A Rancher of Convenience

by Regina Scott

  He hadn’t had a chance to attend services very often in the past. Cattle didn’t know much about keeping the Lord’s day, so Hank had generally been working. Besides, back in Waco only the fine folk went to services, and he was no longer part of that company.

  Now, as he escorted Nancy into the shelter of the tent, he couldn’t deny the peace that flowed over him. He’d grown up worshipping among polished wood pews to the bellow of a massive pipe organ. The little tent with its packed dirt floor, rough wood benches and rickety piano felt more like home. After all, it hadn’t been in the fancy church he’d come to know his God but in the simple cathedral of a cowboy’s saddle.

  Still, sitting with Nancy, holding the hymnal for her, his spirits rose. How could he not feel proud to have her beside him, pretty and sweet as she was?

  Easy now, cowboy. Pride goeth before a fall. He’d felt the same way about Mary Ellen, and his feelings had been built on nothing more substantial than air. Nancy wasn’t here vowing undying devotion. She stood with him because she needed his help to save the Windy Diamond. And he was here to atone.

  As the others listened to Pastor Stillwater’s message, Hank bowed his head.

  I know You forgive easily, Lord. The Bible talks about a lost son being welcomed home and You eating with sinners. I know You won’t hold Lucas Bennett’s death against me. Help me help Nancy so I won’t hold it against myself.

  Nancy shifted beside him, hand going to her back, and he stepped closer, offering his arm to lean on. Her smile was his reward.

  After services, he left her with some of the other ladies and went to seek the pastor, who assured him of his support and willingness to perform the marriage ceremony. But Hank had no sooner stepped away from the minister than McKay and an older rancher in the area, Clyde Parker, closed in on him.

  “We have everything under control,” Parker assured him, hitching up his gray trousers with self-importance. “The Lone Star Cowboy League is at your service.”

  If the league came through with the money to save the ranch, Hank wouldn’t have to marry Nancy. For some reason, that made his spirits sink. “Then you found a way to pay the loan after all.”

  “No,” McKay told him. “That’s not what he means.”

  The dark clouds lifted. What was wrong with him? He ought to be disappointed they hadn’t been able to help Nancy.

  Parker laughed, sounding a bit like the wheezy piano. “The story’s all over town, boy. You made the sacrifice to marry Nancy Bennett. Lula May says we should throw you a reception after the wedding. Think of it as a service to the community. We all need a reason to celebrate after the troubles this summer.”

  Hank held up his hand. “Hold on. Marrying Mrs. Bennett is no sacrifice. I’m the one honored by her trust. And I’m not sure she’ll want a fuss.”

  “Mrs. Bennett?” Parker teased with an elbow to Hank’s gut. “You should be calling her by her first name now.”

  She’d given him leave to do so in private, but he found it difficult to use her first name in public. Funny how just being with Nancy made him remember the manners his mother had tried to instill in him. Ladies were to be treated with respect, helped into and out of any building or conveyance as if they were delicate flowers that might wither at a harsh word. Even with her quiet voice and shy smiles, he knew Nancy was made of stronger stuff. Look at the way she was trying to learn to run the ranch her husband had left her.

  Excusing himself from the ranchers, he walked toward the piano, where Nancy was surrounded by the local ladies, looking a bit like spring wildflowers with their pretty dresses and bright-ribboned hats. Several of the group giggled behind their gloved hands as he approached. The only one who wasn’t watching him closely was John Carson’s girl, and Daisy had her head turned as if she was studying someone behind him.

  “Ladies,” Hank said with a nod. “May I steal Mrs. Bennett away from you for a moment?”

  “Only if you promise to bring her back as Mrs. Snowden,” the sheriff’s wife teased.

  Nancy blushed and excused herself. Hank drew her toward a corner of the tent where the velvet bags that were passed for offering were stored. He could see Mrs. Hickey, the town gossip, craning her scrawny neck to get a view of the two of them, but he put his back to her to shelter Nancy.

  “Seems like everyone knew before I ever told them,” he said, rubbing his chin.

  “I know.” Nancy sighed. “I mentioned to Lula May at the quilting bee that you had proposed, and of course the other women encouraged me to accept.”

  Of course? Who knew the ladies of the town thought that much of him? He couldn’t help grinning.

  “They must have assumed I’d taken their advice,” Nancy continued. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

  “No need to be sorry,” he assured her. “I didn’t call you away because of the rumors. Seems the league wants to throw a big reception for us after the wedding.”

  She paled. “I can’t accept their kindness. We both know we wouldn’t be in this position if Lucas hadn’t broken the law.”

  “True,” Hank said. “He caused heartache for a number of folks. But this reception may be a way to put all that behind us.”

  She was chewing her lower lip again, a sure sign, he was coming to understand, of her concern. “Well, I suppose we could take them up on their offer. For Little Horn. Maybe Lula May can help me bake.”

  Hank took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything.”

  She raised her brows. “Everything?”

  “Everything,” he insisted. After all, it was the least he could do.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Nancy stood up with Hank and said her vows in front of a goodly portion of Little Horn’s finest. She couldn’t help contrasting her weddings. She and Lucas had been married in the big church in Burnet, because Lucas refused to be wed in a tent. He’d even had a blue satin dress made for her so she looked the part of an affluent rancher’s wife, and she’d felt a little awed to be standing up beside such a prosperous fellow, bouquet of white roses in her hands from the wife of the town mayor.

  This time, she carried a bunch of yellow daisies Billy had picked from the ranch and handed her, red-faced, as he stammered his best wishes. Mr. Upkins, dressed in a black suit and bow tie she hadn’t known he possessed, had insisted on giving her away. Her green dress with the ruby roses embroidered down the front had been sewn by the ladies of the quilting bee and designed to be let out as the baby inside her grew. It was all quite lovely, and she felt like a complete fraud accepting the attentions.

  But somehow, she managed the words, and when Preacher Stillwater held her and Hank’s hands together and declared them husband and wife, she even found a smile.

  As they turned to face the applauding crowd, Hank tucked her hand in his elbow.

  “Phew,” he murmured in her ear. “I thought he’d never stop talking. Let’s eat.”

  That made her laugh, but then she was fairly sure that had been his intention.

  The ladies of Little Horn had done themselves proud, Nancy saw as Hank led her to the two long tables in the field to the south of the tent. Besides the spice cake Lula May had baked for the wedding, its sides dripping icing, there were peach pies with golden crusts and cobblers plump with sweet biscuit topping, crisp ginger cookies and cinnamon rolls dotted with currants. The café owner Mercy Green had even provided gallons of vanilla ice cream. Hank filled Nancy’s plate with the delicacies and mounded one for himself before escorting her to the head table, where a spot waited for them.

  “This isn’t so bad,” he mused after they’d eaten their fill. He leaned back so the narrow wooden chair tilted on two legs. “Fine vittles, pretty lady at my side, friends and family celebrating. What’s so hard about marriage?”

  “We’ve been married all of a quarter hour,” Nan
cy reminded him. “You just wait and see how hard it can be.”

  Immediately he sobered, the legs of his chair thudding down onto the dry ground. “Sorry, Nancy. I reckon you had it harder than many. I know Mr. Bennett had a temper at times. And I know he rode off when he should have stayed home.”

  She didn’t want to remember how her first marriage had failed. “No more mention of Mr. Bennett. Not today.”

  As if he agreed, he hopped to his feet. “Let’s not talk at all. Let’s dance.”

  From the middle of the field, Nancy heard the scrape of a bow on strings. Glancing that way, she saw that Bo Stillwater was tightening the clamp on his guitar while several of the other local men tuned up fiddles and pipes. Around them, couples were forming, men leading ladies and ladies grabbing their sweetheart’s hand and tugging the fellow toward the music. Daisy Carson was twitching her skirts and glancing to where Calvin Barlow and his family and Edmund McKay were waiting.

  But to stand up in front of them all with Hank? She wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  “Oh, I don’t think dancing is necessary,” she demurred.

  Hank cocked his head, sapphire eyes catching the sunlight. “It may not be necessary, but it will likely be fun. You remember fun, don’t you, Nancy?”

  Did she? She seemed to recall playing with other children in the schoolyard, but after her father’s death she’d spent most of her time with her mother. That had been rewarding, and she’d never regret growing so close, but she could not call it fun.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  He raised his dark brows. “Well, then, it would be my pleasure to acquaint the two of you.” He held out his hand.

  She hesitated. She’d been surprised no one had seen fit to berate her for marrying again so soon, barely a month after Lucas’s death. Surely she shouldn’t be out there kicking up her heels. However badly Lucas had behaved, he’d still been her husband.

  So was Hank.

  The thought sent a tremor through her. For all they’d agreed on a marriage in name only, surely she owed him some duty.

  She must have hesitated too long, for he lowered his hand. “Are you morally opposed to dancing, ma’am?” he asked with a frown.

  A moment ago, he’d called her Nancy. She was building a wall between them when none was necessary. She raised her head to meet his gaze. “No, certainly not.”

  “Then is it bad for the baby?” he pressed.

  “No, it’s not that.” She bit her lip, trying to think of a way to explain to him when she’d been the one to ask him not to talk about Lucas.

  He nodded, plopping himself down on the chair again. “Don’t fret. I understand. I probably wouldn’t want to dance with a cowboy if I was a fine lady either.”

  Nancy surged to her feet. “Nonsense. Any lady would be pleased to dance with you, Hank.”

  He stood, but she could see him eying her warily. “What are you saying?”

  Nancy held out her hand. “I believe you asked your wife to dance, Mr. Snowden.”

  His grin spread. “I believe I did, Mrs. Snowden.”

  It seemed as if the pigeons that favored Hop Toad Springs had taken flight inside her as Hank cupped her hand and led her out onto the grass.

  Harold Hickey, husband to the chatty Constance Hickey, was standing by the makeshift band, ready to call the dance, as Nancy took her spot across from Hank. The ladies stood in one long line, the men opposite, with lots of looks flashing from one side to the other—amusement, delight, excitement. At the last minute, Calvin Barlow dragged Daisy into the group, and they took their place at the bottom of the set.

  “Let’s start with something fast,” Harold said with a nod to the band, who launched into a lilting hornpipe. The wiry fellow began tapping his toe in time, gray head bobbing.

  “Greet your partner,” he called, and the couples took two mincing steps forward. Hank bowed, and Nancy curtsied, her skirts belling out around her. She thought the ladies of the quilting bee hadn’t gathered up all that material to watch it flow in the dance, but then again, maybe they had!

  “Swing your partner,” Harold called, and they linked elbows. Hank spun her around in a circle, first one way, and then the other. A smile broadened her lips.

  “And a do-si-do,” Harold called. Nancy lifted her skirts and skipped around Hank.

  “Mighty graceful, Mrs. Snowden,” he said as she passed.

  And she felt graceful: light, buoyant, free. Why had she protested?

  “First couple, take a jaunt,” the caller demanded.

  Next to them, Edmund McKay took Lula May’s hands and danced her down the center. Nancy clapped in time with the other couples as their friends came back up to their spot.

  “Reel her on down, Edmund,” Harold ordered, and the pair linked elbows, first with each other and then with the opposite dancer. Edmund nearly lifted Nancy off her feet as he turned her. Then Nancy was clapping again as Edmund and Lula May progressed down and skipped back up.

  “And let’s peel away,” Harold said over the music, and Nancy followed Lula May around the line. She couldn’t help noticing the spring in her friend’s step. Nancy was fairly sure hers matched it.

  “Make a bridge,” he called, and Edmund and Lula May took hands and held them high, Lula May on her tiptoes to more closely match Edmund’s reach.

  Hank took Nancy’s hands and led her up to the top. And then it was their turn to swing around the couples. As she steepled her arms with Hank at the foot, she felt laughter bubbling up.

  “See,” Hank said as they lowered their hands after the last couple had danced through. “I knew you were acquainted with fun. You just forgot. I think we should have him around more often.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  They finished the dance to applause for the band and caller. Harold nodded his thanks. “Now, how about something a little slower for us old-timers? Let’s have a waltz.”

  Unmarried couples exited the square, and married couples gathered closer. Hank smiled at Nancy and turned to leave.

  “And let’s have our newlyweds lead the pack,” Harold called out.

  Hank stopped, glanced back at Nancy. For a moment, she thought she saw panic in his bright eyes. Didn’t he know how to waltz? Her mother had taught her, though Nancy had never partnered a gentleman. Lucas hadn’t liked dancing, at least with her.

  She stepped up to Hank and took his hand. “It’s not hard,” she murmured. “I could lead if you like.”

  “It’s not that,” he murmured back, gaze searching hers. “My mother always said waltzes were for married couples.”

  Nancy smiled at him. “You’re married, cowboy. Or have you forgotten your vows already?”

  His grin lit up the field. “No, ma’am. Let’s waltz.” He swept Nancy into his arm and turned her around the circle.

  She was flying, soaring, safe in his embrace. The joy welled up from inside her, until she thought she might burst. How had she forgotten how much she loved to dance?

  The other couples seemed to fade, the music to quiet, until it was only she and Hank, moving together, skimming the grass. That blue gaze drew her closer, like cool water in the summer heat. She couldn’t look away.

  Until he stopped and bowed, and she realized everyone was clapping again, for them. His smile was all for her, his hand cradling hers gently.

  And for the first time, she wondered exactly what she’d done when she’d agreed to be Hank Snowden’s wife.

  Chapter Six

  She was a wonder. Hank left Nancy at their table to go procure some punch for the two of them. He couldn’t figure out why she’d been so hesitant to dance. Twirling her around the grass, he’d felt as if they were flying. Now she positively glowed from their efforts, even t
hough she was a little out of breath. A fellow could learn to love that sweet smile.

  He stumbled on the grass and had to rein in his thoughts. He’d promised her a marriage in name only. And just because he admired her didn’t mean the feeling was mutual.

  He’d learned that lesson well. He wasn’t about to go building castles in the air again. He’d do as he’d promised, save the ranch for her and her baby. He’d treat her with the respect due the real owner of the ranch. He didn’t have to hand her his heart with a pretty blue bow on it.

  CJ Thorn was standing by the refreshment tables, head bowed as if he couldn’t make up his mind about which of the many offerings to sample.

  “I’d advise the peach pie,” Hank told him, reaching for the tin punch ladle. “Unless you’re partial to cinnamon, and then there’s nothing finer than Mrs. Carson’s rolls.”

  CJ managed a smile. The same height and build as Hank, his friend had dark brown hair and eyes that could look downright broody at times. Of course, he’d had a lot to deal with the last year, with his brother disappearing and leaving him custody of his twin four-year-old nieces. CJ had been smart to latch on to Molly Langley’s help. The two had wed earlier this summer, and Hank thought the marriage had lifted many a burden from the rancher’s shoulders.

  “I was looking for something easy on the stomach,” he told Hank now. “Molly hasn’t been feeling well for the last couple weeks.”

  Hank frowned as he poured the rosy punch into a glass for Nancy. “Sorry to hear that. Maybe you should talk to Mrs. Bennett—er, Nancy. She knows something about doctoring.”

  “Molly’s a little embarrassed about the whole thing,” CJ confessed. “She’s used to being the helper, not the one who needs help. I’m just glad I can stay close to the ranch right now.”

  Hank took his time pouring a glass for himself. “Haven’t had any more trouble with rustling, then?”