Honorable Rancher

by Barbara White Daille

  Gritting her teeth, she walked away.

  Trust Ben to find something to tease her with and run with it. He’d been doing that since he was four years old. She should have been used to it by now. She shouldn’t have reacted.

  He couldn’t have meant to add sexual undertones to their perfectly innocent conversation. Not after their run-in with Clarice earlier!

  His teasing aside, though, Ben was a good man. She couldn’t deny that. Again, she saw her son copying Ben’s move with the T-shirt. He made a good role model for any little boy, and especially one like P.J., who no longer had a daddy.

  It was the other images of Ben imprinted on her brain that had left her shaken. His wide, easy grin. His dirt-smeared but handsome face. His sweaty, hard-muscled body.

  The body that would soon stand naked in her downstairs shower.

  * * *

  A WHILE LATER, DANA FOUND herself pacing the kitchen floor. She desperately needed something to help burn up her nervous energy.

  Like baking.

  Yes. Measuring and mixing ingredients would distract her. Inhaling the sweet smells of sugar and vanilla would settle her nerves. Would keep her from dwelling on thoughts she didn’t want to think about. From obsessing over emotions she didn’t want to feel.

  Quickly she washed her hands and assembled what she needed for the kids’ most often requested cookie, a recipe she’d created herself. She’d always loved to bake, and it seemed as though she never had much time for it lately. Going through the familiar motions relaxed her.

  Until she heard the footsteps on the back porch steps. Solid footsteps. Not P.J. in his sneakers, but the heavier tread of an adult. She fumbled the measuring cup in her fingers, spilling flour across the breakfast bar. So much for settling her nerves.

  Bracing herself, she turned.

  It wasn’t Ben on the porch.

  Her next-door neighbor peered through the screen door.

  And a different kind of tension filled Dana.

  “Come on in, Clarice,” she called. Swiping at the counter with a damp cloth, she cleaned up the spilled flour.

  The other woman took a seat at the breakfast bar and placed a large leather-covered folder in front of her. “I’ve brought something to show you.” She sounded grim.

  “Give me a minute.” Dana washed her hands, then came to stand beside her.

  The folder turned out to be a double photo frame holding two glossy, black-and-white photographs. The left-hand photo showed a solemn-faced man with close-cropped hair wearing an army dress uniform, the jacket decorated with rows of medals.

  “My Vernon,” Clarice said.

  Dana smiled and nodded. “I know. He didn’t change much over the years, did he? Except for letting his hair grow out.”

  “He never could stand having that military cut.”

  The second frame showed him with his arm around a younger, glowing Clarice. Instead of an elaborate white gown, she wore a simple light-colored suit with a small corsage.

  “I’ve seen these on the table in your living room,” Dana said. “That’s the Vernon I knew. He always had a smile.”

  “Yes, he did. And we had a wonderful wedding, though no one had many reasons for smiling in those days.”

  Those days, Dana knew, meant during World War II.

  “We didn’t have time to plan a formal reception.” Clarice shook her head. “We didn’t even have a real honeymoon. Not then. Vernon headed off to war three days later.”

  Dana put her hand on Clarice’s shoulder and gave a gentle, comforting squeeze.

  “And you’re right about seeing these pictures,” the older woman said. “I keep them in my parlor to remind me of Vernon.” She looked sideways and added, “I’ve noticed you don’t have a single picture of Paul around the house.”

  At the accusation in her tone, Dana stiffened. As casually as she could, she rounded the breakfast bar and reached for her wooden spoon. “It’s...still difficult for me to look at pictures of Paul.” On the surface, every word held nothing but truth. It was only the real meaning behind her statement that filled her with guilt. “The kids have photos of him in their bedrooms.”

  “That’s good to hear. You can’t let them forget what a good man their daddy was. Such a brave soldier, and such a big hero.”

  Not in Dana’s eyes. But how could she tell that to Clarice, whose own war hero lived up to that praise?

  “I know how you feel, Dana—”

  She couldn’t know. Not, as P.J. would say, in a million-bazillion years.

  “—but you should have his picture out where you can all see it, as a family.” Clarice’s expression matched her stern tone.

  More footsteps sounded on the back steps, this time clearly the slap of her son’s sneakers accompanied by the thump of Ben’s workboots. Several thuds followed, two heavy, two lighter.

  “It sounds like they’re leaving their dirty shoes outside,” Clarice said. “At least you’ve got them both trained right.”

  Dana gritted her teeth at this easy assumption that Ben spent enough time here to be trained along with her son.

  The screen door burst open and P.J. slid across the floor in his stocking feet. “Look at me—I’m ice-skating!”

  “So you are,” Clarice said.

  Ben came into the room carrying P.J.’s lemonade mug. He closed the door softly behind him. His hair lay in damp waves. His chest held a sheen of perspiration.

  Dana forced her gaze away. Catching P.J.’s eye, she glanced meaningfully at his socks and tried for a light tone. “It’s a good thing I just mopped the floor this morning, isn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh. Makes better ice.” He climbed onto the stool beside Clarice’s. “Yippee! Ben, Mama’s making her bestest cookies.”

  Ben moved up to stand beside her. He smelled faintly of a mixture of earth and clean, male sweat. Gripping her spoon more tightly, she berated herself for the silly thought. Was there even such a thing as “male sweat,” anyway?

  “I like cookies,” Ben said. “What kind are these?” he asked P.J.

  “Spice cookies. You’ll like ’em, Ben. Hey.” P.J. leaned against Clarice’s arm to look at the photo frame she had set to one side of the counter. “Is that my daddy?”

  “No,” she said, “it’s—”

  “I can show you my daddy.” He slid from his stool and rushed toward the door.

  “No running in the house,” Dana called after him.

  “Yes, indeed,” Clarice said. “One wrong slip, and who knows what would happen.” She looked levelly from her to Ben and back.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the frame.

  Dana stared down, mixing her cookie dough. Keeping her thoughts focused on her son.

  She didn’t worry about P.J. carrying the photo from upstairs. He would bring the small, unframed picture he kept on the nightstand near his bed. The larger glass-and-wood-framed photo hung on the wall well out of his reach, and he knew better than to try to get to that.

  Still, she didn’t want him to carry down even that small photo of Paul. She didn’t want Clarice to go on listing Paul’s virtues. And she especially didn’t want his best friend hovering near her elbow.

  Just thinking of all she couldn’t control made her hands shake. Trying to hide the fact, she worked doggedly with her dough, shaping the mounds into logs.

  P.J. came back into the room. Lissa followed close behind.

  “Here’s my daddy!” He thrust the photo at Clarice.

  As she took it from him, her eyes softened. Dana didn’t need to guess why. The photo of Paul was almost a duplicate of the one taken of Clarice’s husband, the standard, shoulders-squared pose of a soldier in full dress uniform. Like Vernon, Paul wore a row of medals on his jacket.

  No matter what e
lse he hadn’t done, no matter that he’d never been the daddy her kids deserved, he’d left her children something they could view with pride.

  “He’s my daddy, too,” Lissa said, her eyes shining. “And he’s a hero. Isn’t he, Mama?”

  Startled, Dana mangled the log of cookie dough in her fingers. Again Ben stood watching her. This time he didn’t turn away. He was waiting for her to answer. Wanting to know what she would say. She took a deep breath, hoping—praying—to come up with something that would satisfy him.

  Before she could think of anything, Clarice wrapped an arm around Lissa and said, “Of course he’s a hero, sweetheart. Just like my Vernon. Your daddy’s someone you can be proud of. Someone we all need to respect.”

  Lissa nodded. “Just like Caleb. And Mr. Hall,” she said. “They’re rodeo heroes, aren’t they, Mama?”

  “Yes,” she said, relieved to find something she could agree with. Happy to have had someone step in once again and help her by responding when she had no clue what to say. “Yes,” she repeated. “They definitely are heroes.”

  And she definitely couldn’t keep relying on other people to save her. She needed to stand up for herself. Besides, one of these days, her luck would run out—if it hadn’t already.

  Ben continued to stand and watch her as though he could read every thought that raced through her mind.

  Tearing her gaze away, she went to the refrigerator. Once the dough had chilled, she would slice it into nice, even rounds. If only her life could turn out as perfectly. But hadn’t she made sure it wouldn’t? In fact, hadn’t she gone out of her way to guarantee just the opposite would happen?

  Her neighbor’s certainty of Paul’s virtues was no one’s fault but her own. She ought to feel glad about it. After all, it proved that she had successfully done what she’d attempted to do—uphold the story of her ideal marriage.

  A story based more on fiction than on fact.

  “I need to run out to my truck,” Ben said. “P.J., you’d best go and wash up.”

  The kids disappeared in one direction and he went off in the other. The screen door slapped closed behind him, leaving Dana with Stacey and Clarice.

  The older woman didn’t waste any time. “Dana,” she snapped, “how can you compare a cowboy who rides bulls for a living to a man who has given service to his country the way my Vernon did? And to a man who has given his life, as Paul has?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I just hope the town council sees fit to approve our memorial.” She shook her head. “Your children need something to help them remember their daddy. They won’t find it here.”

  “Clarice!” She tried to soften her tone. “I know you have their best interests at heart. So do I, and—”

  “Really? I can’t imagine how what I saw this morning proves you care for your children.” Her eyes glittering, she snatched up the photo frame. “You should be ashamed. Their daddy’s a hero and a veteran. And though he’s barely settled in his grave, you’re throwing yourself at his best friend.”

  Clarice stormed out the back door.

  Struggling to catch her breath, Dana took Stacey from the high chair and hurried from the kitchen. She couldn’t stay there and face Ben when he came back inside. She couldn’t stay there when the older woman’s words still echoed in the room.

  Beneath all the fury, Dana had heard the frustration. She’d seen the gleam of tears. Clarice did have her family’s best interests at heart.

  Knowing that, how could she just ignore what her neighbor had said? She couldn’t.

  Not when all the folks in town believed it, too.

  Not when she was guilty of each and every accusation.

  * * *

  FINISHED TUCKING IN his T-shirt, Ben caught sight of himself in the mirror and nearly winced. Before his shower, he’d gone out to his truck for his duffel bag. Clarice had cornered him there, her expression looking about as grim as his reflection did now.

  When she’d arrived at Dana’s doorstep that morning, he hadn’t known whether to laugh or groan. He should’ve realized she’d see the truck outside. To tell the truth, maybe he’d wanted her to notice it. Like Dana, folks needed to get used to seeing him around here.

  He hadn’t anticipated the older woman’s reaction then. And he hadn’t been ready for her anger when she’d caught him outside. She’d torn a strip off his hide over finding him on Dana’s couch. Over what all the folks in town would think about “Ben Sawyer cavorting with his best friend’s wife.”

  He’d managed to calm her down again. He thought.

  If only he could settle down himself. Could shake off the guilt that stuck to him like the damp hair clinging to his forehead.

  As he finished loading up his duffel bag, P.J. came to the bathroom door, providing a much-needed distraction.

  “Cookies are almost ready,” he said.

  “Sounds good.” He straightened the bath towel on the rack and grabbed the bag. “Do you think I’ll be able to eat more than you will?” he asked as they walked down the hall.

  “No way! I can eat a million-bazillion.”

  The doorbell rang, and P.J. changed direction.

  He and Lissa ran in a dead heat to the front door. Squabbling over who would get to open it, they both grabbed hold of the handle and yanked. Tess stood on the doorstep with Nate.

  P.J. rolled his eyes and headed toward the kitchen.

  The two girls plopped down on the couch. Dana had long ago taken away the sheets Ben had left in a pile at one end.

  She had just come into the room. As P.J. passed her, she smiled and ruffled his hair, then looked at Tess. “Good morning. What are you two doing here?”

  “My new husband hijacked our client for the day. Nate and I are on our way to the Double S for lunch.”

  P.J. stopped in his tracks. “Yay! Can we go, too?”

  “P.J.!” Dana said in dismay. “Wait until you’re invited.”

  Tess laughed. “That’s exactly why we stopped here. You’re all invited. Our treat. P.J., how did you know?”

  “I’m a good guesser.” He plopped into the rocking chair.

  Ben turned to Tess. “I hear you’re on the proposal committee for Paul’s memorial.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Dana stiffen. She refused to open up about her own proposal. The fact still rankled. That was only half of it, though.

  After the discussion at the Whistlestop, he’d decided to let her think over the suggestion Ellamae had made. Almost a full week ago, and it seemed she hadn’t gotten comfortable with the idea yet. How the hell much time did she need to accept something she should have approved in a heartbeat?

  “Where did you hear the news?” Tess asked.

  “From Clarice.” He shot Dana another look. Her frozen expression said the woman had cornered her alone, too. “She was visiting here and mentioned it.”

  Tess nodded. “Instead of a statue, we’re now thinking of a monument of some kind. Whatever we decide,” she said, smiling, “Caleb said he would provide the funds for it.”

  “Hey,” he protested, “I’m willing to foot the bill.”

  “Oh, I knew you would be. But Caleb volunteered. He wants to repay folks for their kindness since he’s come home.”

  Abruptly Dana turned and went toward the kitchen.

  Startled, he stared after her. For the first time, his conviction wavered. Maybe he’d misjudged her lack of enthusiasm over the memorial. Maybe she’d had the same thoughts that had just slammed into his mind at Tess’s words.

  Caleb had returned to town.

  But Paul would never come home again.

  Dana reappeared carrying Stacey. “I’ve got the first batch of cookies done. I left you a plateful of cookies,” she told him, not meeting his eyes. “Ready if you are, Tess.”

&nbs
p; “See you later,” he said. He’d be back after he got his chores done.

  In a whirlwind of movement and chatter, the kids went out the door. The women followed.

  He stood rooted, feeling no inclination to get to work. Running his fingers through his still-damp hair, he stared across the room and through the long window beside the door. He caught sight of Dana as she walked past it. They had only a pane of glass between them, but so much more to keep them apart.

  Clarice sure as hell had made certain to remind him of that.

  Chapter Eleven

  After lunch, Dana told Tess she’d buy ice cream for everyone. She was relieved when her offer was accepted. Her budget could stretch that far, at least.

  Besides, she knew P.J. would savor his vanilla scoop in tiny little spoonfuls, as always, which meant she could delay going back to the house. Back to facing Ben and her memories of the conversation with Clarice.

  Afterward, still not ready to go home, she suggested to Tess that they take a stroll along Signal Street.

  Ahead of them, Lissa and Nate led the procession, with P.J. tagging behind, trying to listen in on their conversation.

  “It will be nice when the playground’s ready for the kids,” Tess said.

  “Hmm...”

  “Dana, is everything all right?”

  Surprised, she glanced sideways. “Yes, fine.”

  Tess’s eyes narrowed. “Now, why do I doubt that?”

  “Because you’re imagining things?”

  “I don’t think so. You didn’t even hear what I just said. And you didn’t say a word when I was talking to Ben earlier. Are you upset that Caleb offered to pay for the monument?”

  “No, of course not. Why would that upset me?”

  “I don’t know. Flagman’s Folly has never done anything like this before, and everyone’s so excited about the memorial.” She paused, then said softly, “They’re all so proud of how you’re handling things on your own, too.”

  Dana stopped to watch P.J. run up the steps of Town Hall.

  “Listen,” Tess said, “it’s just the two of us here now. I know there’s something bothering you. You were fine yesterday, and only one thing has changed since then.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If it’s not Caleb, then are you upset because I’m on the monument committee?”