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Hank said, “Matt,” and his dry tone had Matt looking at him then laughing, as if he knew a secret about Hank.
Matt said, “This here’s Davey.”
Amy smiled at the boy. They smelled like hay and horses and a touch of manure. Matt’s horse whinnied, clearly wanting to get back to work, but Matt held him steady.
“You here for the day?” Matt asked.
“No,” Amy said. “I’m here for the rest of the week. At the Sheltering Arms.”
“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you in a couple of days.” He doffed his hat and nodded. “How ’bout we get to know each other better then?”
He turned his horse and rode away.
Matt wasn’t her type at all, but she gave him points for trying.
Putting the truck into gear, Hank headed in a direction Amy guessed would take them to the Sheltering Arms.
The practical accountant in her broke the silence. “You know you’re just asking for a lawsuit if one of those kids gets hurt.”
“They won’t.”
“What if one of them does? Any of those children could get sick again. Are you qualified to deal with that?”
“Uh-huh. We all have first-aid training.”
“I think it should go further than that. Some of those children must still be taking medications. I would almost want to see a nurse living at the ranch.”
“There is a full-time nurse at the ranch,” Hank said, a sly glimmer of humor in his eyes.
“Who?”
“Hannah.” Hank grinned.
“The housekeeper?” Amy spluttered.
“Yup. She offered to train when I decided to bring children to the ranch fifteen years ago.”
Okay, that surprised her. Hannah probably already had a heavy load to carry running that house, yet she cared enough to become a nurse.
Amy had to stop underestimating these people.
“You got to understand what’s important here.” He pulled his gaze away from the field in front of them. “The kids are what’s important, and giving them the fullest experience here they can possibly have.”
He faced forward again. “Because they deserve it after all they’ve lived through.”
With those words, a heaviness hung in the air between them.
“Why did you turn the ranch into a place for cancer survivors?” she asked.
“I—” Hank’s face was suddenly neutral, as unresponsive as Amy had seen it.
She held her breath.
“I had a son. He died of leukemia when he was two.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Dear God, his son. His son. “So sorry.”
He whispered one word, little more than a sigh, but she was pretty sure it was “Jamie.”
She hitched a breath. Knowing his name made the child too real to her.
Swallowing her cowardice, she asked, “Do you want to talk about him?” And prayed that he wouldn’t.
He shook his head.
Her relief stunned her. She couldn’t imagine his pain, didn’t know what to say. She remained silent for the rest of the ride home.
As they neared the house, she stole a glimpse at him. His jaw was hard, his mouth thin. Then he saw the children on the veranda. The sight smoothed the worry lines from his brow, softened his full lips, turned up the corners of his mouth.
When they parked, the younger children ran across the lawn to greet him. Four of them crowded his door.
“Hey, back up, hooligans,” Hank said, back to his cheerful self, as if the children gave him a deeper perspective on life. It was clear they set everything into place in Hank’s world.
Amy stared at him, amazed by the change.
“How’s a cowboy supposed ta get out of his truck?” he asked, using the fake cowboy accent she’d noticed he put on for the kids.
When Amy stepped out on the passenger side, the solemn young girl stood waiting for her, her eyes big. She placed her hand into one of Amy’s and held on.
As though Amy’s fingers had a mind of their own, they curled around the tiny hand. Amy stared down at her and swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay put. Such honest trust, given so freely.
As they walked around the front of the pickup, Amy wondered what on earth the child saw in her that made her want to get close. Amy had so little to offer others these days.
She wanted to tell the girl not to depend on her, that Amy didn’t get close to people.
She looked away, unable to withstand the child’s intense gaze. And yet she still held her hand.
Hank lifted a small girl and threw her above his head into the air. Amy gasped, but Hank caught the giggling child on the way down.
“Do me, Hank. Do me,” begged a young boy with skin the color of coffee with cream. Hank tossed the boy into the air and his biceps bulged against the plaid cotton of his shirtsleeves.
He threw every child into the air who asked for it, as many times as they asked. Even when the underarms of his shirt showed big damp circles and a sheen of sweat coated his brow, he didn’t stop until the last kid had wheedled for a toss.
Amy wondered at the resiliency of this man and realized that he drew it directly from these children.
“Hey,” he said, sounding only barely winded, “what did the horse say when the kid from the next ranch came to visit?”
“What, Hank?” they chimed.
“Howdy, nei-ei-ei-ei-gh-gh-gh-gh-bor.”
Amy rolled her eyes. He had to be kidding. Did he really think that was funny?
The kids laughed. Apparently it didn’t take much to entertain a child.
“You people plumb wear me out,” Hank said.
Watching the children’s faces, Amy noticed they fell for his shtick hook, line and sinker. They loved it. They loved Hank.
He collapsed onto the grass in front of the house, with kids falling all over him. The solemn girl let go of Amy’s hand and joined the others.
Amy stared at her empty hand, suddenly cool after losing the child’s warmth. Then she looked at Hank, covered by miniature candles of hope lighting the darkness of a harsh world, and she knew why he did this. He needed those children as much as they needed him.
It didn’t seem to take much to make him happy—horses, cows, dust and kids.
Watching him, Amy felt a pang of envy. What would it take to make her happy? Peace on earth? Certainly. No such thing as death? Yes many times over. To be happy and excited about her work again? Yes. Her husband back in her arms? Maybe not.
That answer surprised her. A month ago, she would have answered with a resounding “yes.”
Bemused, she headed for the house.
AFTER LEAVING the children in the kitchen with Hannah, Hank walked toward the three-car garage across from the largest stable. Thinking about his son always left him melancholy, in spite of the fun he’d just had with the children. Lord, he missed Jamie.
Willie lived in an apartment on the second floor, with blue window boxes that the man himself had filled with red geraniums and white alyssum.
Hank needed to talk to Willie, to make sense of his conflicting feelings about that woman.
He climbed the stairs, knocked, then walked into a home as spotless as a Betty Crocker test kitchen. Willie’s fastidiousness always took Hank by surprise.
“Willie,” he called. “You here?”
Willie stepped out of his bedroom buttoning up a clean denim shirt, covering the fuzz of gray hair on his chest.
“How’d the trip to the ranch go?” he asked, tucking the shirt into his pants.
“Good,” Hank said. “You got any coffee on?”
Willie poured him a cup and handed it to him black.
Hank took a sip. “She…ah…she’s a good person.”
Willie’s face registered surprise. “So you feel better about her now?”
“More sympathetic, I guess.” Hank wandered to a window that faced the yard. “She’s got a lot going on inside.”
Maybe her vulnerability around the kids would work in his favor. Given her own shortcomings, she might be compassionate and forgiving once she saw the office. Was he willing to take that chance?
Aw hell, he needed her to see that there was no problem with the ranch. If he scooted her in there in the next day or two, maybe she could be finished by the end of the week, relieving him of this lump of dread in his stomach.
So what if she gave him a hard time about the state of his files? Embarrassment was a small price to pay for peace of mind.
Hank turned from the window and rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen, I’m going to let her see the books.”
“Why?” Willie sipped his own coffee from a mug that read Bronc Riders Like To Buck.
“I need Amy to see that everything’s okay with the finances, so she can go home and get Leila off my back.”
Hank sat in a big armchair and balanced his cup on the arm.
“What if it turns out there really is something wrong with the ranch’s finances? Something real bad?” The possibility made Hank shudder. “She’d have to find it ’cause I sure as heck couldn’t.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Willie said.
“Yeah. I’ll get her to fix it then she can head home.” He wanted her off the ranch before he cared for her even more than he did now.
“When?” Willie asked.
“When’s she going home?”
“No. When are you unlocking the office for her?”
Hank stood, crossed to the kitchen and set his cup on the counter. “Tomorrow or the day after.”
He turned to Willie, seeking approval of his plan. “Amy’s gotta get emotionally invested in this place. I think I know how to do that.”
“How?” Willie asked.
“I’m going to show her around the ranch before I open up the office to her. Let her see how much it means to the children.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “I saw something in her today. She really likes kids. She cares about what happens to them.”
“That’s good.” Willie nodded. “If she does find a problem, she’ll be more likely to try to save the ranch than to sell it.”
Hank filled with hope. “Exactly my thinking.”
He rubbed his twitchy belly. He was banking a lot on being able to get the city woman to care about his ranch.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FOLLOWING morning, Amy entered the dining room late for breakfast, head pounding from too little sleep, confused and groggy from yesterday’s roller-coaster ride of emotions. Maybe she’d bitten off more than she could chew by coming here.
She rubbed her temples. She needed to get into the office to see what kind of challenges she faced there.
The dining room was empty. The children and Hank must already be outside working on the chores someone mentioned they did every day.
She stepped through a swinging door that led into the kitchen.
Light poured through numerous windows. Every spotless white cupboard, drawer, countertop and appliance contrasted against blue walls. The focal point was a huge, glossy oak plank table in the center of the room, where a small woman stood rolling out pastry.
Amy recognized Hannah, the housekeeper, by Leila’s description. So this little bird-boned woman was a nurse. More power to her.
