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A Rancher Of Convenience
Regina Scott


Fill-In Father…and HusbandSweet mail-order bride Nancy Bennett can't believe it when her husband’s exposed as a cattle rustler—and killed. And when the banker holding the ranch’s mortgage questions whether she can run the ranch on her own, the pregnant widow has nowhere to turn. Until steady foreman Hank Snowden proposes marriage…Wracked with grief about his role in Lucas Bennett’s death, Hank resolves to do right by the man’s wife and child. So it’s natural for him to step in as Nancy's newly minted husband. But the marriage of convenience may become more than a mere obligation…if only Hank and his bride can brave the first steps toward elusive true love.Lone Star Cowboy League: The Founding Years – Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas







Fill-In Father...and Husband

Sweet mail-order bride Nancy Bennett can’t believe it when her husband is exposed as a cattle rustler—and killed. And when the banker holding the ranch’s mortgage questions whether she can run the ranch on her own, the pregnant widow has nowhere to turn. Until steady foreman Hank Snowden proposes marriage...

Racked with grief about his role in Lucas Bennett’s death, Hank resolves to do right by the man’s wife and child. So it’s natural for him to step in as Nancy’s newly minted husband. But the marriage of convenience may become more than a mere obligation...if only Hank and his bride can brave the first steps toward elusive true love.


“This is a matter of the future, yours and the baby’s.”

Nancy 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. “That’s true,” she murmured. “But I’m not ready to be a wife.”

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

The tears were falling now. “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.

* * *

LONE STAR COWBOY LEAGUE:

THE FOUNDING YEARS—

Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas

Stand-In Rancher Daddy—

Renee Ryan, July 2016

A Family for the Rancher—

Louise M. Gouge, August 2016

A Rancher of Convenience—

Regina Scott, September 2016


REGINA SCOTT has always wanted to be a writer. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages. Fascinated by history, she learned to fence and sail a tall ship. She and her husband reside in Washington state with their overactive Irish terrier. You can find her online blogging at nineteenteen.com. Learn more about her at reginascott.com (http://www.reginascott.com) or connect with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/authorreginascott (https://www.facebook.com/authorreginascott).


A Rancher of Convenience

Regina Scott






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For I was hungry and you gave Me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited Me in.

—Matthew 25:35


To my sister authors Renee Ryan and Louise M. Gouge for humoring and encouraging me through the writing of this book; and to the Lord, for opportunities, leadings and most of all love.


Contents

Cover (#u38a72842-9e0f-5b54-addb-81beca832080)

Back Cover Text (#u19fa6ed6-b2e2-5963-81e7-71f88ca83449)

Introduction (#u1714bdae-15e7-5ffa-b107-4a724f78fd72)

About the Author (#u23d9309e-5c90-5437-a703-ed256f009685)

Title Page (#u15a729b7-7447-531d-9fbc-2aa66eb33062)

Bible Verse (#u719e422d-bfae-5efd-943a-f63df8759ef0)

Dedication (#ufde1837b-ca05-5ffa-a12b-ad11cfd970c2)

Chapter One (#ulink_ba8d5052-bccb-5ccc-b8d1-fab1f32aa0c6)

Chapter Two (#ulink_c5714f85-46ca-57df-8032-167740332686)

Chapter Three (#ulink_96236cbc-c514-5421-b1a7-54f2f9a2e33f)

Chapter Four (#ulink_0558bd51-9e57-54d8-a2ed-cb1b34eaec57)

Chapter Five (#ulink_870b0486-33f4-5ccd-a066-31044bff07c5)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_ac55635d-eec1-503d-8014-f149862436e7)

Windy Diamond Ranch,

Little Horn, Texas, July 1895

She was a widow.

Nancy Bennett shook her head as she stood on the wide front porch, looking out at the ranch her husband had built. Across the dusty ground in front of the house, a horse corral clung to a weathered, single-story barn. Beyond them, scrub oak and cottonwood dotted windblown grass where longhorns roamed, content.

She could not find such contentment. One hand clutched the letter that could spell the end of her dream. The other hand rested on her belly where it was just beginning to swell inside her black skirts.

She and Lucas had been married only ten months. She was still learning how to be a wife, hadn’t yet accustomed herself to the idea that she would one day be a mother. Now Lucas was dead, killed because he had rustled from their friends and neighbors. And her whole world had been upended like a tumbleweed turning in the wind.

Sherriff Fuller had tried to be kind when he’d brought her the news two weeks ago. She’d been pressing the pedal of the wrought iron sewing machine Lucas had ordered for her, finishing the seam on a new shirt for him, when she’d heard the sound of a horse coming in fast.

Such antics would have been so like Lucas, particularly since he’d bought that paint from her friend Lula May Barlow. Having been raised on a prosperous horse ranch in Alabama, Lucas liked fast horses, fine clothes. She’d never understood why he’d advertised for a mail-order bride, or why he’d chosen her. Perhaps he hadn’t been satisfied with his options here in Little Horn. Lucas, she’d learned, wasn’t satisfied with much.

Still, she’d risen to go greet him, like the dutiful wife she had tried so hard to be. She’d known everything was exactly the way he liked it—stew simmering on the stove with just the right amount of rosemary to spice it, parlor swept clean of the dust he perpetually brought in on his expensive tooled-leather boots and horsehair-covered chairs at precise angles facing each other in front of the limestone fireplace. She’d taken a peek at herself in the brass-framed mirror near the front door to make sure her long brown hair was carefully bound up at the top of her head with tendrils framing her oval face. She’d even pinched color into her cheeks, which had recently been far too pale, according to him. Surely there was nothing to set him on edge this time.

Smile pasted firmly on her face, she’d opened the door and stepped out on the porch. But instead of her husband, Jeb Fuller was climbing the steps.

The sheriff immediately removed his broad-brimmed hat and ducked his head in respect. The damp dark blond hair across his brow told as much of the warm summer air as his hard ride.

“Mrs. Bennett, ma’am,” he said, voice low. “I’m sorry to bring you bad news. Your husband was shot.”

Nancy felt as if the solid planks of the porch were bucking like one of Lucas’s feisty horses. She must have swayed on her feet, because the sheriff’s arm reached out to steady her as he drew level with her.

“Where?” she asked, panic and fear tangling inside her. “When? How bad is it? Please would you take me to him?”

“I’m afraid it’s not so simple, ma’am,” he drawled, brown eyes sad. “Your husband was caught with other men’s cattle in his possession, and when he was confronted, he drew down on his neighbors. He was stopped before he could harm anyone.”

Nancy stared at him, mouth drier than the Texas plains. “Stopped? You mean he’s dead?”

The sheriff nodded. “I’m afraid so. I took the liberty of having the body sent to Mr. Agen, the undertaker.”

She choked, the breakfast she’d shared with Lucas threatening to claw its way back up her throat. “It must be some kind of mistake. Lucas would never steal. He already has a ranch full of cattle.”

“And we’ll need to have your hands round them up,” the sheriff said. “Just to make sure there aren’t others that should be sent back to their rightful owners.”

“No,” Nancy said. As his brows jerked up, she took a shuddering step back from him. “No. Lucas can’t be dead. He can’t be a thief. He’s my husband!”

Sheriff Fuller ducked his head again. “Yes, ma’am. And I expect I’ll need to ask you some questions about where he was on certain occasions, so we’ll know if he had any accomplices.”

Accomplices? She’d swallowed hard. Surely none of their hands had helped Lucas steal. Did the sheriff think she’d helped? She hadn’t even known!

But she should have.

The look on Sheriff Fuller’s face and the voice crying in her heart both said the same thing. She was Lucas Bennett’s wife. She woke with him in the morning, fed him, kept his house and garden and went to church services and civic functions on his arm. She’d thought him overly exacting, yes, moody certainly, especially in the last few months. But how could she have missed downright evil? Was she no judge of character? Had she lost the sense God had given her?

What kind of wife knew so little about the man she’d married?

Ever since, she hadn’t been able to face the townsfolk of Little Horn, staying in the shelter of the house and relying on her husband’s foreman, Hank Snowden, to return Lucas’s body and arrange the burial on a hill behind the house. Her friend Lula May had spent the first night with her, but Nancy had only felt guilty taking the widowed rancher away from her family. Nancy hadn’t bothered to alert anyone to the ceremony, certain that few would want to attend after what Lucas had done. As it was, only her boys had stood by her side while Preacher Stillwater had read over Lucas’s grave.

How Lucas had laughed when she called his hands her boys.

“They’re grown men more used to steers than civilized society,” he’d told her. “I wouldn’t get attached.”

At first, she’d believed him. When she’d moved to the dry Texas Hill Country from the lush Ozark woods, everything had seemed so big, so vast. The massive cattle and the laconic men who tended them gave her a shiver. She’d stayed safely in the house, to Lucas’s encouragement and approval.

But as his warmth cooled, his approval had become impossible to earn, and she’d gradually realized something about the three men who lived in the bunkroom at the back of the barn. They might be rough, but they treated her better than her husband did.

Isaiah Upkins was the veteran, his short-cropped hair iron gray, his blue eyes pale, as if the color had leached after years of watching cattle in the sun. Billy Jenks was the youngest, with hair as red as the nose he habitually burned despite her admonition to wear the broad-brimmed hat she’d urged Lucas to buy for him. She wasn’t sure Billy was even eighteen yet. He seemed to be trying to shave, if the plaster sticking to his chin on occasion was any indication.

Then there was Hank Snowden. Raven haired and blue eyed, he had all of Billy’s boyish energy and little of Mr. Upkins’s pessimism. She knew by the times she’d seen Mr. Snowden with her husband that Lucas had come to rely on him. Lucas had even appointed the cowboy their representative in the Lone Star Cowboy League, a cattle association that had started in the area.

But the three hands seemed all alone in the world. She knew that feeling. So, she baked them cakes on their birthdays and special occasions. They brought her wildflowers for the table, eggs from prairie chickens. She nursed them with honey and mustard plasters when they were ailing. They sang songs outside her window when she was worn out from weeping.

Now none of them knew what to do with her, and she didn’t know how to direct them. Lucas had never explained his business. She had no idea how to run a ranch. But she was trying.

Then the letter had come, and once again her world threatened to upend. This time she refused to sway, refused to hide, refused to give up. She could not lose this ranch. And she needed Hank Snowden to help her keep it.

She could see him now, examining a horse by the barn. Like all her husband’s hands, he was tall and rangy, but he moved with a languid grace that reminded her of a mountain lion she’d seen leaping a hill once. His attention at the moment was all for the horse. Perhaps the sandy-haired creature had been ailing. Mr. Snowden seemed to know when things were hurting. He’d certainly kept close to the house the last two weeks, as if he realized she might need him.

Likely he was planning to leave after the roundup. What reason could he have for staying? A boss who didn’t know anything about cattle except they were big and had impossibly long pointy horns? Any of their neighbors would be glad to hire someone of his experience.

But Mr. Upkins hadn’t the temperament to teach her. And Billy was too young to know everything she needed to learn. As poorly as she’d understood her husband, she didn’t trust herself to hire someone new. It had to be Hank Snowden.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she raised her hand. “Mr. Snowden! I must speak with you. It’s about your future at the Windy Diamond.”

* * *

At her call, Hank looked up from examining the mare’s hoof. Mrs. Bennett was standing on the porch, one hand pressed against her middle. He could hear the tension in her voice. Had the gossip reached her despite all his efforts? Did she know the truth?

You know it was an accident, Lord. I only meant to disarm Lucas Bennett, not kill him. Why won’t my conscience let it go?

He lowered the mare’s hoof and gave the tied horse a pat before moving toward the house. Dread made his boot heels drag as if the dust of the ground pulled at his spurs. But he could see as he approached that she looked more concerned than angry, teeth worrying her lower lip.

He’d always thought Lucas Bennett had everything a man could want—nice spread over sparsely wooded hills with good, reliable water. Big ranch house just waiting to be filled with a family. Lovely young wife who doted on him. Even now, after two weeks of mourning and in those heavy black skirts and fitted bodice, she was still one of the prettiest gals in Little Horn. How could he not admire the warm brown hair that looked softer than silk? Those eyes that could seem the color of loam or oak leaves in turn?

But it wasn’t just her looks he admired. Nancy Bennett had a kind heart. That had been evident within weeks of her coming to the Windy Diamond to marry. Hank still remembered the day she’d come running to help him.

He’d been out mending a fence, the sky overcast and heavy with the threat of a storm. The cattle seemed to prefer his company, for a number were milling around the area. When that first clap of thunder broke, they moved, fast. He was down before he could think to mount his horse. As it was, he’d barely made it back to the barn and slid to the ground, arm hanging uselessly at his side. Mr. Bennett had immediately ridden for the doctor, while Upkins and Jenks surrounded Hank.

And then, all at once, Nancy Bennett had appeared beside him, brows furrowed and mouth turned down in compassion. She’d gathered her skirts and knelt. “What happened?”

No need to worry the lady. Hank managed a game smile. “I thought to myself when I woke up this morning, ‘Seems like a good day to break your arm, Hank.’ Guess I was right. But don’t you worry. Mr. Bennett’s gone for the doctor.”

She glanced up toward the drive, then back at Hank. They both knew it might take her husband an hour to get to town, locate the doctor and bring him back. Hank tried to ignore the throbbing ache in his arm.

“I know a little about doctoring,” she assured him, voice as soft as the notes of a favorite hymn. “Will you let me look at it?”

Upkins and Jenks shifted around him, and Hank could feel their doubts. She was the newcomer, the outsider. And ladies generally did not concern themselves with cowhands.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out, ma’am,” Hank said.

Still she refused to move, watching him. He sighed in resignation and lowered his hand. The elbow hung at an odd angle. His stomach bucked at the sight of it.

“It’s not bad,” she said. “But we need to hold your arm still until the doctor gets here so we don’t do more damage.” She glanced up at his friends. In short order, and with the sweetest of phrasing, she had Jenks heading for the house for material to use as a splint and helped Upkins lift Hank to his feet. But as she reached for Hank’s arm, he couldn’t help flinching.

“How did you come to know doctoring, ma’am?” he asked as she accepted the things Jenks had returned with and began to wind a length of cotton material around two of her wooden mixing spoons to hold the bone immobile.

“My mother was a midwife,” she explained. “She taught me.”

Upkins barked a laugh. “Midwife, eh? Well, it’s right good to know Hank’s arm might be expecting. We could sure use another cowpoke of his skills.”

They’d all laughed, and Hank had thanked her profusely for her efforts. The doctor had been even more complimentary when he’d arrived with Mr. Bennett, claiming her quick thinking had likely saved Hank’s gun hand.

And look how he’d repaid her. That gun hand had robbed her of a husband.

He stopped at the foot of the steps now and removed his hat. He could feel his hair tumbling onto his forehead, but he knew pushing the coal-black mop back in place would only make him feel more foolish standing here like the penitent he was. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

She clasped both hands before her, prim and proper. He could see her chest rise and fall as she drew in a breath.

“First, I want to thank you, Mr. Snowden, for everything you’ve done since Mr. Bennett passed on.”

She was trying to be businesslike, but that gentle voice and those wide hazel eyes made it nearly impossible for her to seem so serious. Still, he nodded. Even if he hadn’t felt so guilty over her loss, he would have stepped in. The Good Book said that a husband and wife were partners in life, but it had become clear that Lucas Bennett hadn’t shared a bit about ranching with his mail-order bride. Hank had had to help her make decisions as if he were the boss. Still, if it hadn’t been for Nancy Bennett, he would likely have been making plans to ride away after the roundup.

Since he’d shaken the dust of Waco off his boots five years ago, he’d never worked on any ranch long. Moving on was the best way not to get attached to folks who would only end up expecting more from him than he was able to give. He’d never found a way to please his family, had lost the one woman he’d thought to marry. What made him think others would be any more willing to take him as he was?

“From what you told me,” she continued, “this ranch has every chance of succeeding. Unfortunately, the bank thinks otherwise.”

He frowned. “Bank, ma’am? I was under the impression Mr. Bennett owned this spread outright. You shouldn’t have to worry about a mortgage.”

Were those tears brimming in her eyes? Something inside him twisted even as his hands tightened on the brim of his hat.

“I didn’t think I had anything to worry about,” she said, peach-colored lips turning down. “Lucas told me he originally came here to build this ranch on property his family owned. His father gave it to him after Lucas married me. But apparently Lucas thought we needed money.” She opened her fingers to show Hank a crumpled piece of paper there. “Billy brought back the mail from town. We had a letter from the Empire Bank in Burnet. Lucas took out a loan from there a month ago.”

A month ago? But that made no sense. Sometimes ranchers had to take loans right before roundup if a well went dry or a tornado tore down a barn. They knew they’d soon have money from the sale of their cattle to pay what they owed. There’d been no such disaster on the Windy Diamond. And Lucas Bennett had been thieving. Surely he’d had money enough. Why take out a loan?

“What are their terms?” he asked. “Might be enough in the ranch account to pay it off.”

She shook her head. “I sent word to the clerk in Little Horn after Mr. Bennett left us. There’s little money in the ranch account, barely enough to pay wages this quarter. Small wonder Lucas took out a loan.”

She was giving the fellow credit Hank refused to allow. If her husband had drawn money from the bank, it hadn’t been for anyone’s benefit but his own.

“Best we ask for time to pay it off,” he advised.

“We had time,” she said. “Lucas had six months to repay the loan, but the bank is calling it in now. It seems they have no faith in my ability to run a ranch. See?”

Hank stepped up to her side then and took the note from her, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, as well. If ever a woman needed comforting, it was her. Come all this way to marry, try to make a life with a stranger, and then discover the fellow was a noaccount rustler. What had Lucas Bennett been thinking to jeopardize not only his spread but his marriage?

He glanced at the note. It was politely worded, expressing condolences on her loss, explaining the bank’s policy, the bankers’ need to be fiscally responsible. What about responsibility for neighbors, kindness to widows and orphans? With this sort of threat hanging over her head, what choice did she have?

He handed her back the letter, careful not to touch her fingers in the process. “Maybe it’s for the best, ma’am,” he said, throat unaccountably tight. “You weren’t always happy here.”

“I was becoming happy,” she said, gaze going off toward the hills. “I was trying. And then everything changed.”

She bit her lip again, to hold back harsh words or tears for the husband who had left her in such a bad way, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t help reaching out and touching her hand. It felt so small, so fragile. Yet when he’d been hurting, her hands had cradled his broken arm even as she’d taken away his pain.

“You could do what cowboys generally do,” he suggested. “Move on, start fresh. If you sell the place, you could pay the bank and still have money to live elsewhere.”

Her hand returned to her belly. “No, I need to stay here, keep the ranch, for...for the future.”

He stiffened, staring at her hand, at the gentle swell beneath it. The other cowpokes might tease him about his ability to read a heifer—when one was content, when one was yearning, when one was ailing. A feeling would come over him, and he’d know. Call it intuition, experience or the Lord’s leading. He’d only been wrong once.

And right now, a feeling was coming over him about Nancy Bennett. Unless his senses didn’t work as well when applied to females—and he had cause to know they’d failed spectacularly with a certain lady back in Waco—Nancy Bennett had a reason for wanting to keep the ranch.

She was pregnant. He’d not only cost her a husband, but he’d cost her unborn child a father.

She turned her gaze on him. “I thought if I could convince the bank I can care for this ranch, they might give me more time to pay. I need your help, Mr. Snowden. I want you to stay on as foreman. I won’t be able to pay you what you’re worth, not at first, but if we can get our cattle to market, that will change. And I need you to do something even more challenging, I need you to teach me everything you know.”

If he was any kind of smart he’d refuse. He could feel her expectations, her hope, hemming him in more surely than a barbed wire fence. And he wasn’t sure teaching her to run a ranch was such a good idea. Ranching was tough, hard work, work he’d just as soon spare this kind, gentle lady.

Yep, if Hank was smart, he’d thank her kindly for her faith in him, refuse her proposal, fetch his gear and his horse Belle and ride on out of here.

But he’d never claimed to be smart. And how could he turn away from an innocent woman and her babe who needed his help?

“Glad to be of assistance, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll stay as long as you need me, do whatever you want.”

And hope his efforts would finally put his conscience to rest.


Chapter Two (#ulink_642a526e-63d1-5b18-85f7-430092301709)

He’d agreed to stay. Nancy felt as if she could draw a deep breath for the first time in weeks. She was ready to learn more about this ranch, about the gigantic cattle that roamed it and would provide a living for her and her baby. And she intended to start as soon as possible.

So, she rose even earlier than usual the next morning and dressed in her sturdiest outfit. The heavy brown twill was beginning to feel tight, though the cinnamon-colored jacket over the white cotton bodice was as comfortable as always. Sombrero covering her hair, she met her boys coming out of the barn just as the sun was breaking over the hills behind the house to the staccato serenade of a flock of warblers.

Mr. Snowden was the first to catch her gaze as she approached. Handing the reins of his horse to Mr. Upkins, he hurried to meet her. Those blue eyes looked darker in the golden light, and his face was tight. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

His gaze roamed over her as if searching for injuries. Was it her imagination, or did it linger on her belly? Did he know? Lucas had decided not to tell anyone until she was further along.

“You can never be sure about babies out here,” he’d warned.

The thought of losing a child frightened most women, she knew. But her mother had taught her well. Since shortly after her father had died when Nancy was twelve, her mother had involved her in midwife duties. Nancy had helped dozens of mothers through pregnancy, had brought dozens of babies into the world. She could tell her baby was growing and healthy and strong. If she’d had any doubts, the nightly kicks would have been enough to prove it! But Lucas had insisted, and so she had remained silent.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Snowden,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I thought I might come with you this morning. See how the herd is doing.”

Mr. Upkins was frowning at her, and Billy froze in the act of mounting.

“Don’t see how that’s a good idea, ma’am,” Mr. Snowden said, pulling off his hat. His thick black hair was already beginning to curl with the heat, for the air was warm even overnight during the summers here. Her hand positively twitched with the urge to reach up and smooth down the waves.

Instead, she looked from one of her boys to the other, putting on her sweetest smile.

“But why not?” she asked. “Surely, I need to understand how the ranch works. You agreed to teach me, Mr. Snowden.”

Mr. Upkins shoved back his hat at that, and Billy shook his head. Mr. Snowden took her elbow and turned her toward the house.

“We’re riding the line today, Mrs. Bennett,” he explained. “That means we’ll leave now and won’t be back until sundown. No telling what we might run into—rattlers, mountain lions, coyotes. It’s no place for a lady.”

No place for a lady. She’d heard that claim often enough, first from the townsfolk in Missouri who had decided to entrust future babies to the new doctor rather than rely on an unmarried woman, then from Lucas when she’d asked questions about the ranch. She’d never appreciated such coddling, and she certainly couldn’t afford the indulgence now.

“Lula May Barlow tends to her ranch,” she reminded him, digging in her heels to keep from moving farther back.

To his credit, he released her arm. “Mrs. Barlow has two nearly grown stepsons to help. And you have us.” He lowered his voice and his head to meet her gaze straight on. “Besides, riding line wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

She felt as if he’d thrown a bucket of spring water over her head. “How did you know? Did Lucas...?”

He shook his head, straightening. “Mr. Bennett didn’t share much with the hired help. It was the glow about you, the way you move. About five months along, I reckon.”

He’d guessed something she’d had to explain to Lucas. “You should be a midwife, Mr. Snowden,” she told him.

He chuckled, a warm sound that beat back the chill she’d felt. “And here I thought I was one, for a whole herd of heifers.” He sobered suddenly, dropping his gaze. “Not that I meant to compare you to a heifer, ma’am.”

It was her turn to laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so. “Certainly not, Mr. Snowden. I don’t have horns.”

He glanced down at her. “And your eyes are much prettier, and you don’t weigh nearly as much.”

“Why such compliments, Mr. Snowden,” she teased. “You’ll quite turn my head.”

Was that a tinge of red working its way into his firm cheeks? “Only speaking the truth, ma’am,” he murmured. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should start out so I can be back by nightfall.”

She caught his arm. His muscles tensed under her hand, and she realized she was being too bold. Immediately she dropped her hold and stepped back.

“I’m willing to stay behind for the good of the baby,” she told him. “But you promised to teach me to run this ranch. How can I learn if you’re out on the range?”

He eyed her a moment, then blew out a breath. “You’re right. I’ll send Upkins and Jenks along and stay with you. If they spot any trouble, they can always ride back, and we can tackle it tomorrow.”

She couldn’t believe how buoyant she felt as she watched him send her other boys off. He returned to her side and walked her to the porch, insisting that she sit on one of the wicker chairs there and even handing her the padded cushion from another of the chairs to put behind her.

“You’re fussing,” she accused him.

Now she had no doubt his cheeks were reddening. As if to keep her from noticing it, he paced around the chairs and finally took one not too far from hers, setting his hat on the table between them. Even then, his knee bobbed up and down, as if he’d rather be out riding.

“Perhaps,” she said, hoping to put him at his ease, “we should agree on a few things. First, if you are going to be my teacher, I think it would be appropriate for you to call me Nancy. Shall I call you Henry?”

His knee froze. “No, ma’—Nancy. That’s my father’s name too, and I never cottoned to it. He had a way of saying it, all drawn out like it was three or four syllables, and I’d know I’d disappointed him again. Call me Hank.”

Hank. Though she’d known that was what Lucas called him, she hadn’t considered the name until now. It was strong, steady, not unlike the man sitting next to her. “Very well, Hank. I want you to know I’ll be a very attentive and eager learner.”

He shifted on the chair as if he wasn’t so sure about his own role as teacher. “What exactly did you want to know about ranching?”

What didn’t she want to know? She felt as if she’d lived in a cocoon of her husband’s making and hadn’t yet emerged as a butterfly. “Everything?” she suggested.

He took a deep breath. “That’s a tall order. Maybe we could start with what you know and work from there.”

Nancy waved toward the hills. “We have land. It supports cattle. And apparently rattlesnakes, mountain lions and coyotes. We sell those cattle and turn a profit.” She faced him fully. “What I want to know is how.”

He ran a hand back through his hair, spiking curls in its wake. “And I thought riding the line made for a long day.”

“I told you I knew nothing,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “All right, then. To start off with, cattle don’t just spring up like tumbleweeds. We generally bring in a bull or two around this time of year.”

Nancy frowned. “Don’t we have any bulls?”

“Not enough to service a herd this size.”

She made a face. “I don’t understand.”

He was turning red again, and his gaze refused to meet hers. “Maybe we should start with the other end of the story. This isn’t a conversation I’m prepared to have with a lady.”

She thought for a moment, going back over what he’d said, then brightened. “No need. I think I know what you’re talking about. Bulls plus cows equals babies.”

He sagged back against the chair as if he’d run a race. “Bulls plus cows equals calves. But yes, that’s what I mean. And calves are born in the spring, get branded and grow into steers we sell at a profit a year later come fall. Make sense?”

“Yes,” she said. “You don’t have to hesitate to talk about birthing with me. I’m not afraid to talk about babies, mine or anything else’s. I understand them. Cattle are what scare me.”

He chuckled. “Cattle are big babies, if you ask me. Won’t listen to what you tell them. Want their own way. Then they look at you all sweet like, and you know they have you right where they want you.”

“Well, if cattle are babies, I’ll be running this ranch in no time,” she told him, offering him a smile.

He stared at her mouth as if she’d done something amazing. Was a smile so important? Or was hers that special to him?

Even as her cheeks heated under his regard, he turned and gazed down the long drive toward the wrought iron gates that marked the edge of the Windy Diamond.

“Someone’s coming,” he said, standing. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Nancy asked as he stepped down from the porch and headed for the barn.

“To get my shooting iron.”

A flutter started in her stomach, and she pressed a hand against her waist to still it. Did he think it was outlaws? Some other kind of trouble?

It couldn’t be Sheriff Fuller again. She’d been grateful he had been considerate when he’d returned to question her further about Lucas. She only regretted she hadn’t been any help to the lawman. She truly hadn’t known a thing about her husband’s shady business dealings. It seemed to her she hadn’t even known her husband.

She was just glad to recognize the occupants of the wagon that rattled onto the flat before the house. Edmund McKay, a tall, serious-looking rancher who had a spread to the southwest of town, was at the reins, and her friend Lula May sat beside him. Lula May gave her an airy wave, then gathered her blue cotton skirts. Though the young widow was perfectly capable of climbing down, Mr. McKay came around and lifted her from the bench. His gaze seemed to linger on hers before he released her.

Now, there was a sight. Only a month or so ago Nancy and Molly Thorn had teased Lula May about refusing to let Edmund help her down. Now there was a tenderness between her friend and the rancher that tugged at Nancy’s bruised heart. It seemed she’d missed a romance in the last couple weeks she’d been staying close to the ranch. The thought made her smile, but the frown on Mr. McKay’s face as he walked toward her set her stomach to fluttering again.

She scolded herself for the reaction. Edmund McKay had never struck her as a harsh man. He might even be accounted handsome with his chiseled features, hair the color of the sandy soil, and dark coat emphasizing his muscular build. He walked with the confidence of a man at rest with his conscience. Lula May, who was tall for a woman, looked positively petite at his side, her strawberry blonde hair confined behind her head, blue eyes crinkling around the corners with her smile.

“Nancy,” she said, climbing the porch to enfold her in a hug. “I was hoping you might feel up to company today.” She cast a glance at Edmund as if to encourage him to speak. He yanked the brown Stetson from his head.

“Mrs. Bennett,” he said with a nod that seemed respectful enough. “How are you faring?” The way he shifted on his feet told her she wasn’t the only one concerned about this meeting. She resolved to welcome him all the same.

“We’re faring well, thank you, Mr. McKay,” she told him. “Mr. Snowden sees to the ranch for me, along with Billy Jenks and Mr. Upkins. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Edmund nodded. “They’re a good bunch. Sheriff Fuller said they were real helpful making sure there were no more stolen cattle on the range.”

All her good intentions vanished, and Nancy cringed despite herself. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McKay. I had no idea Lucas was stealing.”

“There, now,” Lula May said, reaching out a hand. “I told the other members of the Lone Star Cowboy League that you had nothing to do with any of it.”

That only made her feel worse. She’d appreciated her neighbors’ efforts in banding together to help each other in times of need. But Lucas had shrugged off the idea.

“Any fool knows it’s every man for himself out here,” he’d scoffed. Still, he’d agreed to let Hank represent their interests in the league. She’d thought Lucas was merely trying to do his civic duty. Now she was fairly sure he’d used the information the cowboy brought him to help plan his thieving.

“She convinced us,” Edmund was saying, with a glance to Lula May that was all pride. “There isn’t a man—”

“Or a woman,” Lula May put in.

“Who holds you accountable,” Edmund finished.

Nancy drew in a breath. How easy it was to latch on to their forgiveness. A shame she could not forgive herself.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I should have realized what was happening. I should have warned the league, told the sheriff. Because I was blind, you all suffered. I’m so sorry.”

The clink of spurs told her Hank had returned.

“No call to be sorry,” he said, stepping onto the porch behind Edmund. “If there’s anyone to blame for this mess, it’s me.”

* * *

Edmund McKay shook his head, and Lula May, as she’d asked the league members to call her, had that lightning sparking in her eyes again, but Hank knew he spoke the truth. McKay knew it too. He’d been there the day they’d caught Lucas Bennett with a whole herd of cattle not his own.

The members of the Lone Star Cowboy League had been trying to discover who had been stealing cattle from the area. The rustler had hit nearly every spread for miles around, caused a fire that had leveled the Carson barn. But it had taken Lula May to put the pieces together. And the picture she painted had made Hank sick.

His boss was the rustler, and Hank had unknowingly fed him the information to plot the thefts.

When Sheriff Fuller offered to deputize Hank, McKay and another local rancher named Abe Sawyer to go with the lawman after Lucas Bennett, Hank hadn’t hesitated. He’d ridden with the other men to confront his boss. Hank had been pretty sure where the man was hiding, in a box canyon on the spread. But when they found him with more than three dozen head of cattle, Bennett and McKay had squared off, with Bennett drawing fast. The sheriff and Hank had both fired at the same time. Hank knew which shot had hit home.

Nancy Bennett was a widow, and it was all his fault. He was about ready to admit it, take his licks as his due.

But she turned on him, hands going to the curve of her hips. “Nonsense, Mr. Snowden,” she said, hazel eyes wide. “You’re the best hand my husband ever had. He told me so himself.”

He felt as if she’d twisted a knife in his gut. He’d always prided himself on doing a good job, but the fact that Lucas Bennett had bragged on him only made Hank’s betrayal worse.

He tugged the hat off his hair. “Just doing my duty, ma’am. I’m glad to see other folks come out to help, as well.” He nodded to Lula May and the rancher.

“Anything you need,” Lula May assured her friend.

He waited for Mrs. Bennett to brighten. That was one of the many things he appreciated about her. She was mostly quiet—shy, he was coming to realize—but when she smiled, it was like the sun rising, warming the whole earth with its glow. She hadn’t been smiling much since even before her husband had been killed. When she’d beamed at him earlier on the porch, he’d about slid from his chair in thanksgiving.

But now she merely lowered her hands and her gaze as she turned to her visitors. “Where are my manners? Please come in. I don’t have anything baked, but there’s cool water from the spring.”

“And I brought a lemon cake,” Lula May announced. She put her hand on the rancher’s arm. “Would you fetch it from the wagon for me?”

She didn’t fool Hank. Lula May was one tough lady, who’d managed her husband’s horse ranch after he’d fallen ill. Now a widow, she was the only woman in the Lone Star Cowboy League, and the member most respected by the others. If she was asking McKay to do her fetching and carrying, she was up to something.

He was just as glad for it, for it gave him a moment to talk to his friend alone. As the two women passed him to enter the house, he hurried to pace the rancher.

McKay cast him a quick look, green eyes thoughtful. “Mrs. Bennett says you’re doing right by the ranch. I wouldn’t have expected less.”

Hank put a hand on the man’s shoulder to stop him before he reached the wagon. “I promised her I’d stay as long as need be. But there’s something you should know. Lucas Bennett took out a loan from a bank in Burnet before he died.”

The rancher frowned, turning to face him. “From Burnet? Why didn’t he come into Little Horn or approach one of us? We’d have loaned him money or found a way to fix whatever he needed.”

“I don’t think he wanted the money to fix anything,” Hank told him. “He may have convinced the bank he wanted to improve the ranch, but he sure didn’t use the money on anything worthwhile.”

McKay nodded. “Lula May tells me he may have been gambling with her uncle while he was in town.”

Hank felt as if he’d eaten something that had sat in the sun too long. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Not after what else he did.”

McKay shook his head. “I can only feel for his widow.”

Hank too. “It gets worse,” he said. “The bank is threatening to call in the loan. Seems they don’t think Mrs. Bennett is skilled enough to turn a profit ranching. I thought maybe the league could help her out.”

“I’ll ask Lula May to call an emergency meeting for tomorrow night,” McKay promised, starting for the wagon once more. “You can make the case then.”

Hank joined him at the wagon. “I might not be the best advocate. I’ve already done enough damage, carrying everything we discussed about keeping the ranches safe to the very thief we were trying to protect ourselves from.”

“You didn’t know you were telling tales to the wrong person,” the rancher insisted. “No one holds you accountable either. Lucas Bennett fooled us all.”

Hank dusted his hands on his Levi’s, wishing he could wipe away the last two weeks as easily. “At least we know it’s over. We stopped the rustler. Everyone can go about their lives.”

Everyone but him and Nancy.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” McKay reached into the wagon and carefully drew out a basket covered with a gingham cloth.

Hank frowned. “What are you talking about? Lucas Bennett is dead. I buried him myself.”

The rancher eyed him. “He may be dead, but even alive he wouldn’t have been able to take all those cattle to market by himself.”

“Upkins and Jenks had nothing to do with it,” Hank said, widening his stance. He recognized the gesture and forced his body to relax. What, was he going to draw on Edmund McKay now?

“I believe you,” his friend assured him. “I thought maybe Bennett was stealing those cattle to build his herd. But if he was so desperate for money he’d mortgage his spread, he had to have been planning to sell them.”

“Nobody in these parts would buy stolen cattle,” Hank protested.

“Nobody we know,” McKay agreed. “But someone must have made him an offer. He would have known he couldn’t hide the cattle long before one of you spotted them. And he’d need help to drive that many to a buyer, one who wasn’t concerned about the brands.”

His friend was right. Hank’s only solace for shooting Lucas Bennett had been that he’d stopped the man from shooting anyone else and he’d ended the rash of thefts that had plagued the Little Horn community. But if someone had been aiding Lucas Bennett, they still had a common enemy.

“If I were you,” the rancher said, green gaze boring into Hank’s, “I’d keep a close eye on the spread. Where one rustler steps out, another may think to step in. There may be more than rattlers hiding in those hills, and Nancy Bennett is going to need protection from them.”

That kind of protection was normally the job for a lawman or a husband. He was no lawman. And Jeb Fuller had the whole county to watch over. He couldn’t focus all his efforts on the Windy Diamond.

So did Hank dare think of himself as a husband?

He’d tried before. His father, in his usual proud way, had picked out the girl. For once, Hank hadn’t been willing to argue. Mary Ellen Wannacre had been downright beautiful, with hair brighter than sunshine and eyes the color of bluebonnets. With her on his arm, he’d felt like the man his father was always goading him to be—powerful, confident. Every fellow in Waco had been green with envy. He’d allowed himself to fall in love.

But in the end, he’d come in second best. She’d chosen to marry his friend Adam Turner, who at least had had the decency to stammer out an apology. Hank couldn’t blame either of them. He’d never managed to measure up to his father’s expectations. It didn’t come as a surprise he didn’t measure up to hers.

It had taken him five years to begin to meet his own.

Was he willing to set those aside for someone else’s, to keep Nancy Bennett and her baby safe?


Chapter Three (#ulink_5a824cdc-7765-595a-ba51-c27933c394a8)

“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.


Chapter Four (#ulink_f675c2a8-7b56-5f28-b1c2-19d310c4a356)

Nancy’s mind was still reeling as she returned to the porch, where Mr. Cramore stood waiting. The portly banker looked as nervous as she felt, shifting back and forth on his dusty patent leather shoes.

“Well, Mrs. Bennett?” he asked. “What would you have me make of all this? Do you intend to marry this cowboy?”

Nancy glanced at Hank, who had followed her up the steps. His gaze was hooded, his face still pale, as if he expected her to denounce him in front of the banker despite her appreciation for his kindness.

“I will do the same as any other rancher given a proposal,” she told the banker. “I will give the matter due consideration before answering.”

Cramore blinked, looking a bit like an owl she’d surprised near the spring once. “But surely you see he is merely attempting to profit at your expense.”

Hank widened his stance. “That’s a mighty judgmental thing to say about a fellow you met a quarter hour ago.”

Mr. Cramore’s pudgy nose lifted, as if he’d smelled something unpleasant. “I know your kind, sir.”

“And I’ve known a few bankers in my time who were a little too quick to get their hands on a spread in trouble,” Hank countered. “But I didn’t assume you were one the moment we met.”

Neither had Nancy, but perhaps she should have. Oh, was this more proof of her inability to see the truth about people? Could Mr. Cramore be unscrupulous? Was greed rather than caution the reason he’d come to see how the ranch was faring?

And what of Hank? Was he hoping to take over ownership of the ranch, shut her up in the house as Lucas had?

As if he could see the thoughts churning feverishly in her mind, the banker looked from Hank to Nancy. “You must realize the bank’s position,” he insisted. “We have invested good money, and it is our duty to see it returned.”

“I understand the bank’s position,” Nancy told him. “Please understand mine. I hope to keep this ranch, with or without Mr. Snowden’s help. Nothing I’ve seen says you have any right to appoint managers or otherwise interfere with our operations.”

He puffed out his chest, swelling the paisleypatterned waistcoat until the silver buttons winked. “Now, see here, madam. The word of the Empire Bank is sacrosanct.”

“So you say,” Nancy replied. “And I’m willing to believe we owe you the money based on the information you’ve provided. But you will have to believe that I will pay that money back according to the agreement.”

“And if you’re not willing to believe,” Hank put in, “you better bring the law with you the next time you come.”

“Fine.” Mr. Cramore reached for his hat and patted it onto his balding pate, then snatched up the papers from the table and stuffed them back into his satchel. “I will expect to hear your decision on this ridiculous proposal, Mrs. Bennett, within the month. Or I will speak to your sheriff about foreclosing on the ranch.”

A shiver went through her as the banker clumped down the steps and headed for his buggy.

“He’s bluffing,” Hank said, watching the man untie his horses.

Nancy wasn’t so sure. Had she been in his position, she too might have questioned whether someone with less than one year’s experience living on a ranch would know how to manage it properly. And he was right that she had no ties on Hank to keep him here. The Windy Diamond was surely a risk to the bank.

But in the end, none of that mattered. She had no intention of losing the ranch.

Or her heart.

She confessed as much to Lula May when they attended their quilting bee the next day. The ladies of Little Horn had taken to meeting weekly at the Carson Rolling Hills Ranch to complete important sewing projects and encourage one another. Nancy hadn’t been able to attend for some weeks, first because of a rocky beginning to her pregnancy that had kept her housebound, and then because of her shame over Lucas’s thefts.

But she badly needed her friend’s advice now, so she’d gathered her sewing box and taken the wagon west to her nearest neighbors.

Sixteen-year-old Daisy Carson, the oldest sibling still in the Carson home, led her to the room off the kitchen that her mother Helen had set aside for their meetings. Like her mother and older sister, she was a pretty blonde with a winning smile. She and the other members of the quilting bee had been stitching quilts to sell and raise money for the new church, but the frame stretched out in the middle of the warm, wood-paneled room seemed a little small to Nancy as she moved toward the chair between Lula May and her soon-to-be-sister-in-law Betsy McKay. Betsy smiled in welcome before bending to check on her toddler, who was napping under the quilt frame.

Helen Carson sat at the head of the frame, with her friend Beatrice Rampart at the foot. Daisy and Mercy Green, owner of the café in town, sat across from Nancy, but another woman was in the chair usually reserved for Molly Thorn, Helen’s oldest daughter. Nancy recognized the sturdy blonde as Stella Donovan Fuller, the mail-order bride who had recently married the sheriff. She nodded a greeting as Nancy took her seat.

“Molly wasn’t feeling well,” Helen announced as she threaded her needle. “But you all might have seen that we’ve framed a new quilt.” She glanced around the room with a smile to each lady. “That’s because our Nancy is going to have a baby.”

It was for her? Nancy stared at the delicate blue-and-pink flowers on the material until tears blurred her vision as congratulations echoed around her. She managed a smile. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”

“No need to say anything,” Stella Fuller declared. “Just stitch.”

The others laughed and set to work.

Betsy paused to put a hand to her back. “I hope your pregnancy is better than this one,” she told Nancy. “I’ve never had a baby move around so much.”

“I remember those days,” Helen put in. “I thought Donny was going to kick his own way out.”

“My ma said boys are like that,” Stella commiserated.

“Not in my family,” Lula May insisted. “Pauline was just as vigorous in the womb, and she’s not much quieter outside it!”

Nancy smiled as the women laughed. As Beatrice asked Mercy for the recipe of the apple bread she’d brought to the last Sunday social at church, Nancy leaned closer to Lula May.

“We had a problem at the ranch,” she confided, voice low. “Lucas took out a loan from the Empire Bank in Burnet, and the bank has such little faith in me that they sent a man to see how I was running the Windy Diamond.”

Lula May bit off a thread as if she would have liked to sink her teeth into a few recalcitrant bankers. “Let me guess. They want a man to run the ranch.”

Nancy nodded. “And Mr. Cramore, the banker who came out to quiz me, says Hank doesn’t count as he will only leave me.”

Lula May tsked as she pulled out another color of floss and threaded it through her needle. “Sounds like he never met Hank. That man is devoted, Nancy.”

“Apparently so.” Nancy swallowed. “He asked me to marry him.”

Lula May’s brows, a shade darker than her strawberry blonde hair, shot up. “Well, well,” she mused, starting to stitch on the baby’s quilt. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I’d consider the matter. I see the benefits, Lula May, I surely do. But...”

Lula May regarded her out of the corners of her eyes. “But you’re not ready.”

Nancy blew out a breath. “I’m not sure I ever was. I came out here with this wide-eyed notion that two strangers could make a good marriage. Now I understand I never even knew my husband. How much do I know about Hank?”

Lula May lay down her needle and looked Nancy in the eyes. “You know he’s loyal—he stayed at the ranch when he could have moved on.”

Her words were loud enough that Nancy could see other gazes turning their way.

“My husband, Josiah, says he’s a hard worker,” Betsy put in as if she’d heard every word of their hushed conversation. “I know he’s seen him on several roundups now. He says Hank Snowden is a man you can rely on to keep his word.”

“Always nice to us when I see him in town,” Stella Fuller added. “Tips his hat like a gentleman. And he’s kind on the eyes.”

Nancy’s cheeks were heating.

“Everyone in the Lone Star Cowboy League thinks the world of him,” Lula May told her.

Nancy nodded. “We all thought the world of Lucas too, and he proved us fools.”

The others quickly returned to their sewing, but Lula May’s mouth tightened.

“Hank Snowden is no Lucas Bennett,” she insisted. “I’d stake my ranch on that.”

And that, Nancy realized, was exactly what Hank had asked her to do—trust her future and the baby’s future to him. How could she when she couldn’t even trust her own judgment?

She barely saw the dusty road as she drove the wagon home through the clumps of oak and cottonwood. She had to figure out what to do about Hank’s proposal. If only she felt comfortable trusting her own reasoning.

All her life she’d tried to make the best of circumstances. When her father had died, leaving her and her mother without support, she’d helped her mother develop a trade as a midwife. When her mother had left too soon and the townsfolk didn’t want Nancy to continue that trade, she’d answered Lucas Bennett’s ad for a mail-order bride. When Lucas’s initial interest in her had faded into disdain, she’d still tried to be the best wife she could.

Now she had a baby on the way, and the home and livelihood she had thought would sustain her and her child were being threatened. Hank’s offer could solve those problems. But would accepting his offer create other difficulties? What if he was demanding, forcing her to change things to suit his whim as Lucas had done? Could she work hard enough to satisfy him? What if his kindness turned cold? Could she make herself go through that again?

What if he was abusive? She had confided in no one the night Lucas had come home late, smelling of alcohol, and demanding dinner when she’d already banked the stove for the night. As she’d tried to explain, he’d cuffed her. Immediately he’d apologized, but he’d made sure she knew it was her fault for provoking him. How could she let someone like that back into her life, into her child’s life?

Hank Snowden is a good man.

The thought came unbidden, but firm in its conviction.

If only she could believe it.

* * *

Nancy was absent from the porch the next two nights when Hank and the others rode in. Hank might have worried she was sick, except he could see her from his post, going about her chores of washing and working in the vegetable patch. She didn’t ask him to stay behind in the mornings and teach her either.

She was hiding in the house the same way she’d done when her husband had first brought her home as a bride. He didn’t think that boded well for her acceptance of his proposal, but he wasn’t about to badger her over the matter. That surely wouldn’t make her any more amenable to the idea.

Given her retreat, he was surprised to find a note waiting for him in the barn when he, Upkins and Jenks returned from working the next day. The Windy Diamond had bunks for a small contingent of hands. More workers were generally hired during branding in the spring and roundup in the fall. The barn had a stall for a milk cow and a coop for chickens plus a wide room at the back with bunks, a long table and a cook stove, counter and storage.

Over the past year, Hank had grown accustomed to the room, which always smelled like beans, leather and saddle soap. Jenks never made his bunk, and the narrow bed was crowded with a wad of colorful blankets and bits of leather, horse hair and string the youth intended to make use of. Upkins was always complaining about how the sixteen-year-old made room for every barn cat that wanted a place to hunker down for the night.

The veteran was more fastidious—blankets tucked in at right angles and smoothed down flat, hat hung on a peg above his head and belongings stowed in a trunk that slid under the bed. Hank slept on the top bunk above him and tried to keep things neat, if only to prevent them from falling on Upkins below.

He didn’t much care about his belongings, except for the quilt. He’d won it in a raffle to raise money for the new church that was being built in Little Horn. In truth, he wasn’t even sure why he’d bought all the tickets to win the thing. It was pretty and warm and sweet. All the local ladies had stitched at it, and he knew some of the carefully placed threads had been put there by Nancy. She’d been so determined to help raise the money. What man could resist those big hazel eyes?

Still, the folded pink paper sitting on the table was at odds with the mostly masculine setting. Hank could only hope it wasn’t a note dismissing him from his post for his bold suggestion.

“What’s that you got there?” Upkins demanded as he came into the room.

“Looks like a love letter,” Jenks teased, flopping down on his bunk and setting the lariat he was braiding to sliding off the blankets.

Hank ignored them, reading the politely worded note before tucking it in his shirt pocket. “Mrs. Bennett wants to see me.”

Upkins scrunched up his lined face. “She wants a report, most like. You can tell her the herd is hale and hearty.”

Jenks nodded. “Good water, good grazing, no sign of trouble.”

Hank nodded too, though he thought trouble was likely waiting for him, at the ranch house.

He cleaned himself up before answering her summons, and if he tarried over the task neither Upkins nor Jenks berated him for it. It wasn’t often a respectable lady requested a cowboy’s company. His friends no doubt thought he was slicking down his hair, shaving off a day’s worth of stubble and changing into his best blue-and-gray plaid shirt and clean Levi’s to make himself more presentable. He knew he was just delaying the inevitable.

His steps sounded heavy without the chink of spurs as he climbed the steps to the porch. Shaking a drop of water off his hair, he rapped at the front door and heard her call for him to come in. With a swallow, he opened the door and stepped inside.

It was the second time he’d been invited into the ranch house, and he still thought it didn’t look like Nancy Bennett lived there. Oh, it was neat as a pin, the wood walls painted a prim white and the dark wood floor scrubbed clean. But the entryway had only a mirror and a brass hat hook to brighten it, and the parlor leading off it, with its dual chairs flanking a limestone fireplace, looked as if no one stayed long enough to muss it up. Surely a house that Nancy lived in would have more charm and warmth.

“Back here,” she called, and he followed the sound of her gentle voice down a hallway that led toward the rear door. Three closed doors lined the left wall, and, near the back of the house, a doorway opened onto a wide kitchen.

And Nancy Bennett glowed in her kingdom. He could see her reflection in the silver doors on the massive black cast-iron stove on the back wall, smell the savory results of her efforts from one of the two ovens. How she must take pride in her own hand pump so she didn’t have to go outside to fetch water, and the big pantry lined with shelves where preserves glittered in the lamplight.

But nowhere was her touch more evident than on the long oval table that stood in the center of the room. The expanse was covered with a lacy white tablecloth dotted with shiny brass trivets, a pair of rose porcelain candlesticks dripping crystal and a china vase full of daisies. The entire affair was surrounded by a dozen high, carved-back black walnut chairs. Lucas Bennett must have been expecting company or hoping for a passel of children, because he’d never invited his hands to sit at that table.

Nancy was standing at the head now, wearing a blue dress with green trim, reminding Hank of a clear summer sky and good grass.

“I thought you might join me for dinner,” she said, “so we could discuss your proposal.”

He had a feeling his nerves would make the delicious-smelling food taste like straw, but he nodded. “I’d be honored.”

She smiled, making his legs feel all the more unsteady. “Go on,” she urged, nodding to the foot of the table, where a place had been set with silver cutlery and a crystal glass of lemonade. “I’ll just set out the food.”

His mother had taught him never to sit in the presence of a lady unless the lady sat first. So he stood awkwardly while she carried a tureen of stew smelling of garlic, a basket of biscuits piping hot from the oven and a pot of apple-and-plum preserves to the table and laid them all out on the trivets. Then she gathered her skirts and sat, and Hank sank onto the chair and gazed at her through the steam.

“Shall I say the blessing or would you like to?” she asked.

He could barely swallow much less recite a prayer. “You go ahead.”

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands. “Be present at our table, Lord, be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we may live in fellowship with Thee. Amen.”

“Amen,” Hank managed.

She served him, filling a plate and then rising as if to bring it to him. He leaped to his feet and rushed around the table to take it from her. Her brows went up, but she didn’t speak again until he’d returned to his seat and taken a few bites.

All the while thinking it was a crying shame he couldn’t enjoy the food more, because it was good.

“I’ve been considering your proposal,” she finally said, fork mixing the stew about on her plate. “And I have one question.”

“Only one?” he asked, smile hitching up. “I must have been more persuasive than I thought. Not that I was trying to pressure you,” he hastened to add. Why was it he could never say the right thing with her?

“You have been very kind,” she assured him. “What I want to know is why.”

His mouth suddenly felt as if he’d eaten sand for the last week, and he reached for the glass of lemonade and gulped it down. He knew why his nerves were dancing. Here was his opportunity to tell her the truth. Yet if he told her, would she allow him to make amends? The need to right the wrong he’d done was like a burning mass in his gut.

“I suppose I feel guilty,” he allowed, setting down his glass. “By reporting on the business of the league, I aided Mr. Bennett with his thieving. Seems only right to help his widow and child.”

Her gaze dropped to her still-full plate. “Not everyone would think that way. Lucas always said you and Mr. Upkins and Billy would ride on when you tired of the place. You marry me, Hank, and you stay here. This would be our home.”

He realized his knee was bouncing and forced it to stop. Staying put might not be so bad. He’d been a tumbleweed for too long. He couldn’t have faced a future in Waco, not with all the bad memories of his father and Mary Ellen, but maybe Little Horn could be home.

“I can settle,” he told her.

She didn’t look as if she believed him, fork once more rearranging the food on her plate.

“I must ask one more thing of you,” she murmured, gaze following the movement of the silver. “If we marry, we would put this ranch in trust for the baby. You and I would have to agree to any changes in that trust.”

He nodded. “That’s as it should be. A man wants his children to inherit what he built.” If that man could believe in his children. His father never had.

She drew in a deep breath. “Very well, then, Hank. We can talk to the lawyer in town, set up the papers to be signed the day of our marriage.”

Hank stared at her, feeling as if the stew had multiplied in his stomach. “Our marriage?”

She nodded, laying down her fork at last. “Yes, Hank. I am agreeing to your proposal. I will marry you.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_0d9252d4-0d0d-5974-9f4f-003f1f6c2f46)

Hank wandered back to the barn after dinner, steps still decidedly wobbly. Nancy had agreed to marry him. He was going to be a husband and a father. He wasn’t sure what to do, what to think.

Upkins caught his shoulder as Hank stepped into the bunk room.

“Whoa there, son,” he said, frowning into Hank’s face. “What happened?”

Jenks shifted away from his belongings. “Did Widder Bennett toss you out?”

Hank shook his head, more to clear it than to answer their questions. “She’s going to marry me.”

Upkins released him so fast, Hank nearly fell.

“What!” the veteran demanded, stepping back.

Jenks scrambled off his bunk, sending a cat dashing out the door beside Hank. “Why’d you go and do something so low-down?”

“Low-down?” Hank frowned at him. “I offered her my name, my protection. You know she can’t run this place by herself.”

“We can.” Upkins widened his stance, though his six-guns were safely in their holsters by his bunk. “And I thought we were doing a good job of it too. No reason for you to push yourself forward.”

“Taking advantage of a lady in her time of need,” Jenks agreed, coming to join the older cowhand.

“It’s not like that,” Hank told them. “I’ll be her husband in name only.”

Jenks looked from him to Upkins. “What’s that mean?”

Upkins shrugged, clearly as puzzled.

“It means I’m bunking with you and riding out like always,” Hank explained. “But as far as the Empire Bank is concerned, Mrs. Bennett has a man running the ranch.”

Jenks scratched his ear as if he couldn’t have heard right. “So what’s she calling you? Mr. Bennett number two?”

Not while he lived. “She’ll be Mrs. Snowden now.”

Upkins shook his grizzled head. “Makes no sense. Wives rely on husbands for more than the change of name, as far as I can see.”

Jenks nodded. “Spiritual leadership and genteel companionship as the years go by.”

Hank started laughing. “Well, guess I won’t make much of a husband, then. Seriously, boys, nothing’s going to change.”

Upkins still didn’t look convinced. “You really going to settle for my cooking when you have the right to sit at her table?”

Dinner hadn’t been all that comfortable tonight, but the food had been far tastier than the cowboy’s. Hank could imagine sitting next to Nancy after a long day, sharing stories, planning for the future. She’d smile, and he’d know that all was right with the world. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t smiling just thinking about it. He put on a somber face.

“We didn’t agree on specifics,” he admitted.

“Then I reckon you ought to,” Upkins told him. “Are you obliged to drive her to services every Sunday? Is she going to expect you to take on chores around the house? Who’s giving the orders to ride, you or her?”

Hank shook his head. “Maybe you should have offered to marry her. Seems you have it all figured out.”

“I’ve got the questions, son,” Upkins retorted. “That don’t mean I got the answers.”

“Neither do I,” Hank said. “But there’s something you should know. She’s carrying Bennett’s child.”

Jenks’s brows rose so high they disappeared under his thatch of red hair. Upkins let out a low whistle, then narrowed his eyes at Hank.

“You aim to be its pa?”

“Yes,” Hank said. “You have a problem with that, best you ride on now.”

For a moment, Upkins held his gaze, and Jenks seemed to be holding his breath. Then Upkins nodded.

“We’ll all help,” he declared with a look to Jenks, who nodded so fast Hank thought the boy’s head might rattle.

“You’ll make the babe a good pa,” Jenks agreed.

Hank didn’t know how Jenks could be so sure. He wasn’t. He didn’t even have a good example to follow, unless it was to do what his father hadn’t.

“I intend to try,” he told them both.

Once more Jenks glanced between Hank and Upkins. “So, we’re going to have a wedding.”

Hank laughed. “I reckon we are, and as soon as possible. I guess I better talk to Pastor Stillwater.”

* * *

As it turned out, the local minister wasn’t the only one Hank had to talk to about his and Nancy’s wedding. Hoping for a word with the pastor, Hank took Nancy into Little Horn that Sunday for services in the old revival tent the town used while the first church building and parsonage were being constructed nearby.

He hadn’t had a chance to attend services very often in the past. Cattle didn’t know much about keeping the Lord’s day, so Hank had generally been working. Besides, back in Waco only the fine folk went to services, and he was no longer part of that company.

Now, as he escorted Nancy into the shelter of the tent, he couldn’t deny the peace that flowed over him. He’d grown up worshipping among polished wood pews to the bellow of a massive pipe organ. The little tent with its packed dirt floor, rough wood benches and rickety piano felt more like home. After all, it hadn’t been in the fancy church he’d come to know his God but in the simple cathedral of a cowboy’s saddle.

Still, sitting with Nancy, holding the hymnal for her, his spirits rose. How could he not feel proud to have her beside him, pretty and sweet as she was?

Easy now, cowboy. Pride goeth before a fall. He’d felt the same way about Mary Ellen, and his feelings had been built on nothing more substantial than air. Nancy wasn’t here vowing undying devotion. She stood with him because she needed his help to save the Windy Diamond. And he was here to atone.

As the others listened to Pastor Stillwater’s message, Hank bowed his head.

I know You forgive easily, Lord. The Bible talks about a lost son being welcomed home and You eating with sinners. I know You won’t hold Lucas Bennett’s death against me. Help me help Nancy so I won’t hold it against myself.

Nancy shifted beside him, hand going to her back, and he stepped closer, offering his arm to lean on. Her smile was his reward.

After services, he left her with some of the other ladies and went to seek the pastor, who assured him of his support and willingness to perform the marriage ceremony. But Hank had no sooner stepped away from the minister than McKay and an older rancher in the area, Clyde Parker, closed in on him.

“We have everything under control,” Parker assured him, hitching up his gray trousers with self-importance. “The Lone Star Cowboy League is at your service.”

If the league came through with the money to save the ranch, Hank wouldn’t have to marry Nancy. For some reason, that made his spirits sink. “Then you found a way to pay the loan after all.”

“No,” McKay told him. “That’s not what he means.”

The dark clouds lifted. What was wrong with him? He ought to be disappointed they hadn’t been able to help Nancy.

Parker laughed, sounding a bit like the wheezy piano. “The story’s all over town, boy. You made the sacrifice to marry Nancy Bennett. Lula May says we should throw you a reception after the wedding. Think of it as a service to the community. We all need a reason to celebrate after the troubles this summer.”

Hank held up his hand. “Hold on. Marrying Mrs. Bennett is no sacrifice. I’m the one honored by her trust. And I’m not sure she’ll want a fuss.”

“Mrs. Bennett?” Parker teased with an elbow to Hank’s gut. “You should be calling her by her first name now.”

She’d given him leave to do so in private, but he found it difficult to use her first name in public. Funny how just being with Nancy made him remember the manners his mother had tried to instill in him. Ladies were to be treated with respect, helped into and out of any building or conveyance as if they were delicate flowers that might wither at a harsh word. Even with her quiet voice and shy smiles, he knew Nancy was made of stronger stuff. Look at the way she was trying to learn to run the ranch her husband had left her.

Excusing himself from the ranchers, he walked toward the piano, where Nancy was surrounded by the local ladies, looking a bit like spring wildflowers with their pretty dresses and bright-ribboned hats. Several of the group giggled behind their gloved hands as he approached. The only one who wasn’t watching him closely was John Carson’s girl, and Daisy had her head turned as if she was studying someone behind him.

“Ladies,” Hank said with a nod. “May I steal Mrs. Bennett away from you for a moment?”

“Only if you promise to bring her back as Mrs. Snowden,” the sheriff’s wife teased.

Nancy blushed and excused herself. Hank drew her toward a corner of the tent where the velvet bags that were passed for offering were stored. He could see Mrs. Hickey, the town gossip, craning her scrawny neck to get a view of the two of them, but he put his back to her to shelter Nancy.

“Seems like everyone knew before I ever told them,” he said, rubbing his chin.

“I know.” Nancy sighed. “I mentioned to Lula May at the quilting bee that you had proposed, and of course the other women encouraged me to accept.”

Of course? Who knew the ladies of the town thought that much of him? He couldn’t help grinning.

“They must have assumed I’d taken their advice,” Nancy continued. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

“No need to be sorry,” he assured her. “I didn’t call you away because of the rumors. Seems the league wants to throw a big reception for us after the wedding.”

She paled. “I can’t accept their kindness. We both know we wouldn’t be in this position if Lucas hadn’t broken the law.”

“True,” Hank said. “He caused heartache for a number of folks. But this reception may be a way to put all that behind us.”

She was chewing her lower lip again, a sure sign, he was coming to understand, of her concern. “Well, I suppose we could take them up on their offer. For Little Horn. Maybe Lula May can help me bake.”

Hank took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t fret. I’ll take care of everything.”

She raised her brows. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he insisted. After all, it was the least he could do.

* * *

Two weeks later, Nancy stood up with Hank and said her vows in front of a goodly portion of Little Horn’s finest. She couldn’t help contrasting her weddings. She and Lucas had been married in the big church in Burnet, because Lucas refused to be wed in a tent. He’d even had a blue satin dress made for her so she looked the part of an affluent rancher’s wife, and she’d felt a little awed to be standing up beside such a prosperous fellow, bouquet of white roses in her hands from the wife of the town mayor.

This time, she carried a bunch of yellow daisies Billy had picked from the ranch and handed her, red-faced, as he stammered his best wishes. Mr. Upkins, dressed in a black suit and bow tie she hadn’t known he possessed, had insisted on giving her away. Her green dress with the ruby roses embroidered down the front had been sewn by the ladies of the quilting bee and designed to be let out as the baby inside her grew. It was all quite lovely, and she felt like a complete fraud accepting the attentions.




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