A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek (10 page)

All the while, he washed and dried dishes. The stack of damp dish towels grew, but he didn't complain.

The phone call came when they were almost done with the dishes. It was ten-thirty and Linda and Jazz had started their famous spaghetti sauce simmering.

“Oh, hi.” The phone was on the counter closest to Jenny and she clicked on it first. It was her sister.

Jenny was still standing in front of the sink, but she moved back a little and used one hand to untie the apron strings wrapped around her waist.

“I'm calling to talk to Robert Buckwalter. Is he around?” her sister asked.

“Yes.” Jenny smiled over at Robert. “He's right here.”

“With you?” Jenny's sister dropped to a cautious whisper. “Are you saying he's with you?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You two aren't dancing or kissing or anything? I always seem to have this bad timing and catch you just when things are getting good.”

“We're washing dishes.”

“Dishes! You've got to be kidding. I thought you'd at least be sitting down and talking or something.”

“We have been talking. Just standing up and doing the dishes at the same time.”

Robert almost winced. He hadn't realized until just now how far from the mark his romancing was when viewed objectively. Women were independent these days, but they liked to know a man wasn't totally without manners. He looked around. He didn't even have a chair to offer her.

He'd already called his pilot friend and made an arrangement to have him fly over and make a supply drop near Robert's plane early tomorrow morning. Robert had even made plans to have his plane moved so it would be out in the open and make a good drop site.

But Robert suddenly realized he had a lot riding on that plane drop. The more he talked with Jenny, the more he cared what she thought of him. A few boxes of food—most of it for other people, and hungry teenagers at that—might not be enough of a gift to say he cared about her.

“Hey.” Robert walked over and tapped Jazz on the shoulder. The younger man was standing at a side counter, chopping onions to the beat of the music coming out of the headphones he wore.

“Yeah.” The younger man pushed an earphone away from his ear so he could hear. He put a hand up and brushed away some tears from his eyes. “Man, them onions'll get you. Ever chop an onion?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Oh, you'd remember all right.”

Robert didn't have time to talk about onions. Jenny would only talk to her sister for so long before the sister would want to talk business with him. “You don't happen to have carnations, do you?”

The younger man looked up. “Do they make the tears stop? I've heard there's ways to chop onions without the tears. Never heard of carnations. Do you eat them, or what?”

“I don't know anything about onions and you shouldn't eat carnations for any reason. I'm just asking about carnations. A lot of restaurants put cut flowers on the table. I thought you might have carnations you use.”

“We have red candles.”

Robert had never heard of a bouquet of red candles, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't work.

“People like them,” the younger man said. “They're kind of romantic.”

“I don't suppose you have any vine-ripened tomatoes, do you?”

Jazz shook his head. “We've got them in cans. Sauce or paste.”

A can of tomato sauce wouldn't make it, either.

“What do you give your girlfriend when you want to get her something nice?”

“I've had Earl put aside a set of tires.”

Robert wondered if he was talking to the right guy. “Tires?”

Jazz ducked and then offered hesitantly, “They're snow tires. You need them around here this time of year and hers are thin. Besides, I was also going to give her a nose ring, too. She's been wanting one.”

The door to the café opened and the FBI agent and Francis Elkton, the rancher's sister, came inside. They were talking quietly to each other and Robert noticed they had snowflakes on their hair.

“Gotta go,” Jazz said as he went back into the front part of the café. “Customers, you know.”

Robert nodded. He wondered if that FBI agent had any ideas about how to get a romantic gift in the middle of Montana with no stores in sight. There weren't even wildflowers to gather. It was just snow and rocks outside.

Linda picked up a pot of coffee and followed Jazz out of the kitchen.

At least, Robert thought, he was now alone with Jenny. That was something. He could see the happiness in her face while she talked with her sister. He'd seen the affection on her face earlier when she spoke of her sisters and brothers.

Now Jenny was someone who knew what it meant to love other people. He wondered if she had gotten any of that knowledge from reading the Bible like he'd done last night. He wouldn't be surprised if she had.

“My sister needs to know what story you're offering,” Jenny called over to Robert. “She said the senior editors have been asking her.”

Jenny could hardly believe that Robert didn't want to be on that list. But her sister was adamant. She wasn't sure she could help him get off, but she was going to try.

Jenny gave the phone to Robert.

“Have they said they'd trade stories?” Robert asked in the phone.

“They said it needs to be something big—bigger than the bachelor story.”

“I could tell them what I've been up to for the past five months—about being in the desert.”

“Let me see.” The sister covered the mouthpiece on the phone and was obviously talking to someone. Finally she came back. “They said not unless it involves you eating wild locusts and taking religious vows to be a monk—a bed of nails would help.”

Robert snorted. “Help who?”

He thought further. “I did have a persecutor in the desert. A farmyard rooster. A cranky bird. Bit me once.”

Robert heard the muffled sounds of talking at the other end again. “They asked if the bird has been certified by a priest as being possessed or if it's been abducted by space aliens.”

“What would space aliens want with Charlie?”

“Maybe they'd want to study him.”

“He's just a farm rooster.” Robert was defeated. He was half tempted to say that he was in the midst of a religious makeover, but he didn't want to joke around with that. The tabloids never knew when to stop. They knew what they wanted and it had to be sensational. “I could offer a Buckwalter Grant to space aliens. Broadcast it on radio frequencies. Ask them to come pick up a million-dollar check. Get some of those groups involved who scan the airwaves for messages.”

“Hmmm, not bad.” He heard more muffled sounds as the sister conferred with her editors. “Not believable enough.”

“Not believable! You've got to be kidding!”

“Well, we need our readers to trust us,” the sister said a little louder than normal. “We don't fool around about money.” Her voice dipped and she whispered. “I think they're holding out for the story of your engagement to Laurel what's-her-name. That's what they really want.”

“I'm not engaged.”

“Their sources tell them otherwise.”

“Laurel is their source.”

“I can't confirm that.”

“You don't need to. I know what's going on.”

“Do you?”

Robert wasn't sure when they'd stopped talking about the story and had started talking about him. The sister didn't even try to hide her resentment.

“I can't control what Laurel is saying.” Robert knew he was talking to both sisters. “I never proposed to Laurel. Cross my heart and hope to die—on a bed of nails if necessary. I'm telling the truth. I haven't even seen Laurel for months. I think we went out on two dates in high school. That's it. I'm not even her type and she's certainly not mine. She's a publicity hound. She'll drop the idea of marrying me quick enough once I'm off that cursed list.”

“Hmmm.”

Robert thought the sister was softening.

“Still, you could use the story,” the sister offered kindly. “Even a solid lead of an engagement—like ‘sources close to'—that kind of a thing. And a couple of photos of you kissing. Really, even the photos themselves would do. It would be enough to keep the editors happy.”

“How much time do I have to come up with something else?”

“We can give you until tomorrow at noon. If we absolutely need to we could go another day, but that's pushing back our press time.”

“I'll call before then.”

Robert handed the phone back to Jenny. He knew he couldn't use a fake engagement story. It would ruin any chance he had with Jenny. But he had a day to think of something else.

Robert wondered if space aliens could be bribed to come down and take Charlie for a spin on a UFO. It wouldn't even need to be a big UFO as long as Robert could get a picture of it.

“F
lint Harris, FBI.” The man seemed to walk into the kitchen and flip his badge open in one seamless movement. He stopped in front of Robert.

“Mind telling me what your business is in Dry Creek?” The agent looked like he'd had a tough night, but his voice was one hundred percent official.

“Me?” Robert was surprised. He had walked over to the tall cupboard to put back some bowls.

“It's my fault.” Duane the Jazz Man followed the agent inside. “The man asked me if anyone had been asking funny questions and I told him you had been.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the carnations that you're not supposed to eat and the cans of tomatoes—the sauce kind and the paste.”

Robert winced. He set the bowls down on the counter. “I was trying to think of a gift for someone special.”

The FBI agent looked at him even more suspiciously. “Someone special? Cans of tomatoes? Carnations? Aren't you the rich guy?”

Robert nodded. “Sometimes a gift should count for more than its price tag.”

The agent snorted and looked over at Jenny.

He lowered his voice so only the men could hear. “I thought a guy like you'd go more for orchids or roses or something fancy that men like me haven't even heard of—night crawlers or something.”

“Night crawlers are worms.”

“I mean night bloomers.” The agent shook his head. “See what Francis does to me? I can't even think straight. But I can't make any headway with her. You'd think we'd never been, well, you know. Turns out we were actually married—but you'd never know it now. I was hoping someone would have flowers.”

“You see any floral shops around?”

“I know.” The agent looked at the woman who'd come to the kitchen door. It was Francis. His face softened to mush. “I was just hoping. Sometimes a guy could use a little help, if you know what I mean.”

Robert knew exactly what he meant. He nodded toward Duane. “He's reduced to snow tires.”

Duane ducked his head in acknowledgment. “And a nose ring.”

“Well, I guess I should keep my mind on business anyway,” the agent said. “Unless I miss my guess, this rustling thing is going to break wide open here soon, and when it does the citizens of Dry Creek are going to find some nasty surprises.”

Robert lifted his eyebrow.

“I figure there has to be someone local involved. And from the amount of information that has been sent along about Dry Creek, it's either someone who knows everything really well or it's more than one person. Maybe a group of people.”

“Here?”

The agent nodded.

“But all of the men I've seen are ranchers themselves. They know what the rustling means to others. And the women, well—” Robert tried to picture Mrs. Hargrove leading a band of female informants. They could knit in code and send neck scarves out with the information. “I don't think so.”

“Still, keep your ears open. And let me know if you hear of anyone asking unusual questions.” The agent looked over at Duane. “Unusual questions about cattle—who's got winter pasture where and who's moving their herds at what time. Those kinds of questions. Even weather questions might lead to something. A lot of the cattle movements are determined by weather.”

Duane nodded. “Old man Gossett would be the one asking about the weather. But that's just because his television is broken. He comes over and asks almost every day. Then he moans about it. Snow. Rain. It doesn't matter. He complains. The amount of time he spends worrying—I guess it's just his way.”

That was the old man he'd invited to dinner last night. Robert remembered him clearly. “I expect the cold weather troubles his joints.”

The FBI agent grunted. “He might be someone to watch at that if he's talking to lots of people.”

“Oh, he don't so much talk as listen,” Duane corrected. “Sort of listens on the side if you know what I mean.”

“Eavesdropping?”

Duane nodded. “Everybody knows. They don't pay him much attention anymore. They just let him be. Who's he gonna tell anyway? Never talks to nobody.”

“That kind of listening is the most dangerous. People don't watch their tongues around him. Besides, he's getting money from someplace. I figured he was living on Social Security until last night. Did you see him in his new coat? He wouldn't get money to buy stuff like that on his government check.”

“I gave him the coat.” Robert doubted the older man had the connections to be a rustler. He seemed more like a lonely old man than a criminal.

“Nice coat. Expensive.”

Robert hoped that meant the old man got off the suspects list, but he couldn't read the agent's face. “It'll keep him warm.”

The agent nodded and looked more closely at Robert. “What are you doing here in that getup?” He jerked his head toward the sweatshirt.

Robert knew the sweatshirt was paint spotted and yellow. Bright yellow. But it was warm and that was enough. “I'm here doing dishes. A tuxedo seemed a little overdressed.”

The agent looked over at Jenny and then back at Robert.

The agent lowered his voice. “I see. Not a bad idea. You might not need roses at that. Never knew a woman that could be mad at a man when he was doing dishes for her. Good move.”

Robert looked at Jenny. She was fifteen feet away from him and she might as well be fifteen miles. She'd stopped talking to her sister and was back to scowling at that frying pan.

“I could still use some roses,” Robert said. “I don't think there's enough dirty dishes in the world to win her over.”

“I'll let you know if I find a magician who can pull a few roses out of his hat.”

“Same here.” Robert didn't tell the agent that the last time he had given roses to a woman she'd been insulted. She had thought roses were too common a flower to come from a Buckwalter. “Any particular color you'd like?”

“Yellow. Francis loves yellow roses—or at least she did when I knew her back in high school.”

Robert made a mental note to call that pilot he'd hired and see if he could put three dozen long-stem roses in the drop he was planning for tomorrow morning. A dozen deep red ones for Jenny. A dozen yellow for the agent to give to his Francis. And—he looked over at Linda and Duane assessingly—maybe a lavender bouquet for the young couple.

“What was that about?” Jenny asked when Robert came back to the sink. Without waiting for him to answer, she continued as though she'd rehearsed the words. “You can do it, you know. If you want to run that engagement story, that's fine.”

Robert couldn't see Jenny's face. She was looking down at something in the sink.

“Not that it's any of my business,” she added with a quick look up at his face before she looked down again. “I just want you to know that no one who knows you would blame you. And you could always tell them the truth later. People would understand. I know you want off the list.”

Robert laid down the dish towel he'd been holding. The dishwater no longer steamed up from the sink. The pink in Jenny's cheeks was natural. Lashes half hid her brown eyes. Her lips curved in a hint of a smile. Robert thought she looked absolutely adorable.

“I'll find another way to get off the list.”

“My sister says there is no other way.”

“We'll see.” Robert comforted himself and her. Then he added impulsively, “I'm going to pray about it.”

Jenny looked up in surprise. “I didn't know people like you prayed about anything.”

“I've become a new man. That's what I've been telling you all morning.”

“And the ‘new you' prays?”

Robert nodded. “The new me has to pray. Sometimes I don't have a clue. Not that I always knew everything before—but, now, well what kind of a fool wouldn't pray? It's like having a million dollars in the bank and never writing a check.”

“You've always been rich.”

Robert nodded. “Money, yes. But prayers, no. I'm beginning to think that—in the important things—I've lived like some fool who's starving to death in a fully stocked deli just because he doesn't know how to stand in line.”

Jenny decided Robert no longer had the heart of a rich man. He'd become a regular kind of guy. He'd even admitted he might need help with his life. She liked this new guy much better than the rich guy he used to be.

She hoped she didn't like him too much. Just because Robert Buckwalter changed one day didn't mean he couldn't change right back the next.

The day divided itself into meals. Jenny couldn't think beyond that. The teenagers at the ranch were all coming into Dry Creek for lunch and to clean up the decorations from last night's dance.

“We have four hamburger patties left and seven hot dogs,” Linda said. The younger woman was looking in the top compartment of the old refrigerator. “We aren't able to keep too much on hand in the way of supplies in this old thing. We're having trouble with the stove, too. Plus we're out of almost everything. The spaghetti sauce we have going is straight marinara—not even mushrooms. There's no potatoes for French fries or ice cream for shakes.”

“That's all it seems the kids want to eat,” Jenny worried aloud. She'd finished wiping down the counter and was folding the dishrag. “I know they'll eat anything if they're hungry enough, but I hate to put them back on the macaroni-and-cheese diet they've had for the past week.”

“Ah—Sylvia called from the ranch,” Linda said hesitantly as she stood up and closed the refrigerator door. “That's why we started the spaghetti sauce. She said they used the last of the boxes of macaroni and cheese yesterday. A quick lunch for the boys. There's none left. And the spaghetti sauce won't be enough for everyone.”

“We're doomed then.”

Jenny walked over to a kitchen chair and sat down.

“I learned how to make Navajo fry bread when I was in the desert,” Robert offered. He finished drying the last cup. “I've checked and we have what we need. We could make it a cultural ethnic kind of a night.”

“Spaghetti's Italian—we could put an extra dose of the authentic seasoning,” Linda offered. She walked to the stove and opened the lid on a pot. “No one will have a full serving, but we could stretch it so they each have a small plate of it. We have a big jar of kosher pickles, too—they'd fit for the Jewish touch.”

“I could make a Mexican flan for dessert—we've got lots of eggs and milk still,” Jenny added. She went to a cupboard and looked inside. The cupboard was empty except for dishes. “It's not much, but—”

“Kids love an adventure,” Robert folded his dish towel. “We'll sell them on the fun of it.”

“Duane can play his guitar. He knows all kinds of music. Some sounds like mariachi music from Mexico. He might be able to do some Navajo drumming for the fry bread, too.”

“It just might work.” Jenny closed the cupboard.

“If anyone has a sturdy box, we can make a homemade piñata. Fill it with whatever's handy.” Robert walked to the pantry. “I bet there's something in here to use.”

“We've got those old candy canes left over from Christmas. I think they're in there.” Linda opened a side cupboard near the refrigerator. “Ah, here they are. We had Santa giving them out.”

Linda pulled out a large plastic bag filled with candy canes. “Maybe we shouldn't give them to the kids—” she looked up at Jenny “—you know our Santa was a hit man, don't you? Went right after the Christmas angel with a gun! If it wasn't for the preacher, she'd be dead. 'Course now she's married to the preacher.” Linda paused to look into the other room at Duane. “It was so romantic. Him risking his life for her.”

“But he could have been killed,” Jenny protested. She didn't want the younger woman to be under the wrong impression. There was nothing romantic about life-and-death danger. “I heard the preacher didn't even have a gun.”

Robert envied the man who had almost died. Now there was a man who had a chance to impress the woman he chose. No wonder he had been able to close the deal with a wedding band. Somehow, carving up carrots and washing dishes seemed too tame by comparison.

“I told Mrs. Hargrove I'd check with her about now,” Jenny said as she walked over to the café's back door, the one that led off of the kitchen. “She's promised to give the church a quick cleaning for services tomorrow and I wanted to be sure she got over there all right.”

Jenny pulled a parka off a peg by the door and slid her arms into the sleeves.

“I can get her there,” Robert offered. “You can stay here. It's slippery cold out there and you don't even have snow boots.”

“Neither do you.” Jenny pulled a wool scarf from the large pocket of the coat and wrapped the scarf around her head.

“But I've got bigger feet.” Robert pulled a man's jacket off of the peg. The jacket was denim lined with some kind of furry material. “I can keep my balance better in the icy places.”