A Rancher of Convenience

by Regina Scott

  She could almost believe that as the buggy rolled toward Waco proper. The train station was actually across the Brazos from the town, and Nancy couldn’t help gawking at the graceful suspension bridge that spanned the muddy waters.

  “The whole town banded together and built the thing a few years back,” Red told them as the wheels rumbled over the wooden slats. He directed the horses up the street to the town square, where a majestic county courthouse, looking like a Grecian temple as Hank had said, stood surrounded by trees. They passed any number of shops, and hotels as tall as three stories with clock towers on one end.

  And everywhere she looked, she saw the name of Snowden.

  There was the Snowden civic auditorium, the Snowden Conservatory for the Performing Arts and Harriett Snowden Park. Even Hank’s mother, it seemed, had something named after her.

  “Your family must have invested in the community,” she commented as the horses pulled the buggy to the north and east of town.

  Red barked a laugh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Henry Snowden likes to control things. You pay for something that needs building, and folks tend to listen to how you want it done.”

  She glanced at Hank, who shrugged. “I’d be the first to admit Pa likes things just so.” He leaned forward to speak to his brother-in-law. “How’s he doing, Red? Ma said he might not have much time left.”

  Red shook his head, gaze on the fields of cotton on either side of the road. White tufts bobbed in the breeze over dusky green plants, and she could see workers bent over, picking.

  “He has good days and bad,” Red admitted. “But you know your Pa. He’s not likely to let the Lord take him until he’s good and ready.”

  Nancy found that hard to believe. Certainly her father and mother had had no choice as to when they left this earth. Even Hank’s powerful father had to bow his will to the Master’s.

  But as they left the cotton fields behind, she began to appreciate what Hank’s father had built. It took them nearly an hour to reach the ranch house, the last half hour after passing through the iron gates of the Double H. The land was flatter here. Nancy saw none of the draws or limestone lifts common around Little Horn. Instead, the land was either cultivated with corn and hay or left to tall grasses where cattle grazed. The air smelled crisp, clean. Everything seemed organized, peaceful. She had a hard time imagining Hank here.

  As they drew closer to the center of the ranch, she saw that the layout was as well planned. The storage buildings were massive—barns with haylofts, two on either side of the road and open-air sheds that held plows and wagons. The house was just as grand. A single story, the center block was of stone, red marbled with white, while a wing in planks painted red led in either direction off a wide front porch. Red drew the buggy up in front, then climbed down along with Tom, who ran to hold the horses.

  Hank got out of the buggy more slowly. Nancy could see him eyeing the house a moment before he came around to help her.

  “Has it changed much since you left?” she asked.

  He glanced at the house again. “It hasn’t changed at all that I can see. Same flower boxes under the windows, red and white geraniums. Same blue rug on the porch. I’m just hoping not all the changes were in me.”

  Nancy hoped so too, for his sake as well as his family’s.

  The sound of the buggy must have alerted the house, for people began spilling out onto the porch. First came three boys, between six and eight, she guessed, their eyes wide and spirits high, black hair tumbling onto their foreheads. Next came a tall lady dressed in purple, hair piled up behind her and face serene. Tom wasn’t too grown-up to wave at her, so Nancy assumed she must be his mother. Behind her was a blonde beauty who had one hand gripping that of a toddler who walked with halting steps. She put her free hand to her back as if struggling with her advanced stage of pregnancy.

  Finally, a woman whose black hair was turning a shining silver came out onto the porch. At the sight of Hank, she steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips as if whispering a prayer of thanks.

  “Came on the noon train, just like you predicted, Mother Snowden,” Red said, pulling Nancy’s bag from the back of the buggy. “And with his blushing bride beside him.” His expansive wave took in Nancy and Hank.

  “Henry,” his mother said. Were those tears glistening in the blue eyes the exact shade of her son’s? “I’ve been praying for this day ever since you left.”

  Still Hank didn’t move from beside Nancy. She thought he might be holding his breath.

  “Go on,” she whispered. “Greet your mother.”

  He drew in a breath and nodded, then squeezed Nancy’s hand. “Thank you.” Raising his head and his voice, he spoke to the group. “It’s good to be here. I want you all to meet the lady who made Little Horn feel like home—my wife, Nancy.”

  * * *

  That took the focus off him. His nephews bounded down the steps to surround him and Nancy, peppering her with questions. Judith came more slowly. She was the only one in the family, Hank thought, who had ever earned Pa’s approval. Pretty and proper, she’d married the fellow Pa had picked out for her, the irrepressible Red, who owned a spread to the south. Even though the two had had a rough start, they seemed to be devoted now. Hank could see that in the way the big man approached his regal wife, slipping an arm around her slim waist and murmuring something in her ear. Judith glowed.

  “Boys! Boys!” Missy called from the porch. “You’ll scare the poor thing out of her wits before she even has a chance to learn your names.”

  Her sons ignored her, as usual. Though she’d married young and to a former hand to their parents’ dismay, Missy had done the one thing guaranteed to please his father—given him a passel of grandsons. It looked as if another was on the way. The closest sister to him in age, she grinned at him as if completely unapologetic for her unruly brood.

  “This is Clovis,” Hank told Nancy, trying to match the talkative boys to the shy toddlers he’d left behind. “This is Daniel. And this must be Buford.”

  One of the smaller boys shoved himself forward. “No, I’m Buford, and that’s Clovis.”

  Clovis must have been eating his greens, for he was already a head taller than his older brother. He offered Hank a gap-toothed grin as if he knew it.

  “Very pleased to make your acquaintances,” Nancy said with a smile.

  “Who’s that gonna be?” Buford demanded, pointing at Nancy’s belly.

  “Boys!” Missy handed her toddler to Judith and navigated the stairs surprisingly fast. “Go fetch your pa and tell him Uncle Hank is here.”

  The three boys obligingly ran off toward the closest barn.

  “Sorry about that,” Missy said, rubbing her side. “They’ve grown used to seeing me like this, so they know what’s going to happen.”

  “Nancy,” Hank said, hiding his grin at his sister’s honesty, “this is my sister Matilda.”

  Immediately his sister elbowed him. “Missy, you scoundrel. You know I hate Matilda.”

  “We all change as we mature,” Hank said, careful to sound appropriately pious.

  She laughed. “Oh, I doubt you’ve changed all that much. You still came running when Mother called.”

  He glanced up at the porch, where his mother waited in the shadows of the overhang. Now in her sixties, Harriett Snowden stood with hair perfectly arranged, lavender-colored dress with its lace at the throat looking as if she was ready to take tea rather than run a ranch.

  Judith looked nearly as composed as she glided up to them, Missy’s youngest in her arms. “Henry, welcome home.”

  “Nancy, this is my oldest sister, Judith,” Hank offered.

  Missy chortled. “Oldest sister. I like that.”

  Something flickered behind Judith’s blue eyes, a shade lighter than his. Was she vain about her age? He very
much doubted anyone looking at her lovely face and willowy frame would suspect she was ten years his senior or the mother of a fourteen-year-old boy.

  “I’m very glad to meet you,” she told Nancy, ignoring her sister. “Congratulations on your marriage to my brother. I only wish I’d known sooner so I could send you a card and gift.”

  She glanced at Hank again, and he knew he was supposed to beg her pardon, call himself lazy or ignorant. But he was not about to slip back into old habits and apologize for every little thing just because he was back at the Double H.

  “No gift necessary,” he assured his sister. “I’m the one who was given the greatest gift when Nancy agreed to be my bride.”

  Nancy blushed, but Missy sighed. “That’s so romantic.”

  Judith’s smile was more contained. “Indeed it is. Don’t let me keep you. We’ll have time to talk later. You should go to Mother.”

  Again, Hank glanced to the porch in time to see his mother extend her hand.

  “Henry,” she called. “Introduce me to my new daughter-in-law.”

  A command from the queen was never to be disobeyed. Both his mother’s demeanor and his father’s strict discipline had drummed that into them all. Still, he hesitated. What was he going to say to her?

  Missy arched a brow. “Well, go on. You know she isn’t going to holler. That’s simply not ladylike.”

  And his mother never did anything that wasn’t completely appropriate and proper.

  Nancy slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. Certainty flowed from her touch into his heart. Raising his head, he escorted her to the steps and up to his mother.

  The two women eyed one another a moment. He’d seen similar looks between steers, sizing each other up, wondering who’d give way first. Under different circumstances, he could imagine them pawing the ground and snorting, ready to defend all they held dear.

  After all, this was his mother’s castle. She’d never ceded her place to any of her three daughters. She wasn’t about to bow down to a newcomer.

  But if he’d had to stake his life on someone, it would have been Nancy.

  She was the first to smile. “Mrs. Snowden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mrs. Snowden,” his mother returned, then she raised her feathery brows. “My, how odd that sounds. May I call you Nancy?”

  “Please,” Nancy insisted. “And what shall I call you?”

  His mother’s precise smile appeared, the one she reserved for moments of command. “Why, Mother Snowden, dear. I’ve always been rather proud of my last name, unlike some.”

  It hadn’t taken long for the claws to come out. “I never lost pride in the Snowden name, Mother,” Hank told her. “I just lost faith in my ability to live up to it.”

  His mother softened. “I never had any doubts.”

  A shame he didn’t believe that.

  She glanced to where Missy was moving back up the steps, Judith patiently behind her. “Girls, why don’t you get your boys cleaned up for dinner? Take Nancy with you. I’d like a moment alone with Henry.” She smiled at Nancy. “I’m sure you don’t mind, dear.”

  Nancy glanced at Hank, and he could see the uncertainty in her gaze. She was concerned about him, but he was not about to leave her to his sisters’ not-so-tender mercies until he knew she felt comfortable. He threaded her fingers with his.

  “Nancy and I tend to stick together,” he told his mother. “I’m sure you understand.”

  His mother’s mouth quirked, but she was too polite to put up a fuss in front of his sisters. “Certainly. This way.”

  “Good luck,” Missy called before heading down the porch with Judith.

  Hank led Nancy into the house. It too looked exactly as he remembered it. From the beginning, his father had planned for a large family. The wide hallways opened onto a central parlor, where a stone fireplace big enough to roast an ox took up one of the walls. From the polished wood floor to the open beams in the ceiling, the room spoke of space to live, to grow. He’d simply grown beyond it.

  His mother went to perch on the settee his father had brought from back East for her. The camelback piece with its rose-colored brocade still looked out of place in a Texas ranch house, though the six dun leather-covered chairs surrounding it seemed more at home. She gazed pointedly at the space beside her, but Hank escorted Nancy to the chair opposite before sitting on the one next to his wife’s.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” his mother said.

  “Oh, I think you were,” Hank replied. “Red was waiting at the station. Missy and her family are here to greet us.”

  “Missy and her family are always here,” his mother said, and she didn’t sound all that pleased about the fact. “She and Ernesto moved in when your father fell ill.”

  If his father had accepted that much help, something was seriously wrong. Hank leaned forward. “How is he?”

  His mother spread her hands, dropping her gaze to the lavender of her lap. “Doing as well as might be expected.”

  The answer was as vague as Red’s, and his frustration inched upward.

  “What does the doctor think is wrong?” he pressed. “You didn’t say in your letter.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t like to think about it.”

  The gruff voice behind him set Hank’s hair rising on the back of his neck. Climbing to his feet and turning, he saw his father leaning in the doorway to the east wing.

  Here the changes he’d been seeking were at last evident. His father had always been a big man, powerful shoulders, strong legs. Now his blue shirt and denim trousers hung on him, and his shoulders sagged in the black leather vest. A face made rugged by forty years of riding looked gray, lined. Hank could see his father’s chest heave with each labored breath. Their gazes locked.

  “If you’re expecting your inheritance soon,” his father said, gray eyes hard as steel, “get used to disappointment. I intend to outlive you all, and I don’t need your pity. So you can take that woman with another man’s child in her belly and get out now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nancy’s hands were shaking at the insult Hank’s father had just uttered. She’d always been taught to be respectful to her elders, to speak when spoken to. Those rules had held her bound in the past. But Hank wasn’t the only one who’d grown through adversity.

  She surged to her feet and faced his father. “Don’t talk to Hank that way! He married me precisely because he knew I was pregnant and alone, my first husband dead. He was there when I needed him, and he came here because he thought you needed him. He never asked for your money, and he certainly doesn’t deserve your contempt.”

  As if in agreement, Ben squirmed inside her.

  The others were staring at her, but she refused to quail. All they saw was the past. She saw the man Hank had become, and she was proud of him.

  “Well,” his father drawled, “at least she has spunk.”

  Hank took a step closer, his smile all for her. “That’s just one of the things I admire about her.”

  Nancy blushed under his regard, but his father limped into the room and sank onto the settee beside his wife.

  “Sit down,” he ordered Hank and Nancy. “No need for me to crick my neck having this conversation.”

  She wasn’t sure she even wanted to talk to him. The gray tones to his skin, the sag of his mouth told her he was indeed gravely ill, but she didn’t think his illness was the only reason he didn’t resemble Hank. Hank had a buoyant spirit about him, rebounding from any trouble. His father seemed to have welcomed trouble more than he welcomed his son.

  Still, Hank had come here for his father. So long as that discussion was civil, she should encourage it. She returned to her chair, and, after a moment, so did Hank.

  “So you came to help, did you?” his f
ather asked, gray eyes watchful. “I have plenty of hands, and your sister’s husband is doing his best to confound and confuse them. What can you do?”

  “I didn’t come here looking for work,” Hank answered. “Nancy and I have a spread outside Little Horn. Nothing as big as this, but it keeps us plenty busy. I came because Mother said you were sick.”

  His father shook his head. “Vultures always gather around carrion.”

  Nancy felt her temper rising again, but Hank’s mother intervened this time.

  “I asked Henry to come,” she told her husband, laying her hand over his. “He was kind enough to accept my invitation. Please leave it at that.”

  As if certain her husband would comply, she turned to Hank. “You’ll stay here, of course. I have a room made up for you. Find Missy and ask her to show you the way. I’m sure you’ll want to change before dinner. Shall we meet in the dining room at six?”

  Nancy was beginning to realize that when Mother Snowden phrased things as questions, they were just as much orders as her husband’s commands. Indeed, even Hank didn’t argue.

  “Thank you, Mother.” He rose and held out his hand to Nancy, who took it to rise. For a moment, their gazes locked, and she thought she saw thanks written in the expanse of blue.

  Unfortunately, she had another concern.

  “One room?” she whispered as they left the parlor and headed out onto the porch to locate Missy. “Shouldn’t we ask for two?”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Hank said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I can sleep in the parlor. We can tell them it’s best for you and the baby.”

  He always knew what to say to allow her to breathe easier. His sister, however, was another matter.

  “Don’t you go upsetting Pa, Hank,” Missy said as she led them down one of the wings of the house past plastered walls braced by timbers and side tables holding tall vases of dried flowers. “The doctor says we shouldn’t rile him. It’s bad for his heart.”

  “You assume he has a heart,” Hank muttered.

  “Be nice, I said.” She stopped and held open a door. Nancy peered inside. The neat room was paneled in oak, with a warm red-and-blue rug on the floor and an elaborate lace doily on the mirrored bureau. The oak-framed bed in the center was edged with wrought iron and covered with a colorful quilt. Nancy couldn’t help moving closer to admire the carefully stitched pattern of red-white-and-blue-striped triangles around a center square.