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

COOL HAND HANK

KATHLEEN EAGLE

A COWBOY’S

REDEMPTION

JEANNIE WATT

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?”