A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

Robert wondered if space aliens could be bribed to come down and take Charlie for a spin on a UFO. It wouldn’t even need to be a big UFO as long as Robert could get a picture of it.

  Chapter Nine

  “Flint Harris, FBI.” The man seemed to walk into the kitchen and flip his badge open in one seamless movement. He stopped in front of Robert.

  “Mind telling me what your business is in Dry Creek?” The agent looked like he’d had a tough night, but his voice was one hundred percent official.

  “Me?” Robert was surprised. He had walked over to the tall cupboard to put back some bowls.

  “It’s my fault.” Duane the Jazz Man followed the agent inside. “The man asked me if anyone had been asking funny questions and I told him you had been.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, the carnations that you’re not supposed to eat and the cans of tomatoes—the sauce kind and the paste.”

  Robert winced. He set the bowls down on the counter. “I was trying to think of a gift for someone special.”

  The FBI agent looked at him even more suspiciously. “Someone special? Cans of tomatoes? Carnations? Aren’t you the rich guy?”

  Robert nodded. “Sometimes a gift should count for more than its price tag.”

  The agent snorted and looked over at Jenny.

  He lowered his voice so only the men could hear. “I thought a guy like you’d go more for orchids or roses or something fancy that men like me haven’t even heard of—night crawlers or something.”

  “Night crawlers are worms.”

  “I mean night bloomers.” The agent shook his head. “See what Francis does to me? I can’t even think straight. But I can’t make any headway with her. You’d think we’d never been, well, you know. Turns out we were actually married—but you’d never know it now. I was hoping someone would have flowers.”

  “You see any floral shops around?”

  “I know.” The agent looked at the woman who’d come to the kitchen door. It was Francis. His face softened to mush. “I was just hoping. Sometimes a guy could use a little help, if you know what I mean.”

  Robert knew exactly what he meant. He nodded toward Duane. “He’s reduced to snow tires.”

  Duane ducked his head in acknowledgment. “And a nose ring.”

  “Well, I guess I should keep my mind on business anyway,” the agent said. “Unless I miss my guess, this rustling thing is going to break wide open here soon, and when it does the citizens of Dry Creek are going to find some nasty surprises.”

  Robert lifted his eyebrow.

  “I figure there has to be someone local involved. And from the amount of information that has been sent along about Dry Creek, it’s either someone who knows everything really well or it’s more than one person. Maybe a group of people.”

  “Here?”

  The agent nodded.

  “But all of the men I’ve seen are ranchers themselves. They know what the rustling means to others. And the women, well—” Robert tried to picture Mrs. Hargrove leading a band of female informants. They could knit in code and send neck scarves out with the information. “I don’t think so.”

  “Still, keep your ears open. And let me know if you hear of anyone asking unusual questions.” The agent looked over at Duane. “Unusual questions about cattle—who’s got winter pasture where and who’s moving their herds at what time. Those kinds of questions. Even weather questions might lead to something. A lot of the cattle movements are determined by weather.”

  Duane nodded. “Old man Gossett would be the one asking about the weather. But that’s just because his television is broken. He comes over and asks almost every day. Then he moans about it. Snow. Rain. It doesn’t matter. He complains. The amount of time he spends worrying—I guess it’s just his way.”

  That was the old man he’d invited to dinner last night. Robert remembered him clearly. “I expect the cold weather troubles his joints.”

  The FBI agent grunted. “He might be someone to watch at that if he’s talking to lots of people.”

  “Oh, he don’t so much talk as listen,” Duane corrected. “Sort of listens on the side if you know what I mean.”

  “Eavesdropping?”

  Duane nodded. “Everybody knows. They don’t pay him much attention anymore. They just let him be. Who’s he gonna tell anyway? Never talks to nobody.”

  “That kind of listening is the most dangerous. People don’t watch their tongues around him. Besides, he’s getting money from someplace. I figured he was living on Social Security until last night. Did you see him in his new coat? He wouldn’t get money to buy stuff like that on his government check.”

  “I gave him the coat.” Robert doubted the older man had the connections to be a rustler. He seemed more like a lonely old man than a criminal.

  “Nice coat. Expensive.”

  Robert hoped that meant the old man got off the suspects list, but he couldn’t read the agent’s face. “It’ll keep him warm.”

  The agent nodded and looked more closely at Robert. “What are you doing here in that getup?” He jerked his head toward the sweatshirt.

  Robert knew the sweatshirt was paint spotted and yellow. Bright yellow. But it was warm and that was enough. “I’m here doing dishes. A tuxedo seemed a little overdressed.”

  The agent looked over at Jenny and then back at Robert.

  The agent lowered his voice. “I see. Not a bad idea. You might not need roses at that. Never knew a woman that could be mad at a man when he was doing dishes for her. Good move.”

  Robert looked at Jenny. She was fifteen feet away from him and she might as well be fifteen miles. She’d stopped talking to her sister and was back to scowling at that frying pan.

  “I could still use some roses,” Robert said. “I don’t think there’s enough dirty dishes in the world to win her over.”

  “I’ll let you know if I find a magician who can pull a few roses out of his hat.”

  “Same here.” Robert didn’t tell the agent that the last time he had given roses to a woman she’d been insulted. She had thought roses were too common a flower to come from a Buckwalter. “Any particular color you’d like?”

  “Yellow. Francis loves yellow roses—or at least she did when I knew her back in high school.”

  Robert made a mental note to call that pilot he’d hired and see if he could put three dozen long-stem roses in the drop he was planning for tomorrow morning. A dozen deep red ones for Jenny. A dozen yellow for the agent to give to his Francis. And—he looked over at Linda and Duane assessingly—maybe a lavender bouquet for the young couple.

  “What was that about?” Jenny asked when Robert came back to the sink. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued as though she’d rehearsed the words. “You can do it, you know. If you want to run that engagement story, that’s fine.”

  Robert couldn’t see Jenny’s face. She was looking down at something in the sink.

  “Not that it’s any of my business,” she added with a quick look up at his face before she looked down again. “I just want you to know that no one who knows you would blame you. And you could always tell them the truth later. People would understand. I know you want off the list.”

  Robert laid down the dish towel he’d been holding. The dishwater no longer steamed up from the sink. The pink in Jenny’s cheeks was natural. Lashes half hid her brown eyes. Her lips curved in a hint of a smile. Robert thought she looked absolutely adorable.

  “I’ll find another way to get off the list.”

  “My sister says there is no other way.”

  “We’ll see.” Robert comforted himself and her. Then he added impulsively, “I’m going to pray about it.”

  Jenny looked up in surprise. “I didn’t know people like you prayed about anything.”

  “I’ve become a new man. That’s what I’ve been telling you all morning.”

  “And the ‘new you’ prays?”

  Robert nodded. “The new me has to pray. Sometimes I don’t ha
ve a clue. Not that I always knew everything before—but, now, well what kind of a fool wouldn’t pray? It’s like having a million dollars in the bank and never writing a check.”

  “You’ve always been rich.”

  Robert nodded. “Money, yes. But prayers, no. I’m beginning to think that—in the important things—I’ve lived like some fool who’s starving to death in a fully stocked deli just because he doesn’t know how to stand in line.”

  Jenny decided Robert no longer had the heart of a rich man. He’d become a regular kind of guy. He’d even admitted he might need help with his life. She liked this new guy much better than the rich guy he used to be.

  She hoped she didn’t like him too much. Just because Robert Buckwalter changed one day didn’t mean he couldn’t change right back the next.

  The day divided itself into meals. Jenny couldn’t think beyond that. The teenagers at the ranch were all coming into Dry Creek for lunch and to clean up the decorations from last night’s dance.

  “We have four hamburger patties left and seven hot dogs,” Linda said. The younger woman was looking in the top compartment of the old refrigerator. “We aren’t able to keep too much on hand in the way of supplies in this old thing. We’re having trouble with the stove, too. Plus we’re out of almost everything. The spaghetti sauce we have going is straight marinara—not even mushrooms. There’s no potatoes for French fries or ice cream for shakes.”

  “That’s all it seems the kids want to eat,” Jenny worried aloud. She’d finished wiping down the counter and was folding the dishrag. “I know they’ll eat anything if they’re hungry enough, but I hate to put them back on the macaroni-and-cheese diet they’ve had for the past week.”

  “Ah—Sylvia called from the ranch,” Linda said hesitantly as she stood up and closed the refrigerator door. “That’s why we started the spaghetti sauce. She said they used the last of the boxes of macaroni and cheese yesterday. A quick lunch for the boys. There’s none left. And the spaghetti sauce won’t be enough for everyone.”

  “We’re doomed then.”

  Jenny walked over to a kitchen chair and sat down.

  “I learned how to make Navajo fry bread when I was in the desert,” Robert offered. He finished drying the last cup. “I’ve checked and we have what we need. We could make it a cultural ethnic kind of a night.”

  “Spaghetti’s Italian—we could put an extra dose of the authentic seasoning,” Linda offered. She walked to the stove and opened the lid on a pot. “No one will have a full serving, but we could stretch it so they each have a small plate of it. We have a big jar of kosher pickles, too—they’d fit for the Jewish touch.”

  “I could make a Mexican flan for dessert—we’ve got lots of eggs and milk still,” Jenny added. She went to a cupboard and looked inside. The cupboard was empty except for dishes. “It’s not much, but—”

  “Kids love an adventure,” Robert folded his dish towel. “We’ll sell them on the fun of it.”

  “Duane can play his guitar. He knows all kinds of music. Some sounds like mariachi music from Mexico. He might be able to do some Navajo drumming for the fry bread, too.”

  “It just might work.” Jenny closed the cupboard.

  “If anyone has a sturdy box, we can make a homemade piñata. Fill it with whatever’s handy.” Robert walked to the pantry. “I bet there’s something in here to use.”

  “We’ve got those old candy canes left over from Christmas. I think they’re in there.” Linda opened a side cupboard near the refrigerator. “Ah, here they are. We had Santa giving them out.”

  Linda pulled out a large plastic bag filled with candy canes. “Maybe we shouldn’t give them to the kids—” she looked up at Jenny “—you know our Santa was a hit man, don’t you? Went right after the Christmas angel with a gun! If it wasn’t for the preacher, she’d be dead. ’Course now she’s married to the preacher.” Linda paused to look into the other room at Duane. “It was so romantic. Him risking his life for her.”

  “But he could have been killed,” Jenny protested. She didn’t want the younger woman to be under the wrong impression. There was nothing romantic about life-and-death danger. “I heard the preacher didn’t even have a gun.”

  Robert envied the man who had almost died. Now there was a man who had a chance to impress the woman he chose. No wonder he had been able to close the deal with a wedding band. Somehow, carving up carrots and washing dishes seemed too tame by comparison.

  “I told Mrs. Hargrove I’d check with her about now,” Jenny said as she walked over to the café’s back door, the one that led off of the kitchen. “She’s promised to give the church a quick cleaning for services tomorrow and I wanted to be sure she got over there all right.”

  Jenny pulled a parka off a peg by the door and slid her arms into the sleeves.

  “I can get her there,” Robert offered. “You can stay here. It’s slippery cold out there and you don’t even have snow boots.”

  “Neither do you.” Jenny pulled a wool scarf from the large pocket of the coat and wrapped the scarf around her head.

  “But I’ve got bigger feet.” Robert pulled a man’s jacket off of the peg. The jacket was denim lined with some kind of furry material. “I can keep my balance better in the icy places.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Two minutes later, Jenny was lying on the icy ground on her back, looking up at the sky. She’d gone outside anyway, not even waiting for Robert. She didn’t want him to think she was incapable of walking a few steps in the snow.

  Well, so much for that, she thought as she winced. After the fall she’d taken, he’d think that incompetence was the least of her worries.

  “I knew you should have waited,” Robert said as he stepped out of the kitchen door and knelt down beside her. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My left ankle.”

  “Here, let me see.” Robert slipped off his gloves and rolled down her thick socks.

  For a second, her leg tingled from the cold air and then Robert wrapped his warm hands around it and gently probed. “No broken bones.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Jenny could almost be back in the kitchen with the steam. She was starting to feel warm again. “Just help me up. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll be no such thing,” Robert said as he rolled her sock back up to cover her leg. “You’ve got a sprain. You’ll need to stay off your foot for a while.”

  Jenny looked around her. She was sprawled in front of the café.

  The main street of Dry Creek wasn’t so much a street as it was the widening of the road that cut through town. The barn and the church were on one side with a few houses between them and the café was on the other side with a few more houses.

  Jenny was ten feet from the café, which would place her on the shoulder of the road, she supposed. It was hard to tell where the road began and ended because of the ruts in the snow left from all the cars and trucks that had been parked here last night. The ruts were now covered with fresh snow so the whole area looked soft, white and lumpy.

  “It’s not so bad.” Jenny looked up at Robert. The midmorning sun gave off a subdued white light but it still reflected off the sprinkling of blond hairs on his head. She’d never seen him in the full sun before. That must be why she’d never noticed before that there was any blond in the dark of his hair. She wondered how it had gotten so blond in places. “It must be the desert sun.”

  Robert’s eyes were bluer than the sky. Jenny decided she’d have to remember to tell her sister about them. “Does the desert change the color of blue?”

  The blue in Robert’s eyes turned gray and his hands left her ankle.

  “Did you hit your head?” Robert’s hands cupped Jenny’s skull gently and started to feel their way around her forehead. “Can you count to ten?”

  “Of course.”

  “Backward?”

  “I didn’t hit my head.” Jenny’s hair was on fire. She couldn’t breathe. She was undone. Something in the universe was
very unfair. She was no match for Robert Buckwalter. She’d done fine with him until she’d really looked at him. Now she needed mercy. She needed air. Her sister was right. The man was an Adonis.

  “Count to ten then.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ten. Nine—”

  “You need to leave me.” Jenny finally gasped the words out. She needed to get a handle on herself. Even if she hadn’t hit her head, maybe she was sick or something. “I can’t breathe.”

  “It’s your ribs!”

  Robert didn’t leave. Nor did he take his hands away. He only moved them to gently feel along her rib cage. “They seem fine.”

  “They are fine. It’s you.” Jenny’s cheeks flamed. She hadn’t felt this awkward since she was thirteen. “You need to leave so I can breathe.”

  “Oh.”

  Robert rocked back on his heels. He took his hands off her ribs.

  Jenny closed her eyes and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths. She was just rattled, that’s all. Her sister was right. She, Jenny, needed to get out more. If just looking at an attractive man sent her into a tailspin, it was only proof that she needed to date more. She’d do that, just as soon as she got back to the safety of Seattle.

  “Better?”

  Jenny opened her eyes and nodded.

  “You’re sure you don’t hurt anywhere but the ankle?”

  “I’m sure. I just got the wind knocked out of me.”

  Jenny forced a smile on her face. That was it. It was the shock of falling down that suddenly made the man look so gorgeous. Maybe it was like one of those near-death experiences. Not as serious, of course. But something that happened that made the next few minutes of life look more attractive than it really was. If she’d been looking at a cactus, she’d have thought it was diamond studded. It was just a case of misperception.

  “I’ll be fine. Just give me a hand up.”

  Robert grunted. “Even if everything else is fine, you still can’t walk on that ankle for a while.”

  “Well, I can’t just sit here in the snow,” Jenny said as she sat up and lifted her arm for assistance. “Besides, I have lunch to worry about.”