A Rancher of Convenience

by Regina Scott

  Was it possible she and Hank might make a true marriage?

  Ben wiggled inside her, and she pressed a hand against her lawn nightgown at the spot.

  “You like that idea, do you?” she murmured in the night, head resting against the soft pillow as she pictured a dark-haired little boy listening to her. “Mama’s learned love doesn’t come as easily as dreaming, present company excepted. What if he doesn’t love me back? What if I’m wrong about him?”

  What was she doing talking to someone who couldn’t answer?

  Of course, she couldn’t answer the questions either. But she knew someone who could.

  She’d always uttered formal prayers, until she’d heard Hank pray that night over dinner. Now she closed her eyes, focused her tumultuous thoughts.

  Lord, I remember a passage in the Bible that says You give wisdom to any who ask. Well, I’m asking. I don’t know whether to trust what I see, what I feel. I don’t know whether You put Hank in my life to help me or to be the helpmate You intended me to love. Won’t You please show me what to do?

  She fell asleep with a prayer still fading from her mind.

  The morning dawned bright and clear, and she drew in a breath before rising to change. The long drive back would give her and Hank ample opportunities to talk, to share. Maybe that’s why she felt so unburdened.

  She thought Hank was planning to leave early, so she was downstairs with her bag by seven. Cattlemen and their wives passed her spot on the upholstered chair in the lobby on their way to the hotel dining room beyond. Even where she sat she could catch the scent of bacon cooking. Other guests stopped to settle their bills before leaving. Any number glanced her way, and she made sure to sit with her hands folded so that her wedding band was visible.

  Twice the clerk came out from behind his post to see if she needed anything. The second time she agreed to his suggestion to have tea and biscuits brought from the kitchen for her while she waited.

  She was pouring herself a cup when a gentleman came in from the street. Portly and balding, black coat and trousers oddly formal in the frontier town, he made his stately way toward the dining room, starting to pass her as if she were no more than a familiar painting on the wall.

  Nancy set down her cup and rose to put herself in his path. “Mr. Cramore.”

  He stopped, blinked for a moment, then offered her a tight smile. “Mrs. Bennett. I had no idea you were in town.”

  “It’s Mrs. Snowden now,” she informed him. “I won’t detain you. I just wanted you to know that we are making a go of the ranch and should be able to pay you what we owe in the next few months.”

  Something flickered behind his pale eyes. “Excellent news. You will, of course, remember that there will be additional fees on the principle.”

  Nancy frowned. “Fees? I don’t recall you mentioning fees.”

  He tutted as if he thought she should have known without him saying so. “Filing, administration, interest. The usual things associated with business matters.”

  He made it sound as if she could not possibly understand. “May I see these fees itemized,” she asked, “so I know exactly what I owe?”

  “I do not carry paper and pencil around with me, my dear,” he answered with a chuckle. “And the amount of interest will change in any event, depending on when you actually arrange a payment. Perhaps next time you come to Burnet, you can make an appointment at my place of business, and I can review everything with you then.”

  “Delighted,” Nancy said, feeling as if she’d had honey poured over her head. “If you would be so good as to tell me the exact address. Mr. Snowden and I looked all over Burnet yesterday and even asked your direction. No one could tell us the location of the Empire Bank.”

  He raised his head, making his double chins quiver. “You must have asked the wrong people, Mrs. Snowden. Our location is no secret.” He glanced at the tall case clock against the far wall. “Ah, I fear I must leave you or I shall be late for my appointment.” He leaned closer, the scent of his flowery cologne washing over her. “A word of advice, if I may, my dear? As you are learning, many people are ignorant of the ways of the world. Be careful who you trust.”

  With a fatherly smile, he turned and strolled past her into the dining room.

  Nancy plopped down on her seat, fuming. It was one thing when she questioned her own judgment. It was another to have her intelligence questioned. No, not questioned, assumed! Did he really think she would blindly hand over money at whatever amount he decreed? That she’d accept anything he said to her, simply because he was a man and a banker?

  Her hand was shaking so hard she could scarcely lift her cup. She’d relied on Lucas, and he’d failed her. She’d believed Mr. Cramore’s papers that said Lucas owed him money, and now she was beginning to think the man’s story held more holes than a sieve. Why did she keep putting her trust in people? Was she as dim as Mr. Cramore seemed to think?

  Just then, the door to the hotel opened to admit Hank. His clothes were rumpled and stained, and his mouth was swollen on one corner. She was up and moving even as he stumbled.

  “What happened?” she cried, putting her shoulder under his arm and leading him to the chair she had vacated.

  “I might have run into a feller who thought I’d steal McKay’s cattle and sell them to him on the sly,” he answered, sinking onto the chair. “It seems it took my face hitting his fist to dissuade him.”

  “Oh, Hank.” She pulled a handkerchief from her case, wet it with the tea and handed it to him. “Press that against the spot. It will help the swelling go down.”

  “Much obliged.” He did as she’d suggested and grimaced as the tea must have stung. “Doesn’t look nearly as bad as it feels,” he assured her.

  She shook her head at his jest. “Did you at least learn something about the rustlers? Did this man know Lucas?”

  “He certainly gave me that impression,” Hank said, words coming out thicker around the handkerchief. “The discussion attracted the sheriff, who put the other feller in jail and promised to look into the matter. So I may have made some progress.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Snowden.” The clerk nodded a greeting as he approached, wringing his hands. “Really, we are a proper hotel. We simply cannot have such displays in our lobby.”

  Hank frowned at him over the lace-edged handkerchief. “I didn’t even reach for her hand.”

  Nancy smiled. “It’s all right. If you’ll provide the bill, Mr. Snowden will settle up, and we’ll be on our way.”

  And she could not wait to shake the dust of Burnet off her feet.

  * * *

  “If I ever leave Little Horn again, it will be too soon,” Nancy said as Hank directed the horses out of town. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. The sheriff had locked him in jail all night for disturbing the peace. What peace? He’d heard gun shots, whooping and hollering on the street until nearly dawn. His only consolation was that the rustler was confined to the other cell, and being questioned mercilessly by the sheriff.

  “You have what you need to make an arrest?” Hank had asked as the lawman let him out that morning.

  “Close,” the sheriff advised. “But I’ll probably have to let him out while I check into his story. You willing to testify against this fellow, tell the truth about your boss?”

  Nancy didn’t deserve to have her husband’s secrets trotted out for public consumption. But it was the only way to see the rustlers brought to justice.

  “I’m willing,” Hank had told him. “Send word to the Windy Diamond whenever you need me.”

  Now the jostling of the wagon on the rutted road north made him aware of every ache and injury earned in his fight with the rustler and on that hard cot in the jail cell. As the wheel hit a rock, pain shot through his jaw.

  He must have made a face, because Nancy stuck ou
t her lower lip in sympathy. Then she bent to rummage through her bag again. She’d placed it at her feet this time, as if expecting she might need it.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a gnarled stick. “Try chewing on this. It can ease the pain.”

  He recognized the little root as ginger. He stuck it in his mouth and clamped down on it. The sharp warm taste poked his tongue.

  She glanced down at her belly. “What are we going to do with your pa, Ben? He can’t go picking fights with men twice his size. We need him.”

  Hank pulled the ginger from his mouth. “He wasn’t twice my size. And you didn’t see his face this morning.”

  She regarded him with raised brows.

  Hank shook his head, sending a fresh spasm through his cheek. “All right. My face looks worse than his, at least at the moment. But I didn’t start the fight. All I was doing was looking for answers.”

  “So you endangered your life again,” she accused him.

  Did she want the villain to go free? “You have to kill a steer to get steak,” he countered.

  She rounded on him, eyes blazing. “I don’t need steak! I have acres filled with cattle! What I need is a husband.”

  He turned his gaze toward the front, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. “You had one. I’m just trying to figure out why he left the way he did.”

  “Oh, chew on your ginger,” she snapped.

  He did. And she was right, as she always was in matters of medicine. The pain in his jaw slowly subsided.

  The pain in his heart grew heavier.

  He pulled the root out of his mouth again. “I didn’t go looking for trouble, Nancy. The feller sidled up to me on the street, said he knew I rode for the Windy Diamond, offered to introduce me to someone who would take cattle, no questions asked.”

  Nancy frowned, gaze on the oaks clustered to one side of the road. “He knew you were from the Windy Diamond?”

  “Named it specifically,” Hank assured her.

  “Then he knew Lucas.” Her voice had a finality about it he couldn’t like.

  “Could be,” he allowed, “or he might have learned the names of all the ranches between Burnet and Little Horn and guessed the brand. Pays to know who you’re stealing from, I guess.”

  “He must have been involved in the thefts,” she said. “Can we prove it?”

  He sure hoped so. “The sheriff said he’d look into the matter.”

  She cast a quick glance his way. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “After our first meeting with the sheriff, I wasn’t,” he admitted. “But it’s possible he’s coming around. He questioned the feller most of the night.”

  “You heard him?” She swiveled to face him fully. “What did he say? Are there other rustlers near Little Horn?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hank told her, easing the horses into a canyon that cradled the road. One thing about driving in the hill country, you never knew who or what might be waiting in the draws and around the bend. He was just glad the way ahead looked empty, with nothing more dangerous than a jackrabbit bounding into cover under the low-hanging branches of a scrub oak.

  “All he’d say was that he was just trying to help out hands like him who weren’t riding for the brand at the moment.”

  “Riding for the brand,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “It means a cowboy is attached to a spread, like Upkins and Jenks and I are part of the Windy Diamond. A cowboy without work tends to find ways to get himself in trouble.”

  “So we still don’t know how Lucas was planning to sell those cattle,” she surmised.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But we do know it was someone around Burnet.”

  She cast him another glance. “So I suppose that means you’ll be going back to Burnet.”

  Somehow she made it sound as if he planned to ride to California and never return. “I’d like to hear how the sheriff’s investigation goes,” he admitted.

  Her fingers were knitting together over baby Ben, as if she was determined to hold him close. “I need you on the ranch.”

  There was that. Particularly with roundup starting in only a week or two, she needed all the help she could get. Transferring the reins to one hand, he reached out and patted her arm with his other hand.

  “Don’t fret. I won’t go until the cattle are to market. We’ll need to head into town then in any event to pay off the Empire Bank.”

  He felt her hands tense and pulled away.

  She offered him an apologetic smile. “Maybe, or maybe not. I meant to tell you. I saw Mr. Cramore.”

  Hank stiffened, and the horses picked up their pace in response to the pressure on the reins.

  “When? Where?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you went looking for him.”

  She brushed off her skirts as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “You sound concerned.”

  “Of course I’m concerned,” Hank told her. “As far as we knew, Cramore worked out of the back of some gambling establishment. I don’t want you anywhere near one of those.”

  She turned her head to watch him. “Worried about my safety?”

  “Well, sure,” Hank said, wondering how she could be so calm. “You should have heard the goings-on in the streets last night. And there are unsavory types who frequent those places. No telling how they’d react to a pretty gal sashaying in. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The words seemed to echo from the canyon walls, hover in the air between them. That feeling was coming over him, and he knew he’d been wrong.

  “Oh,” Hank said.

  She cocked her head at his obvious realization. “Yes?” she said, batting her honey-colored lashes. “You were saying?”

  “You’re right,” Hank said, tucking the remains of the ginger in his pocket. “I don’t like the idea of you in danger any better than you seem to like the thought of me in danger.” He wasn’t willing to confess to more than that. “Where did you run into Cramore?”

  She relaxed back against the seat, as much as she could on the hard wood. “He came into the hotel to meet someone,” she said. “I practically had to accost him to get him to stop and talk. And I didn’t much like what he said.”

  Hank gripped the reins, wishing the pushy little banker was in front of him right then. “Did he threaten you?”

  “In a way,” she admitted. “He refused to give me the location of his bank, and he warned me to be careful who I trusted. As if the most untrustworthy person I’ve ever met wasn’t the one speaking to me!”

  Her righteous indignation rolled off her like steam from a hot springs.

  “We’ll pay him off,” Hank promised. “And you won’t have to deal with him again.”

  “That’s just it,” she said, pushing back a tendril of hair that had come loose in the breeze. “I’m not sure he wants us to pay him off. He gave me some vague excuse about fees and claimed we owe more than we thought.”

  From the first, the so-called banker had tried to put himself forward—dismissing Nancy’s plan to learn enough to run the ranch, trying to install his own man to manage things for her. Had Lucas Bennett really signed away such rights, or was Cramore taking advantage of the situation?

  “We’ll pin him down,” Hank told her. “That new lawyer in Little Horn might be able to help prove the truth of the matter. All I know is that nobody owns one acre of the Windy Diamond but you.”

  “And you,” Nancy reminded him, hand once more covering Ben.

  They discussed their options on the ride back. Nancy was for approaching Jeb Fuller about the matter or going all the way to Austin to talk to the federal marshal at the state capital. Hank wasn’t sure the law would step in on what some might see as a closed case. Besides, the more questions a lawman asked, the more likely Nancy would
hear about Hank’s role in Lucas’s death. Given her concerns, now didn’t seem the best time to confess.

  He was just glad to find everything at the ranch in good shape when they pulled the wagon into the yard later that afternoon. Hank unloaded while Upkins sat with Nancy on the porch and gave her a detailed report on the ranch. Jenks came to help Hank unhitch the horses. They let the pair out into the corral and started back for the house.

  The young cowhand dug into his pocket before they reached the porch. “Letter came for you,” he said, handing Hank the battered missive. “Hope it ain’t bad news.”

  Hank recognized the elegant hand immediately. He stopped in the yard and stared at it. His own hand shook as he broke open the letter and read the words from his mother.

  “Hank?”

  Nancy’s voice seemed to come from a long ways off. He looked up to find her and his friends all gazing at him with obvious concern.

  “What’s wrong?” Nancy asked, rising from her seat on the porch.

  He cleared his throat of the lump building there. “My pa’s dying. Ma says he wants me to come back to Waco to say goodbye.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nancy knew the pain of loss—her father, her mother, Lucas. She remembered the dark days when it had seemed as if the world would never be the same, when she might not be able to go on. But she’d never seen such pain and confusion that blazed from Hank’s face a moment before he blanked the emotions out.

  “Well, then,” she said, “it seems we’re going to Waco.”

  “Nancy,” he started, but she turned to her other two boys.

  “The trip will take quite a few days, I imagine. Mr. Upkins, will you and Billy need another hand to see to the cattle while Mr. Snowden and I are away?”

  “Nancy,” Hank pressed.

  Mr. Upkins and Billy exchanged glances, ignoring him, as well.

  “Reckon we could use some of those youngsters Mr. Thorn and Mr. McKay have been teaching in their young rancher’s program,” the older hand mused. “They can ride herd with me during the day while Jenks does the night riding.”