by Regina Scott
Now it was CJ’s turn to frown. “No. And I didn’t think I would. We ended that problem.”
“I thought we had,” Hank admitted. “But McKay brought up the fact that we don’t know what Lucas Bennett intended to do with the cattle. Likely he hoped to sell them to someone, and that person is still riding free.”
CJ’s breath hissed through his teeth.
“I think,” Jeb Fuller said, elbowing his way between them to reach for a cookie, “that you all ought to let the law do its work on the matter.”
Hank felt himself bristling and forced his hand to relax before he spilled the punch.
“No one’s trying to take the law into his own hands,” CJ assured Jeb with a look to Hank. “Even when you rode out to confront Bennett, you deputized Snowden and McKay.”
“And we left you out,” Jeb remembered, rubbing the cookie between his thumb and forefinger so that drops of ginger flitted to the ground like falling stars. “I wanted to keep the number of people small so we wouldn’t risk any vigilantes. You know how Clyde Parker can be.”
Hank and CJ nodded, both having been around the peppery rancher when he got riled up.
“But McKay is right,” Jeb continued. “Lucas Bennett couldn’t have driven all those steers to a buyer alone. And while we seem to have stopped the thefts locally, at least for the moment, there’s been trouble from Oakalla in the north down to Burnet in the south. Lucas Bennett couldn’t have covered all that ground.”
Hank felt as if the fine food had soured in his mouth. “Then there’s more than one rustler, and someone is buying stolen cattle.”
“Very likely,” Jeb replied. He popped the cookie in his mouth and chewed as he eyed Hank. “I advise you all to keep up the patrols, just in case. But I don’t want anyone out looking for trouble.”
Something poked at Hank’s heart. “I’m not a vigilante.”
“Never said you were,” Jeb replied. “Just know that I’m looking into the matter, and the folks in Burnet hired a former Texas Ranger to help. Between the two of us, we’ll bring the culprits to justice.”
Hank wished he could believe that. But cattle had been disappearing for months, and it had been the Lone Star Cowboy League, not Sheriff Fuller, who had realized that Lucas Bennett was the thief in their area. Besides, the sheriff had a lot of ground to cover. He couldn’t be everywhere. What if more cattle were stolen? What if Nancy’s cattle were taken? The Windy Diamond couldn’t survive the loss.
As Jeb and CJ discussed plans for roundup now that the air was finally cooling toward fall, Hank looked out of the tent across the field. Harold Hickey had called up a polka, and ladies and gents were bobbing about the grass, hands clasped. Some of the boys had set up an alley for ninepins and were crowing as Donny Carson mowed down the wooden pins in a single roll. Daisy Carson was walking around the edges of the field on the arm of the oldest Barlow boy, under the watchful gazes of their mothers. Music, laughter and conversation flowed, bright as the summer day.
Was he the only one to see a dark shadow looming over them all?
* * *
Nancy folded her hands against the pretty bodice of her green wedding dress as Hank drove the wagon back to the Windy Diamond. The calls of their well-wishers still echoed in her ears. Lula May had insisted that Nancy throw her bouquet, and everyone had been surprised when Daisy Carson caught it. Mrs. Carson had snatched the bouquet from her daughter’s grip and taken her aside. Nancy could hear Helen insisting that there was no need for a sixteen-year-old to be thinking about marriage yet in this enlightened day and age.
Nancy could only agree. She wasn’t sure she was ready for marriage a second time at twenty-six. She certainly wasn’t sure of the man beside her. He’d been quiet since their dance, as if it had set him to thinking and those thoughts weren’t particularly pleasant. Were all men moody after they married?
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
“Probably not worth a penny,” he answered as he guided the horses toward the iron gates where the shape of a diamond canted to the right, as if blown by the wind.
“It was a nice party,” Nancy ventured.
The thud of the horses’ hooves against the dusty road was as loud as the blow of a hammer. “Real nice,” he allowed.
“Thank you for asking me to dance,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he returned. “That is, I didn’t do it for my pleasure. I mean, it was pleasurable, but I was thinking more about you having fun than me. Not that I didn’t have fun.”
Nancy put a hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Hank. I know what you mean. And I did have fun. I probably would have enjoyed myself even more if I hadn’t been thinking they shouldn’t have been so kind to us.”
She felt his muscles tense under her hand. “How so?”
Would he make her point out the obvious? “Lucas stole from them, lied to them.”
“Started the Carson fire,” he added.
Her stomach cramped. “That too? I don’t know how Helen can bear to so much as look at me!”
“You?” He pulled on the reins to turn the horses through the gate. “This is no fault of yours. I heard you apologize to McKay and Lula May when they came to visit. But you have no reason to feel sorry. You didn’t help him, didn’t know what he was doing.”
Maybe she would have if she’d been a more attentive wife. But after he’d raised his hand to her that night, she’d stayed away from him as much as possible, and he’d seemed to prefer it that way. But if she’d tried harder, leaned closer instead of pulling back, things might have been different.
She tucked those thoughts away. God had given her a second chance to be a wife, and she was going to do her best this time.
Unfortunately, Hank didn’t make it easy for her.
“Would you like some dinner?” she asked as he stopped the wagon in front of the house.
He patted his flat stomach. “No, ma’am. I am fuller than a pig the day before slaughter.”
Not a pretty picture, but she got the point. “Then will you come in for some lemonade?”
He hopped down and came around for her. “Best I go help Jenks.”
Billy had stayed behind to watch the herd. “Of course,” she said.
He lifted her down, and she couldn’t help remembering the tender way Edmund McKay had looked at Lula May in the same circumstances. Hank let go of her so fast she thought her dress might be on fire. He tipped his hat.
“Good night, Nancy. Sweet dreams.”
She supposed she would have to be satisfied with that.
He was up and out of the barn even earlier than usual the next morning, for she saw his horse was gone from the corral when she rose. She thought surely he’d join her for dinner that evening, so she spent the day cooking a roast with tomatoes and beans fresh from the garden, cornbread, mashed potatoes with a hint of garlic and a peach pie. She tidied up the house, made sure the table was set just right, combed her hair until it shone.
Then she sat in the parlor and waited.
And waited.
As the sun sank toward the horizon, fear tingled like a splinter under her skin. What if he’d run into a mountain lion? What if he’d stepped on a rattler? What if one of the cattle had turned on him and trampled him?
What if he was a rustler?
She stood up, paced the room. Oh, this was no good! She went to the kitchen, sliced the roast and left it warming in the oven. Maybe she’d see him coming in if she went out to the porch.
Maybe Mr. Upkins would be bringing Hank’s body.
She burst through the door and made herself stop and take a deep breath. Everything looked calm, certainly calmer than she felt. A few of her cattle had wandered closer to the house. She could see their coffee-colored hides moving among the oaks. An owl called from the bushes while its mate s
wept over the grass, seeking prey.
And a light glowed from the barn.
It seemed her “husband” was going about his life. That’s what he’d said he’d do. She shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Yet somehow she felt empty, abandoned. Her father and mother had left her through no fault of theirs. Through his own actions, Lucas had ended up leaving. In the matter of Hank Snowden, she was the one who must act.
She picked up her blue skirts and swept to the barn.
She’d never actually been in the barn before. Lucas had felt a lady shouldn’t sully her hands. Billy milked the cow and gathered eggs. The warm smells wrapped around her the moment she pushed through the wide doors—cow and rabbit stew and hay. In the dim light, the tall, long building seemed entirely masculine, with pitchforks stuck in piles of hay, ropes looped on hooks and axes and saws hanging from nails. The milk cow stood resting in its stall, dark eyes gleaming at Nancy as she passed. The chickens clucked a scold. A cat darted away into the darkness.
Voices called from the doorway near the rear. That must be the bunk room. Surely it was improper for her to invade their space.
The prim voice in her head sounded suspiciously like some of the Missouri town women who had insisted it wasn’t proper for an unmarried woman to be a midwife. There was nothing improper about her checking on her boys. She owned this spread.
Raising her head, she moved to the door and rapped.
Voices cut out. Spurs chimed as boots strode to the door. The panel whipped open to reveal Billy, eyes wide and hair damp from a dunking. Behind him, Hank and Mr. Upkins held their guns ready.
“Mrs. Ben—Snowden, ma’am,” Billy stammered, dropping his arm. “Is something wrong?”
“I had hoped to see Hank when you rode in,” Nancy said, keeping her voice steady. “I believe he was going to give me a report.”
Hank holstered his gun in the sheath hanging over one of the bunk posts and started forward. Behind him, she saw the quilt she’d helped make, carefully folded on the bunk. The thought of him sleeping under it made her feel warm.
“I believe you’re right,” he said as he reached the door. “Apologies, ma’am. Allow me to escort you back to the house.”
Under her boys’ watchful eyes, she stepped aside to let him join her.
“When I didn’t see you on the porch as we rode in,” he murmured as they crossed the barn, steps quiet in the scattered hay, “I thought you might be tired of my company.”
“I am never tired of your company,” Nancy told him as he held the door open for her to exit the barn. He regarded her as she passed, and she realized how that must have sounded.
“You were going to teach me how to run this ranch,” she pointed out. “To do that, we have to spend time together.”
“That’s true enough. It’s just that things are a little busy now.” He walked her across the flat of the front yard and up onto the porch, but there he paused as if refusing to go farther.
Nancy opened the door. “Perhaps you can tell me all about it over dinner. Now come inside and eat, Hank.” Delighted by her boldness, she sashayed back to the kitchen.
He followed.
A little thrill went through her, but she shook it off. She wasn’t trying to boss the poor fellow around, but surely they must come to some agreement on their unorthodox partnership. She went to the stove, took down a pad to protect her hands and brought the roast out of the oven.
She heard him inhale. “That smells mighty good.”
Nancy smiled to herself. “Please have a seat while I bring everything to the table.”
Turning with the roast, she saw he remained standing at the foot of the table, where she’d laid his place. Lucas had always sat at the top and her at the bottom, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Hank. There had to be some benefits to running a ranch. She brought the rest of the food to the table, arranged it to her liking, filled a plate for him and herself, then took her seat and bowed her head.
She could hear the drippings simmering in the pan.
Raising her head, she saw that he was watching her. “Will you say the grace?” she asked.
He drew in a breath. “Yes, ma’am. If it pleases you.” He cleared his throat, and she lowered her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the familiar words.
“Lord,” he said, voice soft and humble, “thank You for bringing us through another day safe and whole. Thank You for the sun to warm us, the breeze to cool us. Thank You for clean water and good food and friends and family to share them with. May they all be the blessing You intended. Amen.”
Nancy raised her head to stare at him. He picked up his fork and dug in, gaze on the plate below him. Her father and mother had recited the same prayer every night, the words running together from frequent use. Lucas had prayed with great purpose, using fancy words, loud and occasionally long enough that the food had cooled and he’d complain as if it had been her fault.
She’d never heard anyone pray like Hank, simple and true and from the heart. And somehow, dinner felt easier because of it.
Then she took a bite of the potatoes and frowned. “Forgive me. Too much garlic.”
He shrugged, lifting another forkful of the fluffy mass. “Tastes fine to me. But then, I’m used to the way Upkins cooks. I reckon he didn’t learn much from his mama.”
She hid a smile. “I fear I didn’t learn a great deal from mine either. My mother always preferred to cook alone. She said having an extra person in the kitchen flustered her. So, I suppose I didn’t know much about cooking when I came to Little Horn.”
“You must have learned fast,” Hank said, rising up to help himself to another slice of the roast.
“Well, I had to,” she admitted, smile breaking free. “I had a husband to feed, and he liked things done to his satisfaction.”
He grunted, slicing into the meat so fast she thought he was concerned it was about to flee. In fact, now that she noticed, he was bolting down the food. Was he trying to finish the ordeal and escape?
Annoyance pricked her. “So how did things go on the ranch today?” she asked.
“Fine,” he acknowledged between bites.
“No problems?” she pressed.
He picked up his napkin and wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “Not really.”
“You were saying there was a lot to do right now,” she tried, temper threatening. “What exactly are we doing?”
He frowned a moment as if thinking. “Best we move the herd farther west.”
West? But that was away from the house and the reliable spring. That was where she couldn’t see what he was doing.
Suspicion tugged at her sleeve for attention. She focused on Hank. “But shouldn’t we keep them closer to the house for safety?”
“We handled the biggest danger,” he replied, and she knew he meant Lucas. As if he’d realized his gaff, he flushed and changed the subject. “So you learned to cook from your ma. I hope she won’t be disappointed you married a cowpoke.”
“My mother’s gone,” she replied, still finding it hard to say the words. “My father too. That’s why I agreed to become a mail-order bride. There was nothing left for me in Missouri.”
He swallowed. “Sorry for your loss.” He started to reach for the pie, then glanced at her with upraised brows.
“Please,” she said, “help yourself.”
He grinned, dragging the tin closer and cutting out a good chunk of pie to put on his plate.
“What about your parents?” she asked, suddenly curious. “What will you tell them about our marriage?”
He blinked, peach dropping from his fork to the plate with a plop. “I wasn’t going to tell them anything. I haven’t had word from them in nearly five years. I’m not sure they even know where I am.”
As close as she’d been to her family, she co
uldn’t imagine not at least writing once in a while. She’d never met Lucas’s family in Alabama, but she’d written to let them know about his death and the upcoming birth of his child.
“You must write to them,” she insisted, digging into the potatoes. “They’ll want to know you married.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” As if that was all that needed be said, he rose and carried his emptied plate, cup and utensils to the sink. “Anything else, ma’am? Morning comes early.”
“I’m well aware of when morning comes, sir.” There went her temper. Lucas would have blamed it on her pregnancy making her moodier than usual. She thought it had more to do with feeling as if she was being boxed into a corner.
As Hank turned from the sink, head hanging as if he expected a scold, she fought to keep her tone civil. “It’s becoming more difficult for me to go out on the ranch with you,” she explained. “So I need you to come to me. I’d like you to eat dinner with me in the evening. Tell me about the ranch. Help me understand not only what must be done but why it must be done. Can you do that?”
“If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It is,” she said with conviction.
He nodded. “I want to move the cattle west because the grass closer to the house is getting thin. We need to give it time to recover. Plus, there’s a line shack there where we can begin to stage them for the roundup.”
At least that made sense. “And when is roundup?” Nancy asked.
“About a month from now. The league members have already begun talking about it. We’ll need to coordinate with them. The bigger the group heading to the railhead, the better.”
“Because of mountain lions, rattlers and rustlers,” Nancy remembered.
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You promised to call me Nancy.” As soon as she said it she cursed herself for being too forward. Theirs wasn’t a true marriage. He didn’t have to treat her with any intimacy.
“So I did. Forgive me, Nancy.”
That smile warmed her more than her stove.
“I should go,” he said, backing toward the kitchen door. “Is there anything else you want?”
