by Regina Scott
But Hank pulled back, his smile soft. “You are beautiful, Nancy, and if it takes me telling you that every day for the rest of our lives for you to believe that, I’ll do it.”
The emotions crowding inside her sealed her lips.
He rose and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “See you in the morning.”
The air felt colder as he moved toward the door. Was it her imagination, or were his steps a bit unsteady? Had the kiss affected him as much as it had her?
“Hank?” she asked as he reached for the door handle. “Is there something more I should be doing to be a good wife to you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, so quick and hard she couldn’t doubt him. “You’re nigh close to perfect. I reckon most men have to fight to keep from falling in love with you. I certainly did.”
He yanked open the door and bolted out of the room as if afraid she’d ask him to explain that statement. As it was, his words hung in the air. She wanted to jump from the bed, race after him, demand that he elaborate. Was that his declaration of love? Was letting down her hair, using her sweetest tone and sharing a kiss all it took to win a heart as sheltered as his?
She couldn’t believe it, so she stayed put. She’d dressed well, cooked well, cleaned and sewed and tended the garden, catered to Lucas’s least need, and he hadn’t fallen in love with her.
She lay on the bed, listening to the sizzle of the lamp. One evening of tenderness wasn’t enough to build love in her experience. Of course, Hank seemed more spontaneous. Look at the way he’d ridden after that rustler who’d been watching the herd, the way he’d sawed the legs off her sewing chair in a burst of inspiration. If he was going to fall in love with her, wouldn’t he have done so by now?
What more could she do? What more should she do to earn his love?
The statement hit her as hard as his words. Was that what she’d been doing, trying to earn first Lucas’s love and now Hank’s? She knew better than that. Love wasn’t something you earned through hard work but something that grew naturally, like the bluebonnets that blanketed the fields every spring.
Oh, she thought a marriage required nurturing and tending, like any garden, but maybe it wasn’t her efforts that made the seed sprout any more than it was the farmer who made his crops begin growing.
That part was up to God.
She closed her eyes, shut out all sound. Lord, I’m learning that You’re part of my life in ways I never imagined. You must have given me Hank for a reason. Was it love? Can we forge a marriage that’s strong enough to last?
The door opened, and so did her eyes. Hank offered her a sheepish grin. There was something soft, vulnerable about his face, as if humility had wiped away all the bravado.
“Forgot my shaving kit,” he said before going to fetch it.
Kind, considerate, gentle.
Loyal, sweet, hardworking.
This was a man she could love.
The feeling was so strong, so right, she knew it for the truth. Once more joy trembled through her.
He paused at the door. “Good night, Nancy. Sweet dreams.”
She nodded, unsure how to express the feelings singing through her. All she knew was that they had a chance. He closed the door behind him.
“Good night, husband,” she whispered.
* * *
Hank’s sisters had told Nancy about Sunday arrangements, so the next morning she donned the blue dress she’d worn on the train. She was just finishing buttoning up her boots, a process that was becoming more challenging as the baby grew, when Missy flounced in wearing a white organza gown that floated about her own widening figure.
“Well?” she demanded, blue eyes merry. “How did it go?”
“Fine,” Nancy said, standing to check her hair in the mirror on the bureau. She turned to find Missy frowning at her.
“Fine?” Hank’s sister tapped her pink kid leather shoe against the floorboards. “Details, dear. Details.”
Nancy put out a hand to her. “I truly appreciate your help, Missy, but the details must remain between me and Hank.”
“Oh.” Missy wiggled her blond brows. “I understand. Really. And I’m so glad things went well. Maybe he can give up sleeping on the settee soon.”
Nancy knew she was blushing as she followed Hank’s irrepressible sister out of the room.
With all the family in residence for once, Mother Snowden had arranged a big breakfast, but Nancy found it hard to do justice to the poached eggs covered in melted cheese, the crisp fried potatoes mixed with peppers, the generous slabs of steak and ham and the fresh-baked bread dripping with butter and preserves. Missy had no such trouble, but she slowed down when she met Nancy’s gaze.
“Here, Ernesto,” she said, sliding her plate toward her handsome husband. “You finish the steak. I’ll have some more of Mother’s apple preserves.”
The children joined them in the parlor afterward, and there was much scurrying as mothers attempted to put hats on their children without losing their own.
A boy of about five with Missy’s golden hair stepped in front of Nancy where she and Hank were waiting by the door. “You’re new,” he accused.
Hank squatted to put his face on a level with the lad’s. “I’m older than you.”
His nephew paused to consider that. “Who’s she?” he asked, pointing at Nancy.
Hank glanced up at her and smiled. “That’s the most beautiful gal in Texas.”
Delight rippled through her, but the boy regarded her, head cocked.
“I think you’re right,” he said. And then he turned and scampered off.
Hank took her hand in his. “See? Even my nephew agrees with me.”
“He’s still young,” Nancy pointed out, feeling her cheeks heating under Hank’s regard.
“Doesn’t make his opinion any less valid,” Hank insisted. “Now, let’s see what we can do to get this herd a-moving.”
“They aren’t cattle,” Nancy said with a smile.
His eyes sparkled, reminding her of his sister. “Same principles apply. I’ll ride flank. You take rear.”
She laughed, but he peeled off from her to stalk around the edges of his milling family. Like Mr. Upkins urging the herd, Hank nudged here, spoke a word of encouragement there. Nancy dropped to the back and tried to mimic his actions. With protests punctuated by laughter, his family began moving toward the door. Nancy kept any from escaping back into the house.
“That was some roundup,” she teased as she met Hank on the porch, watching as his family climbed into various buggies and wagons for the trip to Waco.
He tipped his hat. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Do it without blocking the steps,” his father ordered, coming out onto the porch, wife on his arm. Mother Snowden was dressed in a fine black velvet gown with a cream-colored lace front. A hat crusted with black lace and pearls sat above her carefully confined silver-and-black hair. Henry Snowden likewise wore a black suit and crisp white shirt with a black bow tie at his throat. Nancy didn’t think it was the contrast of the colors that made his skin look sallow.
At the sight of his father, Hank stood straighter. “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t sure if you would be joining us today.”
“What have I always told you about services?” his father returned, pausing at the top of the steps and leaning heavily on his cane.
“If you’re too sick to make it to church, you’re too sick to do anything else,” Hank replied. “Glad to see you’re not so sick, Pa.”
His father humphed as he eased himself down the steps, but Hank’s mother cast them both a grateful look.
“This could be interesting,” Hank said.
“If you say that word one more time, I will personally show you what interesting is,” Nancy threatened.
Laughing, Hank led
her to the waiting buggy.
* * *
Hank expected to feel some trepidation at the possibility of meeting Adam and Mary Ellen again, but he found himself more entranced with Nancy. She sat between him and Tom in Judith and Red’s buggy, taking in the sights and answering Judith’s questions about Little Horn. Though Nancy’s hair was now bound up at the top of her head, he couldn’t help remembering how it had looked last night, soft and sleek around her face. Her gaze had been nearly as soft when he’d kissed her.
“Why are you staring at me?” she murmured when he helped her down from the buggy near the church. “Have I sprouted more freckles?”
“No, ma’am,” he assured her. “And that’s a real pity as they look so fine on you.”
She dropped her gaze, and he could see a smile tugging at her mouth.
But her head came up as they approached the church. The brick building with its sweeping arches and five-story tower could be seen from miles around.
“It always reminded me of a castle,” Hank confided as they followed his family toward the massive front doors. “All those stones on top look like fortifications.”
His mother must have heard him, for she glanced back at the pair. “Nonsense, Henry. I should hope we have more originality. Why, those stained glass windows came all the way from Paris.”
Nancy’s eyes widened.
He supposed the Waco church was a far distant style from the chapel in Little Horn, much less the tent they had been meeting in until recently. Growing up, he’d taken the polished wood pews, the twining arches overhead as typical of any church. Now as he and Nancy walked down the center aisle, he felt the weight of the place slip over him. With the flickering lamps along the paneled walls and the jewellike tones of the stained glass windows, this was a church for reflection, for awe of one’s Maker.
The preacher seemed to know this, for his sermon was thoughtful, encouraging. The only thing that kept Hank from full appreciation was the knowledge that this was the man his father had intended for Mira. He could not see the tall, thin, determined fellow with his sister.
It seemed as if his father hadn’t really known his children, based on the spouses he’d tried to choose for them. At times, Hank thought his father never saw his children as individuals but as a reflection of him. And just as a man worked to control his reflection in a mirror—combing his hair, adjusting his bandanna, forcing a smile on lips curved by sorrow—so his father had worked to control his children. Was he happy with the results?
Nancy’s hand slipped into Hank’s, and his troubled thoughts were replaced by a wave of thanksgiving. She’d said on the train here that Lucas Bennett had made choices, and so had she. It struck him now that his father had made choices as well, but it was Hank and his sisters who had to decide what to do about them. All of his sisters seemed sincerely in love with their husbands, contented for the most part in their families. Maybe he had a chance for the same.
He stood with Nancy to sing the final hymn to the thunder of the big pipe organ, hopes swelling along with the grand music. His family had filled the first three pews to the right of the aisle. Now Judith, Red and Tommy as well as Mira, John and their girls all joined their voices together, and even Missy and Ernesto managed to coerce their brood into tune.
Still, Hank knew the eyes of the congregation were on them all. Henry and Harriett Snowden were too well-known to have their activities go unnoticed. Maybe that was why, when Hank’s father stumbled coming out of the pew, Hank managed to prop him up without anyone being the wiser.
“Thanks,” his father murmured before turning to answer a question from Hank’s mother. As everyone else filed out, Hank paused to look back at the golden cross above the altar.
“Thanks,” he murmured before following Nancy and his family down the aisle.
In the churchyard, old friends and acquaintances stopped him to welcome him back, and he introduced them to Nancy and learned about their lives over the past five years. He wasn’t surprised to find most had married, and quite a few had babies of their own.
“We all grew up,” he told Nancy with a grin.
“People generally do,” she allowed.
“Well, you might not have been so sure if you’d seen us a few years ago,” Hank told her.
Just then he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Adam striding toward him. His friend looked much the same as Hank remembered him, brown hair curling around a boyish face, muscular body ready for action. But the green eyes that had once held mischief were now wary.
“Welcome back,” he said, stopping a little ways away from Hank and Nancy. “Sorry I didn’t come up right after service, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again.”
Hank held out his hand to the man who had once been as close as a brother. “Adam. Of course I want to see you, and Mary Ellen too. I heard you had children. Congratulations.”
Adam nodded. “Three so far. I’ve been blessed. That is...” his voice trailed away, and he dropped his gaze.
Hank felt for him. Even a year ago, he might have been the one to stutter in front of Adam, trying to find a way around a topic that could not be ignored.
“I’m glad for you both,” Hank told him now. “Mary Ellen knew what she was doing when she chose the best man.”
Adam’s head came up, and he stared at Hank. “You mean that?”
“I do.” And even though Adam’s face broke into the smile Hank remembered, he was sure no one was more pleased than him to feel the truth of those words.
Nancy had stepped back at Adam’s approach. Now Hank reached out and drew her forward. “I want you to meet my wife, Nancy. Marrying her changed my life.”
Nancy raised her brows at that, but she smiled at Adam and accepted his hand in greeting.
“So are you back to stay?” Adam asked.
Hank exchanged glances with Nancy. “No, we have a nice spread out by Little Horn. I just came to see my pa.”
Adam looked to where Hank’s father was talking to the minister. By the frown on the pastor’s face, it was not a pleasant conversation.
“I heard he was feeling poorly,” Adam said. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“I hope,” Hank echoed.
Adam turned to Nancy. “Even if it’s just a visit, I’m glad you came. I’d like you to meet my wife.” He turned and waved.
And there she was. Mary Ellen Turner glided across the grass, hair still as golden and wavy, eyes still the color of bluebonnets in the spring. Her smile was gentle as she came to a stop beside her husband and linked her arm with his.
But no birds sang, and no rainbows sprang from her smile. She was just a pretty gal who had married his friend.
“Henry, so nice to see you again,” she said, and Hank couldn’t like the name on her lips any more than he could on anyone else’s.
Nancy was at his elbow, and he could feel her tension. She had to wonder how she compared to the acknowledged beauty.
In his mind, there was no comparison. He had the perfect gal for him.
“This is Hank’s wife, Nancy,” Adam said into the silence.
Mary Ellen extended a hand. “Pleasure.”
Nancy shook the hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Mary Ellen dimpled, taking the compliment as her due. “How sweet. Adam and I talk often about the days we were all friends.”
“We’re still friends,” Adam protested. He glanced at Hank. “Aren’t we?”
“Of course we are,” Hank assured him. “But people change. We even learn a few things along the way.” He smiled at Nancy. “We might even learn who we ought to be.”
Her eyes brightened.
“So, you’ll be moving back to the ranch,” Mary Ellen surmised.
Hank shook his head, sparing he
r a glance. “No plans in that direction. God had something else in mind for this cowpoke.”
Across the churchyard, he could see his family starting to fill their buggies and wagons.
“We should go,” Nancy said as if she’d noticed, as well.
“It was very nice seeing you again,” Mary Ellen told Hank.
He nodded and shook Adam’s hand, then took Nancy’s elbow and led her away. And he wasn’t surprised to feel a spring in his step.
“Was that difficult?” Nancy asked as they approached the buggies, where Missy and Ernesto were trying to corral their herd and Mira was attempting to pull her girls away from a group of eager young men.
Hank shook his head. “Not at all.”
She beamed at him. “I am so glad, Hank. Truly.”
There was something in her tone, as if his meeting with Mary Ellen and Adam had set her mind at rest, as well. But why would she care, unless...
“Let’s round everyone up and head for home,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “I’ll take flank. You take rear.”
He couldn’t fault her logic. Still, it was a long ride back. His two oldest sisters and their families peeled off for their own homes partway along the road. He and Nancy rode with his parents, and his father was quiet, coughing from time to time into a handkerchief. Nancy nudged Hank at one point and nodded to where the white cloth was stained with red. Hank’s heart sank. When his father stood to get out of the buggy, it was all Hank could do to keep him upright.
“Walk me back to my room,” he ordered his son. “The rest of you can amuse yourselves.”
His mother looked less than pleased by this pronouncement, and Nancy glanced at Hank askance. He nodded her toward Missy, who was calling to her boys again. Knowing Nancy could hold her own with his sister, he escorted his father up the steps.
“Mrs. Turner is a fine figure of a woman,” his father commented, cane loud against the floor.
“She and Adam seem very happy,” Hank acknowledged.