“Hank, why does a dude ranch seem so much worse than a B and B?”
“Tourists who visit B and Bs are nice little old men and women who want to sit around in the country and be quiet. Dudes want to dress like cowboys, and walk like cowboys and talk like cowboys. But they aren’t real.”
He shook his head hard. “Uh-uh. No way. No dudes. Never. It’ll never happen on my ranch.”
He watched a slow smile warm Amy’s face. “Why, Hank Shelter, you’re a snob. Admit it.”
“Yup,” he said. “Damn right, I am.”
“Well, well, well. The man has a fault, after all.”
What she said rankled, but when he turned to confront Amy, he found her smiling broadly.
“I’m not a saint,” he mumbled.
“No, of course not,” she teased, then became serious. “How do you feel about approaching the government for charitable status?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“I don’t, either, but I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Would that be enough to save the ranch?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered quietly. “I don’t think so, but it would help.”
Hank wished he had a bunch of kids coming in today to take his mind off everything that was wrong with him and his ranch. He cracked the knuckles of his left hand. As he switched to do the same with his right, he noticed that Amy was frowning and staring out the window while she tore the tip from one of her perfectly manicured nails, leaving a ragged edge. He was pretty sure she didn’t realize what she’d just done.
Man, oh man, if she was nervous, where the heck did that leave him?
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Amy worked like a madwoman. No accounting job had ever meant more to her than this one.
She researched getting charitable status for the ranch. Hank’s father should have thought of it years ago. It could have saved them bundles at tax time. They did make a profit on the Hungry Hollow and used that to keep Sheltering Arms afloat. She suspected that could be a problem.
She found ways to cut costs and implemented them.
Cost cutting would help, but still, they needed a steady income to pay off the mistakes Hank’s father had made with his investments.
The letters started to arrive at the end of the week. Hundreds of letters addressed to her—from parents of children who’d stayed at the Sheltering Arms, from teenagers whose visits had been recent and from adults who had stayed here years ago as children.
The letters bombarded her with fifteen years’ worth of love and respect for Hank.
Please don’t stop Hank’s work. Sheltering Arms is the most important ranch in Montana, one letter claimed.
I came to Hank with his first group of children fifteen years ago, a twenty-five-year-old man wrote. I arrived angry and grieving. I left secure in the knowledge that I would survive whatever life chose to throw at me. Hank taught me that, and so much more.
It contained a check for two hundred dollars.
He is a man beyond measure, another letter said. A man who instills respect and pride and the will to survive in every one of “his” children. Yes, we are truly his children.
Every letter spoke of unbridled love for Hank and the Sheltering Arms, and of the writers’ own stories of success or salvation in spite of cancer, poverty and hardship—all starting at the ranch. Hank had changed their lives. It was that simple. He had given them hope and self-respect and a belief in themselves.
Each letter contained money, some large amounts and some as small as one dollar, the latter most often from young children still living in the grip of inner-city poverty.
Tears gathered in her eyes after every letter.
The one that broke her heart, though, was Cheryl’s. She’d dropped a quarter into the envelope. In large block letters, on a sheet of cheap foolscap, she’d written, For Hank. I love him. You two Amy.
Who had organized this campaign. Hannah? Willie? One of the hands who had already left? Whoever had done this was smart. Very, very smart. And fast.
These letters came just when they needed hope. And while the donations wouldn’t sustain the operation, the funds would certainly help.
At dinner her gaze roamed the table, stopping at Willie, who wore a smug grin.
“You,” she said, and knew before he answered that he had been the one to orchestrate those checks pouring in with the mail.
“Yep. Someone had to do something.”
“That’s a lot of letter writing and phone calls.”
“Sure was.” He applied himself to cutting the roast on his plate. “Took me an entire day. Was it worth it?”
She smiled. “Oh, yes. It was the perfect thing to do.”
In testament to how low Hank felt these days, he showed not a shred of curiosity about their conversation.
“Hank,” she yelled later. “Get in here.”
He came running, his face panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She pointed to the letters. “Look at these.” She picked up a handful and read them aloud.
He shook his head slowly. “Can you beat that?” he asked, his voice wavering, his eyes bright.
Amy grinned. “I’ll read the rest of them to you later, every last one. In the meantime, go hire the ranch hands back.”
He stared at her. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice full of hope.
She smiled and nodded. “I still don’t know how to get the children here, but get your ranch hands back to run the place.”
Without thinking, she threw her tired arms around his neck, so damn happy that the immediate bad news was over, that she could give him back his ranch, for a while at least.
He tightened his arms across her back.
Surrounded by his hard masculine bulk, she ran her hands down his warm neck and across his hard shoulders, pressing her body against the fullness of his chest. As her palms flowed along his hard muscles, the nature of the caress changed, became an exploration. Feeling an acute ache inside of her to do more, she inhaled his essence—leather, soap, citrus and fresh air. His breath warmed her shoulder. Setting her palms against his chest, she pushed, moving away from him.
What if she gave in to temptation?
He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, barely skimming the sides of her breasts with his knuckles. She shivered and stepped away from Hank. Sadly. Reluctantly.
Putting on a professional demeanor, she said, “We’ll work it all out somehow, Hank.”
SHE’D BEEN IN that room for days.
Hank paced the dim hallway in front of the closed office door. Amy was already in there at 6:00 a.m., just like she’d been every morning this week. He had no idea what time she’d gone to bed—or even if she had—because the door had been closed when he went to bed at one.
“She in there already?” Hannah’s voice startled him and he spun around. She stood with her hands on her hips. “She isn’t eating enough to keep a titmouse alive.”
“Did she come out at all yesterday?” Hank asked.
“Oh, yeah, she came out all right. She gave me this.”
He glanced at the sheet of paper Hannah held. “What does it say?”
“I gotta cut down on the meat I’m feeding the ranch hands.” She tapped her foot on the floor. “Those boys and Jenny work hard. They need protein. And she wants me to feed everyone some kind of cheap, prepackaged stuff.” The tapping on the floor quickened. “For Pete’s sake, I never served nothing from a box in my whole life.”
So things were still bad. Hank had rehired everyone, but Amy had told them to stop drinking beer after hours—or to buy it for themselves. The ranch could no longer provide it. It was one of the few perks when the kids weren’t around. There’d been a lot of grumbling about that.
Hank hung his head and stared at the toes of his boots. He couldn’t get angry like Hannah or the hands—he didn’t have that luxury. He knew the only reason Amy was doing all of this was to save his bacon. She’d become Public E
nemy Number One so he wouldn’t have to.
Hannah spun around and stalked to the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her.
He’d better talk to Amy. There had to be another way. He knocked and waited. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing.
Opening the door, he peered around it. Amy’s head lay on the pillow of her crossed arms on top of a mess of papers on the desk. Half of her braid had unraveled and settled across her shoulder.
Hank cleared his throat. Amy didn’t stir. He approached the desk and bent forward to study her face. She was sound asleep. Out like a proverbial light.
“Proverbial,” he whispered. He liked that word. He liked Amy, too.
She looked exhausted. Shallow creases bracketed her mouth, as though she was tense even in sleep. The delicate areas under her eyes seemed almost blue. Her usually creamy skin looked dry.
He touched her cheek and she murmured. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he tried to smooth it as best he could. She was always perfectly turned out. She’d be embarrassed when she discovered he’d seen her like this.
Crouching beside the desk, he rested his chin on his crossed arms, close enough to feel her breath on his face. He wanted these few moments of pleasure before he woke her. He’d missed her the last few days.
Her body was twisted, only half under the desk. Peeking under, he noticed that one foot was in a slipper and the other, stretched out alongside him, was bare. Pink nail polish dotted her toenails. She had tiny feet. He picked up the bare one and it sat in the palm of his hand. Her skirt draped across her thigh, leaving a portion of it and her long calf bare. She had real pretty legs.
“Great gams,” he whispered.
He liked her like this, disheveled, without her usual strict control.
She stirred and opened her eyes, stared at him with an unfocused gaze. He had a minute to drink in the clear green color before her eyes widened and she jumped up, sitting ramrod straight and shoving her fingers through her hair. Since half of it was still braided, she got her fingers caught.
“You look like hell,” he said, softening the complaint with a grin.
Defensive, she said, “You would, too, if you’d fallen asleep at your desk.” Realizing what she’d said, she yelped. “Asleep? What time is it?” She glanced around the room.
Hank stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “It’s just after six in the morning.” He favored her with a wry smile. “It’s Saturday, in case you don’t know.”
“Saturday.” She nodded. “Okay.”
He could tell she was still trying to get her bearings.
“You need a break,” he said.
“No. I need to find a way to get the children back on the ranch.”
Hank swallowed around the warm feelings in his chest. He cleared his throat. “What have you come up with so far?”
She grimaced. “Nothing other than registering as a charitable organization and cost cutting. I think Hannah nearly sent me out of the kitchen with a boot to my backside when I gave her the new budget,” she said, with a smile tinged with wryness.
She was laughing at herself. A good sign.
Then she buried her face in her hands. “Hank,” she mumbled, “I don’t know what to do to make this work, other than tell you to stop bringing the children here. Turn the Sheltering Arms into a full-time working ranch to bring in more money. That isn’t an option, though, is it?”
The look she shot him when she lifted her head was filled with pure misery. If she didn’t care a heck of a lot for him, she had come to care for his ranch and his work with the kids. Maybe that was as much as she could do. He would take whatever she was willing to give.
“No, it isn’t.” He dragged her up out of the chair, steadying her with a hand under her elbow.
“You’re dead on your feet. You need sleep,” he said.
“I can’t. Numbers keep swimming in front of my eyes the second my head hits the pillow and then I end up down here again, working.”
“Then come out with me today. There’s a big rodeo on. Everyone goes.”
“I can’t,” she wailed. “I need to come up with a plan.”
“I know, but if you spend one more day in here, you’ll make yourself sick. Come on.”
She was taking a break today if he had to throw her over his shoulder like a caveman. No ifs, ands or buts. He pulled her out of the office with her hand tucked into his. “First, we need to get you fed.”
Pushing her into the kitchen and onto a chair, he said to Hannah, “Amy needs food. I’m taking her to the rodeo today.”
Hannah nodded as she stared at Amy with a gimlet eye. Gimlet. He liked that word. Not sure if he was using it right, though.
“Amy wants food? Then Amy will get food,” Hannah said, with a hard edge to her tone.
What is she up to now? Hank wondered.
“I need to visit the ladies’ room,” Amy said. She shuffled out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. I need to check on my equipment for today,” Hank told Hannah. “Is there coffee on?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Hank nodded and left. Ten minutes later, he poked his head in through the kitchen door. Hannah stood in front of the stove, her back to Hank. No Amy.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Still in the bathroom. Tell her breakfast is ready,” Hannah answered without turning around.
Hank frowned. Had Amy fallen asleep on the toilet? He’d invaded the office but wasn’t about to barge into the washroom. He knocked on the door. “Amy?”
“Hmm?” he heard from the other side of the door.
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you come out now? Hannah has breakfast ready.”
The doorknob turned and, a second later, Amy emerged from the bathroom. She’d tried to fix her hair, obviously without a brush. He knew the ponytail she’d pulled it into was barely civilized by Amy’s standards. Her eyelashes were spiked with moisture. She must have splashed her face.
“Come on.” He led her to the kitchen.
Hannah had set the table with cutlery and a red-checked place mat. She turned around from the stove and carried a full plate to the table, setting it down in front of Amy with a heavy thud.
Amy stared at the orange contents of her plate. “This is breakfast? What is it?”
“Macaroni and cheese,” Hannah said with a righteous sniff. “The processed kind.”
Amy gaped at her. Hank held his breath, waiting for the clash between the two strong-willed women with the dread of an engineer who knows he can’t stop a runaway train.
Amy threw her head back and laughed. She jumped out of her chair, wrapped her arms around Hannah and rocked them both while she continued to laugh.
“You win,” she said as she sat back down. “It was a dumb idea. We’ll come up with something else.”
Hannah crossed her arms at her waist while she tried to hold back a smile. “And the men? Do they get their meat?”
Amy collapsed into her chair. “Let them eat meat. What the hell, they can have their beer, too. Those were only Band-Aid solutions anyway.” She dug into her pasta with more gusto than Hank had ever seen in her.
“What will we do, instead?” Hank asked.
“I haven’t got a bleepin’ clue,” Amy said. She looked at Hannah. “Do you have any ketchup?”
AMY SAT in the truck and willed her racing heart to slow. Apparently Hank was participating in the rodeo. She didn’t know if she could watch. What if he got hurt?
Every citizen of Ordinary had turned out, as well as those from the surrounding towns. Ranches from miles around must all be empty today.
She recognized faces. Angus Kinsey. The cowboys she’d met that day at Hungry Hollow. C.J. Wright from the candy store. Bernice Whitlow from the beauty salon, on the arm of a tall older gentleman Amy had once seen come out of the police station wearing a sheriff’s uniform. No uniform today. Just a happy citizen like everyo
ne else in the crowd.
As Hank steered the pickup into Rockwood Park, he trailed a steady line of vehicles that looked like a modern-day wagon train.
Hank had invited Mother to attend the annual rodeo, as well. Amy’s arm bumped Mother’s as Hank navigated the uneven ground. He slipped into a spot as directed by a young woman wearing an orange vest.
“Hey, Hank,” she called. “Did you enter this year?”
“Yeah.”
“All right! I’ll be rooting for you.” She directed a station wagon to the spot beside them.
The good mood of the people around them was infectious. Amy’s spirits rose. What the heck, she told herself. Just enjoy today and forget about the ranch’s problems for a few hours.
As she assisted her mother out of the truck, Amy noticed that the older woman’s cheeks were full of color. Her head swiveled to catch all the action around her.
Hank’s golden-beige chaps flapped in the breeze. What was it about them that made him look so good? Worn leather across strong thighs? Or the way they made his pants fit snugly across his backside? Amy didn’t care, simply enjoyed the view.
The cowboys and cowgirls came in all ages and sizes. A small girl of about eight, wearing chaps and tiny cowboy boots, climbed out of the station wagon. Dear God, she wasn’t competing, was she?
“Hank,” the girl squealed, “I’m in the rodeo today. Are you?”
Amy had an instant vision of her on a bull like the ones in the photographs on the office wall.
“Yep, Angela, I sure am,” Hank replied as the girl threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his leg.
“What event are you doing today, Hank?”
“A little bit of everything. What are you entered in?”
“Mutton busting,” she said, then ran back to the car to lift out a pink knapsack.
“Hank,” Amy whispered, “isn’t she too young to be involved?”
Hank narrowed his eyes against the sun. “Naw. She’ll ride a little sheep until she falls off. They’ve got plenty of wool to hang on to. She’ll have fun and she won’t get hurt. Honest.”
Hank moved to Mother’s other side and they joined the crush of people heading for the stadium.
No Ordinary Cowboy Page 15
