Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1)

by Martha Shields

  Alex wriggled her toes in her new boots as she waited by the café door for Hank to pay the check for lunch. He’d insisted she wear them today “to break them in.” She couldn’t remember owning any shoes like them. At first she found it hard to walk. The stiff brown leather came halfway up her shins, and the sole was reinforced with a steel shank so it didn’t bend. That combined with the two inch heel made her feel like she was slapping the floor with every step.

  But she had to admit they were sturdier than any other shoe she’d ever owned. She could probably kick the tar out of anything... including nosy bosses.

  That thought made her look at Hank, who waited patiently for his change. She didn’t know what to think about all the attention he’d been lavishing on her.

  On the one hand, there were times when he looked at her like he wanted to rip off her clothes and devour her raw. She shivered as she remembered one particular look just that morning. She’d stood up to walk a few steps in the fourth pair of boots. She’d have been happy with the first pair—he was the one who insisted she try on several different styles. She’d studied herself from several angles in the boot-high mirror, then turned to find his eyes on her, hot enough to melt stone. She’d stood mesmerized, until he finally looked away.

  But on the other hand, there was no real evidence Hank had any sexual interest in her. Just those looks making the air between them sizzle like a pan of fajitas. He didn’t make passes, didn’t try to kiss her. He treated her like he treated everyone else—and he was driving her crazy.

  Hank unwittingly proved that by holding the door to the café open for her, then for a group of five women who were on their way in. He placed his hand on the small of her back as he walked her to the truck, but she’d seen him do the same with Claire.

  As Alex climbed into the cab of the truck, she felt so frustrated by the unacknowledged tension that she wanted to scream, “Look if you want to sleep with me, let me know so I can leave now.”

  But she didn’t say anything. Not only did she owe him for fixing her car, but if she were wrong, she’d feel like an idiot. So she just waited to see what his next move would be.

  He drove straight to a supermarket three times as big as the one in Dubois and pulled up to the front door. “I need to check on a couple of things at the courthouse. Will you be okay for about an hour?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a list a mile long.”

  “Add some gingersnaps to it.”

  “You like gingersnaps?”

  “Yep.” He leaned across to open the door for her. “Haven’t had any in a while. Get me some, will you?”

  “No.” Alex hopped from the truck and turned to see his frown. “I’ll buy ginger and make you some gingersnaps, but I won’t buy stale cookies that cost three times as much.”

  There was that look again. Blue lasers.

  Her body reacted the same way it always did—invisible shivers rippling across her skin. She grabbed the door to close it. “Anything else?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you in an hour.”

  “Okay. I’ll save the frozen stuff for last, since you’ll have the ice chests. Do I need to ask about getting the dry ice now, or when we pay?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “They know me here.”

  “Okay.” Alex closed the door of the truck, then stepped back as he pulled away. It struck her that they interacted like a married couple.

  She shook her head as she turned into the market. Married? Where had that notion come from? She was not in the market for a husband, lover or friend. She wanted to finish out her month, then head for San Francisco. Period. End of discussion. She was not listening to anything else her libido had to say on the subject.

  Alex stood back as Hank and a young grocery clerk named Mike loaded the supplies into the bed of the truck. The more fragile supplies were packed in boxes, the sturdier ones in sacks, the frozen ones bedded down in the ice chests with dry ice. They’d spent an enormous amount of money, but Alex knew these supplies would feed six people for at least two months—if the right person was preparing it. She felt a twinge of guilt when she realized that person wouldn’t be her, then rationalized that she would leave a well-stocked pantry for the next cook.

  So the amount of money they’d spent didn’t really bother her. The reason her mouth had gone dry was knowing what Hank expected of her on the way home. She’d been dreading it all day.

  She chided herself for being so reluctant to share her past. But she couldn’t forget the looks on co-workers’ faces who treated her like everybody else before they knew she’d been an orphan. The change wasn’t radical after they found out. They didn’t treat her like a leper or anything. But she’d catch looks of pity on their faces when they caught themselves discussing all the family they were having over for Thanksgiving dinner or Easter or Christmas. They would invite her, and she would refuse, then they’d look at her with even more pity. Or relief, which was worse.

  Little Orphan Alex. No one had actually called her that, but the name was too close not to make the comparison. She hated being different, hated being the one who never quite fit in anywhere, who never belonged.

  “That’s it,” Hank announced after he tested the security of the tarp he’d tied on top of the groceries. He handed the clerk a tip, then turned to her. “You ready to head back?”

  Alex nodded mutely and stepped toward the door. As usual, Hank made it there before she did and swung it open.

  She expected him to light into her right away, but he hadn’t said anything by the time they’d made it to the outskirts of Riverton, and she began to relax. Maybe he’d forgotten.

  She should’ve known better.

  As soon as he cleared the last subdivision, Hank pushed the truck into fourth gear to stay. He relaxed and stretched his arm across the back of the seat. “Now, where were we?”

  Acutely aware of his every move, she knew his fingers were only inches from the back of her neck. Could she really feel their heat, or was it just her imagination? She stiffened away from his hand. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “Not likely. I just wanted to get through the traffic.”

  Her jaw set, Alex stared out the windshield as she said, “There really isn’t that much to it. I was born in LaNett, Alabama. My mother died when I was eight years old, and because I had no other family I was taken in by the sisters at Saint Mary’s Orphanage. When I was eighteen, I was supposed to leave, but the orphanage gave me a job cooking. It shut down the next year, so I had to leave. There. Not exactly what bestsellers are made of, but it’s my life story.”

  Finished, Alex glanced at him, watching carefully for any sign of disgust or pity. The frown he gave her held neither, only mild frustration.

  “Most people’s lives wouldn’t make a bestseller,” he said. “But you left out a lot of details.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what happened to your father?’

  Alex frowned back at him. He would want to know all the gory details. Well, he knew the worst. Why not? “My father died in Vietnam when I was a baby. We never saw each other, except through pictures.”

  “He was in the army?”

  “Yes. He was one of those unglamorous ‘grunts’ they show in movies. He stepped on a land mine during some mission. I don’t think my mother ever really knew where exactly. All she got back were his dog tags. I still have them.”

  Alex felt his arm shift along the back of the seat, but he didn’t remove it. She found that strangely comforting.

  “How did your mother die?” he asked quietly.

  “She never was strong, not like your mother. To feed us, she worked in a textile mill in LaNett. They had a union there and she made pretty good money until she got sick. First it was just a cold, but she kept going to work until it changed to bronchitis. She couldn’t get rid of it. She ran out of sick days at the factory and went back to work sick.” Sadness Alex hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years welled up. “It finall
y turned into pneumonia. That’s what killed her.”

  “Didn’t she go to the doctor?” Hank asked.

  Alex nodded. “She just didn’t have enough time to rest, to get over it. The whole process lasted about six months. By the time he put her in the hospital in Dothan she was too weak. She lingered there for a couple of weeks before she died.”

  “Then you were placed in Saint Mary’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it horrible?”

  “We didn’t have to eat gruel, if that’s what you mean. No, it wasn’t horrible. It’s just that there were over fifty girls vying for the attention of three nuns and six day workers. I... I missed having the sole attention of a parent. Perhaps if I’d been younger when I went there, I might have fitted in better. I wouldn’t have remembered how it felt to have someone who tucks you in at night and reads you a story. Not just any story, but the story you choose.” Like that book about a house that went from being a farmhouse to one surrounded by city noise. She couldn’t even remember the title, only that her mother read it to her as often as she asked. Alex swiped at a tear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go on and on. And I certainly didn’t mean to cry.”

  “Hey, I forced you to talk, remember? And you can cry all you want. In fact, I’ve got a shoulder that’s not being used at the moment if you want to slide on over.”

  Alex couldn’t keep herself from looking down the expanse of his arm to the shoulder he referred to. A blue and red western-style shirt covered it, making the broad expanse seem even broader. She was glad his eyes were on the road because she knew longing glowed through her tears. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  She sniffled. “Yes. I’m a big girl now.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  She frowned at him, wondering what he meant by that cryptic statement, but he ignored her as he concentrated on passing a slow car.

  “I’m sorry your mother died,” he said as he settled back in the proper lane. “It was rougher on you than—”

  “I don’t want your pity!”

  “Hey, wait just a minute,” he said pointedly. “This morning you said you were sorry my mother died. Were you pitying me?”

  She blinked. “That was sympathy, not pity.”

  “Can’t I sympathize with you? Who better than someone who’s lost their mother, too?”

  She had to think about that one. “Okay, I see your point.”

  “Why so defensive?”

  “Because people treat you differently after they know. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. I just want to be like everybody else. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “Most people want to be different from everybody else, to stand out from the crowd,” Hank said.

  “Not like this,” she told him. “They want to be famous for something they’ve done or said or made. They don’t want to be an object of pity.”

  Hank nodded. “You’re right. But I don’t feel pity for you. Life has dealt you some pretty rough blows, but you seem to have risen above them. I mean, you didn’t turn into an ax murderer. You aren’t living on welfare. You haven’t turned to drugs. I’d say you’re doing pretty damn good.”

  “Oh, right,” she said sarcastically. “Ever since I left the orphanage I’ve drifted from town to town and job to job. I’m such a success.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “You’re planning to go study under that fancy chef, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but that’s just because I happened to be working for his sister-in-law in Denver. He called asking if she knew someone who wanted to chop vegetables in exchange for training. I jumped at the chance.”

  “Well, that’s what I mean. You grab your opportunities. And when one job doesn’t work out, you get up, dust yourself off and get another. That’s what counts. It’s like I tell the hands. It doesn’t matter if that bronc has thrown you a hundred times, you gotta get up, dust yourself off and get on another. Hell, success in most things is ninety percent persistence. That’s what you’ve got and, darlin’, that ain’t pitiful. Not in my book.”

  Alex stared across the seat, dumbfounded by his intensity. His fervor touched her so deeply she couldn’t tell how far down the feeling went. But she knew that the dynamics of their relationship had just changed. Her opinion of this man had just risen several notches.

  Which wasn’t good. Now it would be even harder to keep her distance.

  She gave him a wry smile. “You sound like a Southern Baptist preacher at an all-day prayer meeting and dinner on the ground.”

  He glanced over and returned her smile. “I do get wound up. The boys’ll tell you it’s my favorite soapbox. Fortunately, it’s my only one.”

  As he watched the road, her eyes roamed over his profile. The strong jaw, the jagged line of his nose, the intensity of his sky blue eyes made him look like a predator. “I didn’t know you had a bit of preacher in you.”

  His voice lowered to bedroom levels. “Darlin’, there’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  Chapter Six

  A spicy scent hit Hank’s nose as he entered the house after his Saturday morning chores. The smell stopped him abruptly, and the screen door banged against the seat of his jeans.

  Alex left at five that morning, headed for Laramie with Claire and Mallory. So who was cooking? Had they changed their minds?

  His nose led him into the kitchen where he was momentarily disappointed to find not Alex, but a slow cooker that sat on the counter next to the stove, plugged into the wall. A note sat in front of it.

  Hank lifted the lid. Chili. He took a deep whiff, then replaced the lid and picked up the note.

  This should do you and Jed for lunch and supper if you can stand to eat that much chili. If not, there’s leftover roast in the fridge for sandwiches.

  Alex.

  P.S. There are cookies in the moose.

  Hank shook his head. Didn’t she have enough to worry about, chaperoning two teenagers on a long shopping expedition?

  He pulled the moose-head-shaped cookie jar forward and lifted the antlers to reveal several dozen gingersnaps. The pungent aroma drifted up, mixing with the spicy smell of the chili. He grabbed three, replaced the top half of the moose’s head, then popped one in his mouth. As he closed his eyes to savor the cookie, images of Alex filled his head.

  What the hell was he going to do about her? He’d tried to ignore his feelings, but just thinking about her put zing back in his blood, something he hadn’t even known was missing. The sensation reminded him of the feeling he got when he backed his horse into a chute. During the few seconds he sat, tense and still, with a piggin’ string in his mouth, just before he gave the nod to let the calf loose, he could actually feel the blood pounding through his veins. At that moment anything could go wrong, and everything could go right.

  Anticipation was half the fun—with calf roping and with women. He went about his chores quicker these days, knowing Alex’s shy smile would be there to greet him when he walked in the door.

  Hank popped the last cookie in his mouth and sighed as he pushed the swinging door open and dragged his heavy boots upstairs. He would rather take the moose to the back porch and settle in the swing, but he’d have to wait until he had the first load of clothes washed. He did laundry once a week—throwing his clothes into the bottom of his closet at the end of every day. But he’d rather ride a hundred miles of fence.

  He entered his room without turning on a light, knelt, and reached into darkness. Expecting the usual knee-high pile of dirty clothes, he lurched forward until his hand hit hard floor. He felt around. Nothing but one pair of jeans, a shirt, underwear and socks. He dragged them into the dim light. They were the ones he’d discarded last night, after his shower.

  He stood and finally turned on a light. All the shirts he’d worn during the past week were hanging in a neat row. They weren’t even wrinkled like they usually were when he hung them up, having ignored them until they’d gone cold in the dryer. He did
n’t notice them that morning because he’d just reached in and grabbed the first shirt he’d laid his hands on, as usual.

  Alex.

  His eyes fell on the chest. He strode the two steps and pulled open the second drawer. His jeans lay neatly folded. He shoved it in and dragged open the next to find neatly stacked underwear.

  Warmth filled parts of him he knew he should ignore. But he couldn’t. She’d touched his underwear. The thought was enough to make him slam the drawer closed and open the next. His socks were matched and folded in pairs.

  He closed the drawer, then sank onto the bed.

  What the hell did Alex think she was doing? Cookies were one thing. Washing a man’s underwear was damned intimate. It was something a wife would do.

  Panic should be running rampant through him. But instead of feeling another rope tightening around him, tying him down, he felt like he could fly.

  He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head onto his hands. That wasn’t possible. The feeling was an illusion. He’d always hated doing laundry. He just felt free because he didn’t have to do it today.

  Hank stood with a frown. He wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, but he wasn’t about to delve any further into his feelings for Alex. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to grab her and kiss her until they both had to come up for air. Thank God she wasn’t there.

  Beyond that, he didn’t know what the hell he felt for her, but he had a feeling that in this case, ignorance was bliss.

  When Hank came downstairs early the next morning, he heard Alex humming in the kitchen. She usually hummed when she worked alone, he’d discovered. He found the habit as endearing as the sound of the sweet, slightly off-key tune.

  The smells of bacon and coffee were strong as he pushed open the door from the dining room to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” he said.

  She turned from the stove and smiled at him. “Good morning. You’re a bit early for breakfast. It won’t be ready for about twenty minutes.”