Holding Out for a Hero

by Ana Leigh

  “Colonel Hardy only knows that I’ve been trailing Slatter for three years.”

  “So you only remained here because you think Slatter’s around these parts, and you’ll take off again if he’s not. That don’t bode well for Jenny, if she’s smitten with you.”

  “Your concern for her is coming a bit late, isn’t it? Only a few minutes ago, you were willing to sell her to suit your purposes.”

  “You trying to say your motives are any better? You’re getting what you want out of her, too, knowing all the time you intend to ride away,” Frank accused.

  “That’s right, and she knows that,” Rico said. “Both you and I are guilty of serving our own purpose where Jenny’s concerned. And out of consideration for her feelings, let’s forget we ever had this conversation. Good night.”

  19

  Another sleepless night, Jenny got out of bed and walked to the open window. The night breeze that ruffled her hair was a soothing contrast to the smothering heat of the day.

  The latest disagreement with her father had disturbed her more than prior ones had. Though she acted as if she shrugged off his attitude, she now had to deal with it without Andrea as a buffer.

  She had considered the solution many times: just give in to his demands. But doing so would make her life even more miserable. The more Andrea gave in to please him, the more he expected of her. There could never be a compromise with him. He was an insensitive, selfish man who always considered his own needs above anyone else’s. He’d proven that in the way he treated her, Andrea, and Maude. He regarded women as if they were chattel.

  A tender smile softened her face. Rico was just the opposite. He might issue commands when it was necessary, but he was protective of women and respected them. When he spoke of his deceased mother, or his cousins’s wives, it was always with love and admiration. It made her wish she could meet those women.

  She bet Rico would make a wonderful father if he had a daughter. She sighed deeply. He would make a wonderful husband, too.

  He was intelligent, understanding, tolerant, and had a sense of humor. Lord knows he was handsome, and he made her heart skip a beat every time she looked at him, and her toes curl when he touched her.

  Rico was a decent man, there was no denying that. So what had led him to become a hired mercenary?

  She started to return to bed, but drew up sharply when she detected a movement in the nearby trees. Recalling Rico’s warning, she stepped back quickly. Could it be Slatter?

  Staying concealed, she peeked out for another look just as a man stepped out from the shadows. She smiled and relaxed. The man’s walk was engraved on her heart.

  She stepped up boldly to the window, placed a hand to her breast, and called out theatrically, “‘O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’”

  Rico walked over and stood beneath her window. Grinning, he said, “You’re mistaken, Juliet, if you think you’re going to get another line of Shakespeare out of me. Once is enough.”

  “You’re a spoilsport, Rico Fraser. Couldn’t you have played out the scene with me?”

  “Come down here and I’ll be glad to play with you.”

  “I can’t. I’m in my nightgown.”

  “More’s the reason.”

  “Shame on you. Why are you roaming around in the dark?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I’ve been having that problem since I met you, Princess.”

  “Why don’t you come upstairs, and we can spend our sleepless nights together?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I’ll think of something by the time you get up here.”

  When he slipped into her room she was stretched out in bed, her discarded nightgown on the floor.

  The next morning, in an effort to impress Rico—certainly not her father—Jenny attempted to prepare a breakfast of French toast, bacon, and fried potatoes. Cooking had always been Andrea’s forte, so years ago they had agreed that Jenny would stay out of the way and leave it to her.

  Frank came into the kitchen when she was peeling the potatoes, and started a harangue that she was cutting away too much of the vegetable.

  Agitated, Jenny chopped haphazardly at the potatoes and cut her finger.

  Frank thumped out of the kitchen shaking his head.

  After wrapping a bandage around her finger, Jenny returned to her preparation of the meal.

  A search of the cupboards revealed the heavy cast-iron skillet that Andrea used to fry the bacon. Jenny laid the strips in it, then got out a fork to turn them over.

  Unfortunately, the stove was too hot and the bacon began to sputter. Several drops of the hot grease splattered her hand, and she dropped the fork into the skillet.

  She quickly tried to lift the heavy skillet off the stove, but the bulging bandage on her finger interfered with her grasp. The skillet slipped out of her hands, and the pan, bacon, and hot grease ended up on the floor.

  Jenny couldn’t decide whether to scream or cry. Her cut finger was throbbing, her grease-splattered hand was stinging, and now the floor was a mess.

  Tempted to walk away from it all, she told herself, You may not be a cook, but you’re not a quitter, either.

  She got down on her knees and picked up the bacon and threw it back into the skillet; then she wiped the grease up with a towel. She was cutting slices of bread for the French toast when Rico came in carrying a bucket of milk.

  “Okay, the cow’s milked. What do you need now?” he asked.

  She read the recipe Andrea had written in her tidy script. “Two eggs from the chicken coop,” she said.

  “What happened to your finger?”

  “I cut it.”

  “Well then, can I help you make breakfast?”

  “Yes, get me two eggs from the chicken coop,” she repeated tersely. Then she softened her tone. “I’m doing just fine. Breakfast will be ready as soon as I make the French toast, but I need the eggs, Dan’l.”

  “I had the impression you didn’t know how to cook, Jenny.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea? Doesn’t every woman? The eggs, Rico,” she repeated, smiling though her teeth were clenched.

  He hurried out the door.

  Abandoning making the toast until his return, Jenny began to put plates and mugs on the table, but he was back before she could finish. “Are you sure I can’t be of help?” he asked.

  “Positive, so please get out of here,” she said, shoving him out the door. “I don’t like anybody watching me cook.” Not that anyone ever did, since Andrea had barred her from the kitchen years ago. But he didn’t know that.

  The short delay was enough to cause another mishap. The coffeepot began to sputter, and before she could remove it from the stove, the coffee boiled over and ran across the hot surface, leaving a dark stain that began to smoke and emit an unpleasant odor. Jenny rushed to open the window to get out the smoke, then hurried back to the stove where the unattended bacon had begun burning. The acrid smell of the burning meat set her to coughing.

  Waving aside the steam and smoke, she shifted the heavy skillet to the center of the table and reached for the coffeepot. The handle was hot, and she pulled her hand back and stuck it under cold water in the sink to soothe it. The towel was too greasy to use, so grabbing the hem of her skirt, Jenny picked up the hot coffeepot and set it beside the skillet on the table.

  Now ready to prepare the toast, she beat the milk and eggs together, then dipped the slices of bread into the mixture as directed. Transferring the dripping bread to the skillet, she had to immediately wash up the spill so that it wouldn’t burn on the stove’s surface.

  As she sautéed the bread, she realized she had forgotten to put the potatoes on to fry, and quickly tossed them into the remaining skillet.

  The kitchen was in shambles when they finally sat down to eat. Messy dishes were piled high in the sink, the kitchen floor needed scrubbing, the surface of the stove needed a thorough scouring, and the odor of burned food still hung in the air.

&n
bsp; “This food is cold,” Frank complained, shoving his plate away in disgust.

  “It was hot when I put it on the table,” she said.

  “You must be the worst cook in creation, girl. The toast is soggy, the bacon is burned, the potatoes are half raw, and the coffee’s so weak it tastes like piss.”

  “I don’t like the taste of strong coffee,” Rico said. “This suits me perfectly.” He winked at Jenny and poured himself another cup.

  “The only good thing about it is that it’s hot,” Frank grumbled.

  “I think it’s a very courageous first attempt,” Rico said.

  “It’s a pity you’re not the cook your mother was,” Frank continued.

  “Nor do I strive to be, Father. So I suggest you either learn how to cook yourself, or hire one.”

  She shoved back her chair and left.

  When Jenny came down later, the kitchen had been cleaned and restored to order. It had to have been Rico, since her father never offered a helping hand in the house.

  Deciding to make another attempt at being domestic, she sliced some bread and made a cheese sandwich. That was so successful, she decided to make one for Rico.

  She wrapped it in a napkin, tied a red ribbon around it, and grabbed an apple from the pantry. Then, pouring some milk into a glass, she carefully carried them out to the barn.

  Her father looked up when she entered.

  “Where’s Rico?” she asked.

  “Callie strayed off this morning and he rode out to find her.”

  “Oh, I see.” Unable to hide her disappointment, she handed him the sandwich and glass of milk. “Would you like some lunch?”

  Frank took the glass and plate from her. “I figure this sandwich wasn’t meant for me.”

  “If you don’t want it, throw it away.” She walked away.

  “Food’s hard to come by, girl,” he called to her. “Time you took note of that.” He took a big bite of the sandwich and washed it down with the milk.

  Jenny grabbed her book from her bedstand and went down to the garden to read. She hadn’t realized before how long it took for minutes to pass into an hour, and how long it took for daylight to pass into evening. And still Rico hadn’t returned.

  It was dark when he rode in. He put Callie in her stall and was about to unsaddle Bucephalus when he heard Jenny cry for help. Colt in hand, he dashed out of the barn and saw her kneeling over her father, who was lying on the ground.

  “What happened?” Rico asked.

  Frank sat up, holding a hand to his head. “I can’t rightly say. I guess someone conked me on the head. I heard you ride up so I came outside, and as I was walking over to the barn I heard a sound behind me. Before I could turn my head to see what caused it, I was knocked out.”

  “Did you get a look at who did it?”

  “No. It happened too fast.”

  “What kind of sound did you hear?”

  “Dammit, Rico, it was just a sound. A shuffle or something like that.”

  “How long do you figure you were unconscious?”

  “My guess is just a couple minutes, Rico,” Jenny said. “I heard you ride in, too, and I came downstairs when I heard the door slam as Father went outside. When I came out to follow, he was lying here. And I saw a man running into the pine trees over there.”

  “Do you think it was Slatter?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark, and I barely caught a glimpse of him.”

  At the sudden sound of hoofbeats, Rico said, “Whoever it was is getting away! Get inside, lock the doors, and don’t go near a window.” He gave two sharp whistles, and Bucephalus came thundering out of the barn.

  Rico grabbed the saddle horn with both hands and swung himself up before the horse even came to a halt. Snatching up the reins, he galloped away.

  Frank was sitting in the library holding a bag of ice against his head when Rico returned a short time later.

  “It’s too dark to follow a trail. I’ll try to pick it up in the morning.”

  “Do you figure it was Slatter?” Jenny asked, joining them.

  “At this point I’m blaming anything that happens on Slatter. I can’t get over my gut feeling about the man.”

  “But it’s been two weeks since Ed Callahan claimed he saw him,” Jenny said.

  Frank nodded. “And if it was Slatter coming here for vengeance as you believe, why didn’t he kill me? He was close enough to do it.”

  “Because you’re not his target. I am. My hunch is that he figured he had the opportunity when I was alone in the barn. Your sudden appearance spoiled his plans.”

  “Or maybe it wasn’t him. There’s been drifters and thieves passing through these parts for as long as I can remember,” Frank said. “And a damn lot’s at stake for you to be playing a hunch.”

  “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve shoved all my chips into the pot on a hunch, and managed to stay in the game.”

  Frank gave him a crooked smile. “If that’s so, then why jeopardize our lives? Can’t say I want me and my daughter to be the ante in your game.”

  “You’re the one who asked me to remain, Frank. I intended to move on. I’m not using you people as decoys: I’m using myself.”

  “My life was in your hands before, Rico, and I trust your judgment now,” Jenny said. “Father, you have no right to make an accusation like that. Rico saved Andrea’s and my life, and risked his own doing it.”

  “Don’t talk to me about gratitude, girl. Who’s responsible for the roof over your head and the food in your belly? Who pays for all them damn books you’re always ordering, or those clothes you have on your back right now?”

  Undaunted, Jenny said, “Maybe I don’t have a right to complain, but let’s take Andrea as an example. She gave twenty years of love and devotion to you, cleaning your house, cooking your food, doing your laundry, mending your clothes, even keeping the ranch’s books for you. Yet rather than being happy for her because she found love and happiness with a man who loves her dearly, all you can think of is that she ran out on you.”

  “I never did no such thing.” Frank turned with an accusing glare to Rico. “Did you tell her I said that?”

  Frank had definitely referred to Andrea running out on him when he’d tried to bribe Rico into marrying his daughter, but Rico wasn’t about to bring that up. She would only be hurt by it.

  “Keep me out of this, Frank, because you know where my loyalties lie. And the trouble between you and Jenny is too deep for an outsider to get in the middle.”

  “You mean too much to me to ever think of you as an outsider, Rico,” Jenny said.

  “Yeah—my own daughter thinks of me as the outsider here, even though it was my sweat that built the Double B. All these years keeping the Double B—”

  “The Double B! The Double B! Is that your only concern in life, Father?” she lashed out. “You look upon this place as paradise, but I see it as Hades. There’s no love here, no happiness. Thank God Andrea was lucky enough to escape from it. I have to wonder if my mother was ever happy here.”

  Frank’s face reddened in anger; his hand clenched into a fist. Fearing the man intended to strike her, Rico moved to Jenny’s side.

  “Don’t even mention her blessed name, daughter. If it weren’t for you, she’d still—”

  “That’s enough, Frank,” Rico warned. “I’m not going to stand by and let you do any more damage to Jenny than you’ve done already. Let’s go, honey.”

  “No, I want to hear it all. She’d still be alive—is that what you were going to say, Father? I always suspected you resented me because she died giving me life.”

  “No, that ain’t so,” Frank said. “I didn’t…I meant—”

  Rico interrupted. “You’re both beginning to say things to each other that apologies won’t cover later. There’s no taking them back and they wouldn’t be forgotten, so it’s best to stop now.”

  “There ain’t gonna be no more,” Frank declared. “I’ve got a headache, I’m going to bed.
”

  There was a long silence after he left the room. Finally Jenny lifted her head. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she forced a game smile. “I guess you can tell I’m not exactly Daddy’s little princess.”

  Rico put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re still mine, Princess.” He led her to the foot of the stairway. “Go on to bed. I’ll lock up down here and then stop to say good night. I think we all can use some sleep.”

  Rico watched her climb the stairs. The scene between Jenny and Frank disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t just another quarrel between them. It was the revelation of why these quarrels existed between them. And Jenny could only be hurt more if they didn’t settle it.

  She turned at the top of the stairway and gave him a brave smile that made him want to kiss her.

  “Good night, Dan’l.”

  “Good night, Princess.”

  20

  Frank’s outburst had shocked Rico. The poor girl had clearly grown up without experiencing any affection from her only parent.

  In his own youth, he had often watched wistfully as his friends’ fathers taught their sons how to ride a horse, shoot a rifle, and catch a fish. He had watched longingly as a father held his son’s hand when they went to Mass, bounced a son on his shoulders, or carried him in his arms if the boy tired.

  But when he grew into manhood, he had realized that despite the absence of his father, he had had a mother’s love and devotion, as well as the love of his uncle, Father Chavez. Though his kindly uncle couldn’t offer all the attention a real father would, by setting an example, he had taught his nephew the meaning of love, compassion, and honor. And foremost, his uncle had taught him an everlasting love and gratefulness for the Divine Father of all of us.

  After witnessing the scene between Jenny and her father, he knew she was hurting, and his heart ached for her.

  He tapped lightly on her door, then opened it. Jenny was crying, her cheeks wet with tears.

  Rico sat down beside her and gathered her in his arms. “Cry it out, Princess.”