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

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.