A Baby for Dry Creek and A Dry Creek Christmas: A Baby for Dry Creek

Reno looked at his former Sunday-school teacher. She was eyeing him the way she had in the first grade when she wanted volunteers to answer a question. She wasn’t playing fair by bringing God into this, and she probably knew it.

“I think God was talking about feeding strangers when they show up in town and are hungry. So far every person who drives through Dry Creek seems to be pretty well fed. But if they’re not, I’ll leave word with Linda and Jazz at the café to give them something to eat and add it to my bill.”

Mrs. Hargrove frowned. “Hospitality is about more than food—God also told us to take in people who are in trouble.”

“Well, God usually brings them to your doorstep. Chrissy is thousands of miles away.”

“I didn’t think of that,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “We can’t just write a letter. How will she get here?”

“She’s not coming.” Reno ground his teeth and searched for a change of subject. “Lots of mud outside, isn’t there?”

No one answered him.

“You know, Reno has a point, though,” Jacob agreed. “Usually God would do something to give a person a clue. Even Reno can’t just go driving down there to bring her and the baby back here. He doesn’t have the poor girl’s address.”

Reno reached up to make sure the pocket on his shirt wasn’t on fire. Keeping quiet wasn’t exactly a lie, but he didn’t want to deceive anyone. “Well, even supposing I did have an address for her, people in Los Angeles move around all the time. How long would an address be good, anyway?”

Jacob frowned as he pointed to the letter Reno still held. “Come to think of it, I bet that attorney would have her current address. Sounds like he’s keeping a close eye on her.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “It’s settled, then. Someone will have to go see if Chrissy wants to come here.”

“I’ll go,” Lester volunteered from where he stood counting nails to put into a brown paper bag.

Reno looked at Lester suspiciously. The man had an eagerness about him that Reno didn’t trust. “It’s a long way down to Los Angeles.”

Lester grinned. “Yeah, but it’s a long way back, too. If she says she’ll come back here, I figure it’ll give me time to court her.”

“What? She’s half your age,” Reno said. “You can’t date her.”

“She’s single.” Lester looked surprised. “I’m single. What’s your problem? She’s not that much younger than your sister, and you didn’t object to me dating Nicki. Besides, some women like older men.”

“No, Reno’s right,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “We can’t be sending some man down there who’s going to make her nervous. We need to send someone safe. Like Reno. He wouldn’t ask her out. Why, he’s almost family, now that I think of it.”

“Almost family—” Reno choked.

“She’s Garrett’s cousin,” Mrs. Hargrove explained patiently. “Garrett is married to your sister. That means Chrissy is almost your cousin.”

Almost cousins. Reno groaned. It wasn’t fair. Family was the cornerstone of the Redfern Ranch and it had been for generations. Mrs. Hargrove knew he’d never refuse to help someone who could claim to be family. If he did, he’d be breaking one of those family rules that the Redferns had held on to since the turn of the past century.

Reno gritted his teeth. Usually he was proud and grateful to be part of a family that had lived on the same land for so long. But sometimes, like today, the rules of the family were not ones he wanted to keep.

“And she’s got that poor little boy with only half of his rightful parents,” Mrs. Hargrove continued, as though she were just chatting.

This time Reno did groan aloud. He had a weakness for babies who didn’t have a full set of parents. This wasn’t a family rule; it was all his own.

“All right, I’ll go,” Reno said before his good sense kicked in.

“What about those calves of yours?” Lester asked. “With your sister and that new husband of hers gone, there won’t be anyone there to feed them.”

“Oh.” Reno had forgotten about the calves. Usually when a set of twin calves was born, one of the two was a runt that was visibly smaller and weaker than the other calf. The mother would often ignore the runt and feed only the stronger calf. The Redfern Ranch had a bumper crop of twins this year, and it took Reno four or five hours a day just to keep the runts fed.

Some ranchers figured the runts were too much trouble to keep alive and left them to live or die as nature saw fit. But Reno didn’t agree with nature on this one. He always brought the runts into the barn and fed them a special formula from a bucket he’d made that had an agricultural nipple so the calves could nurse easily.

Keeping those calves healthy was one of the most satisfying things he did as a rancher, and he’d long ago realized that he identified with the poor motherless things. He couldn’t leave them. They’d die without regular feeding.

“I can see to them,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Do me good to get out on a farm again.”

“There’s no need. I can feed them,” Lester said reluctantly. “If I’m not the one that goes to get Chrissy, I can do that much. That’s what neighbors are for—especially when it’s too wet to plow. Besides, it’ll give Reno a chance to tell Chrissy what a good neighbor I’ve been.”

Reno forced his lips into a smile. “You’re the best.”

“Good.” Mrs. Hargrove nodded as if it was settled. “Then Reno can bring Chrissy back.”

“She might not want to come.” Reno felt he should remind everyone of that fact. He certainly didn’t intend to give Chrissy a sales pitch. He would make the offer to satisfy Mrs. Hargrove, but he didn’t expect Chrissy to actually agree to it. “Los Angeles is her home.”

“Oh, you’ll convince her.” Mrs. Hargrove smiled. “You could always get the other kids to do whatever you wanted.”

“That was in the first grade.”

Mrs. Hargrove nodded. “A boy never loses that kind of charm.”

Reno grunted. He felt about as charming as the mud on his feet.

Mrs. Hargrove’s smile wavered and she looked a little uncertain. “Well, at least you will be sincere. And tell her we have free sundaes at the café on Friday nights.”

Reno doubted there was a woman anywhere who would move across three states just to get a free sundae. He turned to leave the store. He’d go back to the ranch and show Lester where the milk buckets were. “I’ll be on my way in a couple of hours.”

“Good.” Mrs. Hargrove nodded and then cleared her throat. Her face went pink and she patted at her hair again. “You know, Reno, it’s none of my business if you and Chrissy—you know—if you’re the baby’s father. I just want you to know that even if you and Chrissy got off on the wrong foot, God can still make a good life for the two of you if you let Him.”

Reno pushed his cap down on his head. He didn’t need to look around to know that every man in the hardware store was staring at the floor. They were all used to talking about calves being born and cows artificially inseminated. They weren’t a delicate group. But none of them was comfortable talking about any of those activities with Mrs. Hargrove. He decided to spare everyone further speculation about his love life. “I’ll call when I get down to Los Angeles. My pickup should make it in three days.”

“Your pickup?” Mrs. Hargrove frowned. “You can’t take your pickup. You need a back seat with seat belts for the baby’s car seat. You’ll have to borrow my car.”

Mrs. Hargrove drove a 1971 Dodge compact the color of old mustard. It smelled of foot powder and wouldn’t go faster than fifty miles an hour. The junk dealer in Miles City had given up offering Mrs. Hargrove cash for the car and grumbled he’d have to charge her a tow fee when she finally came to her senses and gave up on the old thing. Still, the car never refused to start, not even in thirty-below weather, and that was more than some of the newer cars did.

“I could rent a car,” Reno said as his mind began to calculate the cost. Three days down and three days back. It was the price of the feed supplements he was giving those runt calves. Some years that would be fine. But this year money was tight.

“Don’t be foolish. My car’s sound as a tank. It’ll get you there and back.”

Reno frowned. If he had any lingering hopes that Chrissy would surprise him and want to move back to Dry Creek, Mrs. Hargrove’s car would remind him how unlikely those hopes were. A stylish woman like Chrissy wouldn’t go to her own funeral in Mrs. Hargrove’s car. She certainly wouldn’t pack up her belongings and ride across three states in it. “I’ll take it. Thanks.”

“Tell Chrissy she’s in my prayers,” Mrs. Hargrove said.

Reno nodded as he walked to the door. “I’ll do that—if I get a chance.”

He doubted he would be given a chance. Chrissy had not seemed drawn to the church when she was here last. He was pretty sure prayers would fall into the same category as mustard-colored cars when it came to women like Chrissy.

“I know she’s never gone to church much,” Mrs. Hargrove continued. “But now that she’s a mother she might want to—be sure and tell her there’s a good Sunday school program for the little one.”