by Regina Scott
Chapter Eleven
Nancy had calmed herself by the time Hank returned for dinner. She knew the source of her reaction. She was scared, pure and simple. She needed Hank, and she didn’t want to lose another person in her family. But he was right to be concerned about someone watching their herd. She’d regretted being oblivious to Lucas’s thefts. She could hardly look the other way now.
She had macaroni and tomatoes and a ham steak ready when he came in, but she waited until they had both been seated and served, and she’d said the blessing before questioning him.
“What did Edmund say about our stranger?” she asked as she cut the ham.
His hair was damp, a sure sign he’d stopped by the bunk room to clean up before joining her. And he hadn’t been wearing that checkered shirt this morning either.
“He’s going to talk to everyone tomorrow after church,” Hank reported, reaching for the pitcher of lemonade between them and pouring himself a glass. “At the very least everyone will step up patrols.”
She drew in a breath. “Very sensible. Surely that will detour rustlers.”
He shrugged. “We had patrols before.”
And Lucas had still managed to steal cattle, because he’d known precisely where those patrols were going to be. “It’s different this time,” she insisted. “We’re more prepared. Aren’t we?”
“Maybe.” He picked a tomato from the layers of macaroni and cheese and studied it. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should be checking with the law in some of the other communities that have been hit. If we pool our information, we might see a pattern.”
That made sense. “You should suggest that to Sheriff Fuller,” she said.
“I’ll talk to Jeb tomorrow at services.” Still he didn’t lift a bite to eat. “But I thought I might ride down to Burnet, ask around there.”
Something crawled up her spine. Lucas had disappeared to Burnet on any number of occasions, claiming urgent business. Aside from the Empire Bank loan, she hadn’t seen anything urgent or businesslike in the results.
But Hank wasn’t Lucas. He wasn’t trying to ride off and gamble. She had every proof he was conscientious about his work. She could see that the cattle were well fed and contented, and he certainly knew his way around a horse and lariat. Mr. Upkins and Billy respected him. Yet, suspicions lingered, like the sour scent of spoiled milk.
“I’d like to go with you,” she said. “I came overland from Missouri and down through Fort Worth when I arrived. I’ve never seen Burnet.”
“Not much to see,” Hank said, avoiding her gaze. “And I can go faster alone.”
The discussion was so like the ones she’d had with Lucas that the ham turned briny in her mouth. She’d given in before, kept to her place in the house.
Her place was no longer in this house.
“You might be able to ride faster,” she said, “but I have a reason to visit Burnet too. I should talk with Mr. Cramore, assure him all is well. Shall we go Monday?”
That square jaw was tight again, and she prepared herself for an argument. But he nodded and went back to his dinner.
A shame her dinner no longer held any appeal. She hardly expected Hank to agree with her on every subject, but his determination to leave her out of this trip couldn’t help but set her on edge. Was he truly trying to find the criminal who had aided Lucas in his thefts?
Or was he planning to take Lucas’s example and rustle cattle?
No, she couldn’t make herself believe that. Surely, she hadn’t mistaken her man, not once but twice. Hank had some other reason for pursuing this vendetta when he might have handed the matter over to Jeb Fuller. If only she could understand what drove him.
He certainly looked the dedicated family man as they traveled to church services the next day. His jaw was clean-shaven; the blue of his cotton shirt made his eyes all the more noticeable. He tied up the horses before joining her in entering the new building, leading her to a bench right behind Lula May and Edmund and their family. Their smiles of welcome lit up the church.
Hank’s warm voice joined with hers in the familiar hymns, his hands holding the hymnal open for her. He was so kind, so considerate. How could she doubt him?
When would she stop doubting herself?
She forced herself to focus on Pastor Stillwater’s rousing sermon on the second greatest commandment. Beside her, Hank listened with a slight frown on his face, as if he too was soaking in every word. Ahead of them, she could see Lula May and Edmund exchanging glances from time to time. That’s what they’d done by founding the Lone Star Cowboy League, Nancy realized. By banding together in times of trouble, they were living out the command to love thy neighbor as thyself.
Was that why Hank had offered to marry her? Was that why he was helping her learn ranching? Was he merely doing his Christian duty? Was that why he was so determined to catch the criminal who had helped Lucas?
She was so deep in thought as they left the church that she didn’t hear Josiah McKay hail them until Hank caught her arm to stop her from heading to the wagon. The older McKay brother loped up to them with an apologetic smile on his rugged face.
“Mrs. Snowden, ma’am,” he said, dragging his hat off his head in respect. “Your husband mentioned you were good with ladies having babies.”
She glanced at Hank in surprise.
He nodded. “Mrs. McKay is having some trouble,” he explained. “I told Josiah you would know what to do.”
Her cheeks warmed. Lucas had always seemed embarrassed that she knew about pregnancy and childbirth. Like the people she’d left behind in Missouri, he thought a childless woman should be ignorant of such things. But how was a woman to learn if she didn’t study?
“I’d be happy to help,” Nancy said. “Did she come with you today?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Josiah said, shoulders relaxing in his obvious relief. “But she had to return to the buggy before service even finished she was that tired.” He pointed to where his black-topped buggy stood under the shade of some trees, horses placidly cropping the grass at their feet.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said, and she picked up her skirts and hurried to the buggy.
The horses shifted as she approached, and she slowed her steps, calmed herself. Betsy McKay was sitting on the seat, skirts draped about her, head back and nostrils pinched as if she was having trouble breathing deeply enough. Even in the shade, her face looked white.
Molly Thorn was standing to one side, holding Betsy’s hand, her own face tight with worry.
“Oh, Betsy,” Nancy said, bracing herself on the other side of the wagon. “What’s wrong?”
“Better to ask what isn’t wrong,” Betsy returned, casting her a quick glance. “Everything hurts from my head to my toes. I’ve weathered two other pregnancies, but none were this hard.”
“My mother was a midwife,” Nancy told her, “and she said every pregnancy is different just as every child is different.”
“I thought maybe it wasn’t entirely the baby,” Molly put in, free hand fisting in her green-striped skirts. “I’ve had the worst trouble keeping down food the last couple months. I thought it must be the heat.”
Nancy smiled at her. “Either that or you’re expecting too.”
Molly jerked back, then turned and dashed away from the buggy as if a coyote was on her tail.
Nancy felt as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry. I know some women don’t like to talk about such things, but surely it’s no mystery to Molly. She’s been married twice.”
“And never managed to conceive a child,” Betsy pointed out. “I think she feels it keenly.”
Nancy’s heart twisted. “I didn’t know. I’ll apologize. But first, let’s hear about you.”
Betsy went on to tell her about her ailments, breath coming easier as she did so. Sometimes,
Nancy had found, just having a sympathetic ear was enough to make burdens less heavy. And in listening, Nancy was able to think of a few things that might help.
Betsy smiled as Nancy finished offering her advice. “I can’t wait to see Josiah’s face when I tell him he has to rub my feet every night.”
“Just make sure to use olive oil,” Nancy told her. “That will help with some of your aches.”
Betsy nodded, and Nancy excused herself to go to Molly.
She found the lady standing alone near the edge of the churchyard, where the dry lands began to stretch out into the distance. Molly stood with one hand on her belly, head bowed. Nancy hesitated to speak, afraid her friend was praying. But Molly looked up then and met her gaze, and Nancy could see tears sparkling on her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” Nancy murmured, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I didn’t realize the trouble you’ve had. Can you forgive me?”
Molly managed a smile. “Of course. You didn’t mean to hurt me. And the matter truly hasn’t bothered me much since CJ and I married and adopted the twins. But hearing you say I might be pregnant brought it all back.”
Nancy could hear the longing in the woman’s voice. “And you’re certain you can’t conceive?” she pressed.
Molly nodded. “You don’t know how often I’ve prayed about the matter. But no child ever came.”
Nancy had met other couples with similar worries. Everyone always assumed it was the wife’s fault, but Nancy knew that sometimes the husband was the one with trouble.
She squeezed Molly’s hand again. “Well, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen quite a few pregnant women since I started helping my mother fourteen years ago. You say food has been difficult for a while?”
“Since shortly after I married CJ, yes,” Molly admitted. “But the warm temperatures always make me less hungry.”
“Clothes getting a little tight?” Nancy suggested. “Feeling like you just can’t wake up in the morning?”
Molly stared at her. “You too?”
Nancy smiled. “Not right now, but that was certainly the case when I first discovered I was pregnant.”
Molly’s golden-brown eyes widened. “Oh, Nancy! I’m afraid to hope.”
“One thing about pregnancies,” Nancy replied, “they have a way of showing themselves. Give it another month, and you’ll know for sure.”
“Oh, my!” Molly pressed her fingers to her lips, tears once more starting. “Wait until I tell CJ!” She reached out to hug Nancy. “Thank you, so much!”
Nancy absorbed the warmth, the praise. Thank You, Lord, for giving me the opportunity to show my neighbors how very much I care about them. Maybe I’ll finally start feeling capable again.
* * *
Hank stood by the church steps, following Nancy’s progress around the churchyard. Everywhere she went, she left smiles behind. And he very much doubted she knew how much she was appreciated. She was always tending to someone’s needs—her hands’, Betsy McKay’s, his. Maybe it was time someone tended to hers.
He wasn’t entirely sure how to go about that, but he resolved to make their trip to Burnet as easy as possible. Her presence would make it harder to get the answers he wanted, but she was right that checking in with the banker might help prevent him from following through on his threat to foreclose.
Hank had the wagon ready for her early the next morning. The thirty-mile trip to Burnet would take much of the day, and they’d have to put up overnight before heading back the next day. They’d talked about the matter over dinner, so she was ready with a carpetbag as she came out of the house. But she eyed the back of the wagon as she handed him her case.
“Is that a bedroll?” she asked.
He shrugged before stowing her bag behind the bench. “I figured if you get tired we can lay you down right then. Plus, I can use it tonight in the livery stable.”
She made a face. “We’re staying in the livery stable?”
“I am,” he qualified. “We’ll find a nice hotel room for you.”
She looked uncertain about that, but she allowed him to hand her up onto the bench. “Is this the cushion from the parlor chair?” she asked, shifting to see what was under her.
“I thought that might make the trip more comfortable,” he replied. “You know the roads, full of bumps and ridges. You and the baby might need some padding. Not that you lack padding,” he hastened to add. When she raised her brows, he knew he had only dug the hole deeper. “That is, Nancy, you’re just fine as you are.”
Her lips twitched. “Thank you, Hank.”
When was he ever going to learn to open his mouth without putting his foot in it? Shaking his head, he came around to the other side of the wagon just as Upkins trotted out of the barn.
“Filled and ready,” the older cowhand reported, pushing a wooden crate up into the bed of the wagon.
Nancy twisted to eye it. “What’s that?”
Why did she sound so suspicious? What did she think he was packing, enough ammunition to take down the remaining buffalo on the plains?
Upkins answered easily enough. “Food and drink for the trip, ma’am,” he said, stepping back to tip his hat to her. “Beef strips, biscuits, dried cherries and apple cider. Course my cooking don’t come close to yours, but we figured you didn’t need extra work to get ready for this trip.”
Nancy eyed Hank. “Soft seat, good food and apple cider. What’s next, Mr. Snowden? Flowers?”
As if on cue, Jenks darted out from behind the house. “Best I could do on short notice, Hank.” He shoved a handful of carrots, dirt still sticking to their russet sides, into the bed of the wagon.
“Thank you, Billy,” Nancy said kindly.
“Oh, they ain’t for you, ma’am,” he qualified. “They’re for the horses, so they’ll trot real good for you.”
“It seems Mr. Snowden thought of everything,” Nancy said, though he could see she was fighting a smile.
“I try,” Hank said, bowing his head.
Upkins spoiled the humility by clapping him on the back. “Ain’t that what I’ve always said? If there’s one thing you need to know about Hank Snowden, it’s that he’s mighty trying.”
Nancy’s laughter played them out of the yard.
“It really was kind of you to make the journey so comfortable,” she said as they crossed through the gates. “Especially after I insisted on coming with you.”
“Your company is welcome,” Hank assured her. “I’m just concerned for you and the baby. If you need to stop and rest anytime, you let me know.”
“I will.” She sat with her hands folded across her middle. She always looked so composed. Now she wore a proper white blouse and blue skirts, her hair up under her sombrero. Except for the hat, she might have been sitting in her parlor, entertaining callers. He was glad he’d decided to wear his leather vest over his cotton shirt.
The horses plodded down the road, their hooves raising puffs of golden dust with each step. Hawks circled overhead, and off in the distance, he saw an antelope bounding between the oaks.
“Why are you so determined to catch the rustlers?” she asked. The question sounded no more than curious, but she shifted on the cushion as if the topic still made her uncomfortable.
“Because they hurt people,” he told her. “CJ was knocked unconscious when they went after his horses. The Carsons lost their barn.”
Her fingers tightened. “That was all Lucas’s fault.”
“Lucas and whoever was planning to buy those cattle,” Hank insisted.
“He should be brought to justice,” Nancy agreed. “But I’m more concerned about your well-being.”
Was she? Her cheeks were turning that peachy color again, but he thought it had more to do with the heat of the moment than warm feelings. She needed his help. That
was all.
“Thank you kindly,” he said, gaze going back to the road. “But maybe we should talk about something else for a change.”
She leaned back as much as she could on the stiff bench. “Very well. Tell me about Burnet. Why does everyone want to go there?”
He had a feeling everyone meant her late husband. “It’s the county seat,” he allowed, “and I hear tell the politicians are already trying to see how they can pull our county into theirs to make a bigger one.”
The wagon hit a bump, shaking their seats, and she clung to the sideboard. “So there are government buildings in Burnet.”
“If you can call them that. Whitewashed brick and stucco, maybe two stories tall. Back in Waco, we had a courthouse shaped like a Greek temple. Burnet’s not that far along just yet.”
She closed her eyes. “Tell me about Waco, then.”
An image of his family’s ranch came to mind. Funny. He hadn’t thought about it in years. He could see the road running straight and true up to the house, the two wings fanning out from the wide, shaded front porch. He could smell the sage blooming in the spring, hear the call of the cuckoo in the summer. Faces flashed past—his sisters, his mother. A longing rose up inside him.
“Waco’s just a big town,” he said, feeling as if the seat had hardened beneath him. “Tell me about Missouri.”
She was quiet a moment, and when he glanced her way he saw a tear squeeze out from under her lashes and roll down her cheek.
Guilt struck him. “Here, now, no call to cry. We don’t have to talk about Missouri. We don’t have to talk at all. You just rest, and we’ll be in Burnet in no time.”
She nodded. In the silence, the thud of the horses’ feet sounded like hammer blows.
If he was feeling heavy now, how much worse would it be when they reached Burnet and he started asking questions she shouldn’t have to hear answered?
Chapter Twelve
They made it to Burnet that afternoon, after stopping several times to eat or take their comfort. Based on Hank’s dismal description of the place, Nancy wasn’t sure what to expect. She was pleasantly surprised to find the wide, dusty streets lined with trees and braced by neat two-story buildings, many with upper balconies. At the end of Main Street, she could see the square white block of the county courthouse, carriages and wagons crowded in front.