Free A Rich Man for Dry Creek / a Hero for Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad

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.”
    â€œWhat 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.
    â€œThey’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!”
    â€œThank 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.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œGlad 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.
    â€œâ€”you know, involved?”
    â€œMr. 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