“He gives one to every single child who comes to the ranch.” Hannah pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. “Always has.”
Cheryl ran to Amy and jumped into her outstretched arms. When she snuggled in, Amy was almost overcome. She clung to the child, afraid to let go, afraid she might shatter without Cheryl’s arms to hold her together.
She’d fought it. Oh, how she’d fought the lure of this child’s pain and love, but Amy had failed. She’d fallen for Cheryl after all, in a far-too-short week, and now had to pay the price with separation. She cursed the gods and fate and kismet that Cheryl wasn’t hers.
Amy squatted on the grass and forced herself to set Cheryl away from her.
“Love you, Amy,” Cheryl whispered, her eyes clear and dry.
“I love you, too.” Amy’s voice cracked. Cheryl’s image swam through her tears. “I’m coming home to Billings soon and then I’ll visit you. Okay?”
Cheryl’s eyes held a touch of uncertainty. “For sure?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
“Not even Zeus?”
Amy’s smile felt damp and weak at the mention of Hank’s arrogant stallion. “Not even Zeus.”
Cheryl grinned and ran back to the lineup.
She’d changed so much in the brief time Amy had known her, had grown from a timid child to one with confidence. How many miracles had Hank performed on this ranch over the years?
How did he do it—invite these children into his home, fall in love with them then let them go? Did his heart break every time?
At least Amy could see Cheryl again, but when would Hank ever get that chance?
The last of the children boarded. Amy cried when Cheryl put on her tiny white Stetson then climbed the stairs.
As Jenny started the engine and stepped lightly on the gas, a white cowboy hat waved in every window. Quiet and subdued, Hank watched the retreating vehicle. The ranch hands slowly drifted away.
Amy stayed behind under the willow, unable to leave, wanting to touch Hank, yet not knowing how to at this moment.
Hank continued to stand alone long after the bus had turned onto the highway and disappeared.
Mother walked past Amy and, without a word, took one of Hank’s hands.
Amy joined them, taking Hank’s other big hand in her own.
They stayed that way, keeping vigil with Hank in his grief, until there was nothing left in the air of the bright Sunday morning but the sound of a cicada calling for heat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ON MONDAY EVENING, Amy stared at the figures in front of her. She’d driven to Hungry Hollow earlier and picked up their books. They told a fair story of a ranch doing well with good management by a man Hank’s father had hired years ago. As far as Amy could tell, he ran it competently.
Money came in from the sale of beef, but too much went out to support Hank bringing children here. A ranch the size of Sheltering Arms had enormous expenses, yet as far as she could tell, it all balanced. Just. No room for emergencies.
Still, what about that letter from the bank? Hank swore the bank had told him there was no problem. They hadn’t sent a letter. She’d e-mailed Leila a few hours ago to ask more about it, but Leila hadn’t replied yet.
Amy wandered to the kitchen and found Hank making a sandwich.
“Thought I saw the light on under your door,” he said.
Amy wondered if he realized he’d just referred to the office as “hers.”
A shimmering awareness passed between them in the quiet kitchen. It unsettled Amy and she rushed to change the subject.
“I’ve been going over the Hungry Hollow books. They look good.”
He put a slice of bread on top of a mound of sandwich fixings, mashed it lightly with his palm, then picked it up. “Want one?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Hank—” She started, then jumped as the front door slammed open.
“Hank?” a husky female voice called out from the hallway.
“Leila?” Amy looked at Hank. His expression mirrored her own shock.
“Yeah.” He finished chewing the bite then set the sandwich on a plate. He wiped his mouth with a checked napkin and swallowed. “What’s she doing here?”
Amy shrugged and called, “In the kitchen, Leila.”
Leila strode in, her lanky six-foot frame almost vibrating with an air of urgency.
“Hank,” she said, nodding, then turned to Amy. “I brought the letter with me.” She handed it over.
How like Leila, Amy thought, to barge in with the barest of civilities, then get to the point.
Amy read the letter. The bank definitely said that Hank had not been making his mortgage payments. Amy knew that he had. What was going on?
Leila turned to Hank. “Well? Why haven’t you been handling this? Is the ranch in so much trouble you can’t pay the mortgage?”
Amy watched Hank grow still as he stared at the letter. His face took on a dark red hue. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Still, he didn’t say a word.
And just like that, as if a light had suddenly been turned on in a cave, Amy saw it all: Hank’s secret that he wouldn’t share, his reluctance to help her with the accounts, audio books in his pickup truck, paying for everything with cash instead of writing checks. Reciting a children’s story while flipping the pages out of pace.
Hank Shelter couldn’t read.
She could scarcely believe that in this day and age a man Hank’s age couldn’t read.
She glanced at Leila. Leila obviously didn’t know. How could she not? If Hank hadn’t told her, how was he going to do so now, with his cheeks flaming with embarrassment?
“Leila,” she said while watching Hank, “would you excuse us for a moment? Help yourself to a sandwich.”
“Don’t mind if I do. I drove straight here from the airport—except to stop and grab the letter. I’m starving.” Leila picked up Hank’s sandwich and took a large bite.
Amy held Hank’s hand as she led him into the office and closed the door behind them.
Hank glanced at her face, then stared out the window.
“You figured it out, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low.
“You can’t read,” Amy said.
He hung his head and nodded, once, sharply.
“How did you make it through school?”
“The teachers helped me, let me take tests orally. Did as much as they could.”
“But how did you graduate from high school?”
He shook his head again. “I didn’t. They let me through as far as my football talents would take me, but said I couldn’t graduate unless I got help.”
“But what about your father? Why didn’t he help?”
“It’s dyslexia. The school didn’t have the time or the funds or the personnel in a town this small to teach me one-on-one, and Dad wouldn’t send me to a tutor. Said we had to keep it a secret that his son was too stupid to read.”
Anger streamed through Amy like a flash flood. “Of all the ignorant things to say.”
“Dad wasn’t always kind.”
“So I gather,” she said. “You know what, Hank? I’m going to teach you to read.”
He’d made it so far without knowing how to read. She marveled at how clever he’d had to be to not only survive but to also flourish, to realize his dream of bringing children to the ranch. He deserved a better deal than the one he’d been given by his lousy father.
“If it turns out I can’t teach you,” she said, “I’ll find someone who will.”
She rushed past him and into the kitchen. Leila had to be told so she wouldn’t blame Hank for things out of his control.
Amy burst through the kitchen door and blurted, “Hank can’t read.”
She felt Hank behind her a split second before he yelled, “No!”
Leila turned an astonished face to Hank. “What? You can’t read?”
Hank rounded on Amy and yelled, “Why did you tell Leila? It wasn’t your
secret to share.”
“Hank,” Amy said, “she needs to know.”
“No, she doesn’t. No one needs to know.” He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides.
“But it truly is nothing to be ashamed of,” Amy said.
“Yeah?” Hank asked, and she’d never heard such scathing sarcasm from him before. “What about your secret? Let’s tell everyone about that.”
Amy recoiled. Now he was being cruel. He’s right, her conscience insisted. You wouldn’t want your shameful secret bandied about.
Leila cleared her throat. “Why didn’t Dad ever do anything about it?” Leila asked.
“You know how Dad was about secrets and family business.”
“Yeah,” Leila said, “I know exactly how he was.” She slammed the napkin onto the counter. “Bastard.”
Amy was glad she’d never met the rotten old man.
“I’ll read the letter out loud.” She sensed Hank’s resistance. Nevertheless, she picked up the paper from the counter to read it, but the letterhead stopped her.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “This isn’t your bank.”
“What?” Hank said.
“It’s from a bank in Billings.” Amy looked from Hank to Leila. “Why was your father dealing with a bank in Billings?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask Hank.” Leila turned to him.
He stared back at her, mouth open. “Me? This is the first I’ve heard of it. I haven’t a clue what he was doing.”
“Leila,” Amy asked, “why didn’t you tell me it was from a bank in Billings?”
“I thought Hank would know about it and tell you.”
“Hank,” Amy said, “it looks like they sent this to Leila because she owns the ranch. There must have been other letters before this one that came to the ranch, before they started talking foreclosure.”
Hank spread his hands. “I got envelopes from another bank. Because I didn’t recognize the bank’s logo, I thought they wanted me to get a credit card with them or something. I threw them out. Banks send those things out all the time, don’t they?”
Both Hank and Leila looked lost at sea.
“Guys, this is bad,” Amy said. “This is a huge mortgage.”
She glanced again between the two of them, but they continued to look bewildered.
“I don’t have a clue what Dad was doing,” Leila said. “I left all of that stuff to him. After he died, I thought Hank had picked up where Dad had left off.”
“Wish I could have,” Hank mumbled and Leila rubbed his arm.
“Okay,” Amy said. “Here’s the plan. In the morning, I’ll go back onto your father’s computer and see whether he was hiding anything.”
She turned to leave the room, but said over her shoulder, “Both of you get some rest. I have a feeling the next few days will be busy.”
“IT’S BAD, ISN’T IT?”
Hank stood in the doorway of the office watching Amy, the mild belligerence in his stance warring with the steadiness in his gaze that begged her to be honest. He hadn’t forgiven her since last night’s blunder. She should have known that Hank wouldn’t want her blabbing to most people, but his sister? Of course Leila needed to know. Underneath everything, Amy saw dread on his face, and a vague hope that the letter was indeed a terrible mistake.
She wished she could tell him it was. Instead she settled for the truth. “You are dangerously close to the edge. About six years ago, your father made some really bad investments and lost a lot of money, so he took out a mortgage to tide you over.”
It had taken her awhile to find the info on the wily old coot’s computer.
“The bank wants this mortgage settled immediately—paid in full by the end of next month. We can try to hang on to the land long enough for you to sell it. Once you settle what you owe on the mortgage, Leila will realize some profit.”
When he didn’t respond, only stared at her with a bleakness that unnerved her, she rushed on, “I think we can avoid bankruptcy.”
He uncrossed his arms as his jaw dropped. “You mean we might go bankrupt?”
“I’ll try my best to avoid that situation.”
He shook his head. “What’s our next step?”
“We sell the ranch. Fast.” She said it quietly, but the awful news roared like thunder in the room.
Hank swayed. His skin turned a sickly gray.
And in this oddest of moments, she felt drawn to him. Her world dipped crazily.
She’d never had trouble separating the woman from the businessperson. Until now. She was emotionally involved—the very worst thing she could be for Hank.
“You’ll have to lay off most of your ranch hands,” she said, forcing herself back on track. “Hang on to a couple of them to keep the place looking good until you can sell it.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, and her stomach turned over. How could she do this to Hank?
“Lay off the hands?” he croaked. “When?”
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow.”
Hank sucked in a breath, then nodded.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “I’ll call them together for a meeting.”
“Good.”
He pinned her with a sharp look. “Will you be there?”
She hated these employee layoff meetings—full of disappointment, recriminations and, often, raging tempers born out of panic—but she would attend if Hank needed her.
After Hank left, Amy had a few minutes to herself before Leila appeared. Amy told Leila what was happening.
“Okay,” Leila said. “Do what you have to do. In the meantime, I’ll go back to Billings to see whether I can gain a month or two’s grace from the bank.”
“Leila, you knew it was bad when you called me. I thought you were prepared for this.”
“When I told Hank we’d reached the point of no return, I was trying to shock him into taking care of this. I didn’t know things really were that far gone.”
Leila shuffled out of the house. Her pace was so out of character that Amy nearly ran after her to tell her that she would fix the situation somehow, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
She honestly didn’t know what she could do for Leila and Hank to avoid the sale of their ranch.
THE LIVING ROOM echoed with the murmuring of the ranch hands. It died down when Amy entered the room and they turned curious gazes her way.
Where was Hank? Amy’s stomach churned.
She felt him enter the room through the doorway behind her, a big warmth radiating against her back. He stepped to her side.
Everyone watched and waited.
Hank cleared his throat. “I have bad news. I can’t—” He cleared his throat again. “I can’t afford to pay you anymore.”
As one, the people in the room stopped, their jaws dropped.
“What are you saying, Hank?” Jenny asked.
“I can’t keep you on any longer.” The pain on Hank’s face burned through Amy. This was so much worse than dismissing staff in a large corporation, in which most of the employees were faceless numbers. These people were Hank’s friends, as close to him as family.
Oh God, this was hard.
“I have to—” Hank tried to get the words out, then swallowed. “I have to—”
His shoulders slumped, he walked away.
For the umpteenth time on the ranch, Amy felt the weight of disapproving stares. People often confused the messenger with the bad news. That had always been part of her job, but it had never felt so hard.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Jenny’s voice was strident this time, angry and accusatory, as if Amy herself had brought this on them.
“Hank has to sell the ranch.”
They broke into such a cacophony of raised voices that Amy had to clap her hands to call for silence.
“Unfortunately it’s either that or bankruptcy,” she said. “Hank won’t be able to pay severance at this time. After the sale settles, we’ll see what’s left to divvy up.”
&nb
sp; Amy turned and left the room, to escape all of that shock and disappointment. She went in search of Hank and found him sitting in the backyard, staring at the fields he loved. He was about to be robbed of all this beauty.
“I don’t understand how this could have happened in only one year,” he said. “Dad never mentioned a word about money problems.”
She squeezed his shoulders. What could she possibly say that he didn’t already know?
HANK BLEW a long stream of air out of his lungs until they felt as empty as his heart. Funny that the sky was so clear, the sun so hot and life so normal when his world was falling apart.
A weight on his chest made breathing difficult. How many days did he have left here? Aw, hell. He rested his head against the back of the chair. He’d screwed up. If he were the crying type, his tears would never end. Instead all of his sorrow and regret balled up into a hard stone in his gut.
Staring at the clear sky, he whispered, “Dad, you crazy old man, you got your wish. I never let a soul see our private business. I never told anyone my problem. I never asked for help.” Bitterness rose like acid into his throat. “And now I’m going to lose the ranch.”
There was one person he needed to apologize to for his failure—his son. Despite everything Hank hadn’t kept the ranch alive in Jamie’s memory.
ONLY WILLIE, Matt and Jenny stayed on to clean and fix up the stables for the sale of the ranch.
Hannah cleaned the house from top to bottom.
Amy’s mother took up knitting, smiling as she made mittens for the children she was certain would need them when they visited the ranch this winter. Amy shook her head. Mother was not senile, so why this refusal to face facts?
Amy consulted with real estate agents. It would take awhile to sell an operation the size of Sheltering Arms. She hoped they could hold on until then.
Hank moped. He wandered through the rooms and rode out of the yard with a dazed look on his face. He walked with sloped shoulders, a big man diminished overnight. Amy didn’t know what to do for him, and her frustration grew.
She caught him one day sitting on the veranda, bowed forward with his hands hanging between his knees, and it started blood boiling through her veins.
No Ordinary Cowboy Page 13
