Kathleen Eagle - Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption - Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption

“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.