Mary Sullivan - No Ordinary Cowboy

Whether or not the bank said there was nothing wrong, she and Leila could sell the ranch out from under him and he wouldn’t have a speck of power to prevent it.

He pounded his fist against the wall.

“Damn you, Dad. It should have been mine.”

Hank knew the truth, though, knew exactly why Dad hadn’t left the ranch to him, and he hung his head, choked by shame. Once that woman got to the books, she would know, too. In a matter of time, the whole world would.

He leaned his forehead on the rough wood and breathed heavily, hot air hitting the wall and bouncing back to bathe his face. He’d lived with his problem all his life. He would live with it for the rest, but Lord help him, he needed to do it here, on this ranch, where he felt strong and capable. And of value.

The sound of his fist hitting the wall again reverberated in the cavernous room.

Stop, he warned himself. Pull yourself together.

No. He wasn’t losing this land that was more precious to him than his own life. He was not abandoning those kids, who needed this place with every breath they took.

He threw back his head and yelled, “I’m not leaving this ranch!”

“That’s the spirit.”

Hank spun around at the sound of Willie’s voice. The older man stood silhouetted in the open doorway of the building. Was it a trick of the sun that made him look shorter? Willie stepped into the cool interior and Hank noticed for the first time how stooped his foreman was becoming.

“Feel any better after that outburst?” Willie’s tone held reproach. He walked closer and stood with arms akimbo.

Hank ran his fingers through his hair and his anger abated. “Can’t believe I got mad enough to yell where the children would hear me.”

“I think the next county heard you,” Willie said. “Haven’t seen that since you started bringing the children here.” Willie’s voice wavered, thinner than it used to be. A lot of things were thinner about Willie these days. He was getting old. Hank would have to lay him off if he lost the ranch. Where on earth would Willie go at his age?

Hank would lose the best friend he’d ever had. He’d had a stronger connection with the foreman than he’d ever had with his own father.

Nope. Wasn’t about to happen. He was losing neither the ranch nor Willie.

“If things got really bad, we might have to sell.”

Willie dropped his arms to his sides. “It’s that close?”

“I don’t know.” Hank scuffed a boot in the dirt. “I kind of forced her to tell me the worst that could happen.”

Dust motes drifted in a sunbeam that shone through a high window.

Willie set his foot on a bale of straw and rested his elbow on his knee. “Sounds like you aren’t gonna take this sitting down.”

“I plan to fight back,” Hank answered.

Willie’s white mustache curled up at the corners. He looked at Hank with gray eyes. “Glad to hear you say that.”

“I shouldn’t have made a scene in front of the kids.”

“Nope. But you did, so move on. Should have a little talk with them. Reassure them everything’s all right.”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. I’ll do that.” He straightened. “Now.”

Funny how the sound of those kids chattering across the yard gave him hope. When they’d gotten here two weeks ago, they’d been the saddest, quietest bunch of tots he’d seen in an age.

“Can you help Haley and Rich watch the children for a while?” Hank asked.

“Sure can. Whatcha have in mind to do?”

“I’m going to keep her out of that office,” Hank said.

“You sure that’s wise? Why not let her in and get it over with?”

Hank shrugged. “Just can’t let her in there.”

“Don’t forget, you catch more flies with honey.” Willie laughed. “Sweeten her up.”

Hank smiled and it felt strained. He knew kids. He didn’t much know women.

Time to learn.

Fast.

He stepped into the sun-drenched yard and spotted the children in the field on the other side of the corral. He joined them there.

“Kids,” he said as they swarmed him, clutching his arms, sitting on his feet, wrapping arms around his waist. “I got to give y’all an apology. I shouldn’t have yelled at that lady like that.”

Cheryl’s solemn gaze disconcerted him. She was the most fragile of the group and the wisest—an old woman in a child’s body. She raised her arms to be lifted.

He picked her up and settled her against his chest.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispered.

“I’m not mad, darlin’, not anymore,” he said.

Nope, not mad. Determined.

AS AMY WALKED across the yard, she watched Hank talk to the girl with the haunting eyes. Looked like there was some kind of bond between them.

She wouldn’t let sentiment overcome her resolve, though.

“We need to talk,” she said as she approached. She nodded her head toward the children, who watched her warily. “Privately.”

Hank put down the girl. She and the other children ran to the counselors in the field.

“I’d like to see the office,” Amy said.

Hank cracked the knuckles of his left hand. He frowned intensely, like he was thinking hard about something, then his face lit up.

“Hungry Hollow!” he shouted, then lowered his voice. “You need to see the neighboring ranch.”

“Later. I really think—”

“It’s the working part of this property.”

That stopped her even more than the cunning look in his eye. The working part would be important. She had to get to those books, though.

“But—”

“It brings in a good income,” he said.

Okay, she would need to know how Hank supported this whole operation. She nodded. “I should check it out.”

“Yeah, we can ride over.”

“Ride? On a horse?” She placed a hand against her chest, then dropped it the second she realized it drew his eyes to her body.

“I’ll drive over,” she said, “and meet you there.”

“No need. We can take the pickup truck if you don’t want to ride.”

“No,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’d rather not ride.” Not on your life.

Half an hour later, Amy sat in Hank’s dusty black pickup, checking out the details of this man’s life. A crack in the upholstery had been repaired with duct tape, gray against the black. In contrast, a top-of-the-line CD player shone through a coat of dust on the dashboard.

Amy noticed the cover of an audio book on the dashboard: Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. Wow, heavy reading. Amy had tried it once and hadn’t had the patience for it.

A rancher listening to Hawking? Hank?

Okay, Amy, back off on the prejudices.

As the truck bumped along, Amy felt like a sack of turnips, tossed around by the ruts of Hungry Hollow’s driveway.

Hank’s hand on the gearshift brushed her knee. The man radiated heat like an oven. Her fingers hurt from gripping the door handle to stay on her side of the truck, and still she could feel his heat.

It felt too good.

“I need to apologize to you for yelling,” Hank said above the noise of the truck as he geared down. “I don’t normally do that.”

“So Willie led me to believe.” Amy knew she sounded cool but didn’t care. The man had been unreasonable.

Hank nodded.

A bag of candy in the cup holder caught her eye and she picked it up. “Humbugs,” she cried.

“Yep. They’re my favorite.” Hank looked her way. “You like them?”

“I love them, but I don’t see them very often.”

“Help yourself. I get them in Ordinary, in a shop called Sweet Talk.” Hank steered the truck onto a dirt road with a house in the distance.

“You should take a drive into Ordinary,” he said. “It’s a real sweet little town, the lifeline for all of us ranchers in the district.”