A Rancher of Convenience

by Regina Scott

  The younger cowboy nodded his agreement.

  Hank took a step forward as if to make sure they couldn’t overlook him this time. “I can’t ask that of you two. And Nancy, I can’t take you to Waco. It’s too far by wagon.”

  She was not about to let him face his family alone. “You didn’t ask anyone a favor, Hank. I did. Mr. Upkins and Billy have given you their answers. And as far as going by wagon, if that is impractical, we’ll go by train.”

  Hank shook his head. “Train tickets cost money we can’t spare.”

  Billy cleared his throat. “I’ve a little money put aside. You’re welcome to it if it helps.”

  Hank stared at him, but warmth bubbled up inside Nancy, and she put a hand on the cowboy’s thin shoulder. “That is very kind of you, Billy.”

  “But you don’t need to do this,” Hank insisted.

  Billy ducked his head, but Nancy could still see that his skin was turning as red as his hair.

  “My ma died when I was born,” he murmured. “My pa, when I was ten. I’ve been riding from spread to spread ever since. I reckon you three are the closest thing I got to family. That’s what families do—help each other.”

  Hank sagged as if he couldn’t protest against that. Nancy squeezed Billy’s shoulder. “That’s exactly right. But I’ll only take that money as a loan. I’ll pay you back once the cattle are sold.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” Hank replied, looking from Billy to Mr. Upkins. “For everything. Thank you.”

  The veteran nodded, stepping back. “Well, those steers won’t watch themselves. I best be riding.”

  “And I best get some shut-eye so I can ride tonight,” Billy agreed.

  Nancy released him. “Very well, but I expect you both at the house at six. I’m cooking dinner, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Now even Mr. Upkins was reddening, but she thought it was from pleasure. They both tipped their hats to her before heading out.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Hank asked as she turned for the house.

  “I’ll keep it simple,” she promised. “There is some ham left in the larder, and I can easily add mashed potatoes, biscuits and peach preserves.”

  Hank caught her arm. “I wasn’t talking about dinner. Are you certain you want to come to Waco? I told you a little about how it was between my father and me. With him ailing, it’s not likely to be a pleasant reunion. I can’t be sure what I’ll walk into.”

  “Which is precisely why you will not walk into it alone,” she informed him. “I agree with Billy. We are a family. We stick together, through thick and thin.”

  “For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,” he murmured, releasing her.

  She’d said those vows twice now, but never had she felt them more surely. “That’s right. I mean to honor those commitments.”

  His smile inched into view. “Even the obey part?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  He laughed as she climbed the stairs for the house.

  With Hank off to see to the horses, Nancy set to work inside. Bless Billy for keeping the wood box full. It was easy for her to stoke up the fire in the black iron stove. One of her boys must have been hunting earlier, for she found a brace of pigeons in the larder. She smiled thinking how they had to be from Mr. Upkins. Billy still couldn’t bear to kill a helpless critter.

  Her boys. Her family.

  Her husband?

  Hank had resisted her coming to Waco, but she felt the bonds knitting them together—concern for the ranch, preparations for the baby. Yet how could they become a true family if Hank couldn’t overcome the wound his family had caused? Like her, most of the time he went on with life as if the past was forgotten, then something brought it to front of mind with sharp clarity. But people changed, learned, grew. Maybe Waco wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. Either way, she intended to stand beside him.

  Her boys started arriving a little before six. Billy came first, damp hair slicked back from his freckled face, plaster sticking to one cheek, where he must have cut himself shaving. He handed her a bunch of daisies, stems cracked here and there from his grip.

  “To pretty up the table,” he said. “Though I reckon it will be pretty enough with you sitting at it.”

  Nancy thanked him with a smile and pointed him to a chair. But he stood awkwardly beside it, shifting from foot to foot on his pointy-toed boots.

  “It’s all right, Billy,” she assured him, going to put his flowers in a vase. “You can sit until the others arrive.”

  “Mr. Upkins says it ain’t right to sit while a lady stands,” he protested, hands gripping the back of the chair as if he defied anyone to force him into it.

  “If the lady tells you to sit,” Nancy countered with a look his way, “you sit.”

  He yanked out the chair and plunked himself down onto it.

  Mr. Upkins was next. Once more he had donned the black coat and trousers he’d worn when he’d walked her down the aisle.

  “Mrs. Snowden,” he greeted her, taking her hand and bowing over it like a courtier of old. “Right honored to be invited to your table.” He frowned at Billy as he straightened, and the youth popped to his feet once more, standing at attention as if he’d been conscripted into the army.

  “Please,” Nancy said, “sit down, both of you. I’ll just bring out the rest of the food. I’m sure Mr. Snowden will be here shortly.”

  She turned for the stove to find Mr. Upkins there ahead of her. “Now, you just set down and rest a spell,” he insisted. “I know my way around a stove. I’ll have everything on the table quick as a wink.”

  Faced with his determination, Nancy could only thank him and go to sit, while Billy went back to shifting from foot to foot.

  Mr. Upkins had the pigeon pie, ham, biscuits and potatoes on the table and had taken a seat across from the trembling Billy when boots thudded up the back steps. Hank paused in the doorway as if to take in the tableau. He too had a clean-shaven jaw and damp hair, but the black locks were curling around his face as they dried. He kicked the dirt off his boots before entering, then nodded a greeting to his friends.

  Taking his seat beside Nancy, he clasped his hands and bowed his head. Nancy saw Mr. Upkins and Billy follow suit before doing so herself.

  “Dear Lord,” Hank prayed. “You sure are generous. Around this table, You’ve given us good friends, good food. I want You to know we’re thankful, and I for one won’t be taking it for granted. The Good Book says You own the cattle on a thousand hills. Thanks for sharing some with us. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Nancy murmured along with Mr. Upkins. She raised her head to find Billy staring at Hank.

  “God owns cattle?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  Hank tucked his napkin under his chin. “That’s what it says in the Bible. Pastor Stillwater read it to us a few weeks back.”

  Billy grinned as he glanced around at them all. “Why, then, that means Jesus must be a cowboy!”

  Nancy pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

  Mr. Upkins went so far as to point his fork at the youth. “Now, then, don’t you go putting on airs.”

  Billy shook his head. “No, sir. But it does set a body to thinking.”

  Yes, it did, though at the moment Nancy’s thoughts were more focused on the man who sat next to her and what he would find once they reached Waco.

  * * *

  They left three days later, after Hank had had time to tell Edmund and CJ about what he’d learned in Burnet. The other ranchers agreed to help Upkins and Jenks while Hank and Nancy were gone.

  “And tell Nancy she was right about Molly,” CJ said to Hank as he was getting ready to ride back to the Windy Diamond. The rancher’s lean face broke into a grin. “Looks like the twins are going to have a baby brother or sist
er in a few months.”

  “Congratulations,” Hank said, clapping him on the back. “I can see our Ben and your young’uns growing up together.”

  “More recruits for the Young Ranchers,” Edmund agreed with a smile.

  Hank was smiling too as he set off for the ranch. The next generation of Little Horn was rising up all around. He’d never seen CJ so happy. He knew the feeling. He could hardly wait to be a pa.

  But just the idea of fatherhood sobered him. He and his father had never managed to come to terms. He’d meant what he’d said to Nancy—he didn’t know what he’d face in Waco.

  Still, he knew what he wanted here in Little Horn—a home, a family, friends and neighbors who looked out for one another. More, he wanted a chance with Nancy to make a real marriage.

  And that meant he had to tell her the truth about his role in Lucas’s death, even though telling her could cost him everything.

  It was that thought, more than the reunion with his father, that set his stomach to churning as he waited with Nancy on the platform for the train to arrive. She was dressed in blue skirts with white piping running down the panels like icing, a white bodice gathered high at her throat and a darker blue cape over the top. He could feel her bouncing on the toes of her boots as she glanced down the track.

  “Nervous?” he asked.

  She shot him a grin. “More like excited.”

  He willed her attitude to flow over him. Better excitement than dread. “My first time on a train,” he acknowledged. “You too?”

  She shook her head. “I rode on one on the way from Missouri, but my father introduced me to them when I was a child. He worked for a time as a dispatcher for the Frisco Line out of Springfield. Steam engines fascinated him. He said riding in them was the closest we’d ever get to flying.”

  Hank wasn’t so sure. He could see the smoke belching out of the stack as the massive black engine rumbled into view. The platform at his feet trembled. He clapped his hands over his ears as the train roared to a stop. The whole thing looked mighty earthbound to him.

  The conductor, a tall fellow with a neat brown cap and bushy white mustache, made them wait while passengers filed off and collected luggage, townsfolk came to unload freight and Nancy and Hank’s bags were stowed. Every moment that passed he felt his nerves tightening. He was jumpy as a herd of cattle on a stormy night, ready for the least sound to set them stampeding. Only he had nowhere to run.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called, deep voice cutting through the hiss of steam. “All aboard for Waco and points north!”

  Nancy seized Hank’s hand and dragged him onto the train.

  He had to own the inside was impressive, with walls paneled in fine wood and high-backed benches covered in green velvet upholstery. Nancy chose two seats opposite each other. His seat even gave a bit as he dropped onto it, and he bounced experimentally.

  “Isn’t it grand?” Nancy asked, eyes shining.

  It was grand, until the train’s horn blared. He nearly jumped out of his seat. Then, he had to grab hold of the armrest to keep from falling over as the car jerked into motion.

  Nancy was looking out the window, waving at some of the folks on the platform. “Here we go!”

  He realized his fingers were digging into the seat and forced his hands to relax. “Bit unsteady,” he remarked.

  “You wait until we get up to full steam,” she promised, turning to face him and settling back in her seat. “It will go as fast as a galloping horse, for hours.”

  Hank drew in a breath and nodded. He knew the feel of his horse beneath him—warm, sure, alive. He trusted her to respond as he ordered, to any situation. She’d carried him through rainstorms and stampedes alike. The train rocked and clanked and spewed out black smoke, and he had no faith he could command it or tell it where to go.

  The conductor came around, even though Hank could not understand how the man remained upright much less looked so calm and cool as he inspected and punched Nancy’s ticket.

  “How long until we reach Waco?” she asked him as he returned it.

  “About three hours, ma’am,” he replied with a nod. He took Hank’s ticket and peered down at it a moment with a scowl before punching it and handing it back. Hank wasn’t sure if the conductor thought there was something wrong with the ticket or with him.

  Nancy settled her skirts about her. “There you are. Only three hours to travel more than a hundred miles. Isn’t that amazing?”

  Hank closed his eyes. Three hours? Already he wanted out of the confining car. “Sounds good,” he said for her sake.

  “Hank?”

  He opened his eyes to find her regarding him with a frown. Meeting his gaze, her look softened.

  “It will be all right,” she promised. “Your father asked for you to come. He wants to see you.”

  She’d mistaken his concerns, but he couldn’t help a laugh at her assumption about his father. The laugh sounded hollow even to him.

  “He likely asked me to come to tell me one last time what a disappointment I am,” he replied.

  “He’s dying,” Nancy protested. “Surely he wants to make peace.”

  Hank shook his head. “Pa’s not the peaceful type. His parents died when he was young. He started riding when he was about nine.”

  “So young?” She glanced down at the baby as if she couldn’t imagine that for her own child.

  “I’m not sure Pa was ever really a boy. He was more determined than any man I ever met. He had a dream of owning his own spread, of being beholden to no one. He never stopped until he had achieved that dream. And, then, all he could think about was having everything be the best—his cattle, his horses, his hands and his family.”

  “Surely your mother had something to say about the family,” Nancy said.

  “My mother has a way of making her opinions known,” Hank answered, remembering. “But make no mistake, Nancy. I may be going home after a long time far away, but I’m not expecting anyone to kill the fatted calf.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll weather it together.”

  Her kindness only made it harder for him to make his confession. He pulled back, swallowed, determined to get it over with. “Nancy, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  She nodded, encouraging. “I’m listening.”

  He felt as if each word was being yanked from his heart. “It’s about the day Lucas was shot.”

  Her lips tightened, and she folded her hands over the baby. “Must we talk about that again?”

  He didn’t like it any more than she did. “Sorry. I know it’s not a pleasant subject. But yes, it’s important we talk about it again. Did Sheriff Fuller explain that Lucas drew on us?”

  She nodded, face puckering. “Yes. I don’t know what he was thinking. Why would he threaten his friends?”

  Hank had wondered the same thing. “Likely he was scared, not thinking straight. I wasn’t thinking straight myself. Here was my boss, the man who had made me part of Little Horn, who had given me a place in the league, pointing a gun at me.”

  “It must have been dreadful,” she commiserated.

  “What came next was worse,” Hank told her, feeling sweat starting on his brow. “I’d already figured it was my fault the cattle had been stolen. I’d told Lucas all about the patrols. He knew just how to avoid them. Now here he was threatening to shoot my friend McKay. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  He swallowed and met Nancy’s gaze, which was growing darker with each word. “I drew and shot him, Nancy.”

  She shook her head. “No, the sheriff shot him.”

  “Jeb Fuller shot at the same time,” Hank told her. “Not one of us was even sure which bullet had hit Lucas. But I had to know. I rode down into the canyon later and checked. I pulled a rifle bull
et out of a fence post. My bullet went into Lucas.”

  Her face was twisting, and he hurried on before she could protest further. “I only meant to wound him, make him drop the gun, but he must have moved at the last moment and stepped straight into the path of the bullet.”

  The peaches in her cheeks were fading away. “That can’t be right. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I didn’t want to,” Hank assured her. “But I’m afraid it’s my fault you’re a widow, Nancy. I killed your husband.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nancy felt as if all the air had left the train car in a whoosh. With it went sound and sensation. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond one simple, horrible fact.

  Hank had killed Lucas.

  “No,” she said. “No. Not you. I won’t believe it.”

  His blue eyes were dark and heavy, his face sagging. Pain radiated out of him like heat from a stove. “I’m telling the truth, Nancy. I should have confessed weeks ago, but I couldn’t find the right time or place.”

  There was no right time or place to tell her what made no sense. How could Hank—loyal, steady, helpful Hank—have killed anyone, let alone Lucas?

  “But he befriended you,” she protested. “His hospitality was one of the good things you said we should remember. You told me you were honored by his trust.”

  His hands were fisting so tightly on his knees she thought his rough nails might be gouging into his palms.

  “It was an honor to be entrusted with membership in the league,” he said. “I finally started feeling like a man again, working beside Thorn and McKay to make Little Horn a better place.”

  “And it is a better place,” she reminded him. “We have a church for worship. The Carsons have a barn. I just don’t understand why Lucas had to die.”

  His sigh sounded as if it had been ripped from his heart. “I don’t know that he had to die. I couldn’t believe at first that he was the one causing all the trouble. He had everything! A ranch of his own, friends, you. How could he possibly be the rustler stealing everyone’s cattle?”

  She felt as if his bewilderment had reached across the space and grabbed her by the hand. “I’ve asked myself that so many times. But now we know. He wanted the money because he was gambling. And he started gambling because he was disappointed about not being invited home to Alabama.”