A Rancher Of Convenience. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ 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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