by Regina Scott
“No, thank you,” she said, and he escaped before she could tell him the truth. What she’d asked for was only the beginning of what she wanted, but feared she’d never have.
Chapter Seven
Over the next week, life settled into a routine. Nancy spent the days doing her usual chores, with the occasional visit from Lula May or one of the other ladies who were members of the quilting bee. Behind the house, peaches were coming on in the small orchard which also held plum and apple trees, and blackberries were ripening on the brambles near the spring. The fruit must be picked, scalded and canned for use in the cooler months.
Then there was the vegetable garden to tend and washing to be done. There were relatively few dirty clothes with Lucas gone, but when she suggested to Hank that she could wash his things, he’d turned red.
“Cowboys are used to dirt,” he’d joked.
At least when evening came, Hank would join her for dinner and report on the ranch. She listened and learned, but she went to bed feeling unsettled. Something more seemed to be waiting, just beyond her fingertips, but she wasn’t even sure which way to reach or what she’d find when she did.
The baby was by far the brightest spot in her life. She could feel the changes in her body and knew that meant changes were taking place inside her too. Her feet and legs cramped from time to time, but she knew how to flex and massage them to ease the discomfort.
In fact, she was flexing under the table at dinner one night and must have grimaced, because Hank rose to go to the pump. She shifted in her seat.
“What are you doing?”
Clean water splashed into a glass he’d taken from the cupboard. He shook the drops off the sides and brought the water to the table.
“You need this,” he said, handing the glass to her. “It will help you and the baby.”
Her mother had always said plenty of liquid led to a better birth, but she was surprised to hear the advice coming from him. “How did you know?” she asked, accepting the glass.
He flushed. “Well, it works for the heifers.”
She knew another woman would take umbrage about being compared to cattle, especially as her figure spread, but knowing how her boys felt about their herd, she counted it a compliment.
Not everyone, however, was so pleased to hear about the baby. She was sitting on the porch, taking a break from her work and sipping at a glass of lemonade, when Billy brought her the mail from town. The young cowboy rode into Little Horn once a week to perform the service.
“Letter for you, ma’am,” he said now, ducking his red-haired head as he climbed the steps. He handed her the missive. “Hope it’s good news.”
It wasn’t. Nancy read the letter twice, the second time with trembling fingers. She’d tried to be kind. How could anyone see it as evil? Was she so different from the world? Is that why she kept misunderstanding people’s motives?
She tried to put the matter aside, go about her day, but Hank always seemed to know when something was bothering her.
“Jenks said you got a letter today,” he said, dipping his spoon into the beef and barley soup she’d made. “Bank giving us more trouble?”
Nancy could barely look at the soup or the slice of freshly baked oat bread beside it. “No. The letter wasn’t from Mr. Cramore. It was from Lucas’s father.”
Hank went still. “I didn’t know you were in contact with Mr. Bennett’s relatives.”
“I never contacted them when Lucas was alive,” Nancy told him. “We’d get a letter from Alabama once in a while. Lucas always said it was family business and nothing to concern me. I thought I should tell his family that he’d died but was leaving a child behind.”
Hank stirred his soup, the steam rising past his chiseled jaw. “Did they invite you to come stay with them?”
Nancy choked back a laugh. “No. In fact, Mr. Bennett told me I’d ruined his son’s life. It seems Lucas became bitter after our marriage and told his father off for not bringing us home to Alabama once Lucas had made a success of the ranch. His father warned me never to contact him again or he’d seek legal action. He seemed to think I was trying to press him for money.”
She couldn’t look at Hank. She’d hadn’t been asking for money, but she still felt as if she’d stepped in mud.
She heard the chair scrape against the wood floor as Hank pushed back from the table, then the thud of his boots as he came to her end. His arm slipped around her shoulders.
“You did the right thing writing,” he murmured. “Most folks would want to know they’d have a grandbaby to look forward to. The shame’s on him.”
She drew in a breath and nodded. “I know. But it’s sad the baby won’t have a chance to know Lucas’s family.”
“That’s why we need to give the baby a family,” he said, straightening.
As if in agreement, the baby danced inside her.
Nancy pressed a hand to her belly, smile trembling on her lips. “He seems to agree with you.”
Hank raised his brows. “Does he?” He bent over. “Well, hey there, little feller. I sure am looking forward to meeting you. Not that I want you to come anytime soon,” he hastened to add with a glance up at Nancy. “You just sit nice and warm in there ’til you’re ready. Just know you have a mighty pretty mama waiting for you out here.”
She felt the baby shift, as if listening to everything Hank said.
“I think he likes your voice,” she marveled.
Hank jerked upright. “Can he really hear me?”
Nancy shrugged. “Who knows? Mothers have told me their babies reacted to loud noises or soft music. My baby seems to like you.”
He blushed, the red growing in his cheeks like a sunrise. “That’s a real honor.” He bent low again. “Thanks, little feller.”
He turned his head and met her gaze. “Or should I be saying little lady?”
With his face so close to hers, she could see that he had the longest lashes, thick and black, like his hair. Nancy had to force herself to focus on his question.
“My mother claimed she could tell whether a baby was going to be a girl or a boy,” she told him. “She was seldom wrong. I think she’d say this is a boy.”
“Well, then,” he said, turning to address her belly again, “we’re going to have a whole lot of fun together.”
He sounded positively eager. She smiled. “And Hank knows about fun,” she told her baby. “He even took your mama dancing.”
“We’ll teach you,” Hank promised the baby. “You’ll be a fine-looking feller. Stands to reason with the parents you had. You’ll be real popular with the ladies.”
“Everyone loves babies,” she agreed. Then she remembered the note from Lucas’s father. “Well, most everyone.”
“Anyone with any sense loves babies,” Hank maintained. He must have tired of bending, for he pulled out the chair next to hers and sat, gaze still on the baby. “You just wait. Why, the first day we take you to services, those quilting gals will all be reaching out to hold you.”
Nancy laughed. “Yes, they will! And I expect you’ll smile and coo like the charming baby you’ll be.”
Hank sobered. “Don’t go putting expectations on him, especially not so young. That’s a powerful burden on a child.”
Hurt washed over her. “I know how to take care of babies, Hank.”
“I imagine you do,” he allowed. “But I have a few opinions in that area myself. I reckon we need to come to terms.”
* * *
It was the wrong thing to say. He could see it in the way her jaw set, her head raised. He couldn’t seem to find the right words with her, always brought up sore subjects. But in this case, he knew what needed to be said.
“Let me tell you a story,” he started, aiming his look and voice at the baby he could imagine growing inside h
er. “I was a baby like you once, odd as that may sound to you.”
He didn’t dare look up at her, but he could see her fingers relax and could imagine her look softening. “No, really?” she teased.
He smiled to himself. “Afraid so. I was the youngest, the last of four, and all the rest girls. Now, I got nothing against girls, and if you turn out to be one despite what your mama says, I’ll be proud to teach you to ride and rope and raise cattle so you can help your mama run this ranch.”
He dared to glance up at Nancy. She was watching him, head cocked, as if she wasn’t sure what he was doing. He licked his lips and launched into the next part of the story.
“My daddy thought different,” he explained to the baby. “He’d been waiting a long time for a son. He wanted the best for me—the best teaching, the best food and clothing.”
“Lucas wanted the best of everything too,” she murmured.
“And we know where that led,” he answered.
She nodded, and he pushed on.
“But my pa also expected the best from me. I had to ride better, rope faster, than anyone else on the spread, even the hands who’d been working for years. He told me who I could be friends with, who wasn’t good enough for me. He expected me to think just like he did.”
“Oh, Hank,” she whispered, and he didn’t dare look at her again or he knew he’d lose his nerve.
“Now, I tried hard to be a good son, do all the things he wanted, but it seemed I was always a disappointment. So, when he told me he wanted me to marry the daughter of the man who owned the ranch next to ours, I didn’t argue. No man would. She was pretty and sweet, and every gent within a hundred miles of Waco was hoping to have her stand beside him. I reckon it was love at first sight.”
He saw her hand move to her cheek as if she couldn’t imagine anything more romantic. “And then what happened?” she urged.
She should know the story hadn’t ended well, or he wouldn’t be here in Little Horn, working as a foreman.
“Did I mention she was smart?” Hank asked. “Smart enough to know I wasn’t the man she wanted. Seems any feelings between us were all in my head. She up and married my best friend. And I left Waco before Pa could tell me what a disappointment I was again.”
His throat was tightening, and he swallowed hard. “That’s why I don’t like expectations, little feller. They’re a noose that chokes you, a rope that binds. The way I see it, the only expectations a man should try to fulfill are the ones he puts on himself, the ones spelled out in the Bible. And even then he might prove a disappointment now and again.”
He couldn’t look at her face. Her expectations were starting to become important to him, and he knew he couldn’t go down that road again. But he could see her hand fall, her fingers knitting together over her belly.
“I know something about expectations too,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if she was addressing the baby or him. “Lucas had a lot of them. Food had to be cooked just so. The house must be kept pristine. He didn’t like a lot of noise at the end of the day, so not much talking and no using the sewing machine while he was in the house.”
There were moments he didn’t like Lucas Bennett overly much. “Must have been hard,” he murmured.
“I thought it was me,” she said. “I just tried harder, asked Lula May’s help in learning to cook better, scrubbed the floors more often.”
No wonder the house looked as if no one had ever lived in it.
“But no matter how hard I tried,” she continued, “I never could meet his requirements. I thought if I was just a better wife, more attentive to his needs, maybe he’d come home more often. Maybe he’d be happy.”
Now his eyes burned. “Funny thing about happiness. It’s different for each person. That’s why the only person responsible for your happiness can be you.”
“But he was happy, at first,” she protested. “We used to tell each other about our lives and laugh. Then he seemed to lose interest and drift away. I never knew why. His father seemed to think he was expecting to move back to Alabama. Maybe he felt like he was in exile here.”
“Trying to prove himself to his father,” Hank realized. He wasn’t sure how he felt to know he and Lucas had had that trait in common.
“But why not enjoy his success?” Nancy asked, soft voice vibrating with hurt feelings. “His father gave him the ranch. Why not settle down?”
He was fairly sure of the reason, but he hadn’t wanted to darken her husband’s memory any further. Still, he couldn’t see her so hurt and confused. Maybe it was time she knew at least part of the truth.
“I can’t be sure,” he murmured, “but I think he was gambling. He’d leave us with the herd, go riding off toward Burnet. And he’d always come back sullen or angry and missing something he’d left with—his fancy silver belt buckle or his pearl-handled pistol.”
“I wondered what happened to that belt buckle,” she put in. “When I asked him about it, he said he was tired of it.”
Another excuse. Hank sighed. “He even tried to get Upkins and Jenks to play cards with him for their pay.”
He saw her bristle. She didn’t much like anyone mistreating her cowboys. She was going to make a great ranch manager. There wouldn’t be a man in the county who wouldn’t want to ride for her brand.
“They refused,” he assured her. “But it made us all uneasy. I figure he took out that loan to fund his obsession.”
“I wish I’d known,” she said. “Maybe I could have talked to him, helped him see that he was hurting himself and everyone else.”
“Nothing you could have done,” he assured her. “I’ve seen a few men in that situation. Once gambling fever sets in, it takes more than love and sweet words to cure it.”
Her breath sounded shaky. “Oh, Hank, what am I going to tell the baby about his father?”
For once, he knew how to answer. “Good things and bad.”
He could hear the doubt in her voice. “And bad?”
“By the time he’s old enough to understand, most folks will have forgotten what his father did,” he said. “But someone will remember and tell him. He should hear it from us first.”
He glanced up. For some reason, his statement had made her smile, and he felt as if the air smelled sweeter, like sage after a rain.
Still, she raised a brow. “And what good can I tell him?”
“Plenty.” He nodded toward the baby. “Your pa was a real pistol. Never knew a man who could ride faster, break a horse better.”
Nancy chuckled. “That’s true enough. Clyde Parker used to ask Lucas over to help break his horses.”
“He was a charmer too,” Hank continued. “Why, there wasn’t a fellow in Little Horn who didn’t call him friend.”
Her smile faded. “That was true too, before the gambling and stealing.”
Hank wasn’t willing to allow the darkness in. Not now when he had her smiling. “And he was willing to take a chance on a stranger,” he told the baby, “give him a place to live, a job to do.”
“Take her into his house, give her a home and a child,” she agreed, smile threatening to return.
Hank nodded. “And he had a smile and a twinkle in his eyes that made you feel like you were someone special.”
“I remember.” She pressed her lips together as if to keep from saying more.
He reached out and put his hand against hers. “That’s the fellow we should remember, Nancy. That’s the man we should talk about with his son.”
The son Hank hoped to help raise. But the real question remained—what was he to do about the baby’s mother? These conversations whispered to something inside him, gave him hope he wasn’t sure was warranted.
How was he to help Nancy without risking his heart?
Chapter Eight
Nancy wasn�
�t sure why, but that night marked a change in her relationship with Hank. Where he hesitated to talk to her, he had no trouble talking to the baby. He showed up each evening, face scrubbed and shaved, chaps and spurs removed, and sat at the foot of the table. He told her about the ranch, asked her input on any changes he was considering and told the baby stories.
She had to admit that she enjoyed the stories the most.
“One time,” he said, forking up the potato salad she’d made that day, “my closest sister Matilda, she goes by Missy, and I took two of the cow ponies and rode as far as we could out onto the range. We lost sight of the house, we lost sight of the herd. I was starting to get a little worried, only I wouldn’t let on to her. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.
‘Missy,’ I told her. ‘We’re lost.’
‘No, we’re not,’ she says. ‘I stole a sack of dried pinto beans from the cupboard and put them in my saddle bag. I’ve been dropping them as we rode. All we have to do is follow them home.’”
“That was smart,” Nancy said with a smile.
“I thought so,” Hank agreed. “Until we tried to follow them back and discovered that between sparrows and gophers, most of the beans had been eaten. We managed to get home, after dark. Pa was furious. I don’t know what made him madder—that we might have had to spend the night alone and undefended on the range or that we’d lost a whole sack of pinto beans.”
Nancy laughed, then clapped a hand to her stomach, feeling as if the baby had giggled, as well.
Hank was on his feet and coming around the table. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Nancy assured him, lowering her hand. “The baby likes your stories almost as much as I do.”
He snatched up her emptied plate and turned for the sink as if that had been his intent all along. But he didn’t fool her. She’d seen the flush in his cheeks. He liked sharing those stories with her and the baby.
He was just as considerate about sharing other things. He brought her treasures from the range—a rabbit or duck he’d shot and prepared for cooking, fresh-picked thyme or Mexican plums that grew wild. She made sure to use his gifts in the meals she prepared. She was trying not to be sensitive about her efforts—he wasn’t critical like Lucas—but she couldn’t help noticing his grimace over the rabbit, which she’d served in gravy on toast.
