A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek (15 page)

“She's been a good neighbor to you.”

The old man grunted. “That's all you know about it.”

“Well, I don't know what else she could have done.” Jenny wanted to keep Mr. Gossett a little upset so he didn't pay too much attention to the red light on the cell phone as it jutted out of the instrument panel.

“That's just it,” Mr. Gossett said emphatically. “You don't know. Nobody knows, not even Helen herself.”

“Helen?”

“Mrs. Hargrove to you. Used to be Helen Boone.” The old man's voice softened. “She used to be the prettiest thing when she was Helen Boone. I used to leave flowers on her desk at school some mornings.”

“Isn't that nice.” Jenny was hoping for some common ground. “I didn't know you used to be sweet on her.”

“Me?” The old man sounded startled. “I never said that. I never said that to anyone. Not ever.”

“But you left her flowers.” Jenny turned around so she could see the man clearly even though he was no longer looking ahead at her.

Mr. Gossett grunted. “For all the good it done me. She thought it was Frank Hargrove leaving them.”

“And you never told her.”

The old man shrugged. “Thought she should have known it was me leaving the flowers. So I was stubborn. Next thing I knew Frank Hargrove up and asked her to marry him and she said yes. It was too late then. They were beholden and I knew Helen wouldn't go back on her word.”

“So you've loved her in silence all those years?”

The old man didn't move for a moment and then he finally said, “Didn't seem to be much I could do about it.”

“But to not even tell her.”

The wrinkles on the old man's face seemed to fold into him, but he didn't answer the question. Of course, Jenny thought to herself, what could he say? He'd not even had the courage to tell the woman he loved how he felt. Instead, he'd let his love sour him until he became a bitter old recluse.

“I don't suppose you've been to Fargo?” Robert cut into the silence with a question for Jenny.

Jenny looked over at him. He obviously wanted the talk to continue so that her sister, or by now probably the police, could monitor them.

“There was a movie by that name,” Jenny offered. “But I missed it.”

“It'll be small-town America at its best,” Robert added as he shifted in his seat to look in the mirror that allowed him to see where Mr. Gossett sat. He called back to the man. “Feel free to take a nap if you'd like.”

The old man grunted and sat up straighter. “Don't take me for no fool.”

“Of course not,” Robert replied smoothly. “Just want you to be comfortable.”

“I can be comfortable when I'm back home in my bed.”

“Back in Dry Creek?” Robert asked in surprise.

Jenny looked at Mr. Gossett and said softly, “We're headed to Fargo.”

“Yeah.” The old man nodded wearily. “I'm gonna miss that old bed at home.”

Jenny did her best to bring up conversation topics. She went through stories of her growing-up years. She talked about her favorite recipes. She recited a favorite poem. Robert would answer here and there, but mostly he just sent her thankful glances. By now the plane was encountering some real turbulence and he had to watch the instrument panel closely.

Jenny periodically glanced over her shoulder to see if Mr. Gossett had nodded off yet. She didn't quite know how they would manage, but she knew that she or Robert would need to try and take the rifle from the old man if he fell asleep.

The air inside the plane was warm and Jenny had been talking for over an hour. She had almost forgotten the reason why she was talking.

And then it happened—from the other end of the cell phone came the distinct sound of a sneeze.

The old man sat up straight. “What was that?”

Jenny's heart stopped. She looked at Robert.

“I sneezed,” Robert said easily. “Must be coming down with something.”

There was silence for a moment and Jenny started to relax.

“No, you didn't,” the old man finally said. “That sneeze was too far away—besides, it was a woman's sneeze.”

Jenny resisted the urge to say that the sneeze was hers. She knew the old man had been able to see her clearly all along and he would know she was lying.

The old man leaned forward so he could put his head between Jenny and Robert and look at the instrument panel clearly.

“That phone's still on,” the old man announced. “That pudding person's still listening.”

Jenny shivered. The old man who had talked about his young love was gone. The man who sat behind them now was a hard man. And he had a rifle in his hands.

Jenny felt the round cold circle of the rifle barrel pressed against the side of her head.

“I don't like being double-crossed,” Mr. Gossett said. “I don't like it at all.”

Robert positioned the plane so it would fly as smooth as possible without him.

“I'm the one who left the phone on,” Robert said. “Threaten me if you're going to threaten anyone.”

The old man laughed. Robert felt his heart constrict. There was no amusement in the laughter. The old man no longer sounded pathetic. He sounded dangerous.

“I'm not going to threaten,” the old man announced wearily as he slowly cocked the rifle. “I'm tired of people not treating me right.”

“You can't blame Jenny for Dry Creek,” Robert said as he unhooked his seat belt so he could move. “What happened there happened many years ago.”

Lord, keep him talking,
Robert begged.

“And Robert—he gave you his coat,” Jenny added.

The old man grunted. “It's all too late.”

“Put that rifle down.” Robert tried again. “If you don't, I won't fly you to Fargo. I'll set us down right here. Look down—it's nothing but white. We'll all freeze to death.”

“I don't much care where I die. But I do figure that I may as well get even before I go.”

“Hurting Jenny won't make you even.” Robert moved everything so he could twist and tackle the man in one smooth movement. Robert knew he'd have to be quick about it.

“I suppose you'll be lonesome without her,” the old man turned to Robert and snarled. “Just like I was—all those years alone.”

“As a matter of fact, I would be lonesome without her,” Robert said softly. “I can't imagine living the rest of my life without her.”

Jenny had watched Robert move around so that he was free of all the belts and the levers keeping him in the pilot seat.

“Now I lay me down to sleep.” Jenny started to pray the old prayer she and her sister had prayed as little girls. Then thinking of the sneeze that might have come from her sister, she added, “No matter what happens here today, I want everyone to know it's no one's fault.”

The old man grunted in protest. “It's the fault of someone.”

“Who?” Jenny asked. The barrel of the rifle no longer pressed so hard against her head. She wasn't sure if that was a sign of hope or a sign of doom.

The old man was silent for a moment before he whispered, “Helen. It's her fault. She should have known.”

Mr. Gossett might have had a tear in his eye. Robert believed that he did and that was why, when Robert swung back and tackled him, the old man just seemed to crumble. Taking the rifle away was not even difficult.

Robert reached for a length of rope that had been tied around some boxes on the trip out from Seattle and handed it to Jenny. “Can you tie him up?”

Jenny nodded as she slid past Robert on his way back to the pilot's seat.

The old man sat in silence for the ten minutes it took them to reach the Fargo airport. Jenny spent the first five minutes of the ten speaking into the cell phone and reassuring her sister that everything was fine. The final five minutes Jenny spent wondering why Robert was so quiet.

“What's that?” Jenny said as she looked out the window.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the land all around the runway was blanketed with white snow and ice. But a crowd lined the runway anyway. There must have been a dozen vans with block letters on their doors and shiny reflectors on their top.

“What's happening—a parade?” Jenny asked.

“Not quite,” Robert said. “Those are television crews getting their lights set up for interviews.”

“Interviews? With who?”

Robert grimaced. “Us.”

J
enny's throat was sore and her face was tired. She had never before smiled until the muscles in her face hurt. And her eyes! Her eyes burned from being in the flash of a hundred camera shots.

She was a wreck.

“No, it was Mr. Gossett who said that—the gunman,” Jenny repeated for the tenth time. Or was it the twentieth? “Robert Buckwalter and I are not lovebirds. He is my employer's son. I'm the chef.”

“Then why was he willing to ransom you even if it took every penny he had?” a reporter called from the back line. “You must be some cook.”

“Miss Black is refusing to answer any questions about ransom and so am I.” Robert came out of the room where he had been talking with the police. “And if you have a shred of decency, you won't print that remark in any of your papers.” Robert stopped to eye the reporters sternly. “A remark like that would set Miss Black up as a kidnapping target and you know it.”

“Kidnapping? Me?” Jenny blinked. She'd never given much thought to the problems of a rich family, but she was beginning to see that there were many. Even though the arrest of Mr. Gossett would have stirred up some news by itself, the number of reporters at the Fargo airport would have been reduced by almost ninety percent if the Buckwalter family hadn't been involved in the story. Only a few of the reporters had even bothered to take a picture of the old man being arrested by the police when he walked off the plane.

“So it was just the old man talking,” a woman reporter called out. “There really is no secret engagement?”

Robert looked at Jenny. She looked scared and a little bewildered. She'd had enough pressure for one day. He turned and formally addressed the group. “No, there's no secret engagement. Now, excuse us, we've had a long day.”

The reporters gave a unified sigh of disappointment.

“But won't you give one of us an exclusive on the story?” one reporter called out as he waved his arm. “I volunteer.”

All of the other arms started to wave.

“Sorry, but the exclusive is already spoken for,” Robert said as he guided Jenny out of the spotlight from the cameras.

Two airport security staff flanked Robert and Jenny as they walked away from the reporters.

“Sorry about that,” Robert said to Jenny as he steered her quickly into the office of some airport official. “I thought they were going to put you in a locked office, too.”

“I had to leave to use the rest room.”

Robert nodded. “Oh, well. They might have found you anyway. But don't worry. It'll be over soon. The plane I've ordered will be here in fifteen minutes or so. It'll take you home.”

“Oh, we're going back to Dry Creek?”

Robert looked at her strangely. “I thought you might want to visit your mother in Seattle for a few days, so I arranged for a pilot friend to fly you there. You can get your ankle checked out better, too.”

Jenny looked down at her foot. “It's fine. It hasn't hurt all day.”

“Still, it should be X-rayed. And you'll want to rest.”

“Rest?”

Jenny was speechless. She was being sent home like she was some pet that had suddenly become inconvenient. She had come to believe that Robert was not like that kind of rich person. She had come to believe he was different. She had come to believe he was—Jenny stopped herself and then silently admitted the truth—she had come to believe he was the one and only one for her.

No wonder he was sending her home.

“I'll ask someone to pack the suitcase I have in Dry Creek and send it back, as well.” Jenny walked stiffly to the door.

Robert almost lost his courage. He'd hoped she would refuse to go away for even a minute. He knew she'd be a target for every tabloid reporter in the country if she stayed in Fargo tonight or went back to Dry Creek with him tomorrow, and yet he could hardly bear for her to go.

“I don't think the press will find you in Seattle.” Robert handed her a folded piece of paper, “But if they do call, tell your mother to have them call this number. I'll come to see you in a few days and we'll talk.”

Sure, Jenny thought, and all those owners who dumped off their pets in the abandoned lot were really only going for a little drive to the store before they came back to pick up their beloved kittens.

But what had she expected? He was richer than King Midas. And she was the cook. He had more millions in the bank than she had spoons in the kitchen.

Suddenly Jenny wanted very much to see her own family for a few days.

“There's the plane now,” Robert said softly as he bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I'll see you soon. Very soon.”

“Sure.” Jenny didn't look back as she walked out the door.

 

The weather in Seattle was cold and damp. Gray clouds seemed to be all there was to the sky. Jenny's mother had welcomed her home with a tight hug. Her mother had already heard a news report of what had happened.

The first day Jenny was home she slept for twelve hours. The next day she slept for ten. On the third day her mother's fussing started to turn to alarm and so Jenny got up.

“You've been working too hard,” her mother said when Jenny padded out into the living room in stretched-out sweatpants that had been left behind by one of her sisters. “Those dinners you give—there's a lot of hard work in doing them. And, if that's not bad enough, you have to go up in an airplane with some gunman.”

“Mr. Gossett wasn't your usual gunman,” Jenny protested. As the days passed, she'd felt more and more sorry for the old man. He'd looked so defeated when he was arrested. “I'm not sure if he'd have ever actually pulled that trigger.”

The latest report said Mr. Gossett had turned state's evidence and worked with the FBI to arrest the major criminals in the rustling ring.

Jenny's mother snorted. “Well, I'm glad your Robert didn't wait around to find out if the old man was going to shoot you or not. At least he showed some sense.”

“He's not my Robert.” Jenny had made the protest already a dozen times since her mother had first heard the story.

“That's not what it said on television yesterday.”

“Television? What was on television?”

“It was yesterday afternoon—I can't remember the name of the show—it has that cute man as a host. Anyway, he interviewed someone who had heard the telephone tape of what had happened in the plane—and the witness said that you were Robert's new girlfriend.”

“It's not true,” Jenny said patiently. She wanted to wrap herself in hairnets and shapeless sweatpants. “It was only the old man talking. And he was half-crazy.”

Jenny wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. She figured this media frenzy was like a virus. If you just went to bed, it would all go away in a few days.

“You need to get dressed.” Jenny's mother eyed her critically. “Put on something cheerful. What if someone comes?”

“No one is going to come—” Jenny stopped and eyed her mother suspiciously. “You haven't gotten any phone calls, have you? You know that if a reporter calls, you're to ask them to call that number I gave you.”

Jenny's mother drew herself up. “The man assured me he's not one of those reporters. He just has a question.”

The phone in the kitchen rang.

“I'll get that,” Jenny's mother said. “You go get changed.”

Jenny went into her old room and stared into the nearly empty closet. She had only a few clothes left from the days when she lived here with her mother. The best of the lot was an emerald-green linen dress. But that would require nylons, she supposed, and she didn't want a reporter to think that she had dressed up just to tell him to leave.

Jenny knew there was only one logical question for the reporter to ask. It was the question everyone else was asking—was she Robert Buckwalter's new girlfriend?

Jenny grimaced at herself in the mirror. The best way to answer that question was to stay in these old sweats. No one would even think to ask if she was some rich man's girlfriend then.

“Are you dressed?” Jenny's mother called from the kitchen. “Your sister wants to talk to you.”

“I'll be there in a minute.” Jenny slipped the sweatshirt off and the linen dress on. She'd forgo the nylons.

Jenny brushed her hair on the way to the kitchen.

Jenny's mother gave her the phone.

“I can't get any pictures,” her sister wailed the minute Jenny put the phone to her ear. “I got some really good quotes from Robert about you and he cooking that lobster dinner, but the editor wants pictures.”

“Well, surely someone has pictures,” Jenny said. So Robert had kept his word and fed the story to her sister. “I wish I had some, but I don't. I'm sure someone does, though. There were more of those little disposable cameras at that dinner than there were salt shakers.”

“I know. But no one's selling.”

“Why not? Oh, of course. The kids think they are being loyal by not dealing with the press.”

“I don't know about that. They're sure dealing with someone,” her sister said. “I've offered a couple of them five hundred dollars for a shot of you and Robert dancing, but they won't sell—they tell me they have an offer for a thousand dollars minimum.”

“What? Who would pay that for those pictures? Besides, those kids took dozens of pictures. Surely someone will sell one of theirs.”

“I asked around,” Jenny's sister said quietly. “Apparently all of the pictures are spoken for.”

“And someone's paying a thousand dollars for each one! That's amazing! Are you sure the kids aren't just trying to jack the price up?”

“They did jack the price up,” her sister protested. “I finally just asked one of them to name their price—and they said that it wasn't for sale. They said someone would pay a hundred dollars more than any offer I made.”

“What kind of a fool would do that?”

There was a long pause. “I think it's Robert.”

“But why would he do that?” Jenny protested. “Surely he doesn't really want all those pictures.”

Then it hit Jenny. Robert may not want the pictures, but he wanted even less for the media to have them.

“I was wondering if you could talk to him for me,” Jenny's sister asked hesitantly. “I mean you still work for him—”

“—for his mother.” Mrs. Buckwalter had called and left a message that Jenny was to consider herself on a paid vacation for the week she was spending with her mother.

“Well, could you ask? I've tried to reach him on the phone, but he's not answering. I think he'd throw a picture my way if he remembered I need one to feature my story. He was so nice. He called me and actually suggested we do this interview. My editor was so impressed. The only thing Robert wouldn't talk about was that lovebird remark the old man made.”

“He's worried people will believe it.”

“Well, of course they'll believe it if they read about it,” Jenny's sister said cheerfully. “How do you think progress gets made?”

“Progress!”

“Just kidding.”

“Besides, you should call Robert if you need to talk to him.” Jenny didn't feel up to explaining that she had no influence with Robert.

“I haven't been able to reach him.”

“I suppose he's not answering his phone.” Jenny knew how Robert felt about interviews. Apparently he also felt that way about having his picture in the paper with her. “But I don't know how to reach him, either.”

“You don't?” Jenny's sister sounded surprised. “He made it sound like you two were friends.”

“Yeah, well—”

“He kissed you,” her sister said emphatically. “With your hairnet on. Even Mom thinks the man is serious about you.”

“That's just because she watched some program on television yesterday.”

Jenny heard the doorbell ring and the sound of her mother's footsteps as she started to walk toward the front door.

“Look, I've got to go,” Jenny said into the phone. She didn't dare leave her mother alone with some reporter. “Someone's at the door. I'll call back in a few minutes.”

“No problem.”

Jenny clicked the phone off as she set it on the kitchen counter. She smoothed back her hair as she walked toward the door separating the kitchen from the living room. Knowing her mother, she would offer the reporter refreshments if Jenny didn't act fast.

Jenny called out to the reporter as she started to swing the door open. “I'm so sorry, but we can't—”

The day had started out gray and it was still gray. There wasn't much light coming into the living room and Jenny's mother had the lamp by the sofa lit. It created a warm, yellow glow in one corner of the room.