A Rich Man For Dry Creek And A Hero For Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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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.”
Chapter Five
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