Home Is Where Hank Is (Cowboys To The Rescue 1) by Martha Shields

groceries.”
    Hank shook his head. What was so awful about her childhood that she didn’t want anyone to know? He’d started the conversation to pass the time, but suddenly it had very little to do with getting Alex to relax. He wanted to know everything about her—and he was determined to do just that.
    “We come to town so seldom that when we do there’s always lots of things to take care of,” he told her. “I’ve got to pick up a different kind of bit for that sorrel I’ve been training, among other things.”
    He made no move to get out, however, and Alex glanced at him nervously. “Then shouldn’t we go in if we’ve got so much to do?”
    “In a minute. What made you leave home, if you weren’t willing?”
    Alex’s brows attempted to meet, wrinkling the skin between them. “Don’t you live by the Code of the West? Butch told me it frowns on people who ask too many questions about people’s pasts.”
    “If that’s true, why did you ask so many questions about mine?”
    “I’m from the South. Down there, nosiness is a way of life. We like to know everything about everybody.”
    “If I answered your questions, don’t you think it’s only fair that you answer mine?”
    “No. I mean...”
    Fascinated, Hank watched as her face reflected her struggles with her sense of fair play.
    Finally she faced him. “Why do you want to know about my past?”
    He turned the question around. “Why did you want to know about mine?”
    Color stained her cheeks and she looked away. “I’m from the South, remember? We’re nosy.”
    “You told me a couple of days ago that I should open up and discuss things. Don’t you practice what you preach?”
    She tossed him a nasty look for that bit of logic, but he refused to back down. If it came to a stubborn contest, he knew he could outlast anybody.
    “I... you’re my boss—for the moment. The more I know about you, the better I’ll be able to please you.”
    Hank shifted on the bench seat, thinking of several specific ways she could please him. Feeling parts of him stirring that had absolutely no business in this conversation, he cleared his throat and turned her argument back on her. “And you’re my employee. The more I know about you, the more—”
    “All right, I get the picture.” She sighed heavily. “Do you want my life story now when we have so much to do? Why not wait for the drive home? There’ll be plenty of time then.”
    Hank studied her averted face. She had a point, but he knew she would try to avoid the conversation then. “Are you so ashamed of your past?”
    “It’s not that exactly.”
    When she didn’t continue, he pressed, “Then what is it?”
    She huffed. “I don’t want to be pitied! There, I said it. Happy now?”
    “No. You haven’t told me anything, as usual. Why would I pity you?”
    “Because I was raised in an orphanage!”
    Surprised as much by her vehemence as her words, Hank sat back. He’d read Oliver Twist and other stories about the horrors of orphanages, and he’d known kids who’d been adopted. But he’d never actually met anybody who’d been raised in an orphanage. At least, he didn’t think so. Maybe he had and they didn’t want to talk about it any more than Alex did.
    He had a hundred questions for her. Did she know who her parents were? Did she ever want to be adopted? Did the orphanage feed her gruel? But he knew his questions would take a long time, so he said, “You’re right. We’ll talk about it on the way home.”
    Alex stared at him as he opened his door and walked around the truck. As he opened her door, she asked, “No reaction? No ‘You poor thing’ or ‘I’m so sorry’ or—”
    “There are worse things than growing up in an orphanage. And didn’t you just say you don’t want my pity?”
    “I just—Oh, never mind. Why don’t you go in? You don’t need me.”
    He reached for her arm. “Yes, I do. We’re getting you a decent pair of riding boots.”
    “Now wait just a