A Cowboy's Plan

Hank stared hard at the grass near his feet and nodded. “Took a long time to get over Jamie’s death, but it did get better, eventually.”

His son had died of leukemia when he was two. At least Janey had had six years with Cheryl.

“About a year after Jamie died—” Hank placed a hand high on the trunk of the willow “—I started bringing young cancer survivors here. He’s why I do this.” He looked at Janey with sympathy in his hazel eyes. “It helped. A lot. You’ll find something for you that will help.”

Janey doubted it.

“Cheryl died a whole year ago,” she said, “but it still hurts so bad.”

“Losing a child,” Hank murmured, “is a tough thing to get over.”

Janey sighed. “Yeah, it sure is.”

“Take your time figuring out what you want to do,” Hank said. “Visit the library to research careers and schools. You got a place to live here as long as you need. But give yourself a break and stay away from the children.”

He handed her the check, the paper crisp and clean on her palm. “Take this. Amy said you’re going to deposit it today if she has to drag you there.”

Janey’s laugh felt good. “It’s okay. I’ll go by myself.”

“You want a ride?” Hank asked.

“No. I feel like walking.” She glanced at the check. “Twenty thousand dollars?” she exclaimed. “Are you guys nuts?”

“That’s a year’s salary.”

“It’s way too much. You gave me free room and board.”

“Naw, it isn’t enough.” Hank rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Honest, Janey, I wish I could give you more.”

Janey closed her eyes for a minute, gathering strength, pulling the butterflies roiling in her stomach under control.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll open an account in town and try to figure out what I’ll do next.”

She turned toward the driveway and started the walk into town.

“Good luck, darlin’,” Hank called. “See you at dinnertime, okay?”

Her step faltered. She’d felt safer here on this ranch than anywhere else on earth.

Cripes, Janey, pull yourself together. This isn’t the end of your life with them.

No, it wasn’t, but after the first step she took toward town, things would be different.

Suck it up. Do it.

She continued down the driveway toward the small highway that would take her to Ordinary, Montana.

Maybe now she could start work on the dream she hadn’t thought about since Cheryl’s death. Maybe now she could let herself consider her future.

Yeah, now was the time to finish her education—she could afford college!—to become one of those women who dress up for work, who wear beautiful clothes and expensive shoes and red and pink lipsticks. For sure not black.

She could become one of those women she used to envy on the streets of Billings who worked for businesses and owned businesses and who were important. No one would dare to hurt them.

One thing she was sure of—she’d never live in poverty again.

She couldn’t go back to Billings, though. Just couldn’t. Maybe she could live in Ordinary and do college long-distance.

While she walked, she skirted the edges of that dream, considering some possible actions, discarding others. Forty-five minutes later, still without a firm plan, she pushed open the bank’s heavy door and stepped in.

“Can I help you?” an older woman asked from behind one of the wickets. Her nametag read Donna. Looking down a long sharp nose at Janey, she studied her from head to toe. Judging by the sour pout of Donna’s mouth, Janey had been found lacking.

Tough. The old prune could kiss her butt.

She frowned and approached the window, then reached into her pocket to pull out the checks. The woman shifted and slyly put one hand below the counter. What the heck?

“I’m not here to rob the bank,” Janey said. Cripes. Why would the woman think she was?

Donna blushed.

Janey set the checks on the counter. “I want to open an account.” She also passed over the envelope that Mrs. Fantucci’s check had come in, to prove she lived at the Sheltering Arms, that she had a permanent address.

When Donna picked up Hank’s check, her eyes widened. The other one was smaller.

Mrs. Fantucci had died and left all of the money in her savings account to Janey. Eleven thousand dollars and change. Janey’s eyes stung. She missed her old neighbor.

Mrs. Fantucci hadn’t judged her too hard.

Janey had done odd jobs for Maria, some shopping, laundry, cleaning, but it must have been more than anyone else had done for her.

Janey filled out the bank’s application form and handed her ID to Donna, who took it to the manager.

Donna returned, her expression polite now, and told her she had a new account.

Janey asked for a hundred dollars cash and for the rest to be deposited. When Donna handed her the receipt with her balance on it, Janey’s breathing stuttered. Almost thirty-one thousand dollars. She’d never known having money would feel so liberating.

She had to figure out her next step. Where would she live?

Her hands shook. I’m not ready.

You have to be.

She offered Donna a reluctant “Thanks,” and headed for the door.

The heat outside hit her like the slap of a wet facecloth and she lifted her heavy hair away from her neck.

What now? She had to get a job to make enough for rent.

The past year of security on the Sheltering Arms hadn’t been reality. Real life was dark and gritty and unfair. She knew that. It was time to step out of that safe cocoon and get on with life. It was time to stand on her own two feet.