Читать книгу A Rancher Of Convenience - Regina Scott - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“It can be overwhelming, can’t it?” Lula May said as she took a seat in Nancy’s parlor. The two brown horsehair-covered chairs still sat at precise angles in front of the stone fireplace, as if waiting for Lucas to come through the door. Nancy sank onto the one opposite her friend and focused on the red-and-blue diamond shapes woven into the rug on the plank floor.

“Yes,” she admitted. “And I can’t help thinking I might have spared everyone this pain if I’d just recognized what Lucas was doing.”

Lula May raised her chin. “That’s enough of such talk. Why, I’d known Lucas longer than you had, and I had no idea what he was doing. I didn’t even know he was from Alabama, raised near where I grew up, until recently. And Edmund had no idea either, for all the two worked side by side during roundups.”

Nancy managed a smile for her friend’s sake. “Edmund, is it?”

The prettiest pink blossomed in Lula May’s cheeks. “He asked me to marry him.”

Nancy reached out and took her hands. “Oh, Lula May, I’m so happy for you! You deserve a fine fellow like Edmund McKay.”

They talked of weddings and babies and other things that lifted her spirits as they waited for the men to rejoin them. When he heard the news, Hank went out of his way to tease Lula May and Edmund about their upcoming nuptials, but his smile seemed strained, as if he expected trouble. Surely her friends were no danger. What was wrong?

He stood on the porch as she waved goodbye to them, and she could feel the tension in his lean body.

“What is it, Hank?” she asked. “Did Mr. McKay tell you something I should know?”

He flinched as if she’d poked a sore spot. “Not exactly. I should get back to work. We can talk more later.” Shoving his hat on his head, he strode off toward the barn.

She didn’t call for him to stay this time. Much as she needed to learn, she’d hardly help the ranch succeed by keeping him continually from his job.

What she could do, she realized, was deal with the bank. Returning to the house, she wrote a letter requesting more time and stating the steps she was taking to ensure the ranch earned enough profit to pay back every penny Lucas had borrowed, with interest. She could only hope that would be sufficient, for now.

The next week, she spent as much time as she could out on the range, taking the team to keep up with her boys. She’d driven her mother’s small buggy back in Missouri, but the clattering wagon took a little getting used to. And she didn’t stay out past noon, when the sun was beating down hot enough to fry her lunch on the limestone reaches that ringed the ranch.

But the six hours away from the house opened her eyes. Sitting on the porch, even tending the garden behind the house, she’d never realized the terrain surrounding the ranch was so rough. The house, barn and corral were on flat ground near Hop Toad Springs, but even a half mile away the land began crumbling like a paper crushed in a fist. Limestone reaches thrust up; streams cut draws and canyons. And everything was covered in tall grass and dotted with clumps of short oak trees and cottonwoods.

She also learned that while the cattle roamed free over the wild and windswept acres, there was always something that needed tending. If Kettle Creek was running low, the whole herd had to be driven closer to the house to Hop Toad Springs, which drew from groundwater and never failed. Fences encircling their land had be to constantly patrolled and mended, or the cattle would wander too far afield. And Hank and her other boys kept a close eye on the herd to protect the cattle from predators, four-footed and two-footed.

The last gave her pause.

“You mean there are others out stealing cattle?” she asked Hank as he sat astride his horse next to the wagon. They were about a mile away from the house, resting under the shade of a copse of trees, the oak leaves chattering in a rising breeze that brought the scent of dry dust and clean water.

“Always those who want more than their share, ma’am,” he answered, gaze roaming the area as if he expected an outlaw to leap out from behind a bush.

She could believe that Lucas had turned to rustling from greed. He’d always seemed to want more than what he had. From what she could see, he’d certainly owned more than most people. Hadn’t that been sufficient?

Hadn’t she and their baby been sufficient?

“Look there,” Hank said, pointing to where a longhorn was ambling out of the shade. “See that white circle high on her shoulder? That’s our Rosebud, fairest of them all.”

Nancy raised her brows. “You name the cattle?”

He winked at her. “Only the special ones. Miss Rosebud, they tell me, has never failed to calve since she was old enough to bear.”

Sure enough, a calf, nearly grown now, trotted after its mother. A dozen more cows plodded in her wake.

“You get Miss Rosebud on your side,” Hank said, “and the rest of them will follow you anywhere. Upkins says it’s on account of the way she swings her tail all sassy like.”

Nancy smothered a laugh, and he had the good sense to color. “I didn’t mean anything by that, ma’am,” he hastened to assure her.

“I didn’t think you did,” Nancy replied. But she couldn’t help smiling at the idea that her brash and bold boys gave their favorite cattle pet names.

She tried not to interfere with their activities, but she could tell by their terse answers to her questions, their sidelong glances, that she made them nervous. Like Lucas, they seemed to prefer her safely inside the house. But how was she to learn if she didn’t come out?

Evenings were better. She’d take some fruit or a piece of pie to the porch to wait for her boys to come riding in. Mr. Upkins and Billy always tipped their hats as they passed before dismounting to lead their horses into the barn. One or the other would embolden himself to come closer, ask her about her day, make some comment about the ranch. But they always scurried back to the barn as if concerned they were being too forward.

She made sure Hank didn’t escape so easily. She’d call to him before he could take his horse into the barn, and he’d usually hand the reins to one of the others before joining her on the porch. His boots would be covered with dust, his shirt telling of hard work, yet he always managed a smile.

She’d hand him an apple or a sweet, and he’d lounge against the uprights and tell her about what had happened on the ranch after she’d left him. It took a lot of questions to get the answers she wanted, but she eventually learned that her husband had amassed a herd of about one hundred cows, plus eighty steers getting ready to go to market.

“Is that good?” she asked, before taking a sip of the lemonade she’d brought with her. A fly buzzed close, and she swatted it away.

“Fair to middling,” he said. “If we can get a good price, you’ll have enough to keep things going another year and pay the bank what you owe.”

That’s what she wanted to hear. She had to believe she could make a go of things, for her child.

But the bank must not have had faith even in Hank, for they sent someone to confirm her claims.

Mr. Cramore arrived one afternoon in a black-topped buggy she was surprised had made it the thirty miles from Burnet over rough country roads. A portly fellow, dressed in black with a silk tie at his throat, he hitched his horses to the rail surrounding the corral as if not planning to stay overlong, plucked a satchel off the seat and moved with solemn strides to the porch.

When she met him, he removed his top hat and bowed his head as if to give thanks.

“Mrs. Bennett,” he said in a deep, slow voice, double chins quivering. “My most heartfelt condolences. I’m Winston Cramore of the Empire Bank in Burnet. I had the privilege of knowing your husband well. He will be missed.”

She was only glad the story of Lucas’s illegal activities must not have reached Burnet, or Mr. Cramore might not have been so quick to claim acquaintance. And she sincerely doubted anyone had known her husband well, or someone would have realized his intentions.

“It was very kind of you to come all this way to talk,” she said, leading him to one of the wicker chairs on the porch. “May I offer you something to eat, lemonade?”

“Both would be welcome,” he assured her, taking a seat and perching his hat on the knee of his black trousers. He smiled as if dismissing her. With a shake of her head, Nancy went inside and fetched him the food.

When she returned, she found him pulling papers from his satchel.

“You will of course want to see the agreement your husband signed,” he said, waiting until she’d set down the plate of ginger cookies and a glass of lemonade on the table at his elbow before handing the sheath to her.

Nancy took a seat on the chair near his and glanced over the papers. The tiny lettering and legal terms were difficult to decipher, but there was Lucas’s arrogant scrawl agreeing to them all.

Mr. Cramore was frowning out toward the barn. “It appears Mr. Bennett did not have time for the improvements he’d planned before his untimely demise.”

The planks on the barn were turning a dull gray as they bleached in the sun. But she could see where someone had patched them.

“Mr. Snowden and the other hands have been working hard,” she told him.

“In my experience, cowboys seldom work hard without proper leadership,” he replied.

“I’m pleased to say my boys—er, hands—are very industrious,” she told him. Holding the papers in her lap, she made sure to sit up properly, hoping she looked like the leader of the spread.

Mr. Cramore picked up a cookie with dainty fingers and took a bite, then smiled at her. “I believe your husband had other plans, as well. Did those come to fruition?”

She could hardly tell him she had no idea what her husband had planned. He’d only think her even less competent to run the place. She glanced out over the spread, looking for inspiration. A cloud of dust appeared to be coming closer, fast.

“That’s likely Mr. Snowden now,” she said, rising and setting the papers on her seat. “I’m sure he can answer any questions you might have.” As Hank and his horse appeared out of the dust, she fled down the steps and hurried for the corral.

He reined in beside her. “Who’s your company?” he asked with a nod toward the house, eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Cramore from the bank,” she explained as Hank dismounted. Just having him here made her ridiculously glad. “He’s asking questions about the ranch.”

“Well, let’s answer them then.” He let his horse into the corral, then turned for the house. His spurs chimed as he started for the porch, Nancy beside him. As they climbed the steps, the banker rose.

“Mr. Cramore,” Hank said, extending his hand. “I’m Hank Snowden, Mrs. Bennett’s foreman. How can I help you?”

Mr. Cramore tutted as he glanced at Nancy. “A foreman, Mrs. Bennett? He’s clearly no more than a hired hand. It seems we were right in our assessment that you have no interest in running the ranch yourself.”

She couldn’t leave him with that impression. She returned to her chair, resettled the loan agreement on her lap and nodded for the men to be seated, as well. Then she leaned forward to meet the banker’s gaze.

“It isn’t my interest that’s lacking, sir,” she told him. “I know I must learn before I take on the leadership of this ranch. Mr. Snowden is teaching me.”

She smiled at Hank, who nodded. But the banker shook his head.

“Surely you see the problem, dear lady,” he said, face sagging with obvious concern. “You are relying on a man who has no interest in the future of this establishment.”

Hank stiffened in his seat. “I’ve promised Mrs. Bennett I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”

Just hearing him repeat the words made it easier to draw breath. Mr. Cramore was not nearly so assured.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he replied, “but such promises are difficult to keep when circumstances change. You would not be the first man to find it too much of a challenge to live out here.”

He was talking to the wrong man, Nancy thought. She couldn’t see Hank turning tail because times got tough. She waited for the cowboy to refute the assertion, but Hank looked out over the ranch as if taking stock of it for the first time. Had she misjudged a man’s character again?

Mr. Cramore continued, each statement like a nail in her confidence.

“And if you are as skilled as Mrs. Bennett claims,” he said to Hank, “you will certainly receive offers to improve your situation. Ranches are always looking for good hands. No, sir, I stand by my assessment. With nothing to tie you here, you are at best a weak reed on which to lean.”

Three weeks ago, she would have had a ready answer. She knew her boys. None of them would abandon the ranch willingly. But then, she’d thought herself married to a fine, upstanding man too. What did she really know about the hands her husband had hired?

What did she know about the man she’d asked to teach her?

Hank frowned at the banker, but his face was turning pale. Was he about to leave her?

“You’re wrong,” he grit out. “I’ll have a solid tie to this ranch. I aim to ask Mrs. Bennett to marry me.”

* * *

There, he’d said aloud the conviction that had been building in his heart. But it was a question who looked the more shocked by the statement. Both Mr. Cramore’s and Nancy’s mouths were hanging open. He’d sure picked a poor time to propose.

But what else could he do? The banker was obviously working up to demanding payment, or the ranch in lieu of payment. And the members of the Lone Star Cowboy League had regretfully acknowledged there was little they could do to help.

“I understand Lucas Bennett left his wife in a bad way,” Abe Sawyer had said when Hank had made the case last week at the meeting Lula May had called. “But I doubt we could raise the money needed to pay the loan fast enough to satisfy the bank, and until roundup, there isn’t a lot of extra money to be had.”

“There must be something we can do,” Lula May had argued. “Nancy Bennett is carrying her first child. We can’t let her lose the ranch that should be that child’s inheritance.”

McKay had rested a heavy hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Do what you can, Hank. This might be a case where hard work will win through.”

Hank wasn’t so sure. He’d worked pretty hard back in Waco on his family’s ranch, and it had never won him a place in his father’s affections. He’d thought he’d been the perfect suitor—attentive, complimentary, encouraging—but his sweetheart had chosen another man. Truth be told, he’d been surprised and honored when Lucas Bennett had asked him to represent the Windy Diamond’s interests in the Lone Star Cowboy League, and even more honored when the other members accepted him among them and listened to his input.

He’d thought maybe helping Nancy learn about ranching would be enough to salve his conscience. It seemed now that the bank would never be satisfied with her skills. Like his father, they had a narrow view of life, and only a man running a ranch gave them any confidence. He had a feeling that even if he introduced them to Lula May Barlow, they’d point to her stepsons as the brains behind the ranch’s success. They’d be wrong, but no amount of talking was going to change their minds.

Only action would do that.

The banker recovered first now. “A poor jest, sir,” he said with a heavy shake of his head. “It is never politic to make light of a lady’s loss. And I’m certain Mrs. Bennett is too soon a widow to wish to take up with another gentleman.”

The way he said the word gentleman told Hank the banker thought no cowboy could live up to the name. He couldn’t argue in his case. He wasn’t Lucas Bennett with a shiny reputation and a fancy spread. But that shiny reputation had become tarnished, and the spread was crying out for someone who actually cared. He could be that person.

“That’s for Mrs. Bennett to say,” Hank replied, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and casting a glance at the lady in question. What he saw wasn’t encouraging. She had managed to close her mouth, but now her lips were shut so tight honey wouldn’t have squeezed past.

Cramore waved a hand. “Can’t you see you’ve put her in an impossible position? It’s clear the bank must step in. I will appoint someone to run the ranch for her, until such time as the loan is paid in full.”

Nancy stood to move between them, face pale but head high. When she spoke, her usually soft voice had a firm edge to it. “That will not be necessary, sir. I can make my own decisions, in matters of this ranch and in matters of my heart. Will you excuse us for a moment?” Setting aside some papers, she nodded to Hank and practically ran down the steps.

“This isn’t a matter of the heart, Nancy,” Hank hastened to tell her as he followed her toward the corral. “This is a matter of the future, yours and the baby’s.”

She stopped next to the buggy, back toward the porch and gaze holding his. “I know that, Hank. But I will not have you sacrifice yourself for us.”

Hank shook his head. “Not much of a sacrifice, if you ask me. I was working here anyway.”

She cringed, and he realized how that had sounded.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean that marrying you would be a chore. And I surely see that you’ll get a number of offers once you’ve put off your widow’s black. But you need help now, and it sounds like the bank won’t accept a hired hand in that role.”

She stared out over the corral. “But marriage? I just buried my husband.”

His gut bunched at the memory. “I know. But I also know you’re going to be too busy soon to run a ranch. And that baby will need a father.”

Tears were gathering in her eyes again, turning the hazel green as spring. “That’s true,” she murmured. “But I’m not ready to be a wife.”

“And I’m none too ready to be a husband,” he assured her. “But I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

When she didn’t answer, he leaned closer, determined to make her understand. “The way I figure it, we just have to show the bank we’re both serious about the success of this ranch. We don’t have to act like husband and wife otherwise. I can sleep in the barn like I usually do, take my meals with Upkins and Jenks. Nothing has to change. You and the baby will just get the protection of my name.”

The tears were falling now; he could see them tracking down her pearly skin. “Oh, Hank, that’s so kind of you. I don’t know what to say.”

Kindness wasn’t his reason, but he didn’t correct her.

“Just think on it,” he urged, fisting his hands to keep from wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And I’ll understand if you’d rather find a better fellow than me.”

She turned then and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’m beginning to think there is no finer fellow than you,” she murmured. Then she ducked her head and hurried for the house.

He touched his cheek, feeling as if his skin had warmed. He knew there were plenty of fellows willing to marry a pretty widow in possession of a ranch, baby and all. But none of them had his need to make amends.

Still, he had little doubt what her answer would be if she knew he was the one who had killed her husband.