Janet Tronstad - A Rich Man For Dry Creek And A Hero For Dry Creek

“Of course.” Jenny blushed. “Anyone would be.”

“But you’re particularly worried about my son.”

“Only because I know him a little better than the others.”

“I see.” Mrs. Buckwalter started to smile. “You know, I’ve never known my son to kiss a woman on the cheek before.”

Jenny grimaced. She didn’t need a reminder. If she ever had any illusions of being irresistible, that kiss certainly dampened them. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. A Boy Scout could have done better kissing his grandmother. “I think he’s just trying to be democratic. Being a regular Joe.”

Mrs. Buckwalter looked up questioningly.

“I mean Bob. He wanted me to call him Bob. I think he’s trying to be one with the people or something. And he focused on me because I’m—” she straightened her shoulders “—because I’m of the class that works for a living.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with working, dear. I haven’t raised Robert to be a snob.”

“No, but I can’t imagine he has many friends who scrub vegetables for a living. I mean, sure he knows people who work, but they’re probably stockbrokers or lawyers or something classy.”

“My dear, you’re a very classy chef. I dare anyone to make a crème brûlée that surpasses yours,” Mrs. Buckwalter said indignantly. “But I don’t think it’s that at all. I’m beginning to think it’s something quite different. He did ask me if I’d brought the family album with me. I was thinking it was because my anniversary would have been next week if my husband had lived. Robert knew I’d have it with me for that day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Buckwalter smiled wistfully. “My husband’s been gone a long time now, but the album brings it all back to me. All three generations of Buckwalters are in the album—my husband and I especially. There are pictures right up to the final anniversary we celebrated seven years ago. My husband just kept adding pages to the thing. The Buckwalter men have a knack for knowing right away the women they want to marry. My husband has a picture of the first time we met—at a charity auction back in 1955. We were both there with other people, but he managed a picture anyway. We were saving something at the time. A local park, I think. Long before it was fashionable to save anything. There we were. It’s a picture I treasure.”

“What a lovely way to remember the past.” Jenny saw the soft light in Mrs. Buckwalter’s eyes and envied the woman. The older woman didn’t talk often about her late husband, but Jenny had wondered before if she thought of him. She frequently had that same half smile on her face when she seemed lost in thought.

“They’re coming back!” one of the teenage girls yelled from the hayloft. Several of the girls had climbed the steps up to the loft so they could watch the road from the small window there. “I see lights coming this way! And a horse!”

“Thank God,” Mrs. Buckwalter said, all memories gone from her face. She turned to Jenny. “Can I help with the coffee, dear? Or anything else? My experience with crises is that they always make people hungry and thirsty.”

Jenny laughed. “I’ve got plenty of coffee. And there’s enough of that cake left for another round.”

Mrs. Buckwalter was right. The ranch hands were the first ones through the door, their boisterous good humor relieving the last of the fears of the women inside.

“We got them. Everyone’s back safe,” one stocky man stopped to announce on his way to the refreshment table. “But it’s colder than blazes out there. Hope there’s some coffee left.”

Jenny started pouring coffee into the thick porcelain mugs that had been brought over from the restaurant. Thankfully the restaurant had been well stocked with dishes when the young engaged couple decided to reopen it this past Christmas. Linda and Duane, the couple, had volunteered the use of all the dishes for tonight’s party and Jenny believed they would use every single one of them. There would be an enormous number of dishes to wash at some point and, as far as she could tell, there wasn’t an automatic dishwasher anywhere around.

The barn door was opened and a damp cold filled the dance floor. Not that anyone was thinking about dancing. The music had stopped when the men left earlier and only the sound of muffled talking was heard now.

“The guy on the horse is bringing in the kidnappers,” one short rancher offered to Jenny as he held his cup out to be filled. “He had some fancy moves, I don’t mind telling you.”

“The FBI agent?” Jenny was trying not to watch the door as it kept opening, but she couldn’t help but notice that Robert wasn’t back yet.

“Don’t know what he is.” The rancher picked up a stuffed mushroom as he held his cup in the other hand. “Didn’t say nothing about who he was. Buckwalter seemed to know him, though. They made a fine team.”

The rancher put the mushroom in his mouth.

“Glad it all worked out.” Jenny wondered if they’d need more paper napkins.

The rancher didn’t seem inclined to leave the refreshment table. He picked up a carved carrot piece and eyed Jenny shyly. “That fella Buckwalter—noticed you dancing with him. Are you—you know—”

Jenny looked up from the napkins.

“—you know, involved?”

“Mr. Buckwalter and me?”

The rancher beamed. “Guess not if you still call him Mister. I figured you weren’t—what with all his money and everything. But wanted to be sure. Never held with moving in on another man’s territory, not even when anyone could see the two of you are from different worlds. Guess you’re free then.”

Jenny started to protest, but the man didn’t stop to draw a breath.

“My name’s Chester, by the way. The boys call me Harry on account of Chest. You know, Chest, Hairy—”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Not that there’s any problem. With my chest, I mean. I got just the right amount of hair. You got nothing to worry about with me. I got me n-o-o defects. Just a regular kind of guy. That’s me.”

“I’m sure you’re a fine man,” Jenny moved a platter of toast squares to the back of the table. She’d take those over to the kitchen and make some new ones. She looked up at Chester. “But I’m too busy right now to visit.”

“Maybe later?”

“There’ll be cleanup later. Dishes.”

The rancher looked dismayed. “I suppose I could help, even though with the touch of arthritis I get in my joints—well, I’m likely to be more trouble than good to you.”

Jenny looked up and smiled. “I’ll do fine with the dishes. Thanks anyway.”

The barn door opened this time to a loud grumbling noise. A steady stream of frigid air blew into the barn making the pink streamers hanging from the beams start to sway.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, but no one complained about the cold. Everyone was looking at the three unkempt men who reluctantly stomped into the barn, swearing as they were forced by their captors to come inside.

Jenny recognized two of the three men who were holding the shoulders of the prisoners. Garth Elkton was one. His top ranch hand was another. The third man, a stranger who obviously hadn’t been to the dance because he wasn’t in a suit, seemed to be in charge.

Jenny looked past all those men and saw nothing but the snow falling in the black night outside. The teenage boys had come inside minutes ago. The ranch hands all seemed to be back. Men and women were giving each other quick hugs of relief. A dusting of snow had settled on the walkway outside the barn and it was covered with a score or more of large boot prints. There were no other figures standing in the doorway waiting to come inside.

“That Buckwalter fella must be still parking the bus—if that’s who you’re looking for,” the rancher who had stood at the table offered quietly. “He was the only one who knew how to drive the bus after the kids stripped the gears. Guess it’s on account of him flying planes. We would have had to walk back if it weren’t for him. He nursed the bus all the way back. He’s not a bad guy for a rich man.”