Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption: Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption

“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!”