A Rancher of Convenience

by Regina Scott

  She was only glad the story of Lucas’s illegal activities must not have reached Burnet, or Mr. Cramore might not have been so quick to claim acquaintance. And she sincerely doubted anyone had known her husband well, or someone would have realized his intentions.

  “It was very kind of you to come all this way to talk,” she said, leading him to one of the wicker chairs on the porch. “May I offer you something to eat, lemonade?”

  “Both would be welcome,” he assured her, taking a seat and perching his hat on the knee of his black trousers. He smiled as if dismissing her. With a shake of her head, Nancy went inside and fetched him the food.

  When she returned, she found him pulling papers from his satchel.

  “You will of course want to see the agreement your husband signed,” he said, waiting until she’d set down the plate of ginger cookies and a glass of lemonade on the table at his elbow before handing the sheath to her.

  Nancy took a seat on the chair near his and glanced over the papers. The tiny lettering and legal terms were difficult to decipher, but there was Lucas’s arrogant scrawl agreeing to them all.

  Mr. Cramore was frowning out toward the barn. “It appears Mr. Bennett did not have time for the improvements he’d planned before his untimely demise.”

  The planks on the barn were turning a dull gray as they bleached in the sun. But she could see where someone had patched them.

  “Mr. Snowden and the other hands have been working hard,” she told him.

  “In my experience, cowboys seldom work hard without proper leadership,” he replied.

  “I’m pleased to say my boys—er, hands—are very industrious,” she told him. Holding the papers in her lap, she made sure to sit up properly, hoping she looked like the leader of the spread.

  Mr. Cramore picked up a cookie with dainty fingers and took a bite, then smiled at her. “I believe your husband had other plans, as well. Did those come to fruition?”

  She could hardly tell him she had no idea what her husband had planned. He’d only think her even less competent to run the place. She glanced out over the spread, looking for inspiration. A cloud of dust appeared to be coming closer, fast.

  “That’s likely Mr. Snowden now,” she said, rising and setting the papers on her seat. “I’m sure he can answer any questions you might have.” As Hank and his horse appeared out of the dust, she fled down the steps and hurried for the corral.

  He reined in beside her. “Who’s your company?” he asked with a nod toward the house, eyes narrowed.

  “Mr. Cramore from the bank,” she explained as Hank dismounted. Just having him here made her ridiculously glad. “He’s asking questions about the ranch.”

  “Well, let’s answer them then.” He let his horse into the corral, then turned for the house. His spurs chimed as he started for the porch, Nancy beside him. As they climbed the steps, the banker rose.

  “Mr. Cramore,” Hank said, extending his hand. “I’m Hank Snowden, Mrs. Bennett’s foreman. How can I help you?”

  Mr. Cramore tutted as he glanced at Nancy. “A foreman, Mrs. Bennett? He’s clearly no more than a hired hand. It seems we were right in our assessment that you have no interest in running the ranch yourself.”

  She couldn’t leave him with that impression. She returned to her chair, resettled the loan agreement on her lap and nodded for the men to be seated, as well. Then she leaned forward to meet the banker’s gaze.

  “It isn’t my interest that’s lacking, sir,” she told him. “I know I must learn before I take on the leadership of this ranch. Mr. Snowden is teaching me.”

  She smiled at Hank, who nodded. But the banker shook his head.

  “Surely you see the problem, dear lady,” he said, face sagging with obvious concern. “You are relying on a man who has no interest in the future of this establishment.”

  Hank stiffened in his seat. “I’ve promised Mrs. Bennett I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”

  Just hearing him repeat the words made it easier to draw breath. Mr. Cramore was not nearly so assured.

  “Forgive me for saying so,” he replied, “but such promises are difficult to keep when circumstances change. You would not be the first man to find it too much of a challenge to live out here.”

  He was talking to the wrong man, Nancy thought. She couldn’t see Hank turning tail because times got tough. She waited for the cowboy to refute the assertion, but Hank looked out over the ranch as if taking stock of it for the first time. Had she misjudged a man’s character again?

  Mr. Cramore continued, each statement like a nail in her confidence.

  “And if you are as skilled as Mrs. Bennett claims,” he said to Hank, “you will certainly receive offers to improve your situation. Ranches are always looking for good hands. No, sir, I stand by my assessment. With nothing to tie you here, you are at best a weak reed on which to lean.”

  Three weeks ago, she would have had a ready answer. She knew her boys. None of them would abandon the ranch willingly. But then, she’d thought herself married to a fine, upstanding man too. What did she really know about the hands her husband had hired?

  What did she know about the man she’d asked to teach her?

  Hank frowned at the banker, but his face was turning pale. Was he about to leave her?

  “You’re wrong,” he grit out. “I’ll have a solid tie to this ranch. I aim to ask Mrs. Bennett to marry me.”

  * * *

  There, he’d said aloud the conviction that had been building in his heart. But it was a question who looked the more shocked by the statement. Both Mr. Cramore’s and Nancy’s mouths were hanging open. He’d sure picked a poor time to propose.

  But what else could he do? The banker was obviously working up to demanding payment, or the ranch in lieu of payment. And the members of the Lone Star Cowboy League had regretfully acknowledged there was little they could do to help.

  “I understand Lucas Bennett left his wife in a bad way,” Abe Sawyer had said when Hank had made the case last week at the meeting Lula May had called. “But I doubt we could raise the money needed to pay the loan fast enough to satisfy the bank, and until roundup, there isn’t a lot of extra money to be had.”

  “There must be something we can do,” Lula May had argued. “Nancy Bennett is carrying her first child. We can’t let her lose the ranch that should be that child’s inheritance.”

  McKay had rested a heavy hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Do what you can, Hank. This might be a case where hard work will win through.”

  Hank wasn’t so sure. He’d worked pretty hard back in Waco on his family’s ranch, and it had never won him a place in his father’s affections. He’d thought he’d been the perfect suitor—attentive, complimentary, encouraging—but his sweetheart had chosen another man. Truth be told, he’d been surprised and honored when Lucas Bennett had asked him to represent the Windy Diamond’s interests in the Lone Star Cowboy League, and even more honored when the other members accepted him among them and listened to his input.

  He’d thought maybe helping Nancy learn about ranching would be enough to salve his conscience. It seemed now that the bank would never be satisfied with her skills. Like his father, they had a narrow view of life, and only a man running a ranch gave them any confidence. He had a feeling that even if he introduced them to Lula May Barlow, they’d point to her stepsons as the brains behind the ranch’s success. They’d be wrong, but no amount of talking was going to change their minds.

  Only action would do that.

  The banker recovered first now. “A poor jest, sir,” he said with a heavy shake of his head. “It is never politic to make light of a lady’s loss. And I’m certain Mrs. Bennett is too soon a widow to wish to take up with another gentleman.”

  The way he said the word gentleman told Hank the banker thought no cowboy could live up
to the name. He couldn’t argue in his case. He wasn’t Lucas Bennett with a shiny reputation and a fancy spread. But that shiny reputation had become tarnished, and the spread was crying out for someone who actually cared. He could be that person.

  “That’s for Mrs. Bennett to say,” Hank replied, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and casting a glance at the lady in question. What he saw wasn’t encouraging. She had managed to close her mouth, but now her lips were shut so tight honey wouldn’t have squeezed past.

  Cramore waved a hand. “Can’t you see you’ve put her in an impossible position? It’s clear the bank must step in. I will appoint someone to run the ranch for her, until such time as the loan is paid in full.”

  Nancy stood to move between them, face pale but head high. When she spoke, her usually soft voice had a firm edge to it. “That will not be necessary, sir. I can make my own decisions, in matters of this ranch and in matters of my heart. Will you excuse us for a moment?” Setting aside some papers, she nodded to Hank and practically ran down the steps.

  “This isn’t a matter of the heart, Nancy,” Hank hastened to tell her as he followed her toward the corral. “This is a matter of the future, yours and the baby’s.”

  She stopped next to the buggy, back toward the porch and gaze holding his. “I know that, Hank. But I will not have you sacrifice yourself for us.”

  Hank shook his head. “Not much of a sacrifice, if you ask me. I was working here anyway.”

  She cringed, and he realized how that had sounded.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean that marrying you would be a chore. And I surely see that you’ll get a number of offers once you’ve put off your widow’s black. But you need help now, and it sounds like the bank won’t accept a hired hand in that role.”

  She stared out over the corral. “But marriage? I just buried my husband.”

  His gut bunched at the memory. “I know. But I also know you’re going to be too busy soon to run a ranch. And that baby will need a father.”

  Tears were gathering in her eyes again, turning the hazel green as spring. “That’s true,” she murmured. “But I’m not ready to be a wife.”

  “And I’m none too ready to be a husband,” he assured her. “But I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer, determined to make her understand. “The way I figure it, we just have to show the bank we’re both serious about the success of this ranch. We don’t have to act like husband and wife otherwise. I can sleep in the barn like I usually do, take my meals with Upkins and Jenks. Nothing has to change. You and the baby will just get the protection of my name.”

  The tears were falling now; he could see them tracking down her pearly skin. “Oh, Hank, that’s so kind of you. I don’t know what to say.”

  Kindness wasn’t his reason, but he didn’t correct her.

  “Just think on it,” he urged, fisting his hands to keep from wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And I’ll understand if you’d rather find a better fellow than me.”

  She turned then and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’m beginning to think there is no finer fellow than you,” she murmured. Then she ducked her head and hurried for the house.

  He touched his cheek, feeling as if his skin had warmed. He knew there were plenty of fellows willing to marry a pretty widow in possession of a ranch, baby and all. But none of them had his need to make amends.

  Still, he had little doubt what her answer would be if she knew he was the one who had killed her husband.

  Chapter Four

  Nancy’s mind was still reeling as she returned to the porch, where Mr. Cramore stood waiting. The portly banker looked as nervous as she felt, shifting back and forth on his dusty patent leather shoes.

  “Well, Mrs. Bennett?” he asked. “What would you have me make of all this? Do you intend to marry this cowboy?”

  Nancy glanced at Hank, who had followed her up the steps. His gaze was hooded, his face still pale, as if he expected her to denounce him in front of the banker despite her appreciation for his kindness.

  “I will do the same as any other rancher given a proposal,” she told the banker. “I will give the matter due consideration before answering.”

  Cramore blinked, looking a bit like an owl she’d surprised near the spring once. “But surely you see he is merely attempting to profit at your expense.”

  Hank widened his stance. “That’s a mighty judgmental thing to say about a fellow you met a quarter hour ago.”

  Mr. Cramore’s pudgy nose lifted, as if he’d smelled something unpleasant. “I know your kind, sir.”

  “And I’ve known a few bankers in my time who were a little too quick to get their hands on a spread in trouble,” Hank countered. “But I didn’t assume you were one the moment we met.”

  Neither had Nancy, but perhaps she should have. Oh, was this more proof of her inability to see the truth about people? Could Mr. Cramore be unscrupulous? Was greed rather than caution the reason he’d come to see how the ranch was faring?

  And what of Hank? Was he hoping to take over ownership of the ranch, shut her up in the house as Lucas had?

  As if he could see the thoughts churning feverishly in her mind, the banker looked from Hank to Nancy. “You must realize the bank’s position,” he insisted. “We have invested good money, and it is our duty to see it returned.”

  “I understand the bank’s position,” Nancy told him. “Please understand mine. I hope to keep this ranch, with or without Mr. Snowden’s help. Nothing I’ve seen says you have any right to appoint managers or otherwise interfere with our operations.”

  He puffed out his chest, swelling the paisleypatterned waistcoat until the silver buttons winked. “Now, see here, madam. The word of the Empire Bank is sacrosanct.”

  “So you say,” Nancy replied. “And I’m willing to believe we owe you the money based on the information you’ve provided. But you will have to believe that I will pay that money back according to the agreement.”

  “And if you’re not willing to believe,” Hank put in, “you better bring the law with you the next time you come.”

  “Fine.” Mr. Cramore reached for his hat and patted it onto his balding pate, then snatched up the papers from the table and stuffed them back into his satchel. “I will expect to hear your decision on this ridiculous proposal, Mrs. Bennett, within the month. Or I will speak to your sheriff about foreclosing on the ranch.”

  A shiver went through her as the banker clumped down the steps and headed for his buggy.

  “He’s bluffing,” Hank said, watching the man untie his horses.

  Nancy wasn’t so sure. Had she been in his position, she too might have questioned whether someone with less than one year’s experience living on a ranch would know how to manage it properly. And he was right that she had no ties on Hank to keep him here. The Windy Diamond was surely a risk to the bank.

  But in the end, none of that mattered. She had no intention of losing the ranch.

  Or her heart.

  She confessed as much to Lula May when they attended their quilting bee the next day. The ladies of Little Horn had taken to meeting weekly at the Carson Rolling Hills Ranch to complete important sewing projects and encourage one another. Nancy hadn’t been able to attend for some weeks, first because of a rocky beginning to her pregnancy that had kept her housebound, and then because of her shame over Lucas’s thefts.

  But she badly needed her friend’s advice now, so she’d gathered her sewing box and taken the wagon west to her nearest neighbors.

  Sixteen-year-old Daisy Carson, the oldest sibling still in the Carson home, led her to the room off the kitchen that her mother Helen had set aside for their meetings. Like her mother and older sister, she was a pretty blonde with a winni
ng smile. She and the other members of the quilting bee had been stitching quilts to sell and raise money for the new church, but the frame stretched out in the middle of the warm, wood-paneled room seemed a little small to Nancy as she moved toward the chair between Lula May and her soon-to-be-sister-in-law Betsy McKay. Betsy smiled in welcome before bending to check on her toddler, who was napping under the quilt frame.

  Helen Carson sat at the head of the frame, with her friend Beatrice Rampart at the foot. Daisy and Mercy Green, owner of the café in town, sat across from Nancy, but another woman was in the chair usually reserved for Molly Thorn, Helen’s oldest daughter. Nancy recognized the sturdy blonde as Stella Donovan Fuller, the mail-order bride who had recently married the sheriff. She nodded a greeting as Nancy took her seat.

  “Molly wasn’t feeling well,” Helen announced as she threaded her needle. “But you all might have seen that we’ve framed a new quilt.” She glanced around the room with a smile to each lady. “That’s because our Nancy is going to have a baby.”

  It was for her? Nancy stared at the delicate blue-and-pink flowers on the material until tears blurred her vision as congratulations echoed around her. She managed a smile. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”

  “No need to say anything,” Stella Fuller declared. “Just stitch.”

  The others laughed and set to work.

  Betsy paused to put a hand to her back. “I hope your pregnancy is better than this one,” she told Nancy. “I’ve never had a baby move around so much.”

  “I remember those days,” Helen put in. “I thought Donny was going to kick his own way out.”

  “My ma said boys are like that,” Stella commiserated.

  “Not in my family,” Lula May insisted. “Pauline was just as vigorous in the womb, and she’s not much quieter outside it!”

  Nancy smiled as the women laughed. As Beatrice asked Mercy for the recipe of the apple bread she’d brought to the last Sunday social at church, Nancy leaned closer to Lula May.