A Cowboy's Plan. Mary Sullivan

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      Yeah, now was the time to finish her education—she could afford college!—to become one of those women who dress up for work, who wear beautiful clothes and expensive shoes and red and pink lipsticks. For sure not black.

      She could become one of those women she used to envy on the streets of Billings who worked for businesses and owned businesses and who were important. No one would dare to hurt them.

      One thing she was sure of—she’d never live in poverty again.

      She couldn’t go back to Billings, though. Just couldn’t. Maybe she could live in Ordinary and do college long-distance.

      While she walked, she skirted the edges of that dream, considering some possible actions, discarding others. Forty-five minutes later, still without a firm plan, she pushed open the bank’s heavy door and stepped in.

      “Can I help you?” an older woman asked from behind one of the wickets. Her nametag read Donna. Looking down a long sharp nose at Janey, she studied her from head to toe. Judging by the sour pout of Donna’s mouth, Janey had been found lacking.

      Tough. The old prune could kiss her butt.

      She frowned and approached the window, then reached into her pocket to pull out the checks. The woman shifted and slyly put one hand below the counter. What the heck?

      “I’m not here to rob the bank,” Janey said. Cripes. Why would the woman think she was?

      Donna blushed.

      Janey set the checks on the counter. “I want to open an account.” She also passed over the envelope that Mrs. Fantucci’s check had come in, to prove she lived at the Sheltering Arms, that she had a permanent address.

      When Donna picked up Hank’s check, her eyes widened. The other one was smaller.

      Mrs. Fantucci had died and left all of the money in her savings account to Janey. Eleven thousand dollars and change. Janey’s eyes stung. She missed her old neighbor.

      Mrs. Fantucci hadn’t judged her too hard.

      Janey had done odd jobs for Maria, some shopping, laundry, cleaning, but it must have been more than anyone else had done for her.

      Janey filled out the bank’s application form and handed her ID to Donna, who took it to the manager.

      Donna returned, her expression polite now, and told her she had a new account.

      Janey asked for a hundred dollars cash and for the rest to be deposited. When Donna handed her the receipt with her balance on it, Janey’s breathing stuttered. Almost thirty-one thousand dollars. She’d never known having money would feel so liberating.

      She had to figure out her next step. Where would she live?

      Her hands shook. I’m not ready.

      You have to be.

      She offered Donna a reluctant “Thanks,” and headed for the door.

      The heat outside hit her like the slap of a wet facecloth and she lifted her heavy hair away from her neck.

      What now? She had to get a job to make enough for rent.

      The past year of security on the Sheltering Arms hadn’t been reality. Real life was dark and gritty and unfair. She knew that. It was time to step out of that safe cocoon and get on with life. It was time to stand on her own two feet.

      She’d done it before and she could do it again.

      Janey Wilson didn’t do helpless.

      CHAPTER TWO

      JANEY’S FIRST STEP in her job search took her to the hair salon. She could do the simple stuff. Wash hair. Sweep the floor. The owner, Bernice Whitlow, had visited Amy’s mother, Gladys, at the ranch, and had treated Janey well. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind working for her.

      When Janey stepped inside the shop, Bernice looked up from her customer, an older woman with white hair. The woman looked Janey up and down and stared at her feet.

      “Aren’t those boots hot?” Her voice came out high-pitched.

      They were the only boots Janey owned and she liked them.

      “Hiya, sweetie,” Bernice said, her voice warm enough to melt honey. Janey tried not to show how much she liked that Bernice called her sweetie. It was a lot better than the things she’d grown up with on the streets of Billings.

      “You here for a cut?” Bernice asked.

      “I’m looking for a job.”

      The old woman snorted. “You’re not going to get one dressed like that.”

      Bernice touched her shoulder and said, “Norma, hush.”

      Janey ignored Norma and forced her chin up a notch.

      “Oh, sweetie,” Bernice said, “I don’t have a position available.”

      Janey swallowed her pride. “I can wash hair. I can sweep the floor.”

      “Economy’s slow.” Bernice’s regret sounded sincere. “I can’t afford to hire anyone right now. Honest, honey.”

      Damn.

      “Try over at the diner.” Bernice sprayed Norma’s white hair with about half a can of spray.

      Janey coughed.

      “They’re always busy,” Bernice said.

      The diner. As in being a waitress?

      “Okay, thanks.”

      Janey left the store, heard Bernice say, “Good luck.” Norma said something, too, but it didn’t sound flattering. Janey was glad she hadn’t caught it.

      She trudged across the street to the diner, the sun on her back branding her through the black cotton of her dress.

      She pulled the fabric of her bodice away from her skin for a minute, then stepped into the diner, a noisy, buzzing hive of activity and conversation.

      A cook at the grill behind the long counter yelled, “Order up.”

      People filled every stool at the counter and every red fake-leather booth.

      Wow. Bernice was right. The place was hopping.

      A waitress rushed by without looking at her. “Sit wherever you can find a seat, hon.”

      That brought the attention of the people in the nearest booths to her. They stopped talking and studied her clothes.

      She curled her fingers into her palms.

      More people stopped talking. A hush fell over the crowd.

      They watched her, some with interest, some with plain old curiosity. She couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ