A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek (6 page)

Robert groaned. “I'd forgotten about that part of it. I may need to fly Charlie in to take those calls after all.”

“Who's Charlie? Your attorney?”

Robert started to chuckle. “No, Charlie is an acquaintance of another kind.”

“Oh.” Don't tell me he has an agent, Jenny thought in dismay. He certainly had the looks to go into modeling. But somehow, she was disappointed. “I hope you draw the line at underwear.”

Robert blinked. “Underwear?”

“You know, in the endorsements. I wouldn't want to see you in a magazine in your underwear.”

Jenny felt the blush creep up her neck. He didn't have to look at her that way—like she was picturing him right now in his underwear. “I just think it wouldn't be a good example for the kids around here.”

“You're worried they'll grow up to be underwear salesmen?” Robert was entranced. He'd seen precious few blushes in his day. That must say something about the kind of women that usually flocked around him.

“Well, it's not very steady work.”

“I don't know about that. People always need underwear.”

If they hadn't been talking, Jenny was sure she would have noticed that the music had stopped.

She did notice the loud voices from the front of the barn near the door.

A woman's voice called, “Francis? Anyone seen Francis?”

There was a loud shuffling as the boots of the ranch hands who were sitting by the heater hit the floor with a united thud.

A man's rough voice demanded, “Garth? Where's Garth?”

Finally one of the teenage girls opened the barn door from the outside and shrieked, “Kidnapping! They were right! There's a kidnapping! We saw the truck—we saw them!” The girl's face was white, but Jenny couldn't tell if it was from the outside cold or from shock.

“Come in, dear. Tell us what you saw.” Mrs. Hargrove was drawing the girl inside as Jenny and Robert arrived at her side.

“Bryan and I were outside looking at the stars when we heard a gunshot.”

“I told you that was a gunshot,” one of the ranch hands muttered to another.

“Are you sure it was a gunshot?” Mrs. Hargrove put a jacket around the shivering girl. “It might have been a car misfiring.”

“But there weren't any cars running. Not even that big truck was going when we heard the shot,” the girl insisted. “Besides, I know the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring.”

Mrs. Hargrove took a quick, assessing look at the girl. The girl was tall and skinny with a light brown skin that could signal almost any race. Finally, the older woman nodded. “We'd best call out the sheriff.”

“The sheriff? Where's he off to anyway?” one ranch hand said.

“Some guy called in an emergency from the Billings airport,” another answered. “Something to do with some VIP.”

“I think the guys with the guns are in that big truck that just left,” the girl continued. “Bryan saw something shiny that looked like a gun.”

“Where's Bryan now?” Robert asked the girl quietly. Something about the whole story didn't seem right to him. Any teenage boy he knew would be in here claiming the glory of the moment. But there was no Bryan.

The girl bit her lip.

Robert looked around. There were a lot more dresses than tuxedoes in the crowd.

“Where's Bryan?” he asked again.

“He wanted to be sure. I told him it was a gunshot, but he wanted to be sure before he told everyone.” The girl's brown complexion went a little yellow and she swallowed hard.

“Where is he?”

“He took the bus to follow them.”

“Mercy!” Mrs. Hargrove put her hands to her mouth. “When they have guns! And the boy all alone.”

“I don't think he's quite all alone,” Robert said grimly as he looked over the teenagers again. Then he looked at the girl. “How many other guys are with him?”

The girl looked miserable. “Ten.”

“Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Hargrove said again.

“We'll have to catch them,” Robert said, looking over at the ranch hands. He recognized the men's faces from the ride into Dry Creek on the bus that was now in hot pursuit of the cattle truck. None of them would have a vehicle here. “Who's got a pickup we can borrow?”

“You can take ours,” one of the farm wives offered as she bent to fumble in her purse for the keys.

“Anyone call the sheriff yet?” Robert asked as he eyed half a dozen of the ranch hands. “I don't suppose anyone here has a hunting gun in their truck?”

“We called the sheriff,” Jenny said with a nod to another one of the ranch women. She held up the cell phone that had been resting in her apron pocket. “But he's tied up at the Billings airport with some woman who came in, named Laurel Carlton or something like that.”

“Laurel?” Robert paled. “Here?”

Well, this is it, Jenny thought. Robert certainly looked uncomfortable with the thought of this woman, whoever she was. Maybe her sister was right and he was married after all.

“Fred has a gun,” one of the ranch hands yelled from the other side of the barn. “Uses it to scare off coyotes on his place.”

“It's an old rifle—draws a little to the left,” the man explained as he walked fast toward the door. “But I'll get it. It's better than nothing.”

“I think everyone should just wait for the authorities,” Mrs. Buckwalter said. “Let them handle it. A gun can be a dangerous thing.”

One of the ranch hands snorted. “Tell that to whoever's in the truck. We can't wait for the sheriff. They'll be long gone by the time he gets here.”

“He's right,” Robert said.

The farm woman with the pickup pressed a set of keys into the palm of Robert's hand. “The tank's half-full.”

The other men looked at Robert. He nodded his head at five or six of the sturdiest-looking ones and they, almost in unison, dipped their heads to drop a kiss on their wives' cheeks before starting toward the door.

Now that's what marriage is about, Robert thought to himself. The automatic, comfortable affection of settled love. Having someone to kiss goodbye when you're going off to war or even just heading to the store.

Seeing all those kisses made him feel lonely enough to be brave. What could it hurt?

Jenny was talking to Robert's mother, her head bent slightly to hear his shorter mother. The dark wave of Jenny's hair lay on her neck. Wisps of hair moved with his hand as Robert brushed the hair aside. He hoped to get Jenny's full attention. He'd kissed Mrs. Hargrove on her hair part earlier and had no more appetite for hair kisses.

Jenny looked up. His mother looked up. Satisfied, Robert bent his head to kiss Jenny on her cheek. Her skin was soft as a petal. He could hear her surprised gasp even though it was little more than an indrawn breath.

“I'll be fine,” Robert assured Jenny quickly, overlooking the fact that she hadn't asked.

“You're not going with them,” Robert's mother said. Jenny still seemed a little dazed. The older woman repeated, “You can't possibly be thinking of going with them.”

“I'll be fine.” Robert moved to kiss his mother, as well. “Don't worry.”

“But they have guns!” Mrs. Buckwalter said, as though that settled everything.

“I'll be back,” Robert said as he started to walk toward the door. “Just tell that sheriff to get back here.”

“But he can't go.” Mrs. Buckwalter repeated the words to Jenny as they watched Robert go through the barn door. A gust of cold wind blew in as the men stepped outside.

“I'm sure he'll be fine.” Jenny echoed her son's words for the older woman's benefit.

“But this isn't like him.” Mrs. Buckwalter looked at Jenny. “He'd told me he was a changed man, but…” Her voice trailed off. “I thought he meant he was going to move back to Seattle or take up watercolors or get engaged or something sensible—not take off looking for men with guns.”

Jenny tried to smile reassuringly. “I'm sure he'll be fine.”

J
enny left the cell phone with Mrs. Buckwalter and walked over to the refreshment table to see how much coffee was left in the big pot. She had a feeling punch wouldn't be enough for the men when they came back.

“The sheriff's coming back as soon as he can,” Mrs. Buckwalter reported as she joined Jenny over by the table. “Which probably won't be soon enough to do any good so I called in some of the other authorities around.”

Jenny looked up. “I didn't know there was anyone else around here but the county sheriffs.”

Mrs. Buckwalter grunted. “There's some fool FBI agent riding around on a horse.”

“On a horse!”

“And his boss is here in some kind of a Jeep. They both travel a bit unconventionally I'm afraid but—”

“I don't care if they get here in a flying saucer,” Jenny said as she lifted the smaller pot of coffee to start making the rounds. “Just as long as they get here fast.”

“You're really worried, aren't you?” Mrs. Buckwalter looked at Jenny as though she were seeing her for the first time.

“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.”

Then a final man appeared in the doorway and Jenny relaxed. Robert. I mean, she corrected herself, Mr. Buckwalter, was back safe. “No, he's not a bad guy.”

“I wish you luck with him,” the rancher offered quietly.

“Oh, no, I'm not—I mean there's no need—”

Just then Jenny heard the cell phone ring. The ring was faint and hard to hear over the talking of the ranchers and teenagers. She remembered Mrs. Buckwalter making a call so she assumed the older woman still had the phone and she was right.

“This is for you,” Mrs. Buckwalter shouted to Jenny as she moved through the couples who were now brushing snow off of each other. The older woman was weaving between couples and getting closer to the refreshment table but she continued to yell, “Something about a pudding order that's late—”

Jenny winced. She was a full ten yards away from Robert. But she could hear his low chuckle over the murmured conversation of everyone else.

“Tell your sister hi,” Robert called over to her. “And tell her I want a case of chocolate pudding with sprinkles if they have such a thing.”

“Your sister sells pudding, dear?” Mrs. Buckwalter asked as she handed the phone to Jenny.

“She will be if she's not careful,” Jenny said as she took the phone and stepped behind the refreshment table where it was quieter.

“I heard that,” Jenny's sister said when Jenny put the phone to her ear. “And rest assured, I won't need to be looking for a new job. My boss is very happy with what I've discovered.”

“And what would that be?” Jenny kept her voice low so that no one else could hear. Six or seven of the teenagers had drifted over to the refreshment table and were staring down at the punch bowl trying to decide whether or not to scoop some of the watered-down beverage into their plastic cups.

“Well, for starters, I know where Robert Buckwalter the Third is.”

“Any number of people know that. It's not a secret.”

“Well, none of the other tabloids know where he is these days. And I know something's up. I told my boss that the man was very touchy about talking to the press.”

“He thought you were a pudding salesman, for Pete's sake. It had nothing to do with the press.”

“Still, I think he's hiding something. Some secret.”

“Well, if he is, it's his to keep. I, for one, am not going to ask him another thing about his life.”

“Oh, you've been talking to him?”

“No, I haven't been talking to him.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in the voice of Jenny's sister was more personal than professional. She was suddenly Jenny's little sister again. “I'm sorry. I thought maybe after that kiss…”

Jenny couldn't help herself. She darted a quick look over her shoulder to be sure that no one was close enough to hear. “Well, he did ask me to dance.”

“You danced with him!” Jenny's sister shrieked.

“You danced with Robert Buckwalter the Third! Wait until I tell Mom! You really danced with him.”

“It was a short dance,” Jenny was forced to admit. “The kidnapping sort of got everyone distracted.”

“Kidnapping! Somebody kidnapped him! Why didn't you say so! Now that's a newsbreak.”

“No, no, not Robert. It was someone else. He didn't have anything to do with it. It's all tied up with some rustling that's going on.”

“Oh.” Jenny's sister paused. “Rustling? You mean for cows? You're sure the kidnappers weren't really out for him and they just grabbed the wrong person or something. I mean if you were going to kidnap anyone, he'd be the one to pick. He's got more money than the president of the United States. He certainly has more money than some cow.”

“Yes, I'm sure. He wasn't the target.”

Jenny sensed someone standing slightly behind her before she heard the man clear his throat. She looked up.