—the health code.”

  “No one needs a hairnet for dancing.”

  No, Jenny thought, but they did need air in their lungs. She felt dizzy. She could almost hear her sister’s squeal of delight if she knew Robert Buckwalter had plucked the net off her hair and asked her to dance.

  But Jenny had always been more practical than her sister.

  Jenny knew that Prince Charming didn’t even notice Cinderella until after the Fairy Godmother had given her a whole new look. Men, especially handsome men like the one in front of her, just didn’t dance with women with working shoes and flat hair. Not even the coachmen would have danced with Cinderella if she’d arrived at the ball with a net over her hair and an apron around her waist.

  “I should change.”

  Jenny’s hand had already found its way into his and now she was twisting away from him to go do something as foolish as change her clothes.

  “You’re fine.” Fine didn’t begin to cover it, Robert thought to himself. Jenny’s eyes, usually a dark brown, had lightened to a caramel. She had a dazed look about her that made him want to dance with her in a quiet corner instead of in the middle of a throng of teenagers.

  It wasn’t that she was beautiful, he decided after a moment. He’d seen dozens of women whose features were more perfect. But he’d never seen anyone who looked like Jenny. He could almost trace her thoughts in her eyes. She wasn’t trying to hide who she was or what she thought. He wondered if she even knew how rare that was. Or how compelling.

  “But my hair…” Jenny frantically tried to fluff her hair up a little. It was all about bone structure. With flat hair, the small features on her face made her look like a Christmas elf. With just a little bit of fluff, she managed to look merely petite instead of childish.

  Robert captured her hand and calmed her.

  “Your hair is—” He’d been going to say “fine.” But then he felt the cloud of her hair fall against the back of his hand. “—incredible.”

  “It’s brown.” Jenny shook her hair away from his hand. No wonder he was in the running for the number one bachelor. He was a charmer, all right. “Plain brown and flyaway on top of that.”

  Robert shook his head. “I’d say more chestnut than anything, golden highlights. The kind of hair the masters used to paint in all those old European pictures. Mona Lisa colors.”

  “Next you’ll be saying my apron is the latest fashion from Paris.”

  Robert could see the amusement begin in her eyes and he could feel her relaxing.

  “Just see if it doesn’t catch on.” Robert guided her
closer so they could waltz. He felt her momentary resistance before she moved toward him.

  “I used to love to dance.” Maybe the shadows will hide my apron, Jenny thought to herself as Robert started them on their way.

  “Ever dip?”

  Jenny shook her head. “And don’t you dare. I’d feel foolish with everyone looking.”

  “Everybody’s too busy to care.”

  Jenny looked around at the other couples. It was true. Almost. “The ranch hands are watching.”

  Robert looked at the cluster of men standing by one of the side heaters. Half of them held coffee cups in their hands. A few of them did seem to be looking at him and Jenny, although he’d wager they weren’t interested in her apron. The dismay he saw in the eyes of a couple of them told him they’d been waiting for the coffee passing to stop so they’d have their own chance at a dance with Jenny.

  “They’ll just have to get their own dates,” Robert stated firmly as he gathered Jenny a little closer and inhaled. She smelled of some very pleasing scent. He’d guess cinnamon.

  Jenny almost stumbled. “Date?”

  Robert looked down at her face and smiled. “You. Me. Dancing. That’s a date, isn’t it?”

  “But we can’t be on a date.” Jenny stopped dancing.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re my boss.”

  “I’ve never paid you a dime. You work for my mother.”

  “It’s the same difference,” Jenny sputtered. “Besides—” she hated to sound like her sister, but there it was “—I’m Jenny, the chef, and you’re Robert Buckwalter the Third.”

  “You can call me Bob.”

  “What?” Jenny hadn’t realized how close Robert had pulled her until she’d stopped dancing.

  “Bob. Call me Bob.”

  Jenny looked up at him skeptically. He smelled faintly of some expensive aftershave. The tie around his neck was pure silk and probably Italian. His suit had to be hand tailored. “You don’t look like a Bob.”

  Robert gently started Jenny dancing again. He liked the way she felt in his arms. Her head reached his chin. Not too tall. Not too short. Just right. “What does a Bob look like anyway?”

  Jenny was silent a moment. “Plaid shirt. Sneakers.”

  Robert started to chuckle. “I can’t do much about the shirt right now, but I left my sneakers in the bus when we drove over. I could go get them if it’d make you happy. We could both go.”

  “It’s dark out there.”

  “The stars are out.”

  “Mrs. Hargrove said we’re supposed to stay close to the barn.” Jenny tried to hold on to her propriety.

  Jenny remembered how soft the black sky was outside. Shadows layered over shadows amid the cars and trucks parked in the middle of Dry Creek. The bite of the air would be cold and sharp enough to make the inside of the bus a cozy place to talk. A much too cozy place when all was said and done.

  “She’s just worried about that kidnapping rumor.” Robert watched the temptation play across Jenny’s face. He could watch her for hours. “But only a fool would kidnap anyone in a cold spell like the one tonight. There’s three feet of snow out there in some places.”

  “I suppose.”

  Robert noticed the frown didn’t go away. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I’m a gentleman. You can trust me.”

  Jenny snapped back to reality. “You’re not a gentleman. You’re the bachelor of the year.”

  Robert came back to reality with her. “I am? Have you talked to your sister? Have they decided?”

  “No.”

  “The whole thing is cruel and unusual punishment.”

  Jenny nodded. She supposed the waiting and suspense did seem like that to him. He must really want the slot. “My sister says the winner will be able to write his own ticket with the advertising companies.”

  Robert groaned. “I’d forgotten about that part of it. I may need to fly Charlie in to take those calls after all.”

  “Who’s Charlie? Your attorney?”

  Robert started to chuckle. “No, Charlie is an acquaintance of another kind.”

  “Oh.” Don’t tell me he has an agent, Jenny thought in dismay. He certainly had the looks to go into modeling. But somehow, she was disappointed. “I hope you draw the line at underwear.”

  Robert blinked. “Underwear?”

  “You know, in the endorsements. I wouldn’t want to see you in a magazine in your underwear.”

  Jenny felt the blush creep up her neck. He didn’t have to look at her that way—like she was picturing him right now in his underwear. “I just think it wouldn’t be a good example for the kids around here.”

  “You’re worried they’ll grow up to be underwear salesmen?” Robert was entranced. He’d seen precious few blushes in his day. That must say something about the kind of women that usually flocked around him.

  “Well, it’s not very steady work.”

  “I don’t know about that. People always need underwear.”

  If they hadn’t been talking, Jenny was sure she would have noticed that the music had stopped.

  She did notice the loud voices from the front of the barn near the door.

  A woman’s voice called, “Francis? Anyone seen Francis?”

  There was a loud shuffling as the boots of the ranch hands who were sitting by the heater hit the floor with a united thud.

  A man’s rough voice demanded, “Garth? Where’s Garth?”

  Finally one of the teenage girls opened the barn door from the outside and shrieked, “Kidnapping! They were right! There’s a kidnapping! We saw the truck—we saw them!” The girl’s face was white, but Jenny couldn’t tell if it was from the outside cold or from shock.

  “Come in, dear. Tell us what you saw.” Mrs. Hargrove was drawing the girl inside as Jenny and Robert arrived at her side.

  “Bryan and I were outside looking at the stars when we heard a gunshot.”

  “I told you that was a gunshot,” one of the ranch hands muttered to another.

  “Are you sure it was a gunshot?” Mrs. Hargrove put a jacket around the shivering girl. “It might have been a car misfiring.”

  “But there weren’t any cars running. Not even that big truck was going when we heard the shot,” the girl insisted. “Besides, I know the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring.”

  Mrs. Hargrove took a quick, assessing look at the girl. The girl was tall and skinny with a light brown skin that could signal almost any race. Finally, the older woman nodded. “We’d best call out the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff? Where’s he off to anyway?” one ranch hand said.

  “Some guy called in an emergency from the Billings airport,” another answered. “Something to do with some VIP.”

  “I think the guys with the guns are in that big truck that just left,” the girl continued. “Bryan saw something shiny that looked like a gun.”

  “Where’s Bryan now?” Robert asked the girl quietly. Something about the whole story didn’t seem right to him. Any teenage boy he knew would be in here claiming the glory of the moment. But there was no Bryan.

  The girl bit her lip.

  Robert looked around. There were a lot more dresses than tuxedoes in the crowd.

  “Where’s Bryan?” he asked again.

  “He wanted to be sure. I told him it was a gunshot, but he wanted to be sure before he told everyone.” The girl’s brown complexion went a little yellow and she swallowed hard.

  “Where is he?”

  “He took the bus to follow them.”

  “Mercy!” Mrs. Hargrove put her hands to her mouth. “When they have guns! And the boy all alone.”

  “I don’t think he’s quite all alone,” Robert said grimly as he looked over the teenagers again. Then he looked at the girl. “How many other guys are with him?”

  The girl looked miserable. “Ten.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Hargrove said again.

  “We’ll have to catch them,” Robe
rt said, looking over at the ranch hands. He recognized the men’s faces from the ride into Dry Creek on the bus that was now in hot pursuit of the cattle truck. None of them would have a vehicle here. “Who’s got a pickup we can borrow?”

  “You can take ours,” one of the farm wives offered as she bent to fumble in her purse for the keys.

  “Anyone call the sheriff yet?” Robert asked as he eyed half a dozen of the ranch hands. “I don’t suppose anyone here has a hunting gun in their truck?”

  “We called the sheriff,” Jenny said with a nod to another one of the ranch women. She held up the cell phone that had been resting in her apron pocket. “But he’s tied up at the Billings airport with some woman who came in, named Laurel Carlton or something like that.”

  “Laurel?” Robert paled. “Here?”

  Well, this is it, Jenny thought. Robert certainly looked uncomfortable with the thought of this woman, whoever she was. Maybe her sister was right and he was married after all.

  “Fred has a gun,” one of the ranch hands yelled from the other side of the barn. “Uses it to scare off coyotes on his place.”

  “It’s an old rifle—draws a little to the left,” the man explained as he walked fast toward the door. “But I’ll get it. It’s better than nothing.”

  “I think everyone should just wait for the authorities,” Mrs. Buckwalter said. “Let them handle it. A gun can be a dangerous thing.”

  One of the ranch hands snorted. “Tell that to whoever’s in the truck. We can’t wait for the sheriff. They’ll be long gone by the time he gets here.”

  “He’s right,” Robert said.

  The farm woman with the pickup pressed a set of keys into the palm of Robert’s hand. “The tank’s half-full.”

  The other men looked at Robert. He nodded his head at five or six of the sturdiest-looking ones and they, almost in unison, dipped their heads to drop a kiss on their wives’ cheeks before starting toward the door.