One Cowboy, One Christmas. Kathleen Eagle
not the only one,” Ann said quietly.
“Mount up, Zach. My little sister will soon have us up to speed in pursuit of practicality.”
Again he nodded toward the herd. “If that’s what practicality looks like, I’m mounted and ready for the gate.” One by one the horses began raising their heads, ears perked and seeking signals. Zach chuckled. “Who calls the play?”
“The wolf,” Ann said. “They know he’ll show up sooner or later, and they’re ready either way. And that’s horse sense.”
“How do you like my little sister, Zach? Makes you think, doesn’t she?”
“Whether you want to or not.” He caught Ann’s eye, gave her a smile and a wink. “Maybe that’s why she’s in better shape than both of us put together, Sally. Ready to fight off the wolf when he comes to your door.”
“Or hold him off while we take flight.” Sally chuckled. “In our dreams.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Ann complained. “Obviously somebody’s going to have to run this bunch in today so we can cut those two skinny old mares out and that gelding. They won’t like it, but they’re not getting enough to eat.”
“Where’s that kid of yours who’s supposed to help out?”
“Wherever he is, he’s using up his lifeline.”
“We get help from Annie’s students,” Sally explained. “Some are more dependable than others.”
Ann nodded. “The sanctuary is a community service. Kids get in trouble, they can sometimes do their time here. Most of them do very well, and some of them even come back as volunteers. We had five of them off and on last summer. It’s a good program.”
“Pain in the patoot,” Sally muttered.
“It’s my patoot,” Ann said. “I know how to take care of it.”
Zach laughed. “I like your little sister just fine, Sally. Just fine.”
He liked their layout, too. If he’d done what he’d planned to do when he’d had the money—and he’d been in the money for a while there, had a few stellar seasons—he’d have his own place. He’d had his eye on a little ranch near San Antonio, but it had gone to developers while he was still playing in his winnings.
His brother, Sam, had won some big money not too long ago, or so he’d heard, and he wondered how Sam was spending it. But he kept his wondering to himself. Sam was one of the “more dependable than others” kind. He showed up when he was supposed to, did his job without risking his neck, banked his paycheck and paid his bills on time. Hard to imagine him buying a lottery ticket, but if anybody could pick the right numbers, it would be Sam.
When he’d asked Sam to buy his share of their grandfather’s land, Sam had tried to talk him out of it. Said he’d loan Zach what he could to get him started on the professional rodeo circuit, the PRCA. Zach hadn’t cared about land back then. He’d been a high school bullriding champion, and he was going down the road wearing brand-new boots, driving a brand-new pickup. Sturdy, skilled, strong-willed, he had what he needed. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hold me down or cramp my considerable style, bro.
Except his own body.
He’d been sitting too long, and the notion of hitting the road anytime soon wasn’t sitting too well with his diced-and-spliced hip. You’re gonna pay for all that walkin’ last night, son. Your body and your truck were all you had to look after, but you beat up the one and deserted the other.
He watched the Drexler house grow in appeal as much as in size as the pickup drew closer. He thought about the warm bed behind the first-floor corner window. He wouldn’t mind laying his aching body in it for another night. Being held down was no longer much of an issue. Getting up was the challenge.
He dropped the women off near the back door and headed for the outbuildings, where his beloved Zelda stood powerless, her bumper chained to a small tractor hitch like a big blue fish on a hook. Hoolie pulled his head out from under Zelda’s hood and wiped his hands on a greasy rag, which he stuck in the back pocket of his greasy coveralls. A disjointed memory of his father flashed through Zach’s mind as he parked the Double D pickup nose to nose with his own. Greasy coveralls had looked damn cool through a little boy’s eyes. If it was broke, Dad could fix it.
“You got some engine trouble here, Zach,” Hoolie said. Like after last night, trouble was news. “I could use some help gettin’ her into the shop, but I can tell you right now, she ain’t goin’ nowhere unless she gets a good overhaul. Rings, seals, the whole she-bang. Not that you weren’t runnin’ on fumes, but who needs a gas gauge when you’ve got that second tank?”
“That’s what I say.”
“How long since you’ve had ‘em both full?”
“Since gas was under a dollar a gallon. How long ago was that?”
“I ain’t that old, son.” The old man smiled. “Tell you what. You help me out around here, I’ll fix your pickup for you. Don’t give me that look. It’s a simple American-made straight shift. I can order parts off the Internet, slicker’n cowpies.” He did a two-finger dance on an imaginary keyboard, tweedled a dial-up signal, made a zip-zip gesture and smacked the back of one stiff hand into the palm of the other. “In one tube and out the other, sure as you’re born. Hell of a deal, that Internet.”
“Haven’t used it much myself.”
“You gotta get with the twenty-first century, boy. For some things. Others, hell, you can’t beat a handshake and an old-fashioned trade, even up. I help you, you help me.”
Zach nodded. “What do you need?”
“A good hand. All-around cowboy. These girls got a good thing goin’ here, but they’re runnin’ me ragged.”
“Good for what?” Not for profit, according to the “girls.”
“Good for what ails us in the twenty-first century. Tube-headedness. All input and no output. Too many one-way streets. Too much live and not enough letlive.”
“Gotcha.”
“So, what do you say?”
Zach glanced under Zelda’s hood. Poor girl. Mouth wide open and she can’t make a sound. In their prime he’d made sure she had nothing but the best. A guy had no excuse for neglecting his ride. “You’re a pretty decent mechanic?”
“Worked for my dad until he closed up shop. Then I came to work for Don Drexler. Every piece of equipment, every vehicle on the place runs like a top.”
Zach smiled. “I say I’m getting the best end of the deal.”
Chapter Three
Zach eyed the amber-colored pill bottle sitting on the corner of the dresser. He hadn’t taken any last night. He’d had himself a long, hot bath instead. Then he’d taken Ann up on her offer of an ice pack and a heating pad, and he’d been able to sleep without painkillers. He often woke up feeling like he’d aged considerably overnight and needed a crane to lift him out of bed. But when the pain lay deeper than stiffness, he cursed himself for putting the pills out of reach.
When damn you, Beaudry didn’t cut it, biting his lower lip and blowing a long, hot f made pushing out the rest of the word his reward for hoisting his legs over the side of the bed and erecting his top half. One bad word begat another. Pain radiated from his hip to all parts north and south. It was his focus on the pill bottle that bolstered him through the threat of a blackout.
“Zach?”
It was the giver of hot and cold, come to get him up and at ‘em. She’d heard. She was thinking up another remedy. Tap, tap, tap. Here’s an idea.
“Yeah!”
“Are