Cowboys Don't Marry the Beauty

by Jessie Gussman

  Again, she searched for his eyes, but the hood hid every feature.

  “You were in a farming accident.” It was a question more than a statement. She’d been away at college and working every spare moment toward her modeling dream. Her aunt and uncle had relayed the small-town gossip, but she’d not paid much attention. Too focused on herself.

  “Yes.”

  She wondered if his fingers were the only thing he’d lost but couldn’t think of a way to ask that wouldn’t seem rude. It made sense, though, that they weren’t, which, of course, could explain why she hadn’t yet seen him. He was embarrassed. No wonder her Google search had not turned up any pictures of Ford Hanson.

  “You got caught in a grain auger.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She had the distinct sense that she’d overstepped.

  She realized he still held her hand. Or was it her holding his? She loosened the fingers she hadn’t realized had flexed around his.

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. People have told me I have a man’s grip.” And a man’s height. And her feet and hands were bigger than most men’s. She suspected, based on the length of Ford’s fingers, that his hands and feet would be larger than hers. He already made her feel feminine and almost petite with his height. A nice feeling.

  “It didn’t hurt.” His voice was rougher and deeper than it had been.

  If only she could see his face. She felt compelled to move forward but refrained. He obviously didn’t want to be seen. It was a little bit more chilly in here than in the rest of the house, but a large sweatshirt, especially with the hood pulled up, was unnecessary.

  She’d wondered about the dimness of the house. If he were scarred from the accident, maybe that was why. She needed to call her aunt. Tomorrow.

  “Have you been comfortable?” he finally asked, breaking the silence that had descended. It hadn’t been an awkward silence. Maybe because of the darkness.

  “Yes. Except I was hired to be an administrative assistant, helping you with various tasks, as Georgia put it. It makes me feel wrong to sit around reading and doing nothing.”

  He shifted. His hood turned slightly like he was looking out and up at the stars. “Maybe you can help me here.”

  She looked around. “Sure. I’d probably need a light though. Unless I can just take notes on my phone.”

  “No. Not like that.”

  Her hand stilled as it pulled her phone out of her back pocket. Her stomach clenched a little. Surely he didn’t mean...

  “You said your degree is in astronomy?”

  “Yes.” Maybe her relief was evident in her voice.

  “What did you think I was going to ask you to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quickly.

  This silence was awkward.

  “It’s dark,” he pointed out slowly. “And we’re alone,” he said just as slow. “If that makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay here.”

  He said it easily, gently, like he thought she might have been dealing with memories that were hurtful.

  “No, I’m fine. If you touch me inappropriately, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Being that you’re a North Dakota girl, I’ll take that more like a promise than a threat.” Despite his words, his voice held a touch of humor.

  She smiled, glad they understood each other. She’d met slimy jerks in NYC who thought she was kidding and would give her a condescending smile after she uttered that line. “That’s a smart decision. I never aim to kill.”

  He snorted. It was almost a laugh. “Hmm. I suppose the lightweight, bulletproof vest I’ve been working on would be useless in a confrontation with you.”

  “You suppose correctly, sir.” His humor and the way he obviously got her eased any lingering concerns in her mind.

  He grunted. Again, it was almost a laugh. She would tease one out of him yet.

  Georgia had said he worked with computers. “That’s not what I was told your line of work was.”

  “It’s not. I dabble in a bunch of different things.”

  There was a smile in his voice. It made her bold. “You know, I’m not afraid to see you.”

  Again, she could feel him draw away, even though his body did not move.

  “It wasn’t your delicate sensibilities I was concerned about.” His voice was flat. He pivoted. “My thought was that you could teach me some of what you know.” He spread his hand, indicating the sky above them. “I’m just an amateur. But you can’t go outside at night and see that incredible magnificence and not be curious.”

  “Yes. I agree. I suppose that’s why I got that degree.” That had been pretty much worthless ever since.

  “There’s a lot of math and science involved.”

  She hadn’t figured him for that kind of man, and her neck heated. “There is. Just because I’m blond and have legs and boobs doesn’t mean I can’t do math and science. Even love them.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for pointing it out.”

  “That I can do math and science?”

  “No. That you have legs.”

  “Humph.” She noticed he didn’t touch the boobs comment. Probably just as well. She shouldn’t have said it.

  “Didn’t you used to wear glasses?” he asked, in what sounded like an offhand way.

  “Yes.” She could hardly believe someone like him would remember her. “I did. And you used to laugh.”

  He jerked. It was a small movement, but she caught it.

  “I still laugh.” He sounded defensive.

  The silence stretched between them.

  Maybe he was trying to think of the last time he laughed. Or maybe her wild stab in the dark was completely wrong.

  She figured she’d better change the subject and looked up at the sky, at the huge inky expanse dotted with millions of pinpricks of light.

  “The one thing that struck me in my study of astronomy is the enormity of the odds, according to the laws and constants of physics, of any planet being able to sustain life. The precise location, age, density, position, composition, mass, and orbit of the sun...it all has to be exact. How does something like that just happen?” She put her hand out, as though in supplication for the answer, as she slowly turned in a circle, her eyes directed at the ceiling.

  “Just a big bang,” he said. She could hear the sarcasm.

  “The universe is put together with more precision than the most intricately tuned clock.” She lowered her head and looked straight at him. “Clocks aren’t made by explosions. You can’t name a single thing that was put together by an explosion. Let alone something that is as precisely timed as our solar system and the multitude of solar systems out there that are whirling through space together.”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “The universe is so much bigger than this, obviously.” She shook her phone. “Yet its parts work with more precision and accuracy, and they’ll be working long after this is trash.” She shoved it back in her pocket. “With no discernable energy source. The phone has to be plugged in every night.”

  “I see. You think this—” He swept his hand out and around, indicating all the stars they could see. She noticed he used his left hand. “—has an energy source.”

  “I think it was designed and built and is maintained. Man has made nothing that runs with the precision of the universe. No machine, no clock, no computer, no vehicle. Nothing. Yet none of those things I just named were created by explosions. They are all designed and built to exact specs.”

  “So you deviate from the current accepted theory of the origins of the universe? Why do people believe it, then?” His voice held true curiosity.

  She could hardly believe that she’d found someone here in the middle of North Dakota who would enjoy talking about astronomy with her. “I don’t think normal people know. People don’t realize that the sustainability of life on this planet hinges on intricately choreographed chemical and geological processes that must work together with extrao
rdinary efficiency.” She took a breath. This is where she was laughed out of college. “The balance isn’t an accident, and there is no possible way it happened with an explosion.”

  He seemed pensive. “I would ask about scientists, why they still believe, but I’d hazard a guess that going against the status quo earns more ridicule than money and money drives the machine.” His statement seemed sincere and came from a business perspective. Which made sense, considering all signs pointed to the fact that he was a wealthy business owner. His family owned a ranch. His money hadn’t come from that.

  Still, it was almost unbelievable she had found someone who was interested in the same things as she was and who might possibly be willing to continue to converse with someone who didn’t accept what didn’t make sense.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly. It’s what I found in school.”

  “They’re called theories, but they’re taught as fact.”

  Clasping her hands behind her back, she paced forward a bit and stared up at the sky she loved. “Scientists know that there’s more we don’t know than we do. But you never hear them say it. They can’t appear as anything less than knowledgeable and competent. Or the money doesn’t flow.”

  “You’re passionate about it.”

  “I love space. I love learning about it. I love talking about it. I love looking at it.” She stopped, admiring the night sky, made all the more beautiful because of the little she’d scratched the surface of its secrets.

  “What are you doing here, as my fill-in administrative assistant, then? Shouldn’t you have a telescope and a scientific calculator and a corner office in some university?” He sounded baffled.

  Her answer was easy. “No. That’s not even something I’m interested in.”

  “You’re suited for it.”

  She shrugged, not caring that he might not be able to see her in the dim light.

  “Where were you working before you came here?” he asked, bewilderment coloring his tone.

  Obviously, Georgia had not shared her application with him. Somehow that didn’t surprise her.

  For some reason, she was reluctant to tell him that she’d been a model. Not that she was ashamed, exactly, but more because he was actually listening to her talk and seemed interested, maybe even impressed.

  Modeling was an extremely difficult profession, and she didn’t want to downplay that. But the end was all about her looks. If she’d been born with a different face, if she hadn’t rigidly stuck to her near-starvation diet, if she’d been four feet ten inches tall instead of six-one. It was true chance, to win the gene lottery, then combined with a lot of hard work. Work that would have gotten her nowhere without all the other things coming into play.

  “That was supposed to be an easy question.” The thread of a smile was back in his voice.

  She laughed and supposed it didn’t matter. “I was in New York City working as a model.”

  Silence slammed into the room like gravity had yanked it down from a hundred-foot drop-off.

  He turned until his back was to her. “There’s a recliner in the middle of the room. You’re welcome to sit there all you want. I’ve slept on it before. It’s beautiful to lie there and look up at the stars. And when the northern lights are putting on a show, I wish I could sleep with my eyes open.” His words were kind, but the warmth was gone from his tone.

  She thought they’d been getting along pretty well, even maybe liking each other. But he had closed off again. Did he hate models?

  He continued in the same clinical tone. “I’m not going to stay. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, like I was having you lie down in a dark room so I could take advantage of you.” A sound like a snort followed that declaration.

  She thought of the proverbial casting couch. She’d never touched one. “I don’t think that,” she said quickly, not sure what had caused the abrupt change in him.

  “Well, that doesn’t happen here. Worth is based on job performance, not your looks.” He spun toward the door.

  “I had assumed that was the case.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  He stopped abruptly. “Then I just confirmed that you were correct.”

  “And I just confirmed that you don’t have to leave.”

  He turned back toward her. “How so?”

  “Because I knew I didn’t have to lie on the recliner and allow you to take advantage of me in order to keep my job. However, you have yet to tell me what my job entails.” She moved toward the black shadow in the middle of the room. It seemed like there was nothing else in the room aside from that one piece of furniture. She plopped down on it and pushed back. The footrest popped out, and she leaned her head back. “This is amazing,” she said, with more than a little awe in her voice. “Like lying out in your backyard in the comfort of your living room.”

  He moved, making a soft swishing sound. He stopped somewhere behind her because his voice came out of the darkness beyond her left shoulder. “That was the goal. Here, in our climate, I didn’t study the winter sky much.” He grunted. “Sometimes even the spring and fall sky, too, because it’s too cold. This room changed that.”

  Surprisingly, not being able to see him while being in such a vulnerable position did not make her nervous. There was an ease and familiarity between them, at least for her, and her natural instinct was to trust.

  “Georgia greeted visitors, any repairmen, and answered the phone. She handled my schedule and was the face of my company for interviews, presentations, and anything that required a talking head, because yes, my features are not conducive to encouraging people to part with their money and invest in my company and buy my prototypes, which is the underlying purpose of any interaction with the public.”

  She closed her eyes, his voice vibrating the air around her in a soothing way, despite the fact that the edge of humor had completely disappeared.

  “Her office is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs.” He paused. “If she didn’t have you sign a nondisclosure agreement, I want that done. I’ll make sure her office is unlocked and ready for you by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  His businesslike tone was completely appropriate, but she missed the warmth of their earlier interactions.

  “You have my number. I have my phone day and night.”

  “Okay.”

  “If I need you, I know how to get ahold of you. Please be assured that I will not hesitate to give you work when I need something done. In addition, enjoy your leisure time. I’m working on something, and if it comes through before Georgia gets back, I may need you. Are you comfortable in front of a camera?”

  “Yes,” she said confidently.

  “Maybe I should have said, are you comfortable speaking in front of a camera?”

  She tried not to take offense. Some of the women she’d worked with barely spoke English, and she’d been at shoots in France and Italy where she hadn’t understood the language being spoken. Communication was not key in modeling.

  “As long as the interview is in English, I can muddle through.” It wasn’t a very professional comment, but nothing about this job had been very professional so far.

  “Good night, Miss Nelson...it is ‘miss,’ is it not?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes and stared at the sky above her. The man was complicated. Intelligent. Difficult. Unkind, even. But his depths intrigued her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this curious about a man, when she’d wanted to strip his layers off and figure out what made him work.

  She stared at Polaris. “Good night, Mr. Hanson.”

  “Call me Ford.” There was an uneven set of thumps, like he was limping. Then the door clicked closed.

  Chapter 5

  It was barely seven thirty the next morning when Ford’s alert system sent a notification to his phone that someone was coming down the driveway. He didn’t need to make the picture bigger to recognize the o
ld beater truck of his best friend, Sawyer Olson.

  Five seconds later, a text came from Morgan. There’s someone coming. Are you home if they want to see you?

  She was on it. He was impressed. Just as he’d been impressed last night. He was an amateur astronomer. But he did consider himself a little knowledgeable. He knew enough to know there were oceans of things he didn’t know and more that he would probably never understand.

  It’s Sawyer Olson, he sent back. She might know him or at least know of him. Send him up to my office. He knows the way. He hesitated then sent another message. Have Mrs. T bring up a tray with something substantial.

  More than a year ago, Sawyer had sunk his life savings into buying a ranch just northeast of the town of Sweet Water. There had been no habitable buildings, and last winter had been one of the coldest and snowiest on record, but Sawyer had been determined to stick it out on the ranch, caring for his small herd of cattle.

  As far as Ford knew, he hadn’t lost a single cow. But Sawyer barely survived, emerging last spring looking like an escapee from a concentration camp. He’d worked himself to the bone this summer, fixing the barn to have shelter for his young calves and making hay for his cows.

  Ford had tried to give him money, but Sawyer was proud and stubborn, a typical combination in Norwegian males, and not an easy one to work with.

  When Sawyer visited, about once every two weeks or so, Ford tried to feed him as well as he could.

  Setting aside the proposal he’d been working on, plus the prototype for the seamless expanding phone he’d been sketching using a cheaper version of the expensive materials that his own phone was made of, he tidied up his desk.

  A folded piece of paper caught his eye.

  The letter from Mr. Edwards.

  He didn’t need to open it to know what it said, but he did anyway, flattening it down and pressing the creases.

  Mr. Edwards, who used to be the owner of the Sweet Water Ranch, before his death last year, had willed him one billion dollars, with just a few small catches.