A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek (9 page)

Robert had read snatches of the book throughout the night. The words were simple enough so that a child could understand. By morning, Robert's mind was reeling from the freshness of his encounter.

Robert had gone to church services a few times in his life before, but this—this reading was intimate and disturbing. He knew in his bones that God was there with him. It was eerie and comforting all at the same time.

Still, he'd rather God had some flesh on Him. It would be easier to talk to Him face-to-face. And then maybe not, Robert thought. He wasn't ready for God to look him in the eye.

Robert's first thought was how unprepared he was. Mrs. Hargrove was right. He, Robert, didn't have a clue about how to love anyone, including God. However, if he learned one thing by reading the New Testament, it was that God helped those who came to Him and asked for help in learning to love both other people and Himself.

He also learned that there was no time like right now to begin.

Robert decided he'd practice by loving those around him. He'd start with Mrs. Hargrove.

“It's for a cruise,” Robert announced when Mrs. Hargrove came downstairs and looked at the check he'd placed on the coffee table. “I'd thought about buying an ocean liner, but I knew you'd rather just go with other people. Maybe that man I saw you dancing with last night.”

Mrs. Hargrove was in curlers and a fuzzy robe. The morning light was still thin but Robert was fully dressed in the tuxedo from last night. He felt good.

“That's Doris June's father! He's here visiting from Anchorage. Works for some television station there—KTCB or something. Last night, Doris June was dancing with some of the ranch hands. But she hated to leave her father sitting there alone so I helped out. I was only being friendly.” Mrs. Hargrove looked at the check on the table like it was a coiled snake. “I couldn't just go off on a cruise with some television man from Alaska.”

“There's enough money for separate cabins,” Robert explained quickly. “I know you like everyone sleeping in their own bed.”

“Still, I don't know him. I mean, of course, I know him. He's a very pleasant man and—in other circumstances—I mean, to dinner maybe. I'd even hoped—” Mrs. Hargrove blushed. “Maybe a movie. He'd mentioned driving into Miles City for a movie. But a cruise! Why, what would he think of me?”

“You don't have to go.” Robert backtracked fast. “Or you can take a woman friend if you'd like. The only reason I thought of a man was the dancing.”

Mrs. Hargrove had picked the check up and was squinting at it with more interest now. “That's a check for twenty thousand dollars.”

Robert nodded, satisfied. It wasn't even breakfast yet and he'd already got one down on the love situation. Pretty good, if he did say so himself.

Mrs. Hargrove grunted and then neatly tore the check in half.

“What are you doing? That's twenty thousand dollars!” He happened to know that Mrs. Hargrove was living on her Social Security check. She could use twenty thousand dollars.

“It's not about money.” She tore the check into quarters.

“It is when it's twenty thousand dollars you just threw away! You could have taken a cruise around the world.”

Mrs. Hargrove looked over at the sofa. The child's Bible was still lying facedown on the arm of the sofa. “I've dealt with children and their bribes before. Of course, theirs is usually some kind of candy or sometimes flowers. But for now, no presents for me. I'd rather have you recite me a verse of the Scriptures. What did you learn last night?”

“That check was solid, you know.”

Mrs. Hargrove smiled. “I never doubted that. What I want to know is if you're as solid as your check—with God, I mean.”

“I'm going to learn how to love Him.”

“Good.”

“I don't know how yet. I thought I'd start with people first.”

“Keep reading that.” She nodded to the Bible. “And you'll learn all about loving God and loving other people.”

“Yes, ma'am. I was hoping you might give me some advice. I'm sort of in need of some quick fixes here.” Robert nodded down the hall toward Jenny's door. He'd thought about her last night, too.

“Don't write a check. If you want to love someone, do it from your heart. Put yourself in their place and listen to what they want. That goes for other people and for God. Of course, God has always made it pretty clear what He wants from people.”

“I know there's the ten percent thing,” Robert said. He'd always been a generous person. He believed in giving his money away before the rust got to it. Of course, rust didn't grow that fast and no one had ever expected that big of a cut before. Robert took a deep breath. It was a lot, but he was willing to give it. He hadn't expected a new life to come cheap. “That's pretty steep, but I plan to speak to my accountant first thing Monday morning. It'll take some calculating, but we'll do it.”

“It won't be enough.”

“Ten percent's my limit.”

“Not enough. It's worthless.”

“Worthless!” Robert looked at the scraps of check that the older woman still held in her hands. Maybe her hair curlers were screwed on too tight. “You do know that check was good, don't you? I have a bank balance that would probably shock you.”

“Your bank balance will never be enough.”

Robert looked over at her. “It's pretty impressive.”

Mrs. Hargrove smiled sweetly. “No, it isn't. God doesn't want your money. What God wants is you. You are all you've got to give to Him that matters.”

Robert was speechless for a moment. He wasn't sure Mrs. Hargrove had conferred with the man upstairs on this one. “I think maybe I'll still talk to my accountant on Monday about that ten percent check.”

“I wouldn't just yet, dear. Trust me. God wants much more than your money. He wants your heart.”

Mrs. Hargrove's words stayed in Robert's mind until they sat at the kitchen table and the oatmeal was served. He'd talked a good game to himself earlier, but Robert never really expected anyone—not even the supreme ruler of the universe—to refuse a Buckwalter check. Robert's world was turned upside down and he didn't quite know how to walk yet.

It didn't help that both Laurel and Jenny sat at the table beside him.

Saturday breakfast was at eight o'clock, Mrs. Hargrove informed all three of them cheerfully as she passed a plate of wheat toast. She'd made an exception this morning and allowed everyone to sleep in until nine.

“With all the excitement last night, I knew you'd need some extra sleep,” the older woman said. “It was quite the party.”

Jenny nodded and accepted a piece of toast. “I'll always remember those kids dancing away. I haven't seen a group of kids enjoy themselves so much for a long time.”

“You like dancing, then?” Robert asked. He hadn't thought Jenny was a fanatic about dancing, but if she was she'd be easy to please.

Give me a break on this one, Father,
Robert said inside and then almost jumped. He'd never thought about doing that kind of praying before. His only other prayers had been spoken at public functions as a way of thanking some nonspecific deity for the overcooked chicken and peas. He could as well have been praying to the chicken for all the difference it made anywhere. But this inside praying was like handling electrical wires. He could feel the current ready to move.

“Not particularly,” Jenny said suspiciously as she passed the plate of toast on to Laurel. “I dance some, but not often.”

Robert smiled at Jenny. He tried to make it a reassuring smile. Grandfatherly. But he could tell from the blush that started climbing her neck that he only succeeded in looking like an old lech. His smile widened to a full grin. He loved Jenny in pink. She'd even worn that old hairnet of hers to breakfast, but he didn't care. He knew he was getting to her. She wouldn't blush up like this otherwise.

Jenny looked over at Laurel. “Toast?”

“I prefer rye,” Laurel said as she made no attempt to reach for the plate.

Robert winced. He hoped he'd never been that dense.

“Mrs. Hargrove has wheat toast this morning,” Robert said as pleasantly as he could. “Maybe you'd like a bowl of oatmeal instead.”

Laurel looked at him like he'd suggested she suck on a raw egg. “I'm on a regime of food. It's the latest thing at Benji's.” Robert recognized the famous Hollywood spa. “Everyone's doing it since Liz had such good success. But the items I must eat are very specific.” Laurel looked over at Mrs. Hargrove and smiled slightly. “I'm sure you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she accepted the toast plate back and set it on the table. “But wheat bread is all I have.”

“But surely, I can get…” Laurel's voice trailed off as her alarm grew. She drew herself together and gracefully conceded. “I guess the toast would do if I could have some freshly squeezed wheatgrass to go with it.”

Robert closed his eyes. He was sure God didn't intend for him to show any brotherly love to a ninny like Laurel. Still.

“There's three feet of snow out front,” Robert said mildly. Patiently, he thought. “No one's going shopping today.”

“But my regime—”

“Will have to wait,” Robert finished for her. “There's not a blade of fresh wheatgrass for miles around anyway. If there had been one that FBI agent's horse would have eaten it by now.”

Robert thought he'd been pleasant. A monk filled with brotherly patience couldn't have done better.

The pink left Jenny's face and her chin went up. Then Jenny looked at him like he'd been deliberately rude to a kitten.

“Some people—like your fiancée—have health concerns,” Jenny said. “You might be more understanding and not compare her diet to a horse's.”

Laurel gave a horrified choking sound. “Horses eat that?”

Robert turned to Jenny.

“She's not my fiancée and I didn't say she eats with horses. I understand wheatgrass is healthy.” He didn't even say he knew it wasn't health that was on Laurel's mind. It was social standing. “By tomorrow, who knows, maybe there's grass at some store in Miles City. We'll be able to go for supplies and check it out.”

“I doubt it,” Mrs. Hargrove said cheerfully as she stood up and turned to go get the coffeepot. “The snowplow won't get all the roads plowed today. They need to come over from Miles City. Usually takes a day or two. Maybe three.”

“Three days!” Jenny looked horrified. “But we need to get supplies before then.”

“Do you have a regime, too?” Laurel asked. It was the first time since she'd come into the barn last night that she looked genuinely interested in anyone but herself.

“No, but those kids. They'll drive me crazy if I feed them macaroni and cheese again. I'd planned on going shopping today, or tomorrow at the latest.”

“What do you need?” Robert sensed an answer to prayer. He could give Jenny something she wanted.
Good work, Father.

“Ten dozen taco shells and some hamburger would be a good start. Some pizza dough mix and some pepperoni. And some fresh romaine lettuce with vine-ripened tomatoes.”

“Romaine lettuce? That doesn't sound like the kids,” Robert said. He'd taken out a check and was writing the list on the back of it. He caught Mrs. Hargrove's eyes and deliberately turned the check over and quickly wrote “VOID” so she'd know the check was only a piece of notepaper to him at the moment. She smiled her approval.

“Oh, the kids don't like romaine. The salad's for me.” Jenny smiled like she was remembering a special meal. “Just for me.”

Bingo, Father.
“I'll get you some.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jenny said. She spooned up some oatmeal. “In case you haven't noticed, the only store around is the hardware store. Trust me, they don't have any lettuce of any kind.” Jenny suddenly remembered that farm animals sometimes eat vegetables—all that talk about horses and wheatgrass. Maybe there was hope. She looked over at Mrs. Hargrove. “They don't, do they? Maybe there's some special horse stuff. Really, any kind of greens would do. Like celery or something like carrots. I know horses like carrots.”

Mrs. Hargrove shook her head. “Nobody has any fresh produce of their own, either. No gardens this time of year. Old man Gossett used to have some wild celery in that area behind his house, but that's buried under a foot of snow. Besides, I'm not too sure it's not poisonous. Tried to get him to dig it up, but he's a stubborn old fool.”

Robert looked at Jenny. “Anything else you want?” Like maybe a small island or a diamond ring.

“Black pepper. We're running low on black pepper.”

Robert wrote it down. He had his list and he had a plan.

S
team rose from the sink in the café's kitchen, but instead of warming the cold air in the room, it only made it damp and more miserable. The drinking glasses from last night felt like they had dew on them as Jenny picked them up to put them in the hot dishwater.

“I should have done these before I left last night,” Jenny half apologized to Linda, who was operating the café with her boyfriend, Duane.

“Are you kidding? It would have been freezing in here then,” Linda said as she reached up to the top shelf and brought down a couple of coffee cups. Linda wore thick, black leggings under a short black leather skirt. “It's not all that warm right now—would be colder if Duane hadn't made a large order of biscuits already this morning for the sheriff. The oven doesn't work right, but it does manage to heat the place some. Any of you want coffee?”

Linda spoke casually and seemingly to the air, but Jenny could see the young woman was not that unfocused. She kept looking at Laurel, Robert's friend.

Well, it wasn't so much that Linda was looking at Laurel as it was that she was studying the other woman. Linda, herself, had unnaturally red hair swept up in spikes that were tipped with gold glitter. Her lips were lined with black and one eyebrow was pierced so that a silver ring accented her pixie face.

She looked an unlikely woman to be so taken with Laurel, but she obviously was.

Jenny couldn't really blame her. Laurel looked as if she belonged in some classic movie. All she needed was a feather boa and one of those little dogs named Fluffy. Laurel should be lounging in a late-night dinner club. Actually, she would fit in almost anywhere better than this tiny café kitchen in Dry Creek, Montana, with its worn linoleum and chipped appliances.

Laurel wore a champagne silk dress. She had gold chains draped around her neck and diamond earrings dripping from her earlobes. Her lips weren't just red, they were glossy. She looked like she'd bitten into a large berry and kept the stain on her lips and fingertips. Her cheeks were smoothly colored and her platinum blond hair was ruffled expertly. There had to be mousse involved, but it didn't show. Laurel had the kind of casual elegance that costs a fortune.

If the woman didn't look so stiff, Jenny would have cheerfully hated her.

Jenny had deliberately decided not to compete with Laurel's style. Jenny was wearing a pair of black sweatpants, a white T-shirt and a large beige sweater. Nothing draped from her neck or dripped from her ears. Her only ornament was the small pin on her sweater announcing she had donated money to a Seattle animal shelter. Her only makeup was lip balm that she'd put on to keep her lips from becoming cracked in the winter weather. Her hair was clean and combed. That was about it.

“Or I could make you some tea if you'd like,” Linda offered shyly, now addressing her remarks to the glamorous Laurel. “Something with an herbal spice to it maybe?”

“No, thanks, I couldn't possibly drink anything,” Laurel said as she walked over to the window in the kitchen. “Unless you have some bottled water.” She shuddered delicately. “I never drink tap water when I travel. It's one of those rules.”

“That's for Mexico,” Robert said as he walked into the kitchen. He was carrying a tub of plates that had been left out in the main part of the café after dinner last night. “This is Montana. They both start with
M'
s, but there's a big difference. Besides, you can drink boiled water anywhere. That kills the germs.”

Laurel shuddered again. “But then they'd be dead in the water floating around. I couldn't possibly drink something with anything dead in it.”

Robert snorted. “If you're that fussy, you'll have to stop breathing. There's germs everywhere—dead and alive.”

Laurel looked alarmed.

“Well, except for the really cold places like just outside the door,” Robert continued. His mission for the morning was to get Jenny alone. So far, Jenny wouldn't even talk to him. He was hoping she would if they were alone. “Real good clear air there.”

“But it's cold outside,” Laurel wailed.

“That's what kills the germs,” Robert responded matter-of-factly as he unloaded the plates from last night onto the counter. “Talking about germs—these old plates are a hotbed of activity.”

Laurel moved back from the plastic tubs Robert was using to carry the dishes around. There was a tub for silverware, another for coffee mugs and another for punch cups. Half of the cups had lipstick stains on them and the other had spots of something or another.

“It's perfectly safe in here,” Jenny said. The sudsy water felt good on her hands, but she was still glad for the long johns she had on under her sweatpants. “Restaurants have health inspectors that come around and check out things like that.”

“They do?” Linda said with a gulp. The younger woman paused in the act of pulling a platter down from the cupboard. The eyebrow with the silver ring in it rose in panic.

“You mean you haven't?”

Linda shook her head. “Jazz—that's Duane—never said anything about health inspectors. Maybe he's done something about them. He takes care of all the business details. I'd better go ask him.”

Jenny could hear Duane in the dining area of the restaurant putting salt and pepper shakers on the tables and getting the place ready to open. Linda walked out there and the mumbled sound of their voices reached back into the kitchen.

“I hope they don't get a fine or anything,” Jenny worried aloud. She was automatically washing glasses as she worked. She set the glasses in a large tub so that they could be rinsed with scalding water before they were set to dry. She couldn't recall ever being in a restaurant that didn't have a machine that washed dishes. “I wonder if you need things like a sterilizing dishwasher machine to pass all the rules.”

“I doubt they can afford to buy any equipment yet,” Robert added. He doubted they had insurance, either. He'd have to remember to ask if they needed a small business loan. They'd never have collateral on their own to get one, but from what he'd seen they had a good shot at making a sound business.

“I'm surprised no health inspector has shown up already. They can just come unannounced. Maybe they do it different when you're not in a city.” Jenny moved one of the tubs so she could start on the silverware.

“Maybe.” Robert shrugged as he wrapped one dish towel around his hand and offered another towel to Laurel.

“For me?” Laurel's voice came out in a surprised squeak. She backed farther away from Robert. “But I can't—I've never even—not even at home. Why, I have a housekeeper.”

By the time Laurel finished talking, she was at the doorway between the café's kitchen and its main dining room.

“I need to go to the house for something.” Laurel managed to smile as she stepped into the other room.

“I thought that'd scare her off,” Robert said as he picked up a bowl from the rack of dishes to be dried. He rubbed the towel around its edges. “She's not used to doing dishes.”

“And you are?” Jenny looked at him skeptically. She still couldn't believe how competently and willingly he was working. She couldn't have paid anyone to work harder than this rich man was doing.

Robert was standing in front of the counter where the dried dishes were setting. He had modified his tuxedo when he came over to the café. He'd taken off the black jacket and was wearing a yellow sweatshirt that had been hanging on a nail by the kitchen door. It had paint splatters on it. Jazz had said he'd used it when he painted the café and had not gotten around to throwing it away yet. Jenny noted that the shirt had a tear under the armhole and a burn spot where Jazz had leaned too close to the stove.

Robert no longer looked like a rich man. His hair was mussed where he'd wrapped one of Mrs. Hargrove's wool scarves around his head because he was walking between the barn and the café bringing over the dirty dishes. The weather outside was frigid. The cold air made his cheeks blotchy.

It was more than that, however, Jenny thought. It was the look on his face that had changed. He no longer looked like a rich man because he no longer looked stressed. He smiled like he didn't have a dime in the world.

“Me? As a matter of fact, I've done a few dishes in my time,” Robert answered, and then plunged into his story. “Not so long ago, in fact, when I was visiting a friend of mine outside of Tucson.”

“I can't believe any of your friends would ask you to help with the dishes.”

“The dishes were the fun part. The warm water felt good on the calluses I got on my hands from chopping wood. Took me a while to get the hang of it all. Long steady strokes worked best. You build up a rhythm that way.”

Jenny stopped washing dishes and turned her full attention to Robert.

There was only one explanation that came to mind. “You can't possibly have lost all your money!” He must gamble or something. “Is that why you need to be on that list at my sister's paper?”

“Lost it? I didn't lose any money. Fact is, the Buckwalter Foundation has made money this past year. How I don't know, at the rate we're giving it away. But, no, I didn't lose my money. And—let me say this again—I don't want to be on any list. I'm doing my best to get off of it.”

Jenny heard the words, but she couldn't make sense of what he was saying.

“Well, if you're trying to get off that list, why did you kiss me?” Jenny held up a frying pan that she was cleaning and frowned at it fiercely. It was a solid cast-iron pan usually used for frying bacon. “You must have known I'd tell my sister.”

Jenny brought the pan down to the counter and attacked it again with a wet dishrag. Cast iron couldn't be washed with the rest of the dishes. “Kissing me like that—how was that supposed to get you off the list? I thought you did it because you wanted to get
on
that list.”

Robert watched Jenny scowl at the bottom of the cast-iron pan. Her jaw was set, but a thin sheen of pink spread over her cheeks. She was flustered.

“You liked the kiss,” Robert said.

Jenny looked up from her scouring and frowned at him. “I never said that.”

“I'm going on faith.” Robert felt like whistling. “If you hadn't liked it, you would have told your sister it was awful and you wouldn't even think that would help me get on that list.”

Jenny kept the frown and added a full-blown blush. “I don't think—”

Robert put his fingers on her lips. “You don't need to think when it comes to kisses. Not then. Not now.”

Robert bent his head and kissed Jenny. This time there were no cameras. No flashes. No audience. Just the two of them. And more steam than either one of them had ever seen before.

“The hot water's still running,” Robert finally said as he pulled away. The frying pan was pressing against the hot water handle and a steady stream of scalding hot water was filling the air with clouds of moist steam. The steam made Jenny's cheeks pinker and her lips soft. “But hot water is good.”

Robert bent to kiss Jenny again.

Jenny wondered what was wrong with her. Every time this man kissed her she got warmer and warmer. Last time it was the lights that had confused her and made her think she was near a crackling fire. This time it was the heat. How did it get so hot in this kitchen when it was ten below zero outside?

“Tropical,” Jenny whispered. She was trying to grab hold of her sanity and keep it. She felt as if she were under a spell that stopped time and created puffs of white steam. “It's tropical in here.”

“Perfect. It's perfect in here,” Robert said as he pulled away.

The moisture in the air made Jenny's hair curve toward her face. Robert knew that somewhere in the chef apron pocket lurked a hairnet that would squash her hair even further. Jenny wore no makeup. The pink in her cheeks was from the heat and not from any brush.

“You're perfect.”

Jenny started. The spell was broken. “No one's perfect.”

No one except Laurel, Jenny thought to herself. She could hardly believe Robert Buckwalter III was happy to help with the dishes. But there was no way she'd ever believe he would prefer the hired help to someone like Laurel. Laurel might be overdressed and she might be a snob, but she still was his kind. They belonged to the same social set. It was clear.

“Why are you helping with the dishes?”

Robert looked up.

“It doesn't seem fair,” she said. “Your mother is paying me to do the dishes and then you're helping me anyway.”

Robert shrugged. “I want to.”

Jenny didn't have an answer to that one. But she knew for sure something was off center. Who wanted to do dishes?

There were twenty bins of dirty dishes. Jenny thought Robert would lose interest before the second bin was emptied. The novelty of doing dishes wore off fast, even to people who hadn't done many in their life.

But Robert stayed. He washed dishes and talked about his months in the desert. He explained about Bob and how good it felt to be free of the life of a rich man. Then he talked about his childhood and how much he still missed his father. He was curious about her brothers and sisters. She told him. He wanted to know how she felt about her parents. She told him.