A Rancher Of Convenience. Regina Scott

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      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, СКАЧАТЬ