A Certain Kind of Hero (30 page)

“Can you teach me to play that?”

Tate raised his head and smiled. Jody looked small and wide-eyed and shy, standing there in his blue pajamas with the plastic-soled feet. Eagerly awaiting his cue, he gripped the door frame, ready to pop in or vanish, depending on Tate's answer.

“I can try,” Tate offered.

Jody fairly leapt across the threshold, skidding to a stop at Tate's knee.

“How much time do we have before you have to be in bed?” The boy managed to shrug his shoulders as high as his ears, but Tate detected a guilty look in his eyes, which probably meant he was supposed to be in bed already. He decided to risk it. “I'd say we've got some time.”

The two sat side by side on the narrow bed. Tate tapped the harmonica in his palm a few times, then held it steady for Jody and directed him through a series of notes. “Now the same thing, only a little faster,” Tate said, and Jody complied intently. “What song did you play?” Tate asked at the end.

Jody gave a big-eyed smile, his blond curls shimmering under the overhead light. “‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.'”

“That's right. Did you know that's a cowboy's song?” Jody shook his head. “Sure is. You're camped out under the stars, you got your saddle for a pillow, your ol' six-shooter handy in case you find a rattler in your bedroll.”

Jody's eyes grew big as saucers as Tate animated his tale with broad gestures.

“You take out your mouth organ, and you serenade the stars. This is their theme song.” He slid the instrument back and forth across his lips and played the familiar tune again. “They like that all over, and, man, do they twinkle in that big Montana sky.”

“Let me do it again.”

By the time Jody returned the instrument, Tate was ready to pay him to stop twinkling. They shared a pillow while Tate played every soft, soothing song he knew. Jody finally drifted off to sleep. Tate carried him upstairs and managed to sneak past Amy's room. The desk light was on, and her back was to the door. He figured she was going over the books, dividing the amount of the lamb check among the outstanding bills. She'd been at it awhile. Either she had an extremely long column of numbers, or the check just wasn't big enough.

He decided to take her a comfort offering, and he knew she liked tea. He wanted to let her know that he didn't have to be told what her problems were. He'd been around long enough to take account. He had some ideas, and when she rejected those out of hand, as she was bound to do, he would be prepared with some alternatives. She was a fighter with her back to the wall. She would probably take a swing at him out of frustration, but he was pretty good at ducking. He could also be pretty good at talking sense. And because she was basically a sensible woman, eventually she would hear him out.

But she'd fallen asleep over her books. He stood in the doorway, steaming cup in hand, trying to decide whether he should knock or just walk right in like he owned the place. He wasn't going to leave her slumped over the desk for the night.

She solved his problem by awakening with a start, as though someone had shouted in her ear. She gripped the edge of the little writing desk and turned on him abruptly, her chair swiveling like the lid of a mayonnaise jar. He was sure he hadn't made a sound. Impatiently she swept the mop of errant hair out of her face and, with an indignant look, challenged him to explain himself.

He lifted the cup. “Tea.”

She gave him a blank stare.

He was tempted to turn on his heel and leave her to sleep sitting up if it pleased her, but he said, “I thought I could get you to take a break, but I see…”

“For me?”

“Well, yeah. If I'd made it for me, I'd 'a put a kick in it.” He sniffed the steam. “Smells like virgin orange.”

She smiled. Finally. “What is a
virgin
orange?”

“Pure.” He circled the foot of the bed and offered her the cup. “I read the box. It's got some kind of natural sleeping potion in it, but you have to be in bed for it to work.”

“It doesn't say you have to be in bed.”

“
You
have to be in bed—” he checked his watch as he sat down on the bed “—by midnight, so put the books away. Can I sit here?”

“You've already made your wrinkles in my coverlet.” Flustered, he started to get up again. “Just kidding,” she said quickly. “I'm not
that
fussy.” She sipped the hot tea, then puzzled over it. “I do have to wonder why you're being so nice to me.”

“Why wouldn't I be?” he asked, then added with mock indignation, “What, I don't have it in me to be nice?”

“You have it in you to be…a lot of things, I'm sure.”

“Versatility is my stock in trade. I like being a lot of things. Keeps life interesting.” He sat spraddle-legged, hands braced on his knees. “But I'm between jobs right now. It's either hire on to push an eighteen-wheeler down the road for a while, or tend sheep. Never had much truck with sheep.”

He chuckled at his own wit and caught the weary smile in her eyes, peering at him above the rim of her cup.

“Guess it's something different,” he allowed. “Besides, I'll take the view from the back of a horse over a truck cab, any day. Even if it's a view of sheep rumps headin' home.”

“I'd like to get rid of the horses. All of them. Especially that outlaw you brought back here.”

“One thing I can tell you for sure, Amy. It wasn't ol' Outlaw's fault.” He paused for her objection, but she only drank more tea. “I figure he must be the one Kenny was riding that night. He's high-lifed, but he's a good horse. If he got spooked or missed his footing…” She gave him a sharp look, and he added quietly, “Kenny would be the first to tell you not to blame the horse.”

“You're saying he shouldn't have been out riding that night.”

“I'm saying it happened, and there's no sense to it. It's the kind of thing that could happen to anyone. Kenny drew the wrong cards that night.”

“He shouldn't have been playing cards,” she said flatly. “Or drinking. Or riding out there by himself. Or—” Quiet anger rose in her voice, and there was only Tate to be angry with.

“That was Kenny.” Her husband, his friend, but they'd both known the same man. “He was a good-hearted, easygoin' guy who didn't like to think too far ahead.”

“Well, I
do
think ahead.” She was staring so hard at the papers on her desk that he half expected to see the edges start curling up and smoking. “I plan things. I planned the way I was going to sell the lambs, and I planned on getting more for them. Now I'll have to sell breeding stock so I can buy feed.”

“I've been giving that some thought,” he said lazily as he folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against her brass headboard. “I know I'm not getting paid to do any thinkin', but, hell, it just happens sometimes. You didn't take any hay off my land this year.”

“We hadn't paid the lease.” Her eyes darted about the room, finding bits of her explanation in every corner of the room, anywhere except in his eyes. “I didn't have anyone to cut it, anyway. Not that I would have, without your… I know Kenny agreed to cut it on shares, and then… I should have let you know that wasn't happening, so you could have made a deal with someone else, but—” She resigned herself with a long sigh. “I'm sorry. That was irresponsible of me.”

“Well, now that you've got that off your chest, you can forget about it, okay? I'm not hurtin' for crop money or lease money or any of that. Come spring, I'll see about selling the land.” With a gesture he dismissed the whole issue. He was eager to put forth his plan. “I figure with a little supplement we can put the herd out there and graze them 'til it gets too cold. Meanwhile, I'll shop around for some hay.”

“I can't buy hay,” she informed him stiffly. “I don't have the money.”

“What if I said that I do?” She didn't need to say anything, what with that granite look in her eyes. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“I should just sell those worthless horses.”

“Now, I wouldn't call them worthless. They've got
potential.” He ignored her delicate sneer. “But if you sold them now, they'd go for killers. Butcher meat and dog food's about the only market for unbroke horses right now.”

“They're registered quarter horses.”

“And we both know that doesn't matter. Stock prices are low across the board. Nobody's got money for horses right now.”

“Ken did.” The resentment in her voice did battle with the guilt in her eyes. “He always had money for another great horse bargain.”

“That's because he had you, makin' ends meet.” Guilt gave way to a flash of gratitude. He understood. He smiled sympathetically. “So now you're done buying horses, and you've sold your lambs, and you're down to your ace-in-the-hole.”

“Which is?”

“You've found yourself some cheap labor. You let him do what he can for you.”

She looked at him, long and hard, and he could almost hear those gears clicking away inside her head, questioning, always trying to figure the odds and hedge her bets. In her position, he couldn't blame her.

“Why?” she asked finally.

“Because you're a smart woman, Amy. And you've run low on options.”

“I mean, why are you willing to do this?”

“It's kinda out of character, isn't it?” He smiled knowingly. “I don't like being too predictable. Every once in a while I like to be nice. I like to be useful to somebody, just for a change.”

“I never said you weren't nice…sometimes.”

“Boy, that was a squeaker.” He laughed and shook his head
as he got up to leave. “On that happy note and the strike of the eleventh hour, I'd better drag my tail downstairs.”

“I know
I'm
not always nice,” she admitted with another sigh. “I didn't even thank you for the tea.” She took another drink, just to show him that she wasn't going to let it go to waste. He figured it had to be cold by now. “This is nice, and I thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He touched her shoulder as he passed. Her surprisingly unguarded look of appreciation made him want to hang around the bedroom a little longer. “I fed the ewes. Tomorrow morning I'll start moving some grain feeders out to my place. I'll be putting the rams out there with them.” She raised one brow, but he detected the hint of a smile. “Won't I? I mean, is that your plan, boss lady?”

“We'll have to watch the weather closely if we're going to move them over to your place.”

“This is Montana.” He chuckled. “What else have we got to do in the winter?”

“Some of the grain feeders might need a little repair,” she warned.

“I've already got that covered.” He gave her a reassuring wink as he turned to leave.

“Tate?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “I may not always be nice, either, but I
am
good. I try to be a good person, anyway. I do understand why you're doing all this. I know how you felt about Ken, and I don't want to take advantage of you, especially since I didn't make much of an effort to—”

“If you're seeing some advantage to be taken, I'm makin' progress.”

 

It took him a good part of the morning to make the repairs on the free-standing grain feeders and put them in accessible
locations. When he came back he found his lunch waiting for him, but the house was deserted. Jody was playing with a fleet of toy trucks outside the barn, and Amy was inside, sitting in a pile of straw with the shoulders of a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound ewe planted in her lap.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Poor baby had a nail in her hoof.”

Hunkering down next to her, he pulled off one buckskin work glove, pushed her open coat aside and laid his hand protectively over her belly. “
This
is a baby,” he corrected, and with a gloved finger he touched the ewe's foot. “This, as you know, is a hoof. This hoof might kick this baby.”

“The hoof belongs to a sheep, not a horse or a cow. They have to be trimmed every fall,” she explained as she continued to pare the cloven hoof. “And since we're going to move them, I have to get them all done.”

“God-
bless,
woman!” The docile, flop-eared ewe sniffed at his jacket, but she was no more intimidated by his exasperated protests than Amy was. Ordinarily he wasn't one to expound much, but he figured a lesson was in order. “A hoof is a hoof.” End of chapter one. He sat down on Amy's straw cushion. “Why don't you tell me about these things before you go and—”

“I
always
trim their hooves, twice a year, and I have never gotten hurt doing it. They're gentle animals, Tate.”

“Tell that to the two rams I just separated.”

“Well, the rams…” She inspected the inner hoof for debris, probing with her parer. “They do butt heads during breeding season. It's a man thing.” She spared him a coy glance. “I'll let you take care of the rams.”

“I'll tell you something else that's a man thing.” He draped his forearms over his knees and removed his other glove. “You see a woman in your condition, you just wanna put her in a
pumpkin shell and keep her very well until everything's—” he slapped his palm with the leather glove “—over with. Safe and sound.”

“And a woman in my condition happens to have a good deal of energy, especially as the time draws closer. She wants to make sure everything is in order, and nature seems to provide her with the energy to do just that.” She looked up at him. “I couldn't breathe in a pumpkin shell. You need your space, Tate. Let me have mine.”

“I'll let you show me how to do this,” he offered as he scooted the ewe from her lap to his. A hoof was a hoof, he'd said, and he'd trimmed his share. He held his hand out for the knife.