Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy′s Redemption: Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy′s Redemption

Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption: Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption
Kathleen Eagle
Jeannie Watt
Cool Hand HankRunning a wild mustang sanctuary keeps Sally’s hands full. Yet when she meets gorgeous medic Hank at her sister’s wedding, is his healing touch just what Sally needs to soothe her mind, body and soul…? A Cowboy’s RedemptionThe more he gets to know the intrusive Kira, the more Jason grudgingly falls for her. She’s smart, she’s beautiful and she gets him…what man could resist? But her family nearly ruined him in the past. And Jason doesn’t forgive and forget easily!




COOL HAND HANK
KATHLEEN EAGLE


A COWBOY’S
REDEMPTION
JEANNIE WATT


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
COOL HAND HANK

KATHLEEN EAGLE

About the Author
KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner, in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and singletitle, earning her nearly every award in the industry. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list and the New York Times extended bestseller list.
Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota sioux. they have three grown children and three lively grandchildren.



Dear Reader,
A warm welcome back to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary!
When I started writing One Cowboy, One Christmas I had no idea that sally Drexler was going to be such a strong character that she would demand her own book. But what a strong woman she turned out to be. Nothing will stop Sally from living her life to the fullest. She has a wonderful sense of humour, is completely committed to the wild horses that have taken over the Double D Ranch, and she loves fiercely. She has learned to live in the moment because she can’t be sure how she’ll feel tomorrow. She’s thrilled that her sister has found a love to last a lifetime, but she has no thought of discovering that kind of joy for herself.
Enter Hank Night Horse. Hank is a private man, one who has suffered losses of his own. He’s a horseman, a healer, a man who gives without expecting — without even wanting much in return. Hank is my kind of hero. He’s strong, complex, protective (particularly of his own heart), and oh so cool.
If you’re a horse lover like me, check out the Black Hills Wild Horse Sanctuary on line. Douglas O. Hyde founded the program in 1988, and it is the inspiration for the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary.
Now, come with me to a place where wildness reigns and love conquers all.
All my best, always,
Kathleen
For my nieces and nephews
and to honor the memory
of phyllis Eagle McKee

Chapter One
Hank Night Horse believed in minding his own business except when something better crossed his path. A naked woman was something better.
Technically, Hank was crossing her path. He was about to step out of the trees onto the lakeshore, and she was rising out of the lake onto the far end of the dock, but the breathtaking sight of her made her his business. She was as bold and beautiful as all outdoors, and she was making herself at home. Maybe she hadn’t noticed the moonrise, couldn’t tell how its white light made her skin gleam like a beacon on the water.
At his side, Phoebe saw her, too, but she knew better than to give their position away without a signal. With all that skin showing, the woman looked edible. Phoebe was trying to decide whether to point or pounce. Hank knew his dog. He couldn’t help smiling as the woman turned to reach for a towel hanging over a piling. She was slender but womanly, with a long, sleek back and a sweet little ass. If he moved, if he made the slightest sound, he would kill a perfect moment. It would be a shame to see her…
…stumble, flail, go down on one knee. From graceful to gawky in the blink of an eye, the woman plunged headlong into the lake without a sound issuing from her throat. Hank was stunned.
Phoebe took off like a shot, and their cover was blown.
Fall back, regroup, find new cover.
She had the water, and he had the dog. Excuse my dog. She has no manners. And the woman…
…should have surfaced by now. Maybe the water had her.
Phoebe was paddling to beat hell. Hank skittered sideways down the pine-needle-strewn path until his boots hit the dock, reminding him that whatever he was about to do, the boots had to go.
And then what? He was a man of many talents, but swimming wasn’t one of them. If the adoption people had told him Phoebe lived for the water, he would have walked right past her and taken the Chihuahua in the next cage. Instead, he’d saddled himself with a big yellow bitch who thought she was a seal. Or a dolphin. Dolphins could rescue swimmers, couldn’t they?
Dive, baby, dive.
Swish! The woman’s head broke the water’s surface like a popped cork. Phoebe paddled in a circle around her, yapping exuberantly as though she’d scared up some game.
The woman spat a water-filled “Damn!” toward the open lake as Phoebe circled in front of her. “Hey! Where’d you come from?”
“She’s with me.” The water sprite whirled in Hank’s direction. “You okay?”
“Fine. Where did you come from?”
Hank jerked his chin toward his shoulder and the pine woods behind his back. “My dog—Phoebe, get over here—my dog thought I shot you.”
The woman laughed. A quick, unexpected burst of pure glee, which Phoebe echoed, adding gruff bass to bright brass.
“Are you coming in, too?”
He hadn’t thought it through. Hadn’t even realized he was sitting at the end of the dock with one boot half off. “Not if I don’t have to. It looked like you fell.”
“I did.” Eyeing him merrily, she pushed herself closer with one smooth breast stroke. Her pale body glimmered beneath the rippling water. “I have fins for arms and two left feet that want to be part of a tail.” She looked over at the dog paddling alongside her. “I’m not dead in the water. Sorry, Phoebe.”
“She thought you were flapping your wings. If you really had fins, she wouldn’t've bothered.”
“But you would have?”
He pulled his boot back on. “The way you went down, I thought you’d had a heart attack or something.”
“Klutz attack.” She bobbed in place now, her arms stirring the water just beneath the surface. She made not going under look deceptively easy. “The water’s fine once you get used to it. Now that I’m back in I wouldn’t mind company.”
“You’ve got some.” He glanced straight down. Booted feet dangled over dark water. Damn. He felt like he was the one caught with his pants down. Had to get up now. He’d recover his dignity once he had something solid underfoot. Needed something to hang on to, and words were all he had. Keep talking. “That dog won’t hunt, but she sure loves to swim.”
“And you?”
He scooted toward the piling. “I’m not givin’ up the best seat in the house.” Until I can grab that post.
“So you’re one of those guys who’d rather look than leap.”
“I’m one of those guys who’d rather watch than drown.”
There was that laugh again, warm and husky, like an instrument played well and often. “And you were going to save me exactly how?”
“By throwin’ you a life boot.” He smiled, more for his hand striking the post than his wit striking her funny.
“No need to.” Her voice echoed in the night. “My feet are touching bottom.”
“You serious?”
“If I stood up, the water would only be up to my waist.”
“From what I saw, that would make it about two feet deep.”
“Come try it out.” She dared him with a wicked, deep-throated chuckle. “Bring your depth finder.”
What a sight. The strange woman and the dog he fed every damn day were treading in tandem, two against one. Phoebe should have known better.
“I’ve got a measuring stick.” Hank grinned. “But it retracts in the cold.”
“Speaking of cold…” She hooked her arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. “If you’re not going to join us, I’d like to take another stab at getting out.”
Post in hand, he stood. “My feet are touching bottom.”
“Not mine.”
“Yours is wet.” He laid his hand on the towel she’d left hanging over the post. “Bring it up here and I’ll dry it for you.”
“One free look is all you get, cowboy. A second will cost you.”
“How much?”
With the pounding of her fist she sent a waterspout into his face. He staggered back as Phoebe bounded onto the lakeshore.
“Damn! You must have ice water in your veins, woman.”
“Warm hands, cold heart. Go back where you came from, please.” She assumed a witchy pitch. “And your little dog, too.”
If he could’ve, he would’ve. Back to the little house in the North Dakota hills where he’d grown up, where his brother lived with his wife and kids, and where the only water anybody had to worry about was spring runoff. Even though he liked the Black Hills—what red-blooded Lakota didn’t?—he wasn’t big on weddings or wild women. But Hank Night Horse was a man who kept his word.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Nice meeting you.”

So this was what a real wedding was all about.
Hank scanned the schedule he’d been handed at the Hilltop Lodge reception desk along with the key to a room with “a great view of the lake.” He’d told Scott—the host, according to the badge on the blue jacket—he’d already had a great view at the lake. Scott had promised him an even better one at sunrise, and Hank said he wouldn’t miss it. But a wedding was something else. He’d witnessed a few horseback weddings sandwiched between rodeo events, and he’d stood up for one of his cousins in front of a judge, but he’d never actually watched a guy jump through so many hoops just to trade promises.
Damn. A three-day schedule? His friend had claimed to be done with weekend-event schedules now that he’d hung up his spurs, but you’d never know it by the list Hank was looking at now. Social hour, wedding rehearsal, rehearsal dinner. He had to laugh at the thought of a rodeo cowboy publicly practicing his walk down the aisle. The sound of Western-boot heels crossing the wood floor brought the picture to life.
“What’s so funny, Horse?” Zach Beaudry clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “You laughin’ at me? You wait till it’s your turn.”
“For this?” Grinning, Hank turned, brandishing the flower-flocked paper beneath his friend’s nose. “If you don’t draw a number, you don’t take a turn.”
“My advice?” Zach snatched the schedule and traded it for a handshake. “Take a number. You don’t wanna miss the ride of a lifetime.”
“Here’s two, just for you. Number one, I patch you cowboys up for a living. I know all about that ride of a lifetime. And number two…” Hank gave his starry-eyed friend a loose-fisted tap in the chest. No man wore his heart on his sleeve quite like a lovesick cowboy. “Nobody’s askin’ you for advice this weekend, Beaudry. It’s like asking the guy holding the trophy how he feels about winning.”
“Damn, you’re a smart-ass. Be careful you don’t outsmart yourself. Come meet my family.”
Hank followed Zach through a lobby full of rustic pine furniture, leather upholstery, and glass-eyed trophy heads. Rough-hewn beams supported the towering ceiling, and a fieldstone fireplace dominated one wall. They passed through a timber-framed archway into a huge dining room—bar at one end, dance floor at the other, rectangular tables scattered in between—flanked by enormous windows overlooking the lake. Hank wondered whether the shoreline was visible from the terrace beyond the massive glass doors. According to the plaque in the front entry, the lodge and the lakefront were products of a Depression-era Federal construction project, and everything about them was rough-hewn, but grand.
“This is my bride,” Zach was saying, and Hank turned from the windows to the woman linking arms with her man. “Annie, Hank Night Horse.”
She was small and pretty, and her smile seemed a little too familiar. But the way it danced in her blue eyes didn’t connect, didn’t feel like it had anything to do with him. And her curly golden ponytail looked bone dry. Hank held his breath and offered a handshake.
“Our wedding singer,” the bride said in a soft, shy voice. “Thank you for coming, Hank.”
“Sure.” And relieved. He was sure he’d never heard the voice before, so he looked his buddy in the eye and smiled. “You did well, Beaudry.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Zach put his arm around his intended. “She’s got a sister.”
“You don’t say.” Hank lifted one shoulder. “I’m willing to sing for a piece of your wedding cake, but that’s as far as I go.”
“I’m just sayin', you got a great solo voice, man, but that solo livin’ gets old.”
“I’ll bet it does. I know I don’t like to go anywhere without Phoebe.”
“She’s here? Phoebe’s here?” Zach’s face lit up like a kid who smelled puppy. “Annie, if we can’t get married on horseback, how ‘bout we put Phoebe in the wedding party? She could carry the rings. She’s like the physician’s assistant’s assistant. Hank’s pretty good with his hands, but Phoebe’s got heart. He’s stitchin’ a guy up, she’s lovin’ him up like only man’s best friend knows how to do. Helps you cowboy up so you can climb back on another bull.”
“He can’t,” Ann assured Hank. “We wrote it into the contract.”
“That’s good, ‘cause I’m tired of sewing him up and watching him rip out my stitches in the next go-round.”
“Where’s Phoebe?” Zach demanded. “I’ll bet she’s not tired of me.”
“She’s outside. Caused me some trouble, so she’s in the doghouse.”
“No way. You tell Phoebe she can—” Zach glanced past Hank and gave a high sign. “Sally! Over here! I want you to meet somebody.”
“Can he swim?”
That was the voice. “Sounds like I’m out of my depth again.” Hank turned and hit her feet first with a gaze that traveled slowly upward, from the red toenails she’d claimed to be touching bottom to the blue neckline that dipped between pale breasts. He paused, smiled, connected with her eyes—blue, but more vibrant than her sister’s—and paid homage again with the touch of his finger to the brim of his hat. Her short blond hair looked freshly fixed. “I like your dress.”
“What’s that? You like me dressed?”
“That, too. But clothes don’t make the woman.” He’d already seen what did.
“So true. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Hank Night Horse.”
Ann looked up at Zach. “I have a feeling we missed something.”
“I have a feeling this is the sister,” Hank said as he offered his hand. Hers was slight and much colder than advertised. He gave it a few extra seconds to take on a little heat. He had plenty to spare.
“And this is the music man.” Sounding as cool as her hand felt, Sally looked him straight in the eye. For someone who’d been laughing it up less than an hour ago, she sure wasn’t giving him much quarter.
“Hank, Sally Drexler, soon to be my sister-in-law. Have you two already…”
“I took Phoebe for a walk right after we pulled in. She tried to retrieve Sally from the lake.”
“Aw, you gotta love Phoebe,” Zach said cheerfully. “Hank’s part of the medical team working the rodeo circuit, and Phoebe’s his bedside manner.”
Sally’s eyes brightened. “I’ve spent a lot of time around the rodeo circuit. I used to be a stock contractor. Zach delivered the thrills and I furnished the spills. But that was probably before your time.”
“I just hand out the pills.”
“He does a lot more than that,” Zach said. “Pops joints back in place, sets bones, makes the prettiest stitches you ever saw. Plus, he shoes horses on the side.”
Sally challenged Hank’s credentials with a high-headed smile. “All that and a wedding singer, too?”
“First time.” Hank gave Ann an indulgent smile. “I hear brides can be hard to please, and I’m a what-you-hear-is-what-you-get kind of a guy. I don’t mind being the funeral singer. You get no complaints from the star of the show.”
“You’re listed on the program without the name of the song, which I really wanted…” Ann glanced at Zach. They were already developing their own code.
Good start, Hank thought. He and his former wife had never gotten that far.
“But we agreed to leave it up to you,” Zach filled in.
“It’s my gift. I want it to be a surprise.”
Ann shrugged. “I promise not to complain.”
“I promise not to sing ‘Streets of Laredo.'” Hank glanced across the room. A handful of people were gathered at the bar. Two women were setting bowls of flowers on the white-draped table. He turned to Sally. “What’s your wedding assignment?”
“Maid of honor, of course. It’s a plum role. By the way,” she reported to her sister, “more gifts were delivered here today. I had the desk clerk store them under lock and key. There’s actually one from Dan Tutan.”
Tutan. Hank frowned. He hadn’t heard the name since he was a kid, when he’d heard it whispered respectfully, sometimes uneasily, eventually contemptuously around the Night Horse home.
“Or his wife,” Ann was saying. “She takes neigh-borliness seriously.”
“Dan Tutan’s your neighbor?” Hank asked.
Sally sighed. “A few miles down the road. Not close enough so we have to see him every day. But before I say fortunately, is he a friend of yours?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he’d like to turn our wild-horse sanctuary into a dog-food factory.”
“Why’s that?”
“The horses like to mess with him,” Zach said. “They know he’s extremely messable.”
“Tutan’s had a pretty sweet deal on grazing leases around here for so long he’s forgotten what a lease is,” Sally said. “We’re bidding on some leases and some grazing permits that he’s held for years, and we’ve got a good chance at them because of the sanctuary. We’re a retirement home for unadoptable wild horses. We give them grassland instead of a Bureau of Land Management feedlot. So Tutan doesn’t like us much these days. How do you know him?”
“My father knew him.” Hank glanced away. “Tutan wouldn’t know me from an Indian-head penny.”
“He’d know the penny,” Sally said. “Damn Tootin’ never walks away from any kind of money.”
Zach clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Don’t tell him which one we picked up for a song.”
“Damn Tootin'.” Hank chuckled. He didn’t think he’d heard that one.
“Were they friends?” Sally asked. “Your father and my neighbor?”
“My dad worked for Tutan for a while. Long time ago. No, they weren’t friends.”
“Good. I’m not good at watching what I say about people I hate.” Sally linked arms with her sister. “I’d get the bomb squad to check out his gift if I were you. And then put it in the regifting pile.”
“Tell us how you really feel, Sally,” Zach teased. He winked at Hank. “I’m glad you’re giving us live music. That’s something she can’t regift.”
“I’m recording everything,” Sally said. “Hell, if your singer’s any good, I’ll burn a few CDs for Christmas presents. The frugal rancher’s three R’s: regift, repurpose, recycle.” She poked Zach in the chest as though she were testing for doneness. “But we can’t regift your brother’s trip, so you’re going to use that one.”
“We’ll get to it. There’s no rush.”
“No rush to go on your honeymoon?” Sally flashed Hank a smile. “What’s this guy’s problem, Doc?”
“Can’t say.”
“You’re ducking behind that confidentiality screen, aren’t you?” She turned back to Zach. “Your extremely wealthy brother hands you the extreme honeymoon, the wedding trip of your dreams, the one you mapped out with your bride, and you’re saying we’ll get to it? Like anytime is honeymoon time?”
“Well, isn’t it?” Zach held up a cautionary hand. “Hold on, now, I haven’t said I do yet. I gotta go work on those vows some more, make sure we both say I do it anytime. All the time. Rain or shine.”
The bride blushed.
The maid of honor laughed. “Say what you want, cowboy. I figure a nice long, romantic honeymoon will guarantee me a niece or nephew nine months later. If you don’t get away from the Double D, what you’ll do is exactly what you’ve been doing, which is working your fool britches off.”
“Britches off is step one, Sally,” Zach said. “It’s not much work, and it’s no guarantee, but it’s a start. Right, Hank?”
Hank answered his friend with a look. The conversation had veered into no-comment land.
“I can handle the Double D.” Sally glanced back and forth between Zach and Ann. “I’m fine.”
“We’re here for a wedding,” Ann said, “which is a one-time thing, and we’re doing it up right. Right here. Right now. We’re going to rehearse.” Ann offered a hand for the taking. “Hank?”
“You want me to practice walkin’ and talkin', fine.” Hank took the bride’s hand with a smile. “But I don’t rehearse my songs in public. It’s bad luck.”
“Let’s walk and talk, then. Help me make a list of reasons why Zach should ride horses instead of bulls.”

Sally hung back, watching her sister walk away with two attractive men. Two cowboys. Lucky Annie. As far as Sally was concerned, there were only two kinds of men out West: cowboys and culls. She didn’t know any men from back East.
Sally had been around a lot of cowboys, and most of them were pretty easy to figure. All you had to do was take a look at the shirt. A cowboy wore his heart on his sleeve and a number on his back. He lived day to day and traveled rodeo to rodeo, accumulating cash and consequences. He was addicted to adrenaline, and he’d paid dearly for his sky-highs with rock-bottom lows. By the time he’d filled his PRCA permit with enough wins to earn the right to call himself a Professional Rodeo Cowboy, he’d paid in some combination of torn flesh, spilled blood and broken bone.
Such was the story of Zach Beaudry. He’d been the up-and-coming bull rider to beat until he’d met up with the unbecoming end of a bull’s horn. Like the rest of his kind, he knew how to tough it out. Hunker down and cowboy up. Put the pieces back together and get back on the road. Which had led him to Annie’s doorstep.
Hank Night Horse had the look of a cowboy. He was lean and rangy, built to fork a horse and cut to the chase. But a full place setting required a spoon. Sally smiled to herself as she pictured his possibilities. He looked great going away. She could paste herself against that long, tapered back and snug her thighs under his, tuck his tight butt into her warm bowl and be fortified. She could back up to him and invite him to curl his strong body around her brittle one and make her over. It could happen. In her dreams, anyway.
Hank turned to say something to Annie, who turned to say something to Zach and then back to Hank again. Conspiring. Setting Sally up. She knew what they were up to, and she didn’t mind as long as this crazy body of hers was working properly. The fall from the dock hadn’t been a good sign, but she was back in control now. And Hank Night Horse was turning back, giving her another one of those rousing once-overs. You and me, woman. He was coming for her, and, ah! she saw how fine he looked coming and knew how readily and happily she would come and come and come if the table were set with a man like Hank Night Horse. It wouldn’t matter how much time he had to spare as long as it was—what was the expression? Quality time. Remission from illness was like a blue space between clouds. Either make the most of it, or stay in your box.
“Care to join me in the back row?” he asked.
“Am I your assignment?” She threw her voice into her sister’s key. “If you’re not going to rehearse your song, could you keep an eye on Sally?”
“I didn’t quite catch what they said,” he claimed with a twinkle in his eye. “Something about drink. I’m supposed to buy you one or keep you from falling in. Either way, I could be in for some trouble. Are you a troublemaker, Sally?”
“I do my best. And I know you’re lying, because I’m not allowed to drink.”
“Anything?”
“Anything with alcohol in it.”
“Who said anything about alcohol?” He gave her a challenging look, his eyes growing darker and hooded, his full lips twitching slightly, unwilling to smile. “And who makes the rules?”
“Sensible Sally.” She gave the smile he denied her. “That was her alter ego down at the lake. Shameless Sally.”
“She’s got the right idea. Shame shouldn’t be allowed, either.” He tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “So, what’ll it be?”
She looked at her watch. “Rehearsal in five. Can’t hardly whip up a good batch of trouble in five minutes. Sensible Sally drinks green tea on the rocks with a twist.”
Hank decided to “make that two,” and they left the dining room, glasses in hand, no hurry in their feet. Sally felt a growing reluctance to catch up with the little wedding party in the lodge library. The lakeside setting for the ceremony would be set up tomorrow, so tonight’s indoor rehearsal was literally a dry run. Sally knew her part. She’d seen it played out a hundred ways in movies, read the scene in dozens of books. Sensible Sally stayed in the house a lot. Shameless Sally couldn’t go out to play until the unreliable body caught up with the willing spirit, and now that the two were working in tandem, she would go where the spirit moved her.
“Look!” She pointed to a window, grabbed Hank’s arm and towed him out the front door on to the huge covered porch. A procession of trail riders passed under the yard lights on their way to the pasture below the lodge. “How was the ride?” Sally called out.
“Beautiful!” said one of the helmeted riders. “Made it to the top of Harney Peak.”
“Let’s go up there tomorrow,” Sally said to Hank. “You ride, don’t you? We should.” She turned to the riders. “Where did you get the horses?”
“We brought our own. We’re a club.”
“But there’s a hack stable close by,” said the last rider as she passed under the light. “Ask at the desk.”
Sally looked up at Hank. “We could go really early.” She turned, cupped her hand around her cheek and shouted at the last rider’s back. “How long did it take?”
“All day!”
Sally scowled. “I’ll bet I could take a marker to the programs and change the time. The lake is beautiful this time of day. Night.” She pointed to the white moon hovering above the ponderosa pines. “It’ll be full tomorrow. Imagine Annie in her white gown, and Zach…well, he’s wearing black, but can’t you just see it? Moonlight on the lake?”
“I did, yeah. Beautiful.”
“They don’t need us. They wouldn’t even notice. Look.” She took his hand and led him to the end of the porch, pointed to the tall, bright corner windows that showcased the rehearsal getting under way in the library.
Sally could see Zach’s niece and nephew perusing the bookshelves that flanked the stone fireplace. Zach was having a chat with his brother, Sam. Annie and the minister were poking through a sheaf of papers. “My baby sister’s getting married tomorrow,” she whispered. Hard to believe. The window might have been a movie screen, except that she knew these people—some better than others—and what they were doing was exactly what they’d been talking about for months. It was happening. Sally’s little sister was getting married. “They won’t notice anyone but each other tomorrow.” She squeezed Hank’s hand. “Let’s do it.”
“Do it?”
“Tomorrow. Let’s ride to the top of Harney Peak.”
“Zach’s a good man. They don’t come much better.”
“Oh, I know that.” She drew a deep breath and laughed. “But I love the smell of horse in the morning.”
He laughed with her, and that felt good. Even better when he took control of the hand-holding and led her back into the lodge as though they were in this together, a two-part unit joining a group of two-and-more-part units. She could come to like this man much more than Sensible Sally would normally permit.
The first person they ran into when they entered the library was the wizened cowboy who would be giving Annie away. Hoolie was draped over a pair of crutches near the door, prompting Sally to ask gently whether his ankle was bothering him again, whether he was coming or going.
“Thinkin’ about getting outta the way until they decide what they want me to do. One of them kids tripped and near busted my cast.”
“It was an accident,” the sandy-haired boy called out over the top of the book he’d been reading.
“Man, they can hear good when they want to, can’t they?” the wiry cowboy muttered, glancing at Hank. Then he turned to the boy. “I know you’re sorry, Jim. No hard feelings. I can still hobble.”
“Hank, this is Henry Hoolihan, our foreman.”
“Hoolie.” He offered Hank his hand. “Nobody’s called me Henry since I was Jim’s age. Who dug that up?”
“I don’t know, but it’s on the program,” Sally said. “Jim and Star are Zach’s brother’s kids. Say hello to Hank Night Horse, Zach’s doctor.”
The children sang out as instructed, but Hoolie said, “Doctor?”
Hank glanced at Hoolie’s cast. “I work the rodeo circuit as a physician’s assistant. Zach’s been a pretty steady customer the last few seasons.” As one, the three turned their attention to the couple attending to wedding business on the far side of the room. “He’s a good hand.”
“Was,” Sally said. “He says he’s retiring.”
“The body can only take so much,” Hank said. “Some guys don’t know when to quit. I’m glad Zach’s not one of those guys.” He looked at Sally. “He’s still a good hand.”
“We love Zach,” Sally said with a smile. “Don’t we, Hoolie? I’m being summoned. Let’s get this over with so we can eat. And then on to the fun stuff.” She touched Hank’s sleeve. “Keep your program handy. We had one dull moment scheduled in, but then you came along and buffed it up, thank you very much.”
“The pleasure was mine.” He eyed her hand and then raised his dark gaze to her eyes as he leaned close to her ear. “Seein’ as how the buff was yours.”
Sally’s neck tingled. An icy-hot shiver blew apart and streaked gloriously throughout her body. She stood still, waiting for the feel of another warm, magic breath.
“Sally, we need you!”
She let her hand slide to the edge of Hank’s cuff where she could feel his working-man’s skin. “Hold that thought,” she said.
At dinner, Sally did her maid-of-honor duty by making the rounds among family and friends. Sally and Ann had lived on the Drexler ranch in South Dakota all their lives. But the family had been reduced to the two of them, along with Hoolie, who had come to work for their father before they were born, outlived him, and earned the privilege of giving the bride away. And now they had Zach, who brought his mother, Hilda, and brother, Sam, to the Drexler fold—hardly big enough to fold—along with Sam’s new wife, Maggie, and their two children. But the Beaudrys made their home in Montana, and Zach had become a rolling stone until he’d rolled to a stop at the Double D. The wedding was Zach’s reunion with the Beaudrys as well as his formal initiation into the Drexler clan. The Beaudrys couldn’t contain their joy, and why try?
Duty done in the middle of the circle, Sally moved to the edge, where Hank had laid claim to the observer’s station, a post she had come to know all too well in recent years. She had made her peace with it, while Hank seemed quite comfortable there. Maybe he could teach her something. He’d moved from the table where they’d shared dinner with Hoolie and Hilda to a corner conversation area near the bar. When he saw her coming, he moved again, from a big leather chair to a love seat. She was invited.
“They’re all going on a moonlight hayride,” she reported as she sat down. “I’m supposed to fetch you.”
He smiled. “Good luck.”
“Ready for another dull moment?”
“Looking forward to it.” He lifted his arm over her head and laid it along the back of the love seat. “You?”
“I don’t feel like changing clothes. When I take these off, that’ll be it for the night.”
“Big day tomorrow.”
“Big day.” She laid her head back and let it rest against his arm. “They’re good people, aren’t they? Why would Zach stay away from home so long?”
“Wouldn’t know.”
“But you know him well enough to vouch for his character.”
“Yep.” He shifted a little closer. “Tell me more about your mustang sanctuary. How do you support it?”
“We get some support from federal programs. Before my dad died, the Double D was one of the biggest cattle ranches in the state, and we still have a small cow-calf operation. We’re also permitted to sell some of the colts off the wild mares.”
“Is there much of a market these days?”
“They sell pretty well if they’re at least green broke. Even better if they’re broke to ride. But the market fluctuates with the rest of the economy, and right now it’s tough. I have a plan, but I put it on hold for the wedding.”
“Is that why they’re holding off on the honeymoon?”
“Oh, no.” She turned her head to give him a warning glance. “They don’t know I have anew plan in the works. They’re trying to put the honeymoon on hold because they don’t want to leave me—” she raised her brow and gave a suggestive little smile “—to my own devices.”
“Sounds like you have a reputation.”
“I did, but I haven’t been keeping up. A reputation is something you have to tend, just like a garden.” She made growing, blooming, stepping-out gestures. “You want it to get big enough to precede you.”
“Except when you get caught with your pants down.”
“Depends on your perspective.” She turned up the tease in her smile. “I can’t speak for yours, but from mine, sooner or later you’ll get my attention. It’s better if you’re not a sooner. Laters are generally slower and longer.”
He shook his head, rewarding her with a slow smile. “You’re a little smart-ass.”
“Ah, but I grow on you.”
“We’ll see.” But he crossed his near leg over the far one before she had a chance. “You can’t hire somebody to help out while they’re honeymooning?”
“Are you looking for a job?”
“I have two jobs,” he reminded her. “I’m a farrier and a physician’s assistant. My services are in high demand on the rodeo circuit.”
“They’d be pretty handy around the Double D, too. If we had someone like you on staff, Zach and Annie would leave tomorrow. The day after at the latest.”
“How big…how many on your staff?”
“Four, counting Hoolie. We get volunteers to work with some of the horses, but a lot of them are kids. Mostly from the reservation. Annie teaches at the high school.”
“How long did they plan to be gone?”
“About three weeks. But then Hoolie got tangled up in some barbed wire and broke his ankle.” She sat up and took new interest. “You wouldn’t have to stay around the whole time. Seriously. You could be on call.”
“That’s why I’m not on any kind of staff. Been there, done that, found out I don’t much like being on call. You work a rodeo, you’re there for the weekend. The pay’s good, and you get to have a life.”
“Doing what? You have a family?” She hadn’t missed something, had she?
“I used to be married. Had a son. He died.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. But I got my life back, and I’m not short on things to do.”
“Neither am I. It’s time that’s the kicker, isn’t it?”
“I probably don’t think of time the same way you do.”
No kidding. “Not very many people do.”
“A day is a day. You fill it with how you feel.”
“That’s interesting. I couldn’t've said it better. Right now, tonight…” She stretched her arms straight and strong, crooning a saucy, “I feeeel good.” She slid him a glance. “Hey, you’re smiling.”
“You’re growin’ on me.”

Chapter Two
“oh, Annie.”
Sally’s sister turned from the mirror, eyes shining like stars. Her golden hair was swept up from the sides and anchored by a pearl-encrusted comb and a cascading veil. The off-the-shoulder neckline and body-skimming lines of her elegant ivory dress were simple and stunning and perfectly suited to the woman who stood there, eclipsing all the dreams the two sisters had conjured over the years.
The photographer quietly snapped pictures, allowing the moment to unfold. Sally was dumbfounded. How many times had they gotten dressed together, given each other a last-minute review? Sally had helped Annie choose each piece of her wedding ensemble, had overseen the fittings and giggled with her over their memories of dresses and dates, new measurements and old tastes, the never-ending Double D “chest jest”—a size Annie had at one time nearly reached—and the ever-after girlish dreams. And now all the pieces had come together, adding up to a vision that came as no real surprise to Sally even as it brought rare tears to her eyes. This was it. Annie was the fairytale bride.
Blinking furiously, Sally handed over the bouquet of white calla lilies, drew a deep breath and blew a wobbly whistle. “Whoa. Wow. Okay, Hoolie thinks he can get by without crutches, but I know what it’s like to fall on your face in front of an audience, so I think we should put my cane in his hand right when the music starts.”
“It’s not a long walk. A few steps. I’m almost there, Sally.” Annie grabbed Sally’s hand, and the camera hummed. “Why am I shaking like this?”
“They’re big steps.” Baby sister was taking big steps, and Sally was the only Drexler left to hold her hand.
She wanted to hug her, hold her a little longer, but she made do with squeezing her hand rather than making smudges or wrinkles or tears. Annie wasn’t leaving, but life would be different after today.
“I wonder if he’s nervous. Do you think he’s shaking like this?” Annie laughed and shook her head. “Probably not. He’s a cowboy. He rides… used to ride bulls for a living. What’s a little—” she turned for another glance in the mirror, complete with bouquet, and smiled “—wedding?”
“There’s no such thing as a little wedding,” Sally said, speaking from her all-too-frequent experience as a captive TV watcher. “By the numbers, this one is little. But it’s big by my calculations.”
“I know. It’s all Sam’s fault.”
“I’m not calculating in dollars. Zach’s brother’s money definitely falls into the easy-come-easy-go category, and since there’s so much of it, why not enjoy the frills? I’m talking about big, as in big as life. This is your wedding, and it means the world to me.”
Sally touched the simple strand of pearls around her sister’s neck. They had belonged to their mother, whom Sally saw so unmistakably in Annie’s big, soft eyes and bow-shaped mouth and dainty chin. Sally looked more like their father, but she was the one who clearly remembered Mom. Sally was the keeper of Drexler memories.
“I’ll be kinda glad when it’s all…” Annie gave her head a quick toss. “No, I’m glad now. I’m ready. I feel beautiful. And you look beautiful, Sally.” Annie turned her sister so that the mirror made a framed portrait unlike any they’d taken together before. They’d been big and lively, little and sweet. One primary, one pastel. One ready to go first, the other pleased to follow.
“I love you so much,” Annie whispered, and Sally had no doubt. But Annie was the one once meant to wait while Sally went ahead. And it wasn’t that Sally was resentful of the reversal—she really did look good in her chic, fluid blue waterfall of a dress, Annie’s gift of opals around her neck and studding her ears, fragrant gardenias in her hair—but she was unsure of her footing. Annie was taking a big step.
Where did that leave Sally?
“Me, too, you,” she said as she squeezed that ever-dependable hand again. “Lest we spoil the makeup, consider yourself kissed.”
“You know you’re not losing a sister, don’t you? You’re gaining a brother. And we’re not going anywhere. We’re partners, and we’re family, and we’re going to—”
“—be late for your wedding. Listen. I am fine.” She enunciated each word forcefully, willing her sister to make sense of three simple words and move on. “Look at me. No cane, no pain.” Enjoy this with me while it lasts. She needlessly fluffed Annie’s veil. “This is your day, honey. Take a deep breath. Your man is out there waiting and, yes, probably feeling just the way you are. When you take each other’s hands…” Sally smiled, blinking furiously because she would not cry. “Tell me what it’s like, okay? That moment.”
Annie nodded as she pulled her hand free, placed a finger lightly at the outside corner of Sally’s eye, caught a single tear and touched it to her lips.

Granite spires bound the crystalline-blue lake on the far side, the perfect backdrop for a hand-woven red willow arch decked out with a profusion of flowers. Guests were seated in white folding chairs. Zach’s niece led the way, tossing handfuls of white rose petals on a path of fresh green pine needles. Sally followed, taking measured steps in time with the string quartet’s elegant processional. Looking as handsome and relaxed in his black tux as he did in well-worn jeans, Zach waited for his bride. His brother, Sam—a little taller, a little darker, a little less at ease—stood like a sentry overseeing his charges. Daughter, son, wife, mother, brother—Sam’s eyes attended to each one. He was clearly the Beaudry caretaker. Funny, Sally thought. That’s Annie, not me.
Before she’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, Sally had been the seeker, the doer, the risk taker. She’d cared passionately, but she’d never taken care. That was Annie’s role. Careful, care-giving, selfless Annie.
Sally paused before the minister and looked the groom in the eye. Be good to her, Zach. Be the man she deserves. She pivoted and took her place, knowing she’d made her point. She felt Annie step up to fill the space she and Zach had left for her, but she couldn’t quite turn to watch Hoolie place her sister’s hand in Zach’s. It was enough to see the movement from the corner of her eye, where Annie had touched her for a tear.
It was happening. Annie was interlacing her life with someone new, becoming someone else’s next of kin. Sally clutched two handfuls of flowers and listened to identical promises exchanged in voices that complemented each other in a way she hadn’t heard before. It was a pure sound and a simple truth. Annie and Zach belonged together.
And they stood together, hand in hand, while Hank played an acoustic guitar and sang “Cowboy, Take Her Away” in a deep, resonant voice that was made for a love song. He’d said his gift was his song, and he sang to the couple as though no one else was there and every note, every word had been written just for them. Sally was enchanted. Her beautiful sister, her new brother, the music and the man who made it—she wanted to suck it all in and keep it alive within her in a way that the video camera could never do.
At the end of the song, Hank said, “Kiss her, Zach.” And he did, cheered on by friends and family, who showered them with white rose petals as they retreated down the path. The guests followed, and the violinists made merry music at the back of the line as it wended its way up a gentle slope between stands of tall pines. When they reached the lodge’s gravel driveway, Zach swept his bride up in his arms and carried her across the path and up the steps to the front porch, where he set her down and kissed her again. Women sighed. Men whooped. Cowboy hats sailed skyward.
Annie and Zach were hitched.

“You’re a lucky man.” Sally raised her glass of sparkling water in toast.
“Yeah, I know.” Sam put his arm around his new wife, Maggie. “I hit the jackpot.”
Maggie looked up at him. “You did?”
“Trusted you and got myself a whole family.”
“I think Sally’s talking about winning the lottery,” Maggie said. “It’s crazy. Real people don’t win the lottery.”
“Well, it was complicated,” Sam said. “It was Star’s mother’s ticket—our daughter, Star—but she died before she could claim it. In fact, we thought the damn thing was lost in a car accident, but it turned up, kinda like…” He waved his hand as though words failed.
“Miraculously,” Maggie supplied.
“To put it mildly,” Sam said. “It’s been a year, but it still doesn’t seem real. We’re trying to manage it sensibly. You don’t want to go crazy. You want to put some of it to good use now, give some away, make sure there’s plenty left for the kids. I’ve never known any rich people, never thought I’d like them much.”
“He won’t give up his job,” Maggie said.
Sam laughed. “She won’t, either.”
“I’m part-time now, but our little clinic needs nurses, and I’m a good one. We just moved into a house we built on Sam’s land. It’s a gorgeous spot.” Maggie made a sweeping gesture. “Kind of like this, but the lake is smaller and the mountains are bigger. You have to come for a visit.”
“Where’s Hank?” Sam asked, searching over the heads of the guests. “Man, that guy can sing. He about killed my brother with that song.” He grinned at Zach. “He didn’t leave yet, did he?”
Did he?
Sally hugged her new brother-in-law. “Where’s Hank?”
“I’ll tell you a little secret about ol’ Hank. He don’t like compliments. He does his thing, and then he disappears for a while. He sang at a funeral once—bull rider, wrecked his pickup. Hank tore everybody up singin’ over that kid. And then he disappeared. I found him playin’ fetch with Phoebe.” Zach glanced over the balcony railing. “He’s around.”
“Hey, cowboy.” Annie joined the group, entwining her arm with her new husband’s and beaming up at him as though he’d just hung the moon. “Take me away.”
A skyward glance assured Sally that the moon wasn’t up yet. The sun had slipped behind the trees, but there was still plenty of light for searching the grounds. She didn’t have to go far. She found Phoebe first. The dog greeted her with a friendly bark, and the man followed, emerging from a stand of pines near a picnic table. He carried his jacket slung over his shoulder, white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, black hat tipped low on his forehead.
Sally scratched Phoebe behind the ears and caught a little drool in the process. Hank tapped his thigh, and the dog heeled. With a hand signal, he had her sitting.
“Impressive,” Sally said.
“She’s willing to humor me because you’re not as appealing as you were last night. If you were splashing around in the lake she’d be all over you.”
“And you?”
“The only part that didn’t appeal to me last night was the water.”
“You were wonderful,” she said, and he questioned her with a look. “Today. Your music. You play beautifully, and you sing like—”
“Thanks.” He swung his jacket down from his shoulder. “It’s a good song.”
“It’s a lovely song. Perfect. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
“Aw, c’mon. You gotta love those Dixie Chicks. I had to change a couple of words to make it work.”
“You made it yours. Theirs. Annie’s and Zach’s. That’ll be their song now.” Feeling a sudden chill, she hugged herself and rubbed her bare upper arms. “What a gift, Hank. That’s something they’ll take with them throughout their journey together. Their song.”
“You’re layin’ it on a little thick, there, Sally,” he teased as he laid his jacket over her shoulders.
“Never. I’m no gusher. If anything, that was an understatement. My little sister just got married, Hank. If I could sing, I’d be…” She adjusted the jacket and began to sway. “You know what? I can dance.” She did a tiny two-step, added a slow twirl, and then a more enthusiastic two-step and a spin. “I can dance. I can…“
She lost the twinkle in her toes, stumbled, and landed in a hoop made of two strong arms.
“Oops. I tend to be a little clumsy when I get excited. All I need is a strong partner.” She copped a feel of his working-man’s biceps as she steadied herself and eased up on him, catching a knowing look beneath the brim of his hat. He thought it a pratfall.
She smiled. “How about it?”
He took his time about tilting her upright, the corner of his mouth twitching. “How about I do the singin’ and you do the dancin'?”
“They didn’t set this up very well. The best man is married. What fun is that for a maid of honor?”
He bent to retrieve his jacket from the grass. “What kind of fun are you looking for?”
“The loosen-your-tie-and-kick-your-shoes-off kind. How about you?”
“If I start taking more clothes off, the party’s over.” He draped his jacket over her shoulders again. “I’ll settle for a good meal and a little music.”
“Ah, the quiet type. A challenge is always fun.” She linked arms with him and made a sweeping gesture toward the lodge. “Shall we? Dinner’s coming up soon. Right now the bar is open and the drinks are free.”
“Free drinks would take away any challenge if I didn’t have this booze-sniffin’ bitch with me.” The dog whined and perked her ears. “See? Phoebe don’t miss a trick. No way am I goin’ near any open bar, so just save me a seat at the dinner table.”
“I’ve already arranged the place cards. You’re next to me on the wagon.” She had him walking now. Ambling. She was in no hurry. “Have you thought about my suggestion?”
“What suggestion?”
“Think of it as sort of a working vacation. Not hard labor, mind you. More like backup. Hang out with Hoolie and me. We can be quite entertaining. And according to Zach, you’re unattached and somewhat flexible in your schedule.” She looked up and gave a perfunctory smile. “I asked.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Filling out your résumé. I didn’t tell him you were thinking about applying for the job. So far, this is just between you and me.”
“You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. I want my sister’s wedding to be perfect, and the perfect wedding includes a fabulous honeymoon.” She gave his arm what she hoped felt like a winning squeeze. “I don’t know what your somewhat flexible schedule looks like for the next few weeks, but you wouldn’t have to miss any rodeos. Come and go as you please, but stow your gear with us for a while. That way there’s another man around, and the honeymooners have nothing to worry about.”
“What about the man? Should I be worried?”
“You don’t strike me as a worrier.”
“Long as I’m not hangin’ with troublemakers, I got nothin’ to worry about.”
“No worries, then.” She laughed. “I really don’t make trouble. I fall into it sometimes, but who doesn’t?” She looked up. “You?”
“Not lately.”
“Maybe you need a little adventure in your life, Hank. Get out there, you know? Try new things. New people. I like to get while the gettin’s good, but I’m always careful. You gotta be careful with the good stuff, right? Good people, good ideas, good times—there’s a certain balance. A little daring goes a long way with a lot of careful.” She wagged an instructive finger. “If we had an emergency, we’d call you.”
“There’s nobody crazier than Zach Beaudry when it comes to risking his neck, and you can tell him I said so.”
“And he’ll say he’s changed.” She stopped, turned, blocked his progress. “Will you think about it? What’s three weeks?”
“How much time do I have to think about it?”
“About three hours.” She pulled his jacket in tighter. “Do you have horses? I could pay you in horses. You know, the Indian way.”
“Yeah, I know the Indian way. But you’re talkin’ Sally’s way, and I’m goin’ Hank’s way. Nice try, though.” He smiled. “I do like the way you swim.”
“Dance with me tonight, and I’ll swim with you later.”
“For me, that’s a whole lotta daring and not much careful.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Be damned if I’m not tempted to jump in.”

Hank generally steered clear of big parties, but the Beaudry wedding was turning out to be a pretty good time. With beef for dinner and the prospect of Sally for dessert, he was happy to loosen his belt now and put his boots under her bed later. She hadn’t been kidding about arranging the place cards. She’d given up her seat at the bride’s table, supposedly so the best man could sit with his wife. She’d grabbed Hilda Beaudry and nodded toward Hoolie and Hank, who’d claimed a table on the sidelines and started in on the bread basket. It was a good setup. Hank wouldn’t presume to guess where Hoolie pictured parking his boots tonight, but he secretly wished the old man whatever he could score. Hilda was definitely enjoying the company.
“It’s too bad you can’t dance tonight, Hoolie,” Hilda said, genuinely grieved.
Hoolie checked all his pockets. “Too many hidey-holes in this monkey suit. I don’t know where my pocket knife went to. You got one on you, Hank? I’m gonna cut this damn thing off.”
“No nudity here, Hoolie.” Sally winked at Hank. “Wait till we’re back in camp.”
“Is that where you’re hiding all the Double D’s?” Hank scanned the room. “'Cause I ain’t seein’ any in this crowd.”
“I’m talkin’ about this mummy’s boot I got on my foot,” Hoolie grumbled.
“How long you had it on?” Hank asked.
“About a month.”
“About a week,” Sally said.
“Sorry, Hoolie. You got a ways to go.”
“I broke a wing before. Twice.” Hoolie flapped his foldedarm. “But never a leg. Sure cramps a guy’s style.”
“I’ll request the Funky Chicken,” Hilda promised. “When the mother of the groom and the father of the bride are both unattached, they get one of those spotlight dances. Right, Sally?”
“Absolutely. We make our own rules. Don’t we, Hoolie? I think I might have found us a sitter.” She flashed Hank a smile. “Hank’s almost convinced.”
“What kind of a sitter?” Hoolie scowled.
“The kind who looks like he can keep the mice at bay while the cats go play. Hank’s perfect, so help me put him over the edge.” She laid her hand on Hank’s shoulder and crooned, “Come on out to the big Double D, where the horses run wild and the cowboys live free.”
Hank chuckled. “Yeah, that’s gonna do it.”
“Hell, yeah, we want those kids to have their honeymoon.” Hoolie leaned closer to Hank. “You like horses?”
“He’s a farrier,” Sally said.
“Thought you was an MA or a PD or some kind of code for junior doctor.”
“PA,” Hank said. “Physician’s assistant.”
“For people, right? And you can shoe horses besides?” Hoolie grinned. “Yeah, you need to come see our place. You got some time? Say about—”
“Three weeks? They don’t trust you to mind the store either, Hoolie?” Hank asked.
“They would if I hadn’t gone and—”
Sally whapped Hoolie in the chest and nodded toward a paunchy silhouette in an oversized straw hat looming in the doorway to the dining room. “What’s he doing here?”
Hoolie peered, squinted. “Don’t ask me.”
“Annie thought about inviting the Tutans. Double D diplomacy, she said, but after the last stunt he pulled—I know damn well it was him—I said it was him or me.” Sally’s hand found Hank’s forearm again, but like Hoolie, he was zeroed in on the uninvited guest. “He cut our fence,” she was saying. “We keep the old horses in a separate pasture, and Tutan cut the fence. He said he didn’t, but it was definitely cut, and that’s how Hoolie broke his ankle.”
“That was my own damn fault.”
“We have special fencing separating the young horses from the retirees and the convalescents. Those horses don’t get through a four-strand fence without help.” Sally slid her chair back. “I’m sure it was a trap. I don’t know if it was set for the horses or for you, but I know he did it to cause us trouble. And he’s about to get his.”
“Hold on, girl.” Hoolie’s chair legs scraped the floor. “Not now.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near Annie’s wedding.”
“C’mon.” Hank was the first one to his feet. “This is my kind of fun. Don’t worry, Hoolie. We’ll keep it civil.” He smiled as he helped Sally with her chair. “But there’s nothing wrong with showin’ a little claw.”
Tutan. The name ping-ponged within the walls of Hank’s head as he took in the face for the first time. He kept pace with Sally, who had a point to make with every deliberate step. No hurry. I’m in charge here. His admiration for the woman’s style grew with every moment he spent with her. And now, here was Dan Tutan. Her lease challenger. His father’s leash holder. Mr. Tutan.
“We’re on our way to Rapid City, thought we’d stop in and offer our best wishes. Did you get our gift?”
“We did. Thanks, but you really shouldn’t have.”
No hello, no go to hell. The way Sally was bristling and the man was posturing, Hank expected a little snarling. He was disappointed.
“We’ve been neighbors a long time, Sally.” The man with the round, red face adjusted his hat, hitched up his pants, and finally folded his arms over his barrel chest. “We figured our invitation got lost in the mail.”
“Annie wanted to keep it small. Family and close friends.”
He eyed Hank. “Close friends?”
“Hank Night Horse.” No handshake. A nod and a name were more than enough. “I’ve known Zach a long time.”
“Night Horse.” Tutan went snake eyed. “I had a guy by that name working for me years ago. Any relation to you?”
Keep looking, Mr. Tutan. “Where was he from?”
“I don’t think he was from around here. Coulda been Montana. Isn’t that where Beaudry’s from?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I like that Crow Indian country up there. Real pretty. Is that where you’re from?”
“Nope.” Crow country is Crow country. “But Night Horse is a common name. Kinda like Drexler and Tutan.”
“That guy that worked for me…there’s something…” He kept staring, the rude bastard. But he shook his head. “No, if I remember right, he was shaped more like me.” He patted his belly and laughed. “And he was a good hand. Except when he got to drinking. Fell off the wagon and got himself killed somehow. Hard to tell by the time his body was found, but they thought he might’ve been out hunting. That’s one sport you don’t want to mix with too much Everclear.” He shook his head. “Tragic.”
“Sounds like it.” Hank stared dispassionately, kept his tone tame and his fists tucked into his elbows.
“Maybe that wasn’t his name. Pretty sure it was some kinda Horse.” Tutan turned to Sally. “You’re looking fit. Some new kind of—”
“I’m doing well, thanks. Very well.”
“Good. Good to hear.” He tried to peer past Sally, but it was Hoolie who limped into view. “Good man, Hoolihan,” Tutan enthused. “There’s sure no keeping you down. Where’s the bride? I just want to give her my best. I’ve known these girls most of their lives, and I want little Annie to know that the Tutans wish her well.”
“She’s on a tight schedule,” Hank said. “We’ll tell her you stopped in.”
“This time tomorrow I guess the happy couple will be off on a nice honeymoon.”
“That’s the main reason I’m here.” Hank drew a deep breath, steadying himself. “Zach and Annie won’t have a thing to worry about. I’ll be keepin’ these two in line.”
“You’re gonna have your hands full, son.” Tutan threaded his thumbs under his belly roll and over his belt as he moved in on Sally. “Tell your sister I wish her well. She and Beaudry would do well to get out of this crazy horse thing you’ve got going and live their lives. You and your wild ideas. You’re just trying to keep your sister from leaving you without—”
Hank caught Sally in time to save Tutan from what undoubtedly would have been a nice right hook if she’d followed through.
Backpedaling, Tutan wagged his finger. “Your father’s rolling over in his grave over what you’ve done to the Double D, Sally.”
“This is a private party, Tutan,” Hoolie said.
Tutan’s angry gaze didn’t waver. “Hell, girl, I’m sorry for all your troubles, but I ain’t rollin’ over. I’ve got a real ranch to run.”
“Let me go,” Sally grumbled as Tutan turned on his heel and stomped across the lobby.
Hank eased up, but he wasn’t letting go until Tutan was out the door. “Marriage and murder are too much for one day.”
She drew herself up and challenged him with a look. “You’re the one who suggested showing some claw.”
“A little.”
“Night Horse,” she said quietly. “He said the man worked for him.”
“And you heard my answer.”
“What I heard was…” She took his warning from his eyes. “Did you mean it? About helping out?”
“Actually, I was just sayin’ it to help out, but then he went and called me son.” He gave a curt nod. “Yeah, if it’ll make a difference, I’ll stay.”
“Let’s go tell the bride and groom.” She grabbed his hand. “You’re just full of great gifts. They’ll be calling you Santa Claus.”
“You might be callin’ me Scrooge. You kids won’t be having any parties with me in charge.”
“Actually…” She leaned in close, and he had half a mind to take that flower out of her hair so he could smell only Sally. She was giving him those eyes again, full of fireworks and mischief. “I’m looking forward to that part about the party being over.”
He laughed. “You’re the damnedest woman I ever met.”
“Only when I’m at my best.”
“Sally!” Glistening with bride shine, Annie burst on the scene, brushing Hank’s arm as she reached for her sister. “Are you okay? Somebody said…”
“Everything’s okay. Look. Not a scratch on me, and Tutan got off easy. Come with me to the bathroom.” Sally put her unscratched arm around her sister’s shoulders and wheeled her in the opposite direction. “I gotta go talk her down,” she told Hank in parting. “Keep the big surprise under your hat.”
For how long? Hank wondered as he watched the Drexlers head for the women’s sanctuary. He’d be walking around with a bombshell under his hat until somebody took the detonator out of his mouth by whispering Thanks, Hank, but you won’t be needed after all.

“It was nothing.” Sally snatched a tissue from the box beside the sink and used it to dab a lipstick smudge from her sister’s cheek. “Tutan said he was on his way to Rapid City and just stopped in to make sure you got his gift. Don’t open it. It’s probably some kind of curse on your firstborn.”
“Did you put any scratches on him?”
“I came so close. If Hank hadn’t interfered…”
“Then what?” Annie prompted. But before Sally’s very eyes, the question of what took a mental backseat to the who. Annie smiled. “Hank. Zach was right. He said you two would hit it off.”
“I’d like to see more of him.” At least as much as he’d seen of her. Feeling good, looking fine—she glanced at herself in the mirror, just to make sure, yes—for now and however much longer, she would do her best to see and know, give and take with a man, this man.
She raised a cautionary finger. “Remember, Annie, I tell who I want, when and if I want. And for right now, I’m as healthy as you are. You haven’t said anything, have you?”
“I hardly know the man.”
Sally nodded. “I would have hit him.”
“Hank?”
“No, Tutan. It would have felt so good. But Hank held me back.” She smiled. “And that felt even better.”
Annie gave her that what-are-you-up-to? look. She always recognized the signs. “You didn’t sign us up for one of those reality shows, did you?”
“You mean like ‘My Big Fat Redneck Wedding'?” Sally snapped her fingers. “Hey, we could have gotten some publicity for the sanctuary. I wish I’d thought of that.” She laughed. “Just kidding.”
“Seriously, you’re having a good time?”
“I’m gonna dance my shoes off tonight, little sister.” Sally fussed with Annie’s golden curls. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re giving me that look. What else have you got up your sleeve?”
“Are you kidding? I can barely hide my boobs in this dress.” Sally winked. She could barely contain herself. “It’s no wonder you’re a teacher—you read me like a book. I do have a little surprise for you. I think. I hope. Like you said, we hardly know the man.”
“Another song?”
“You want another song?” Sally leaned closer to the mirror and adjusted her décolleté. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Hank sang “Can I Have This Dance?” for Zach and Ann Beaudry, who waltzed alone in the spotlight, surrounded by family and friends smiling in the dark. Beautiful people. Sally’s throat tingled. Her eyes smarted with happy tears. Her heart was fuller than she could have imagined in the days before the wedding, when her only sister was still a bride-to-be and Hank Night Horse was simply a name on a list. She wanted to catch the moment and slip it into a magic bottle, preserve it in all its sensory glory for a time when her senses would not serve and she would turn to memory.
Hank left the cheers and applause to the bride and groom and the music for the wedding party dance to the DJ. Sally smiled as the best man reported for duty, but by the time she was able to get a good look past Sam’s nicely tailored shoulder, her private man of the hour had disappeared. She added his modesty to the growing list of his irresistible qualities and committed herself to leaving him alone for a few minutes.
But when she escaped to the terrace, her commitment fell by the wayside at the sight of the guitar leaning against the balcony along with the man seated on the top rail. A sinking feeling in her legs urged her to pull him down before he fell backward, but she fought her foolishness with a slow, deep breath. Strong sensation was good, even the silly, sinking kind. Anything was better than numbness, which would be slinking back sooner or later along with whatever other anomalies the erratic disease lurking in her body had in store. She threw back her shoulders and walked the planks, taking care not to turn an ankle over the kitten heels that had been her compromise to the killer spikes she’d longed to wear just this once and the safe flats Annie had tried to talk her into.
He watched her. He didn’t smile much, this man with the breathtaking voice, but as the bright lights and music fell away from the starry night, he summoned her with his steady gaze.
“What took you so long?” he asked quietly.
“I’ve danced with Sam and his boy, Jimmy. I’ve danced with Zach. I’ve even danced with their mother. But I have not danced with you. Do you always sing and run?”
“Yep.”
“If I didn’t know better, I might have gone looking for you at the bar.”
“But you do know better.”
“I do.” She stood close enough to touch him, but she laid her hand on the railing and reveled in the feel of the wood and the wanting. “You’ve been with Phoebe?”
“Took her for a walk. Had to keep her on a tight leash when some guy came along with something that looked like a giant poodle. Phoebe was ready to tear into that thing.”
“Blessed are the peacemakers.”
“You’re right.” He came down from the railing like a cat, languidly stretching one long leg at a time, pulled her to him with one arm, took her free hand and tucked it against his chest. “We should dance.”
“Mmm-hmm. This is nice.” She swayed in his arms, brushing against him just enough to incite sweet shivers. “Peaceful, but not still.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’d met before.”
“In another life?”
“How many do you have?”
“Three at least, maybe more. But I’m sure this is the only one I’ve met you in.”
He laughed. He thought she was joking.
“So far,” she said, and he drew her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled his zesty scent, wondering what he tasted like and how soon she would find out. “But I know what you mean. It feels like we needed no introduction.”
“It was a jaw-dropping introduction. Maybe it wasn’t necessary, but I sure wouldn’t trade it for a handshake.”
“You barged in on the life behind door number one. Good choice.”
“Phoebe has good instincts.”
If anyone but her sister had interrupted, Sally would have hissed mightily.
“Is this a private party?” Annie ventured.
Sally peeked around Hank’s shoulder and smiled. “Not if we can wangle a private audience with the bride and groom.” She gave Hank’s hand a quick squeeze. “We have a proposition for you.”
Zach laughed. “I told you somebody was getting propositioned.”
“Tell them, Hank.” Sally flashed him a smile, but he wouldn’t buy in that far. She turned the smile on her sister. “You two are going on that honeymoon.”
“Maybe this fall,” Ann said. “Or this winter, or—”
“Maybe this week. I ran a little contest, and Hank won himself an all-expenses-paid vacation at the Double D Dude Ranch.”
“Wait a minute,” Hank said. Sally held her breath. “I thought you ran a little want ad, and I got hired.”
Sally exhaled a laugh, inhaled relief. “You didn’t qualify for the job, but all applicants were automatically entered into the drawing for a vacation, and you’re our winner.”
“What’d I tell you, Horse?” Zach clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You come to my wedding, you’re bound to get lucky.”
“Sally, you didn’t.” Ann’s eyes sparkled. She was on top of the world, but she would gladly make room for her sister.
“Didn’t what? Award the grand prize already? He’s not that lucky.” Sally glanced askance, giving Hank a coy smile. “But the winner of the vacation may become eligible for—”
“No, no, no,” Ann said. “It’s the second-sweetest offer I’ve heard all day, but we can’t go halfway around the world and leave Hank to take care of things at the Double D. It’s way too much to ask. He has places to go and things to do.”
“Which is why I’ll be the one taking care of things at the Double D. All Hank has to take care of is your peace of mind. And he’s happy to do that.” Sally linked arms with Hank. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Right, Hank?”
“Absolutely. You two lovebirds enjoy yourselves. I’ll stand guard over the nest while you’re gone.”
“Oh, Hank, we really appreciate the offer, but with—”
“But nothing,” Sally said. “It’s perfect.”
“I have a couple of commitments to work around, but Sally’s been telling me about the program you’re running, and I’m interested. I can use a little—” Hank slid Sally a conspiratorial glance. “—diversion.”
“Can we trust these two?” Ann asked her new husband.
“I can vouch for Hank. Salt of the earth. Even if we had eggs in the nest, I’d trust him.”
“Nobody’s vouched for you yet,” the bride reminded her sister. She looked up at Zach. “Is it safe to leave the salt of the earth with a shaker that doesn’t always have her head screwed on straight?”
“I do like to shake things up,” Sally said. She glanced up at Hank. “I used to be a mover, too, but that’s a lot of work.”
“I don’t shake easy,” he told her.
“Hank’s the right man for the job,” Zach said. “I’d even trust him with Zelda.”
“You hear that?” Sally asked Ann. “If Zach’s willing to leave the keys to his precious pickup in Hank’s hands, you know your sister is safe.”
“Can we still do it? I mean, we canceled the reservations, but we still have the tickets.” Ann turned to Hank. “I don’t travel that much, and I would’ve been happy with an extra night right here in the Hills, but Sam gave us this trip to Australia. Australia. I’ve always wanted to…”
“You go, Mrs. Beaudry,” Hank said. “Live the dream.”
“I owe you, man.”
“Damn straight, cowboy.” Hank waved a cautionary finger at the groom, but his warning was for the bride. “I don’t ever wanna see this guy on my exam table again.”
“That makes two of us. But Sally—”
“Best behavior,” Sally promised. “Pinky swear.”

Chapter Three
Hank had never considered himself to be a cowboy, but he was a horseman. He owned two mares, pastured them at what was now really his brother Greg’s place up north, just across the state line. Hank also owned some of the land, but Greg’s cattle used it. All Hank asked in return was a room, a mailing address and a place to keep a few horses. He didn’t take up much space.
Hank was no breeder or fancier, wasn’t out to acquire pedigrees or trophies. He’d rescued the two mares from a farm foreclosure. They’d been bony and riddled with parasites, about as sad eyed and desperate as the old man who was losing all he had and looking for somebody, anybody with a heart to take in the last of his stock. Hank had even offered to adopt the farmer, but his niece had shown up for that end of the rescue. Wormed, fed up, trimmed up and turned out on Dakota grass, the two mares had turned out to be pretty nice. Not the best of his rescues—he’d taken in a sweet-tempered colt that had gone to a couple looking for a friend for their autistic child—but they would make good saddle horses if he ever found the time to work with them.
Three hundred miles northeast of the Hilltop Lodge, Hank checked in at home and took care of his personal business. The next day he drove nearly the same distance due south to the Double D. Not that he was in a killing hurry to start his “vacation”—a vacation for Hank would have meant stringing together a few nights in what he loosely termed his own bed—but he had promises to keep and curiosity to satisfy. He cared a lot about his friend, Zach Beaudry. He’d heard a lot about the Double D. He’d thought a lot about Sally Drexler. He had a bad feeling about her neighbor. It all added up to a sense of purpose, and Hank Night Horse was a man of purpose.
He called ahead to make sure he knew where he was going once he ran out of map markings. The two-story farmhouse was off the state highway at the end of about three miles of sparsely graveled road. He found Sally waiting for him on the sprawling covered porch. She came down the steps to greet him.
“Hey, Phoebe.”
Okay, so she greeted his dog first. Unlike Hank, Phoebe was not above making a slobbering fool of herself.
“You just missed the honeymooners,” Sally told him, her eyes unmistakably alight for him.
“You got time for TV?” He wasn’t above grinning.
“I’ve always got time for a comedian.” She took a hands-on-hips stance and gave his pickup with its custom long-box cap an appreciative once-over. The sleek, slide-in cargo box was outfitted for his business and his gypsy lifestyle. “You must have done just about what the newlyweds did. Grabbed your gear and run. Of course, they had a plane to catch. Are you hungry? Tired? Ready to rock ‘n’ roll?”
“I’ll do anything that doesn’t involve sitting.”
She raised her brow. “Interested in reclining?”
“If I do that, I’m liable to be out for a while.”
“Then let’s walk and talk before we eat, drink and be merry.” She gave a come-on gesture. “I’ll show you around.”
Her walk wasn’t quite as smooth as her talk. He’d noticed it before, but it was so subtle, he’d dismissed it as another of her quirks. Sally wasn’t your standard model female in any way, shape or form. She was special. Easy to follow, hard to figure, no doubt heavy on the upkeep.
Hardly the best fit for Hank Night Horse. He was an ordinary man who talked with a straight tongue and tried to walk a straight line. He understood most people—once you figured out what they wanted, for better or worse they were generally predictable—but Sally was like a horse he’d ridden for an elderly neighbor when he was a kid. Four out of five days the beautiful Arabian was smart, spirited, smooth-gaited, a dream to ride. But on the fifth day she’d likely take off with him and run like ahellcat until they hit some kind of a wall. She was four-fifths dream and one-fifth damned, but she was special. And four days out of five, she sure was fun to play with.
He wasn’t sure about the hitch in Sally’s gait. It was slight and oddly sporadic. An old injury wouldn’t seem to explain it, and maybe there was no explanation. Maybe it was just Sally.
They entered the machine shed through a side door, which was propped open for ventilation. Hoolie looked up from a workbench and then slid off the stool before he remembered he wasn’t going anywhere without his crutch.
He grinned anyway and reached for Hank’s handshake. “Did you bring all the tools of your trades? My saddle horse could use corrective shoes, and I’ll pay you to take this damn mummy boot off my hoof.”
“Like I told you before, you take that off too soon, you’ll pay dearly. Your horse is a different story. My pickup is a blacksmith shop on wheels. Phoebe!” The dog was headed for the door.
“Does she get along with other dogs?” Sally asked.
“Sure does. She’s around dogs all the time.”
A warning growl sounded outside the door.
“Well, that makes one of them,” Hoolie said ominously as a black-and-white shepherd slunk across the threshold, teeth bared.
“Baby!”
Sally bolted for the door, but she fell flat on her face before she got there. Tripped over her own feet like one of the TV comedians she’d claimed she always had time for. She was doing a shaky push-up on the concrete by the time Hank got to her. She tried to wave him off, her attention fixed on the dogs.
Hoolie came on strong once he had his crutch in place. “Here, you dogs, you want a piece o’ me?”
The clamor settled into a war of whines, both bitches determined to get in the last whimper as Hoolie and his crutch prevailed.
Hank found himself down on one knee beside a woman who was on her way up. “You okay?”
“Yes! Yes, of course.” She laughed as she braced her hand on his shoulder. “Totally wasn’t ready for that. Scared me.”
“They’re okay,” Hoolie called out. “Phoebe wants to play. Baby wants to lay down a few rules first.”
“I’ll give ‘em some rules,” Hank grumbled, discomfited by the loss of his dignity and his own confusion as to where it had gone.
Sally laughed again. “What are you, the Dog Whisperer?”
“I’m the alpha.” He signaled Phoebe to stay put while the shepherd took a fallback position. “You got any other dogs around here?” he asked Sally.
“Baby’s an only dog.”
“That’s her problem. We’ll fix it, though. We’ll teach her some manners. Won’t we, Phoeb?” Hank patted the dog’s silky head. “Scared you, huh?”
“It sure startled me.” Sally twisted her arm for a look at her skinned elbow. “I didn’t want to lose you over a dogfight. You’ve probably noticed I can be kind of a klutz sometimes. Two left feet.” She gave a perfunctory smile. “Except when I dance.”
“You stick to dancing and leave us to referee the dogs.”
“Only if you’ll dance with me, Henry.” She was giving him that too cute look. “Do you know that song? You’re supposed to say, Okay, Baby.”
Hank shook his head. “Nobody calls me Henry.”
“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” She flashed a smile at Hoolie. “Henry’s a fine name.”
“Nobody calls me Henry.”
“Ah, the soft underbelly. Our guardian is ticklish, Hoolie.”
“I know the feeling,” Hoolie said.
“I can handle a dogfight, but that name is a deal breaker.”
“Duly noted.” Sally slid a glance at Hoolie, who chuckled.
“Okay, now aren’t you supposed to have some wild horses around here somewhere?”
“That’s the rumor. But first, the tour.” She gave an after-you gesture. “Please follow the silk thread.”
Hank raised his brow and responded in kind. He knew her game. She was like his patients on the rodeo circuit—too stubborn to say they were hurt, so you didn’t ask. You watched how they moved. If they’d let you.
“No go?” She grabbed his arm and coaxed him by her side. “All right, then, when you’re ready to put your road-weary butt in a saddle, I’ll show you horses, Henry. Hank.”
“You’re askin’ for it, woman.”
“For what?” She met his loaded look with acoy smile. “Oh, no. I’m just hackin’ on you. Make no mistake, when it comes to serious matters, I don’t fool around.” She glanced away. “Well, I do, but I don’t ask. Do you?”
What he didn’t do was answer foolish questions.
By the time he’d seen the outbuildings—shop, machine shed, barn, loafing shed, grain bins, bunk house—the suggestion of food held considerable appeal. He was impressed with what he’d seen so far. It was a nice layout, but the cattle operation was a shadow of what it had been in its heyday, two generations ago. According to Hank’s tour guide, the Double D ran a small herd of cattle, partly to satisfy state requirements to claim agricultural status and partly for income. But the ranch’s main enterprise was the wild-horse sanctuary, and it was decidedly nonprofit. An unusual concept for a third-generation rancher, but Sally Drexler was an unusual rancher. Hank looked forward to seeing the horses.
After his stomach stopped growling.
He hit the front steps heavily to cover the noise as he headed for the door behind Sally, but the twinkle in her eyes let him know she wasn’t deaf. Embarrassing. He didn’t like to give anything away unintentionally. Not even the fact that he hadn’t taken time to eat anything before he left home.
Beset by the aroma of juicy beef, his stomach spoke up again as he followed her in the house while Phoebe protested having the door shut in her face.
“She can come in, as long as she’s okay around cats,” Sally said. “Sounds like she’s hungry. We usually don’t eat supper around here until pretty late, but we never keep the critters waiting.”
“Something smells good.” He stood like a maypole while Sally circled around him. “Enough to eat.” He watched her let Phoebe in. “Right now.”
She turned one of her bright-eyed smiles on him. “Right now?”
“Be glad to help you get it on.”
“Would you?”
“On the table.”
“I’ve always wanted to try that,” she told him over her shoulder as she led the way through foodless territory. “But let’s eat first.”
Willing as he was, he didn’t have to help much. He was a straight shooter, and she was a woman who loved to tease. She’d had supper simmering in a Crock-Pot, ready to dish up anytime. She put him to slicing bread and filling water glasses while she washed salad greens. Hoolie came in the back door all slicked down and washed up precisely at five-fifteen.
Pretty late, my ass.
Pretty tasty. Pretty entertaining. Pretty woman. Maybe he could get used to a little teasing.
“How much of the Double D can you reach on wheels?” Hank asked as he sipped his coffee. “You use ATVs?”
“Hell, no,” Hoolie said. “Too damn noisy. This is a ranch, not a playground.”
“I’m with you on that score.” And he’d told his brother as much last night when Greg had shown off a picture of the one he wanted. A kid’s toy, Hank had said.
“We can cover a lot of ground in a pickup, but there’s places we don’t go except on horseback.”
“We have some totally pristine grassland here,” Sally said. “Some of it is pretty remote.”
“I’ll stow my gear in the bunkhouse, and then maybe we could all take a little pickup ride,” Hank suggested. “Give me a feel for what’s out there while it’s still light.”
“We can do that.” Sally sounded hesitant. “But we have a room for you here in the house.”
“I’m fine with the bunkhouse.”
“We get kids out here sometimes helpin’ out. Volunteers come and go. You’ll be better off in the house.” Hoolie shrugged. “I snore.”
“We’re hoping to add on to the bunkhouse to give Hoolie more privacy.” Sally and Hoolie exchanged looks. “Definitely on the to-do list.”
“Definitely,” Hoolie said. “Sally’s used to having Annie around. And Zach, too, since he come along. We don’t want Sally rattlin’ around here alone at night.”
“She could get into trouble?” Hank set his cup down. “Hell, whatever works. I just figured…”
“It’s a big house,” Hoolie said. “And you’re a guest more than anything. I’m the hired man.”
Hank looked at Sally. He had something she wanted, and she’d decided it was hers for the taking. She’d try to tease it out of him, would she? He gave a suggestive smile. Game on, woman. Your house, my play.
“Do you snore?” he asked her.
“I’ve never had any complaints.”

Hoolie took Sally’s unspoken hint and begged off the after-supper tour. “I’ll let you take my pickup.” He offered Hank two keys and a metal Road Runner trinket on a key ring.
Ignoring the handoff, Hank nodded at Sally. “She’s giving the tour.”
“This thing he offers is a great honor,” Sally quipped, B-movie style. “To refuse would be an insult.”
“She’s a 1968 C10,” Hoolie boasted. “She’s a great little go-fer pickup. Short box with a six-pony engine. Overhauled her myself.”
“Classic,” Hank said appreciatively. “My dad had one when I was a kid. Got her used, ran her into the ground. He was on the road a lot.”
“Don’t know how many times the odometer’s turned over on this one, but she runs like a top. You gotta try ‘er out.”
“My pleasure.”
Watching Hank handle the big steering wheel and palm the knob on the gearshift was Sally’s pleasure. She’d stopped driving altogether after proving she really could hit the broad side of the barn. It was the first time she’d lost all feeling in her right leg, the one that gave her the most trouble. She’d been backing up to the barn with a load of mineral blocks when suddenly the leg was gone. Might as well have been lopped off at the hip. By the time she’d moved the dead weight by hand, her tailgate had smashed through the tack-room wall.
The damage to the barn had been easy to repair. Her pickup, like her pride, had become an early victim of her unpredictable body. But her independence had begun to erode that day, and with it went bits of confidence. Dealing with the disease wasn’t as difficult as plugging up holes in her spirit. During bad times she’d start springing holes right and left, and she could feel herself draining away. She’d learned to take advantage of the very thing that made MS so cruel—its capricious nature. When the symptoms ebbed, she dammed up all her leaks and charged ahead, full speed, total Sally. She took pleasure in the little things, like the way it felt to get up and walk whenever the spirit moved her, the feel of water lapping against bare skin, the smell of a summer night and the look of a man’s hands taking charge.
Phoebe was sitting pretty in the pickup box behind the back window, her blond ears flapping in the breeze. They plied the fence line at a leisurely pace, following tire tracks worn in the sod. Sally pointed out the “geriatric bachelor band” grazing in a shallow draw. They were too old for the adoption program, and some of them had spent years in holding facilities—essentially feedlot conditions—before finding a home at the Double D. Heads bobbed, ears perked at the sound of the engine, and they moved as one, like a school of fish.
“They have no use for us, especially this time of year,” she said with a smile. “Which means we’re doing something right.” She nodded for a swing to the west, punched the glove-compartment button and felt around for the binoculars. “From the top of that hill we might get a look at some of the two-year-olds. There are some beauties in that bunch. Do you like Spanish Mustangs?”
He swung the big steering wheel. “I don’t see too many.”
“They don’t come shoe shopping?”
“I work mostly rodeos, so I see a lot of quarter horses.” The engine growled as he downshifted for the hill. “I did shoe a couple of mustangs at an endurance ride last fall. They had real pretty feet.”
“We need to interest more people in adopting these horses. The BLM had an auction out in Wyoming last month and sold less than half the number they projected. If they don’t find any more takers and we can’t make room for them, some of them will end up…” She glimpsed movement below the hill and to the right, but she had to turn her head to see what it was. Her right eye was going out on her again. Damn. “Look!” She pushed the binoculars against his arm. “Stop! Hurry, before they get away.”
“Look, stop, hurry?” He complied, chuckling. “How about hurry, stop, look? Or—”
“Shh!” She tapped him with the binoculars again, and he took them and focused. “How many? Can you tell?”
“Eight. Nine.”
“See any you like?”
“Nice red roan. Three buckskins. Aw, man, would you look at that bay.”
He offered her a turn with the binoculars, but she shook them off. “I can’t use those things. But I know which one you mean. He looks just like his daddy. Fabulous Spanish Sulphur Mustang stallion we call Don Quixote.” She nodded as he put the binoculars up to his face again. Stop, take a look, really see. “Give that boy another year, and you’d have yourself an endurance racer, a cutting horse, whatever your pleasure.”
“You won’t have any trouble finding him a good home.” He glanced at her. “If you’re having trouble with numbers, show me what’s left after the next auction.”
“We can usually place a few more with special programs. Police units, military, youth programs, even prisons.”
“After all’s said and done, show me what’s left. Never met a horse I didn’t like.” He handed her the binoculars. “I’d sure like to see that bay up close.”
“You will. They’re getting cut this week.”
“All of them?”
“Only the ones with balls. If you like the bay when you see him up close, he could be spared.” She smiled at him as she snapped the glove compartment shut. “Which puts his balls in your court.”
“Damn.” He chuckled as he lifted his hand to the key in the ignition.
“He’d make a wonderful stud.” She stayed his hand with hers and slid to the middle of the bench seat. “This is my favorite time of day. Between sunset and dusk. Late meadowlarks, early crickets.”
He said nothing. The enigmatic look in his eyes wasn’t what she expected. Maybe she’d misread his signals. Maybe her receptors were on the blink. Life’s ultimate joke. Just when she was getting the go light on all major systems except her troublesome right eye, which wasn’t a major system at the moment.
She would not take this lying down.
Who was she kidding? She’d take him any way she could get him, but in a small pickup, lying down wasn’t gonna happen.
Alternatives?
“Did you ever go parking in your father’s C10?” she asked.
“He was dead and the pickup was gone by the time I started meetin’ up with girls after sunset.”
“Where did you meet them?”
“Down by the river. You’re fifteen and you get a chance to be with a girl, you’re not lookin’ to take the high ground.”
“Fifteen?”
“Late bloomer.” He moved the seat back as far as it would go and put his arm around her. “I like this time of day, too, Sally.”
He leaned over her slowly, fingers in her hair, thumb grazing her cheek, lips moistened and parted just enough to make hers quiver on the cusp of his kiss. He made her feel dear and delicate, and she was having none of it. She slipped her arm around his neck and answered his sweet approach with her spicy reception. She was no weak-kneed quiverer. She could match him slam for bam and thank you, man. She didn’t need coddling, and she told him as much with a heat-seeking kiss.
The catch in his breath pleased her. The new-found need in his kiss thrilled her. She answered in kind, kissing him like there was no time like the present. Because there wasn’t. Deep, caring kisses like his were rare. She drew a breath full of the salty taste and sexy scent of him and grazed his chest with her breasts. They drew taut within her clothing. She pushed her fingers through his hair, curled them and rubbed it against the center of her palm. She would fill her senses with him while she could, because she could. She slipped her free hand between them, found his belly, hard and flat as his belt buckle. She took the measure of both.
He nuzzled the side of her neck and groaned. “I’m not fifteen anymore,” he whispered. “I can wait.”
“Why would you? I’m not a girl.”
He raised his head and smiled at her. “In this light you could be. Young and scared. A little confused, maybe.”
She frowned. “But since I’m none of those things…”
“I don’t know that.” He caressed her face with the backs of his fingers. “Who said you could call all the shots?”
“Is there something wrong with me?” She swallowed hard. “I mean, something you don’t like?”
“Uh-uh. Everything looks just right.”
“Looks can deceive.” She dragged her fingers from his belt to his zipper. “But this feels right.”
“You don’t wanna believe that guy.” He moved his hips just enough to let her know that there was nothing wrong with him, either. “No matter what the question, he’s only got one answer.”
“He’s honest,” she whispered. “Stands up for what he believes in.”
He kissed her again, so fully and thoroughly that the taste of his lips and the darting of his tongue, the strength of his arms and the sharp intake of his breath satisfied all her wishes. She had feeling in every part of her body. She didn’t want it to go away, not one tingle, not one spark, and she reached around him and held him the way he held her. Maybe more so. Maybe harder and stronger and more desirous of him than he could possibly be of her, but she was honest. Her embrace was true to what she felt, and feeling was everything.
“Easy,” he whispered, and she realized she had sounded some sort of alarm, made some desperate little noise. “You okay?”
She nodded. Laughed a little. God, she was such a woman. She was the one who was scaring him.
“Look at Phoebe,” he said, and she turned toward the back window and laughed with him even though she couldn’t really see anything. Her right eye had gone dark and her left was looking at the top of the seat. “I’m not hurtin’ her, Phoeb. I swear.”
The dog barked.
“Tell her,” he whispered.
“I’m okay, Phoebe.”
The dog jumped out of the box and up on the passenger’s side door.
“Don’t—”
Too late. Sally had already opened the door, and the dog was in her lap.
“Cut it out, Phoeb. I didn’t break her. Down!”
Phoebe sat on the floor and laid her head on Sally’s thigh.
Sally stroked her silky head. “The physician’s assistant’s assistant. We girls look after each other, don’t we, Phoebe?”
“You can tell she’s never been parking.”
“It can be almost as much fun as skinny-dipping.” Sally smiled into the big, round eyes looking up at her from her lap.
“And almost as risky,” Hank said. But he still had his arm around her shoulders, and she loved the way it felt.
“I won’t hurt him either, Phoebe. I swear.”

* * *

Hoolie came out of the bunkhouse to meet them as soon as they parked his truck.
“You had a call from your favorite neighbor,” he told Sally. “Claims a loose horse caused him to run into the ditch. I drove all the way up to his place and back, didn’t see nothin'. No horse, no fence down, nothin'. Did you see anything?”
“We saw horses.” Hank tossed Hoolie his keys. “Nice ride.”
“They’re right where they’re supposed to be,” Sally said.
“Except the high one Damn Tootin’ rode in on. He said he reported the incident to the sheriff. You know what he’s tryin’ to do, don’t you?”
“Drive me to commit murder?”
“Build some kind of a case. You know how he loves to sue people.”
“Good. We’ll kick his ass in court. That might be more fun than murder.”
“Maybe he’s trying to wear you down.” Hoolie planted his hands on his indeterminate hips. “Keep you dancin’ till you drop.”
Sally sighed. “The trouble is he’s got friends in high places.”
“So do you,” Hoolie said. “Maybe not so much around here, but there’s high places all over the country, and they’re full of horse lovers.”
“Good point.” Sally glanced at Hank. “The trouble is, sometimes those high places are too far off. All politics is local.”
“A politician is your friend until he gets a better offer.”
“The trouble is we don’t have any more to offer.”
“I didn’t say more. I said better.” Hoolie folded his arms. “Don’t dance for him. You can put your energy to better use. Not to mention your considerable imagination.”
“Another good point.” She smiled. “Thank you for persisting in making it.”
“No trouble.” He stepped back. “I’ll say good night, then.”
Hank took his keys from his pocket, clicked the remote and whistled for Phoebe.
“Where are you going?” Instantly, Sally wished she could call back the question, or at least the anxious tone.
“Nowhere. Putting Phoebe to bed and getting my stuff.”
“You’re making her sleep in the pickup? Phoebe!” The dog perked her ears, but she stood her master’s ground. “Oh, Hank, she can come in the house with you.”
“You keep your dog in the house?” He sounded surprised. “We go by house rules.”
“Baby has her own corner in the bunkhouse. We have a cat in the house, but she doesn’t believe in dogs. She barely acknowledges people. I’ll bet Phoebe’s used to sleeping with you.”
“The Lakota don’t sleep with their dogs,” he said. “Phoebe sleeps wherever I put her bed. Where do you want her?”
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I just didn’t want you to think you had to—”
He challenged her with a hard look and a harder stance. “What’s the big damn deal about my sleeping arrangements?”
“It’s no big damn deal. You do what you want. I just want Phoebe to be comfortable.”
“Comfortable? Okay, she likes to sleep on the east side of the house near an outside door and an open window on a feather bed.”
“That can be arranged.” She spun away and tripped.
He caught her. “What’s wrong, Sally?”
“Defensive clumsiness. When I get rattled, I spaz out sometimes. Great way to ruin a dramatic gesture.” She glowered. “What’s your excuse?”
“Defensive gruffness.”
“That’s against house rules, but we’ll call it even since it sounded like good ol'-fashioned sarcasm to me. I can hardly fault anybody for that.” She signaled, “No penalty.”
“You sure you want me to bring her bed in the house?”
“I’m sure this dog gets every vaccination and preventive treatment on any vet’s list. So I want you to put her bed where the sun don’t shine—” she smiled “—in the afternoon.”
He hauled his duffel bag and Phoebe’s denim pillow into the house and settled the dog down. He wasn’t kidding about the outside door. Then he followed Sally through the living room, around the stairs, and down the hall, where they crossed paths with a calico cat, which scampered up the stairs.
“This is my room,” Sally said of the first door in the hall. “It’s also my office. Next is the main bath. I’ll work around your shower schedule.” She pushed the last door open and flipped the light on. “I’m putting you in this room because Zach and Annie have the upstairs. This used to be Grandma’s room, which is why everything’s purple. But now it’s a guest room. I think you’ll be comfortable. The trees shade the windows and keep it cool. There’s a half bath through there. Say the word if you need anything. Help yourself in the kitchen anytime, anything you want. There’s a TV in the den, just off the living room. And, um…” She looked up at him. “Thank you for doing this for us.”
“No trouble.”
“That I can’t guarantee. Sleep well.”
“You, too. I enjoyed the tour.”
She gave a little nod, a wistful smile. She didn’t quite know what to make of him, and he hadn’t quite decided what to do with her.
It was going to be an interesting three weeks.

Chapter Four
“Kevin’s back,” Hoolie announced as he came thumping in the back door. “Add one for supper. Any coffee left?”
“It’s cold, but you can nuke it. I’m brewing iced tea.”
Sally laid aside the ice pack she’d been using on her right eye and filled the teakettle. Hoolie was still banging around in the mudroom, and she was only getting about half of what he was saying, but she’d catch up on the rerun. He had a habit of repeating himself, especially if one of the teens court-ordered to work at the sanctuary was giving him trouble.
“So I’ve got him ridin’ fence along the highway,” was the upshot as he clomped into the kitchen. “You know damn well there was no horse on the road, but that don’t mean Tutan didn’t put another hole in the fence to back up his story. We got some volunteers set to help cut hay this weekend. So Hank and me, we’re gonna…” He noticed the ice pack. “You feelin’ okay, big sister?”
“I’m not okay with that question.” Cold packs were her standard first-line remedy, and they were helping. Loss of vision in one eye wasn’t unusual with multiple sclerosis, but neither was remission. She’d had this problem before and regained a good measure of sight back. She’d do it again without losing ground anywhere else. Not for a good long while.
She closed the microwave door on his cold coffee and pressed the button. “My health is my business. I want nothing but positive health vibes. That wheelchair is staying in the basement. There’s only one person around here who needs a cane.”
“Crutch.”
“This reprieve could last for months. Years, maybe.”
“Trouble with your eye again?”
“A little, but I’m loading up on vitamins.” She believed in vitamins. Exercise, meditation, hydrotherapy—she believed in believing. She popped the microwave open and handed Hoolie his coffee. “You and Hank are going to what?”
“Move the cows.”
“You can’t ride with that ankle.”
“I’m not okay with that order.” He pulled two chairs away from the kitchen table, sat in one and propped his foot with its dirtier-by-the-day cast on the other. “I’m taking this damn thing off. My foot itches. That means the mummy boot has been on long enough.”
“What does Hank say?”
Hoolie questioned her with a look.
“He’s a professional.”
“You ask him about your eye, and I’ll ask him about my ankle.”
“No deal.” She snatched the whistling kettle off the stove. “I know more about MS than most doctors. These symptoms come and go. Eventually, some of them come and stay, but I’m not on any fast track to eventually.” She pointed to his ankle. “That is going to heal. Give it time, and it’ll go the way of all your other previously broken bones.”
“My health is my business,” he echoed in an irritating falsetto.
“Not when all your stories end with I got the scars to prove it.”
“I tell it like I remember it. The truth is always in there somewhere.” He sipped his coffee. “I said I’d look after you.”
“Look all you want. Just don’t talk about it.” She laid a hand on his bony shoulder. “I’ll ride with Hank. We’ll move the cows, and then we’ll ride out to Coyote Creek and see if we can get a look at the Don.”
“If something happens, you tell him why. You wouldn’t fall so much if you’d keep a cane handy when you get tired or—”
“Three weeks.” She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Hank was finishing up the hooves on the saddle horses when Sally came looking for him in the barn. From the first, he’d had her figured for a night person. Seemed he was right. Their ships would be passing mid to late morning, which was fine by him. Hoolie had filled him up with a hearty breakfast while they planned a few things out. He met one of the helpers he kept hearing about—Indian kid named Kevin Thunder Shield, who showed up ready to ride. Hoolie hooked the kid up with a horse and gave him an assignment, but Hank couldn’t let the gelding go without a hoof trimming. And he wasn’t herding any cattle until the rest of the saddle horses got the same treatment.
“That looks great,” Sally said of the third set of hooves he’d filed. “You are good.”
“The trim’s the important part. Right, girl?” He patted the black mare’s rump. She’d behaved well. Hard to believe she’d ever been wild. “The shoes are icing on the cake. It’s getting the right trim that makes the difference for most horses.”
“We go easy on the icing around here.”
“And that’s fine. These horses don’t have to hang out in stalls and watch their toenails grow. Except that one.” He pointed to a big gray gelding. “Without shoeing that crack will keep growing.”
Sally ran her hand down the horse’s leg toward the hoof. “I didn’t see that.”
“I’ll take care of it when we get back. Hoolie and me, we’re gonna do some cowboyin'.”
She straightened and faced him with folded arms. “You were going to let Hoolie ride with that cast on his foot?”
“I was gonna ride with Hoolie. Figured he could do what he wanted with his foot.”
“Any objection to riding with me?”
He shrugged. “I’m here to help out.”
“Weak,” she warned.
“Let me try again. Objection? Hell, no. My pleasure.”
“That’s the spirit.” She gave a tight smile. “I’m an excellent cowboy.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
She sighed and put her arms around the big gray gelding’s neck, nuzzling his thick black mane. “But I was hoping to ride Tank.”
“Tank?” Hank chortled. “I’ll have Tank retreaded for you by tomorrow.” He started loading his files and nippers into his shoe box. “I thought I’d try a Double D mustang. Maybe Zach has some started. I’m a pretty good finisher.”
“Me, too.”
“Once they’re green broke, I can put a nice handle on ‘em.”
“I’ll bet.” She raked her fingers through the gelding’s mane. “Tank was my first adoption. When I picked him out ten years ago, he was as wild as they come. I was a stock contractor back then, but Tank really opened my eyes.”
Hank eyed the horse. “He’s no Spanish Mustang.”
“Of course not. Like so many wild horses, he’s got a lot of draft blood in him. You know, a lot of them just sort of walked off into the sunset back in the days when farmers started going horseless. And during the Depression, when they were going homeless. Tank’s forebears were equine hobos.” She unhooked one of the horse’s crossties. “Can’t you just see them running across a herd of mustangs in the Badlands? Freeee at last!” she whinnied, and Tank’s ears snapped to attention.
Hank couldn’t help smiling. “Until they got their farm-boy asses kicked.”
“This big steel-drivin’ man’s gonna fix your hoof, Tank, so let’s let that remark pass.” She hooked a lead rope to the halter, scratched the horse’s neck, and he lowered his head. “If he calls you farm boy, he’s Henry,” she said in the horse’s ear.
“Nothin’ wrong with Henry.”
“I didn’t say there was. Some of my best friends are named Henry.”
“Hoolie?” he asked. She nodded. “Like I said, it’s a good backup name. What’s yours? Bet your mama didn’t name you Sally.”
“Ain’t tellin'. It’s a good name, but it doesn’t fit me, so I don’t use it.” She pointed to a small buckskin gelding. “I’m riding him. He fits me well. We call him Little Henry.”
Hank cracked up.

They rode side by side, soaking in sights and sounds and smells of summer in South Dakota without talking much. It was enough to point out the circling hawk, the coyote on the hill, the hidden gopher hole and to keep riding, keep looking and listening to the birds in the air, the insects in the grass, the thump-swish-thump of their mounts. It all felt right to Hank, as though he, too, had found a fit. Be damned if he’d try to work up some discomfort over feeling comfortable, not while it was working for him. This feeling was sacred.
He’d gotten away from the traditional practices his parents’ generation had struggled to take back from obscurity—ceremonies nobody wanted to explain and a language hardly anybody used—but he’d soaked up the stories. The People had emerged from the Black Hills. Paha Sapa. White Buffalo Calf Woman had given them the pipe, and the horse—Sunka Wakan, or sacred dog—had given them a leg up in a land only the Lakota truly understood and appreciated in its natural state. It was grassland. Pull the grass up by the roots, and the earth would fly away. Tell the river how to run, and you would pay a price that had less to do with money than with home. And home, for the Lakota, had less to do with a place to live than with a place to walk.
Preferably a dry one.
Hank loved the stories and honored the wisdom even if he’d taken up a different kind of medicine. Even if he’d let his family fall apart—the traditional Lakota’s worst nightmare—he believed that all people were relatives. All things? Being equal—not in this lifetime. But being relative? Sure. Relative to family life, being alone sucked.
Relative to reservation life, the old ways were healthy and holy. Relative to urban life, the reservation wasn’t half bad.
But relative to anyplace he’d ever been—and he’d been all over—the vicinity of the Black Hills felt right.
The Double D was southeast of the Hills, but Hank could see their silhouette looming at the edge of the grasslands like a hazy purple mirage, a distant village of ghost tipis. The sight was beyond beautiful. Its power worked his soul’s compass like polar magnetism. His whole body knew what it was about. It had been years since he’d pushed cattle on horseback, and while the method hadn’t changed, he realized the madness was gone. He was no longer the angry young man who resented the cattlemen who leased the Indian land its owners couldn’t afford to use. It didn’t matter that none of the animals belonged to him or that the land they were crossing was claimed by someone else. He was one with the horse, and the woman who rode abreast of him functioned easily as his partner. Cows moved willingly as long as their calves bleated regularly to check in. They must have known the grass was greener wherever they were headed. Maybe they trusted Sally not to let them down. They belonged to her, after all. They must have known something.
You’ve never had much luck with women, Night Horse. Maybe you should take it from her animals. Just go along with her. Nothing to worry about.
Either that or just take it. Take as much as she offers. Hell, the first few weeks are always the best.
Hank drew in a whole chestful of clean Black Hills air. He had a bad habit of thinking too deep and breathing too shallow. He was attracted to this woman, pure and simple. Thinking only complicated the matter.
Stop thinking, Night Horse. Enjoy the pure and simple. She’s pure. You’re simple.
Sally loved the way her world looked from the top of a horse. The way Little Henry’s gait made her hips move, the way he smelled, the way he snorted and strutted and swished his tail and made her sit up a little straighter, feel just slightly bigger than life—she loved every heady detail. But put the joy of sitting her horse together with the pleasure of watching Hank sit his, and Sally was all sweet spot. Watching him swing down from the saddle and open a wire gate gave her goose bumps. Pushing the cattle through the gate gave a taste of success, and making it happen together rubbed her utterly the right way.
She watched him muscle the wire loop over the top of the gate post, admired his easy mount, lit up inside when he looked her way as if to say, What can I do for you now?
“Follow me,” she called out. “Let’s take a ride to the wild side.”
Little Henry pricked his ears, and Sally shifted her weight and gave him his head. She bid her hat good riddance as the wind rushed through her hair. Hank could have flown past her if he wanted to—his mare was faster than her little gelding—but he gave his horse cues according to her pace. When they reached the creek, Little Henry splashed right in. The crossing required a few yards of swimming this time of year, but nothing major.
For Sally.
She whooped and the water swooshed as Little Henry bounded up on dry land. Wet to the hip, she was loving every drop of water, every ray of sunshine, every bit of breeze. She circled her mount and saw Hank eyeing the water warily from the opposite bank.
“Don’t worry,” she called out. “She’s a good swimmer.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t have to be. I promise.”
He looked up at her. He’d held on to his hat, but clearly he wasn’t so sure about the value of her promise.
“I can go back and lead you across.”
“Hell, no.” He continued to stare at the water. “What’s my horse’s name?”
“Ribsy.”
“What kind of a name is that for a horse?”
“It’s from a book. My sister named her.” What difference did it make? What the heck was in a horse’s name? He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t looking at anything but the water. Needed a moment, maybe. “My sister, the teacher. It’s a kid’s book.” No connection. “Ribsy’s Henry’s best friend.” Still no movement. “Ribsy’s a dog.”
He looked up. “This horse is named after a dog?”
“Henry and Ribsy. Ribsy’s a dog.”
“Hoka Hey!” Hank called out as he nudged the mare with his boot heels.
She took the plunge. Hank kept his seat, and the big black easily ferried him across the water. He looked a little sallow, but his dignity was still intact.
“What did you call me?” Sally asked, grinning like a proud instructor. “Hooker something?”
“I said, Hoka Hey! It’s a good day to die.” He leaned forward and patted the mare’s neck. “Sunka Wakan.”
“That’s right,” she enthused. “It means holy dog, doesn’t it? Well, there you go. Ribsy, Phoebe and me, we’re your destiny. Stick with us, and your hydrophobia will be cured.”
“What’s that?” He glanced back at the murky water. “A monster with a bunch of arms?”
“I think that’s a hydra.”
“Yep. They’re all down there.” He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly as he joined her on the high ground. “Kind of embarrassing. I had a bad experience when I was a kid.”
“Maybe you should try a different war cry.”
They covered a lot of ground and saw a couple of eagles, a few deer and a few dozen mustangs before they found Don Quixote, a stout bay who’d surrounded himself with the prettiest mares on the Double D. There were roans and paints, mouse-brown grullos, buckskins and “blondies.” After what had turned out to be a more tiring ride than she’d expected, Sally was energized simply by the sight of them, mainly courtesy of her left eye. But the vision of blue sky, green grass, striated hills and a motley band of mustangs was glorious. She didn’t have to see Hank’s excitement. She could feel it. His rapt interest was palpable.
“Let’s get down for a while,” he said quietly, as though speaking might disturb something.
She nodded. He must have sensed her weariness because he swung to the ground and came to her, and she dismounted with far less grace than she would have wished. He noticed. He didn’t say anything, but he took her full weight in his arms, drew her up to him and recharged her with a deep, delicious kiss.
It wasn’t until he took his lips from hers that she realized she couldn’t feel her right leg. She had to hang on to him—not that she didn’t want to, but not for this reason.
“You made the earth move under my feet,” she said. “Either Night Horse or Charley horse, I’m not sure—ah!” The sound of sharp pain was an innocent lie, if there was such a thing. Everybody understood pain, at least to some extent. Numbness was harder to explain.
“Damn cousin Charley’s beatin’ my time.” He supported her against his right side. “Can’t let him get away with it.” He brought the horses along on the left and found a little grass for everybody on the shady side of a clump of chokecherry bushes.
“Better already.” Her butt welcomed contact with good old terra firma, but she felt obliged to protest. “I’m okay now.”
“Not so fast. I know how to—”
“Seriously, it’s coming back.”
“That’s Charley for you. Right calf?” He massaged with practiced hands. She didn’t feel much at first, but her nerves responded steadily to his gentle kneading. “This can be a sign of calcium deficiency.”
“I’ll load up on it tomorrow.”
“I’m abig believer in truth and supplements for all.”
“Good to know.”
“Better?”
“Infinitely. Like your talents.” Smiling, she grabbed his hand. “Wait. I think he’s moving into my feet.”
“Sorry, Charley,” he quipped as he slid his hands down to her boot.
She stilled them with hers. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Sounds good.” He went to his saddle and brought back the canvas pack he’d tied behind the cantle. Squatting on his heels, he took out a bottle of water and cracked open the plastic cap. “It might be warm, but it’s wet.”
“You think of everything.” She took a long drink.
“Second nature when you spend your life on the road.”
“I’ll bet you’re starving. I do have supper waiting in the refrigerator. I almost brought something along, but then I thought, no, we’ll be sweaty and dirty, and we’ll appreciate it more after we get back, and it’s nice and fresh and…” She handed him the bottle. “Annie would have packed a nice picnic. She’s like you. She thinks of everything.”
He took a drink from the bottle and laughed. “It’s just water.”
“I’m easy.” She smiled. “Simple pleasures. I don’t do this often enough. I used to ride out here all the time, but it’s become…” She gazed at the bluffs in the distance. “I’ve become lazy. It’s easier to hop in the pickup. And now that Zach’s come on board…”
“You don’t get out here in a pickup. It’s too rough.”
“And we don’t want this area disturbed by anything motorized.” She pointed west. “There’s some public land beyond those hills. Very isolated. And there’s tribal land adjoining that.” She swung her hand in a northerly arc. “If… when we get those new leases, we’ll almost double our carrying capacity. The Tribal Council has been very supportive of our program, but Dan Tutan’s been leasing it forever, and he pays practically nothing for grazing permits on the public land. He has his own support from Pierre all the way to Washington.”
“You’re running publicly protected wild horses for the Bureau of Land Management, aren’t you? You should get preference. Plus, if you’ve got the Tribal Council…”
“We have the majority. We’re…pretty sure we do.”
“You can never be too sure about those Indians.”
“I’m not too sure about you.” She smiled. “But I know what assume makes out of me.” She lifted one shoulder. “And Tutan’s been taking us all for granted for far too long. He knows how to work the system. Like anything involving property, it’s all about location.”
“Tell us about it.” He glanced at the barren draw below. “I’ve got some beachfront reservation land for sale. Complete with a big bridge.”
“I’ll take it,” she enthused. “Where do I sign?”
“I’ll have my people draw up the treaty.” He adjusted his hat by the brim, leaned back on his elbows and eyed her for a moment. “You’ve got a good thing goin’ here. Why push it?”
“Because we can.” She leaned closer. “Because the push needs to be made. More needs to be done, and we can do it. All we have to do is show that our program is viable, that we can handle more land, more stock, and we’re in the catbird’s seat. Tutan’s free rein over the range will soon be over. For a considerable piece of these grasslands, it’s back to nature.”
“This part doesn’t look like it’s ever been away.”
“My father never got much use out of this part of the ranch. He would have sold it, but back then there weren’t any takers. But the takers are…” The look in his eyes set her back on her heels. The takers are what? The takers are who? “I don’t want to take any more land. I want to set some aside, and I’m willing to pay for the privilege of standing aside.” She smiled. “Pay with what? you may ask. My sister asks every other day. I have to get creative about getting more public support.”
“I seem to recall some mention of a plan.”
“Plan? What plan?” Mock innocence was one of her favorite shticks.
“It was on hold for the wedding. Then you had to get the honeymoon back on track. You are one smooth operator, Sally.” He plucked a droopy-headed grass stem and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “So, what’s the plan, and how many days before you have it in place? You’ve got what? Twenty-one?”
“Give or take.” She smiled. “Sam told the newlyweds to stay as long as they wanted.”
“And Zach told me if I had any problems, he could be back in twenty-four hours.”
“No worries, mate.”
“If I were a worrier, the words creative and plan might give me pause.”
“I’m glad you’re not.” Arms around her legs, she drew her knees up for a chin rest. “Because if I had a plan, I’d really want to tell you about it. I would really value your thoughts. You strike me as a practical man. And I’m a creative woman.” She gave a slow, sensual smile. “Yin and yang.”
“Hmm. If I were a thinking man, my first thought would be…” He winked. “Somebody’s yin-yangin’ my chain.”
She groaned. “Is that what passes for humor where you come from?”
“Well, there’s Indian humor, and there’s edumacated Indian humor.”
“Edumacated?”
“Half-assed educated, which is a dangerous thing.”
“Zach says you’re the best doc he knows.”
“If they ain’t broke, I can fix ‘em up good enough for the next round. You can’t take the cowboy out of the rodeo unless he’s out cold. Then he can’t argue.” He tossed his chewed grass. “'Course, I’m not a doctor. Started out to be, got myself edumacated.”
“Meaning?”
“Got married, had a kid, dropped out of school.”
“Happens to a lot of us. Even without the marriage and kid part.” She thought twice, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. “What happened to your son?”
“He got hit by a car. He was in a coma for six months. By the time he died…” He drew a long, deep breath and sighed. “By the time we let him go, we had nothin’ left.” He lifted one shoulder as he scanned the hills. “Bottom line, I thought she was watchin’ him, she thought I was watchin’ him.” He shook his head, gave a mirthless chuckle. “It’s not the bottom line that kills you. It’s all the garbage you have to wade through before you find it. And when you do, hell, there’s no way to forgive if you can’t even look at each other anymore.”
Sally could not speak. Her throat burned, and she knew it would be a mistake to open her mouth. She knew hospitals. Technicians with their tests, nurses with their needles, doctors with no answers—she knew them all. She imagined them easily. She knew what it felt like to be poked and prodded and eye-balled. It could be painful. It was often scary. When it became part of life’s routine, it was miserable, maddening, frustrating, and it hurt. Physically, when it was your own body, it hurt. Sometimes you thought, if this kills me, that’ll be it. Over and out. She could imagine that part. Easily. What she could not imagine was sitting beside the bed rather than lying in it, watching over your child, losing your child piece by piece until finally the terrible word had to be said.
She reached for his hand. He flinched, but she caught him before he could draw away and kissed him, there on the backs of his healing fingers, rough knuckles, tough skin. She met his wary gaze. Her eyesight was a little hazy, but her heart was not. Whatever she was feeling, it wasn’t pity. Wouldn’t give it, couldn’t take it.
He smiled, just enough to let her know he understood.
“So.” He glanced away, withdrew his hand, gave a brief nod. “Back to the plan.”

Hank thought it over on the ride back. She was pretty quiet—must’ve talked herself out—and he had time to watch the evening sky begin to change colors while he thought about the land, the horses, Sally and her big plan. She wanted to publicize the merits of the sanctuary and the appeal of owning a once-wild horse. She’d done some Internet research and pitched the idea of a documentary, but only a couple of documentary producers had responded, and they’d said the story had been done. She needed a new angle.
“I have a killer idea that I haven’t told anybody about except Hoolie. And now you.” Her secret Henrys, she’d called them, but he couldn’t see her keeping any secrets the way this one had tumbled out of her. She wanted to hold a competition for horse trainers. They would choose a horse from the best of the three-and four-year-olds, and they would commit to conditioning, gentling and training the horse to perform. She would bring in experienced judges, award big, huge cash prizes and auction off the horses. “It’s got everything,” she’d claimed. “History, romance, suspense, sports, gorgeous animals in trouble, beautiful people who care, and lots and lots of money.”
Hank had enjoyed the sound of her enthusiasm so much, he hadn’t asked whether the beautiful people cared about the animals or the money. He hadn’t asked where the money would come from. Maybe Zach’s brother, Sam, would sponsor the whole thing. He’d hit the jackpot, and he seemed like a good guy.
Covering the last mile between a job well done and supper, Hank knew one thing about the woman riding at his side: she lived for wild horses. She was the real Mustang Sally. She was serious about her dream, and no matter how big the undertaking, she would do what she had to do to make it come true. He was sure she had him figured into her doings somehow. It would be fascinating to watch the woman roll out the rest of her strategy. She’d already shown him she could get something out of him he never, ever gave.
Now it was his turn. She was keeping something close to the chest, some heavy weight that bore down on her. He’d seen it knock her over. He’d watched her get right back up. He wouldn’t press her—she had enough pressure—but she was going to have to strip off more than her clothes. Whatever she was figuring him for, trust would be the price for Night Horse insurance.
They crossed paths with Hoolie on his way out the back door. The way he said hope you two had a nice time made it sound like he was mad about something—supper, maybe, although he said he and Kevin hadn’t waited—and Hank questioned Sally with a look. She smiled, shrugged it off, said we did to the slamming door. “Grumpy old men,” she stage-whispered.
“I got twenty-twenty hearing, big sister.”
“I love you, too, ya big grump.” She lowered her voice. “The older he gets, the more he sounds like a mother hen.”
“Thirty-thirty,” was the rejoinder from the yard.
“Shoot me, then,” Sally called back, eyes sparkling. “Chicken sandwich anyone?” she whispered.
She wasn’t kidding about the chicken. Hank was used to cold suppers, but not like this. Sally piled on the fruits and vegetables, fresh-picked garden greens, potato salad and whole-grain bread. At first glance, it struck him as a woman’s kind of meal. At first bite, a man found himself taking his time. No rush to fill up when there was taste and talk on the table.
“I think your plan for a horse-training contest could work.” He could tell he had her at work, but he added, “I’d compete.”
“I was hoping you’d help me run it.”
“That wouldn’t play to my strong suit. I’m not much of a runner.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed her thoughtfully. “Especially behind a friend’s back. What do the newlyweds think about running a contest?”
“They’re on their honeymoon, for which I thank you very much.” Sally popped a green grape into her mouth. “Annie thinks we’ve already bitten off more than we can chew. She’s very careful, very conservative.”
“And she married a cowboy?”
“You toss careful and conservative out the door when you fall in love. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” She went for another grape. “I don’t have time for conservative. Or patience. I know it’s a virtue, but time doesn’t stand still while we take small bites and chew thoroughly. This land and these horses look tough, but they’re vulnerable. They’re right for each other—they need each other. We’ve come a long way getting them back together, and we can’t backtrack. Every acre we add to our program is home for another horse.” She lifted one shoulder. “Okay, a tenth of a horse, which is why we need more acres. They need space. Wide-open space. You can’t have wild horses without wild places.”
“I’m down with you on wildness, but I’m no organizer.”
“I just need an able-bodied ally. Somebody who knows horses.” She leaned toward him. “You wouldn’t have to stick around. Just help me get started. Back me up.”
“I’m not from this reservation,” he reminded her. “I can back you up, but you’re always gonna have holdouts on the council.”
“I know, but you’re cousins, right?”
“We’re all related.”
“I’m not saying you all look alike to me. The Oglala and the Hunkpapa are like cousins, aren’t they? And you’re Hunkpapa.”
“A woman who knows her Indians.” He gave half a smile.
“Not my Indians. And I know cousins compete with each other, just like sisters do.”
“When we say all my relatives, we mean you, too.”
“But you don’t include Damn Tootin'. He’s all about Tutan, and nobody else.”
“We won’t let him in the circle or the contest,” Hank assured her. “I’m here for you, Sally. For three weeks. What do you want me to do?”
“I’ve already written a proposal, and the BLM is sending someone out to look me over. Basically make sure I can do what I said I could do, which is set the thing up and make it happen.”
“And your sister doesn’t know about any of this?”
“I want to see if it’s even feasible first. I need to pass muster with the bureaucrats so they’ll let us use the horses this way. If the BLM approves, I know Annie and Zach will be thrilled. And won’t that be some wedding present?” She reached across the table and laid her hand on his arm. “Just help me look good, okay? Me and the horses.”
“You look fine, Sally. You and the horses.”
“Thanks.” She drew a deep breath. “My only other worry is Tutan and his little shenanigans. Not to mention his connections.”
“You know…” He turned his arm beneath her hand and drew it back until their palms slid together. “I don’t like Tutan.”
“He doesn’t know his Indians.” She smiled and pressed her hand around his. “Why didn’t you tell him the Night Horse who worked for him was your father?”
“I’m not tellin’ him anything.” He lifted one shoulder. “He’s probably checked me out, probably knows by now.”
“What happened?” she asked gently.
“My father had some problems, but he wasn’t afraid to work.” He looked into her eyes, saw no pre-judgment, no preemptive pity. Nothing but willingness to listen. “Jobs are hard to find on the reservation, so he’d go wherever the work was and do whatever he was asked to do. He used to hire on for Tutan, and he’d be gone for weeks at a time.
“Come deer season, Tutan liked to have weekend hunting parties for his friends—probably some of those important connections you’re talking about—and he’d take one of his hired hands along to bird-dog for him. You know, beat the brush, flush out the game. Half those guys didn’t know the butt from the barrel, but they knew how to party.”
“Which resulted in the so-called hunting accident.”
“Out there alone, got drunk, fell on his gun.” He shook his head. “Tragic.”
“How old were you?”
“Old enough to know that dog wouldn’t hunt. Not unless he was on somebody’s payroll.” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t take my brother and me hunting. Said he’d had enough of it when he was a kid. He didn’t hunt for sport. He called and said he wasn’t coming home that weekend because Mr. Tutan’s friends wanted to do some hunting, and Dad was gonna make some extra cash.
“He’d been dead for weeks when they found him. Tutan had about as much to say as he did the other night. He thought John Night Horse had gone home after he’d drawn his last wages for the season. Tutan didn’t post his land, so, sure, hunters came around all the time, but nobody had stopped in that weekend, friends or otherwise.”
“So it could have been an accident.”
“I didn’t think so, but who listens to a twelve-year-old kid?”
“What about your mother?”
“People believe what they want to believe, she said. Indian blood is cheap. Accidents, suicide, murder—what’s the difference? Dead is dead. And she proved that by dying when I was fifteen.”
“What do you believe?” she asked softly.
“I believe life is life.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “From first breath to last, it’s up to you to live it in a good way.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She took up her water with her free hand, paused mid-toast and took a closer look at her glass. “What about blood? Are some kinds dearer than others?”
“You’re lookin’ at one Indian whose blood ain’t cheap.” He waited for her eyes to actually meet his. “O positive. Universal donor.” He smiled. “Priceless.”

Chapter Five
Sally was up early.
She’d checked her e-mail—the honeymooners had landed safely and a group of church campers wanted to schedule a day trip to the sanctuary—and paid some bills online before leaving the room that had served variously as the “front” bedroom, the den, the office and now all three rolled up into Sally’s lair. She refused to consider it her confines, but there were times when parts of her body wouldn’t do much. For Annie’s sake she came out for meals, but otherwise she worked long hours in the office. She profiled every animal on the place, recorded every piece of machinery, kept the books, researched everything from parasites to nonprofits and hatched plans. Her motto was: When the Moving Gets Tough, the Tough Get Moving. One of these days she was going to stitch up the words into a little plaque.
Just as soon as she learned to stitch, which wasn’t happening anytime soon. Not as long as the good times were walkin’ instead of rollin'.
She helped herself to coffee, popped an English muffin in the toaster and glanced out the back window.
Here came Grumpy.
She couldn’t get it through Hoolie’s head that as long as she could get up and go, she was going. He knew as well as she did that her physical condition was predictably unpredictable. Most people didn’t believe they could get seriously sick or hurt anytime. They knew it, but they didn’t believe it. Sally remembered what that carefree, wasted-on-the-healthy frame of mind was like. She’d been there, BMS—before multiple sclerosis. MS had made a believer of her. Her body could turn on her anytime. Just a matter of time.
She’d had to admit that her eye had been bothering her. She was in the knowing-but-not-really-believing stage—was that the same as denial?—but Hoolie couldn’t be denied. He was old and dear, and he knew better. Annie was young and dear, and she could be put off. So, yes, she’d been waking up some mornings—just some—feeling like she had something in her right eye. And sometimes—like the other night in the pickup with Hank—it would totally blur up as though she were crying Vaseline. Weird. These things often hit her when she was feeling stressed, which was hardly what she’d been feeling that night.
Hoolie mounted the back steps, crutch thumping, black shepherd in tow. He told the dog to stay outside, but she took off as soon as the door closed, presumably in search of somebody else to herd.
“Have you guys edumacated Phoebe and Baby yet?” The word was Hank’s. She felt giddy about knowing it and saying it, like a girl with a crush. She laughed at the funny look Hoolie gave her. “Hank’s teaching me to talk Indian. He got himself edumacated. I guess it’s learning the hard way.”
“Seems like a real smart fella. Zach says he’s halfway to bein’ a doctor and twice as good as most of them he knows. Guess he’s met a few.” He glanced down at his cast. “So, if I have any more trouble with this, I can probably…you know…”
“Ask him to take a look. I doubt if he’d charge you much.” She pulled a chair out from the table and spun it around. “You know, you’re supposed to use two crutches.”
He ignored the comment, but he accepted the chair.
“I didn’t mean to get testy last night. You were gone a long time, and it’s been a while since you’ve been on a horse.”
“It was wonderful.” She positioned a second chair for his footstool. “It was just what the halfway doctor would have ordered. If orders were in order.”
“What’s he chargin’ for fixing up Tank’s hooves? He’s out there now gettin’ set to work on him. You might wanna go watch and learn.”
“Like I’ve never seen horseshoeing done before.” She headed for the coffeepot.
“Not like this. Hank’s firing up for a hot shoeing. Got his portable forge out. Took his shirt off. Got a nice set of tools all laid out.” He nodded his thanks for the coffee she handed him. “Sometimes they charge extra for hot shoeing, but they say it’s worth it.”
She laughed. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were playing a game that has everything to do with firing up, nothing to do with horseshoes.”
“Game? What game? I’m just sayin'…”
“I have a couple of volunteers coming in today, and I thought we’d get them started on—”
“Mowing the ditches along the right-of-way and putting up the new snow fence. I’m already on it.” He raised one unruly eyebrow. “In case you wanted to take Hank something cold and wet, there’s pop in the fridge.”
“I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. I’ll just take him some ice water.” In a tall, sweaty glass.
The smell of burning charcoal drifted through the barn’s side door, where Sally was greeted by wagging tails and canine smiles. Phoebe and Baby were buds. The Dog Whisperer had spoken.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jeannie-watt/cool-hand-hank-a-cowboy-s-redemption-cool-hand-hank-a-cowboy/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.