by Regina Scott
And look how he’d repaid her. That gun hand had robbed her of a husband.
He stopped at the foot of the steps now and removed his hat. He could feel his hair tumbling onto his forehead, but he knew pushing the coal-black mop back in place would only make him feel more foolish standing here like the penitent he was. “Something wrong, ma’am?”
She clasped both hands before her, prim and proper. He could see her chest rise and fall as she drew in a breath.
“First, I want to thank you, Mr. Snowden, for everything you’ve done since Mr. Bennett passed on.”
She was trying to be businesslike, but that gentle voice and those wide hazel eyes made it nearly impossible for her to seem so serious. Still, he nodded. Even if he hadn’t felt so guilty over her loss, he would have stepped in. The Good Book said that a husband and wife were partners in life, but it had become clear that Lucas Bennett hadn’t shared a bit about ranching with his mail-order bride. Hank had had to help her make decisions as if he were the boss. Still, if it hadn’t been for Nancy Bennett, he would likely have been making plans to ride away after the roundup.
Since he’d shaken the dust of Waco off his boots five years ago, he’d never worked on any ranch long. Moving on was the best way not to get attached to folks who would only end up expecting more from him than he was able to give. He’d never found a way to please his family, had lost the one woman he’d thought to marry. What made him think others would be any more willing to take him as he was?
“From what you told me,” she continued, “this ranch has every chance of succeeding. Unfortunately, the bank thinks otherwise.”
He frowned. “Bank, ma’am? I was under the impression Mr. Bennett owned this spread outright. You shouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage.”
Were those tears brimming in her eyes? Something inside him twisted even as his hands tightened on the brim of his hat.
“I didn’t think I had anything to worry about,” she said, peach-colored lips turning down. “Lucas told me he originally came here to build this ranch on property his family owned. His father gave it to him after Lucas married me. But apparently Lucas thought we needed money.” She opened her fingers to show Hank a crumpled piece of paper there. “Billy brought back the mail from town. We had a letter from the Empire Bank in Burnet. Lucas took out a loan from there a month ago.”
A month ago? But that made no sense. Sometimes ranchers had to take loans right before roundup if a well went dry or a tornado tore down a barn. They knew they’d soon have money from the sale of their cattle to pay what they owed. There’d been no such disaster on the Windy Diamond. And Lucas Bennett had been thieving. Surely he’d had money enough. Why take out a loan?
“What are their terms?” he asked. “Might be enough in the ranch account to pay it off.”
She shook her head. “I sent word to the clerk in Little Horn after Mr. Bennett left us. There’s little money in the ranch account, barely enough to pay wages this quarter. Small wonder Lucas took out a loan.”
She was giving the fellow credit Hank refused to allow. If her husband had drawn money from the bank, it hadn’t been for anyone’s benefit but his own.
“Best we ask for time to pay it off,” he advised.
“We had time,” she said. “Lucas had six months to repay the loan, but the bank is calling it in now. It seems they have no faith in my ability to run a ranch. See?”
Hank stepped up to her side then and took the note from her, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, as well. If ever a woman needed comforting, it was her. Come all this way to marry, try to make a life with a stranger, and then discover the fellow was a noaccount rustler. What had Lucas Bennett been thinking to jeopardize not only his spread but his marriage?
He glanced at the note. It was politely worded, expressing condolences on her loss, explaining the bank’s policy, the bankers’ need to be fiscally responsible. What about responsibility for neighbors, kindness to widows and orphans? With this sort of threat hanging over her head, what choice did she have?
He handed her back the letter, careful not to touch her fingers in the process. “Maybe it’s for the best, ma’am,” he said, throat unaccountably tight. “You weren’t always happy here.”
“I was becoming happy,” she said, gaze going off toward the hills. “I was trying. And then everything changed.”
She bit her lip again, to hold back harsh words or tears for the husband who had left her in such a bad way, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t help reaching out and touching her hand. It felt so small, so fragile. Yet when he’d been hurting, her hands had cradled his broken arm even as she’d taken away his pain.
“You could do what cowboys generally do,” he suggested. “Move on, start fresh. If you sell the place, you could pay the bank and still have money to live elsewhere.”
Her hand returned to her belly. “No, I need to stay here, keep the ranch, for...for the future.”
He stiffened, staring at her hand, at the gentle swell beneath it. The other cowpokes might tease him about his ability to read a heifer—when one was content, when one was yearning, when one was ailing. A feeling would come over him, and he’d know. Call it intuition, experience or the Lord’s leading. He’d only been wrong once.
And right now, a feeling was coming over him about Nancy Bennett. Unless his senses didn’t work as well when applied to females—and he had cause to know they’d failed spectacularly with a certain lady back in Waco—Nancy Bennett had a reason for wanting to keep the ranch.
She was pregnant. He’d not only cost her a husband, but he’d cost her unborn child a father.
She turned her gaze on him. “I thought if I could convince the bank I can care for this ranch, they might give me more time to pay. I need your help, Mr. Snowden. I want you to stay on as foreman. I won’t be able to pay you what you’re worth, not at first, but if we can get our cattle to market, that will change. And I need you to do something even more challenging, I need you to teach me everything you know.”
If he was any kind of smart he’d refuse. He could feel her expectations, her hope, hemming him in more surely than a barbed wire fence. And he wasn’t sure teaching her to run a ranch was such a good idea. Ranching was tough, hard work, work he’d just as soon spare this kind, gentle lady.
Yep, if Hank was smart, he’d thank her kindly for her faith in him, refuse her proposal, fetch his gear and his horse Belle and ride on out of here.
But he’d never claimed to be smart. And how could he turn away from an innocent woman and her babe who needed his help?
“Glad to be of assistance, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll stay as long as you need me, do whatever you want.”
And hope his efforts would finally put his conscience to rest.
Chapter Two
He’d agreed to stay. Nancy felt as if she could draw a deep breath for the first time in weeks. She was ready to learn more about this ranch, about the gigantic cattle that roamed it and would provide a living for her and her baby. And she intended to start as soon as possible.
So, she rose even earlier than usual the next morning and dressed in her sturdiest outfit. The heavy brown twill was beginning to feel tight, though the cinnamon-colored jacket over the white cotton bodice was as comfortable as always. Sombrero covering her hair, she met her boys coming out of the barn just as the sun was breaking over the hills behind the house to the staccato serenade of a flock of warblers.
Mr. Snowden was the first to catch her gaze as she approached. Handing the reins of his horse to Mr. Upkins, he hurried to meet her. Those blue eyes looked darker in the golden light, and his face was tight. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”
His gaze roamed over her as if searching for injuries. Was it her imagination, or did it linger on her belly? Did he know? Lucas had decided not to tell anyone until she was further along.
“You can never be sure about babies out here,” he’d warned.
The thought of losing a child frightened most women, she knew. But her mother had taught her well. Since shortly after her father had died when Nancy was twelve, her mother had involved her in midwife duties. Nancy had helped dozens of mothers through pregnancy, had brought dozens of babies into the world. She could tell her baby was growing and healthy and strong. If she’d had any doubts, the nightly kicks would have been enough to prove it! But Lucas had insisted, and so she had remained silent.
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Snowden,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I thought I might come with you this morning. See how the herd is doing.”
Mr. Upkins was frowning at her, and Billy froze in the act of mounting.
“Don’t see how that’s a good idea, ma’am,” Mr. Snowden said, pulling off his hat. His thick black hair was already beginning to curl with the heat, for the air was warm even overnight during the summers here. Her hand positively twitched with the urge to reach up and smooth down the waves.
Instead, she looked from one of her boys to the other, putting on her sweetest smile.
“But why not?” she asked. “Surely, I need to understand how the ranch works. You agreed to teach me, Mr. Snowden.”
Mr. Upkins shoved back his hat at that, and Billy shook his head. Mr. Snowden took her elbow and turned her toward the house.
“We’re riding the line today, Mrs. Bennett,” he explained. “That means we’ll leave now and won’t be back until sundown. No telling what we might run into—rattlers, mountain lions, coyotes. It’s no place for a lady.”
No place for a lady. She’d heard that claim often enough, first from the townsfolk in Missouri who had decided to entrust future babies to the new doctor rather than rely on an unmarried woman, then from Lucas when she’d asked questions about the ranch. She’d never appreciated such coddling, and she certainly couldn’t afford the indulgence now.
“Lula May Barlow tends to her ranch,” she reminded him, digging in her heels to keep from moving farther back.
To his credit, he released her arm. “Mrs. Barlow has two nearly grown stepsons to help. And you have us.” He lowered his voice and his head to meet her gaze straight on. “Besides, riding line wouldn’t be good for the baby.”
She felt as if he’d thrown a bucket of spring water over her head. “How did you know? Did Lucas...?”
He shook his head, straightening. “Mr. Bennett didn’t share much with the hired help. It was the glow about you, the way you move. About five months along, I reckon.”
He’d guessed something she’d had to explain to Lucas. “You should be a midwife, Mr. Snowden,” she told him.
He chuckled, a warm sound that beat back the chill she’d felt. “And here I thought I was one, for a whole herd of heifers.” He sobered suddenly, dropping his gaze. “Not that I meant to compare you to a heifer, ma’am.”
It was her turn to laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so. “Certainly not, Mr. Snowden. I don’t have horns.”
He glanced down at her. “And your eyes are much prettier, and you don’t weigh nearly as much.”
“Why such compliments, Mr. Snowden,” she teased. “You’ll quite turn my head.”
Was that a tinge of red working its way into his firm cheeks? “Only speaking the truth, ma’am,” he murmured. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should start out so I can be back by nightfall.”
She caught his arm. His muscles tensed under her hand, and she realized she was being too bold. Immediately she dropped her hold and stepped back.
“I’m willing to stay behind for the good of the baby,” she told him. “But you promised to teach me to run this ranch. How can I learn if you’re out on the range?”
He eyed her a moment, then blew out a breath. “You’re right. I’ll send Upkins and Jenks along and stay with you. If they spot any trouble, they can always ride back, and we can tackle it tomorrow.”
She couldn’t believe how buoyant she felt as she watched him send her other boys off. He returned to her side and walked her to the porch, insisting that she sit on one of the wicker chairs there and even handing her the padded cushion from another of the chairs to put behind her.
“You’re fussing,” she accused him.
Now she had no doubt his cheeks were reddening. As if to keep her from noticing it, he paced around the chairs and finally took one not too far from hers, setting his hat on the table between them. Even then, his knee bobbed up and down, as if he’d rather be out riding.
“Perhaps,” she said, hoping to put him at his ease, “we should agree on a few things. First, if you are going to be my teacher, I think it would be appropriate for you to call me Nancy. Shall I call you Henry?”
His knee froze. “No, ma’—Nancy. That’s my father’s name too, and I never cottoned to it. He had a way of saying it, all drawn out like it was three or four syllables, and I’d know I’d disappointed him again. Call me Hank.”
Hank. Though she’d known that was what Lucas called him, she hadn’t considered the name until now. It was strong, steady, not unlike the man sitting next to her. “Very well, Hank. I want you to know I’ll be a very attentive and eager learner.”
He shifted on the chair as if he wasn’t so sure about his own role as teacher. “What exactly did you want to know about ranching?”
What didn’t she want to know? She felt as if she’d lived in a cocoon of her husband’s making and hadn’t yet emerged as a butterfly. “Everything?” she suggested.
He took a deep breath. “That’s a tall order. Maybe we could start with what you know and work from there.”
Nancy waved toward the hills. “We have land. It supports cattle. And apparently rattlesnakes, mountain lions and coyotes. We sell those cattle and turn a profit.” She faced him fully. “What I want to know is how.”
He ran a hand back through his hair, spiking curls in its wake. “And I thought riding the line made for a long day.”
“I told you I knew nothing,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “All right, then. To start off with, cattle don’t just spring up like tumbleweeds. We generally bring in a bull or two around this time of year.”
Nancy frowned. “Don’t we have any bulls?”
“Not enough to service a herd this size.”
She made a face. “I don’t understand.”
He was turning red again, and his gaze refused to meet hers. “Maybe we should start with the other end of the story. This isn’t a conversation I’m prepared to have with a lady.”
She thought for a moment, going back over what he’d said, then brightened. “No need. I think I know what you’re talking about. Bulls plus cows equals babies.”
He sagged back against the chair as if he’d run a race. “Bulls plus cows equals calves. But yes, that’s what I mean. And calves are born in the spring, get branded and grow into steers we sell at a profit a year later come fall. Make sense?”
“Yes,” she said. “You don’t have to hesitate to talk about birthing with me. I’m not afraid to talk about babies, mine or anything else’s. I understand them. Cattle are what scare me.”
He chuckled. “Cattle are big babies, if you ask me. Won’t listen to what you tell them. Want their own way. Then they look at you all sweet like, and you know they have you right where they want you.”
“Well, if cattle are babies, I’ll be running this ranch in no time,” she told him, offering him a smile.
He stared at her mouth as if she’d done something amazing. Was a smile so important? Or was hers that special to him?
Even as her cheeks heated under his regard, he turned and gazed down the long drive toward the wrought iron gates that marked the edge of the Windy Diamond.
“Someone’s coming
,” he said, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Nancy asked as he stepped down from the porch and headed for the barn.
“To get my shooting iron.”
A flutter started in her stomach, and she pressed a hand against her waist to still it. Did he think it was outlaws? Some other kind of trouble?
It couldn’t be Sheriff Fuller again. She’d been grateful he had been considerate when he’d returned to question her further about Lucas. She only regretted she hadn’t been any help to the lawman. She truly hadn’t known a thing about her husband’s shady business dealings. It seemed to her she hadn’t even known her husband.
She was just glad to recognize the occupants of the wagon that rattled onto the flat before the house. Edmund McKay, a tall, serious-looking rancher who had a spread to the southwest of town, was at the reins, and her friend Lula May sat beside him. Lula May gave her an airy wave, then gathered her blue cotton skirts. Though the young widow was perfectly capable of climbing down, Mr. McKay came around and lifted her from the bench. His gaze seemed to linger on hers before he released her.
Now, there was a sight. Only a month or so ago Nancy and Molly Thorn had teased Lula May about refusing to let Edmund help her down. Now there was a tenderness between her friend and the rancher that tugged at Nancy’s bruised heart. It seemed she’d missed a romance in the last couple weeks she’d been staying close to the ranch. The thought made her smile, but the frown on Mr. McKay’s face as he walked toward her set her stomach to fluttering again.
She scolded herself for the reaction. Edmund McKay had never struck her as a harsh man. He might even be accounted handsome with his chiseled features, hair the color of the sandy soil, and dark coat emphasizing his muscular build. He walked with the confidence of a man at rest with his conscience. Lula May, who was tall for a woman, looked positively petite at his side, her strawberry blonde hair confined behind her head, blue eyes crinkling around the corners with her smile.