Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption: Cool Hand Hank / A Cowboy's Redemption. Kathleen Eagle
her with a hard look and a harder stance. “What’s the big damn deal about my sleeping arrangements?”
“It’s no big damn deal. You do what you want. I just want Phoebe to be comfortable.”
“Comfortable? Okay, she likes to sleep on the east side of the house near an outside door and an open window on a feather bed.”
“That can be arranged.” She spun away and tripped.
He caught her. “What’s wrong, Sally?”
“Defensive clumsiness. When I get rattled, I spaz out sometimes. Great way to ruin a dramatic gesture.” She glowered. “What’s your excuse?”
“Defensive gruffness.”
“That’s against house rules, but we’ll call it even since it sounded like good ol'-fashioned sarcasm to me. I can hardly fault anybody for that.” She signaled, “No penalty.”
“You sure you want me to bring her bed in the house?”
“I’m sure this dog gets every vaccination and preventive treatment on any vet’s list. So I want you to put her bed where the sun don’t shine—” she smiled “—in the afternoon.”
He hauled his duffel bag and Phoebe’s denim pillow into the house and settled the dog down. He wasn’t kidding about the outside door. Then he followed Sally through the living room, around the stairs, and down the hall, where they crossed paths with a calico cat, which scampered up the stairs.
“This is my room,” Sally said of the first door in the hall. “It’s also my office. Next is the main bath. I’ll work around your shower schedule.” She pushed the last door open and flipped the light on. “I’m putting you in this room because Zach and Annie have the upstairs. This used to be Grandma’s room, which is why everything’s purple. But now it’s a guest room. I think you’ll be comfortable. The trees shade the windows and keep it cool. There’s a half bath through there. Say the word if you need anything. Help yourself in the kitchen anytime, anything you want. There’s a TV in the den, just off the living room. And, um…” She looked up at him. “Thank you for doing this for us.”
“No trouble.”
“That I can’t guarantee. Sleep well.”
“You, too. I enjoyed the tour.”
She gave a little nod, a wistful smile. She didn’t quite know what to make of him, and he hadn’t quite decided what to do with her.
It was going to be an interesting three weeks.
Chapter Four
“Kevin’s back,” Hoolie announced as he came thumping in the back door. “Add one for supper. Any coffee left?”
“It’s cold, but you can nuke it. I’m brewing iced tea.”
Sally laid aside the ice pack she’d been using on her right eye and filled the teakettle. Hoolie was still banging around in the mudroom, and she was only getting about half of what he was saying, but she’d catch up on the rerun. He had a habit of repeating himself, especially if one of the teens court-ordered to work at the sanctuary was giving him trouble.
“So I’ve got him ridin’ fence along the highway,” was the upshot as he clomped into the kitchen. “You know damn well there was no horse on the road, but that don’t mean Tutan didn’t put another hole in the fence to back up his story. We got some volunteers set to help cut hay this weekend. So Hank and me, we’re gonna…” He noticed the ice pack. “You feelin’ okay, big sister?”
“I’m not okay with that question.” Cold packs were her standard first-line remedy, and they were helping. Loss of vision in one eye wasn’t unusual with multiple sclerosis, but neither was remission. She’d had this problem before and regained a good measure of sight back. She’d do it again without losing ground anywhere else. Not for a good long while.
She closed the microwave door on his cold coffee and pressed the button. “My health is my business. I want nothing but positive health vibes. That wheelchair is staying in the basement. There’s only one person around here who needs a cane.”
“Crutch.”
“This reprieve could last for months. Years, maybe.”
“Trouble with your eye again?”
“A little, but I’m loading up on vitamins.” She believed in vitamins. Exercise, meditation, hydrotherapy—she believed in believing. She popped the microwave open and handed Hoolie his coffee. “You and Hank are going to what?”
“Move the cows.”
“You can’t ride with that ankle.”
“I’m not okay with that order.” He pulled two chairs away from the kitchen table, sat in one and propped his foot with its dirtier-by-the-day cast on the other. “I’m taking this damn thing off. My foot itches. That means the mummy boot has been on long enough.”
“What does Hank say?”
Hoolie questioned her with a look.
“He’s a professional.”
“You ask him about your eye, and I’ll ask him about my ankle.”
“No deal.” She snatched the whistling kettle off the stove. “I know more about MS than most doctors. These symptoms come and go. Eventually, some of them come and stay, but I’m not on any fast track to eventually.” She pointed to his ankle. “That is going to heal. Give it time, and it’ll go the way of all your other previously broken bones.”
“My health is my business,” he echoed in an irritating falsetto.
“Not when all your stories end with I got the scars to prove it.”
“I tell it like I remember it. The truth is always in there somewhere.” He sipped his coffee. “I said I’d look after you.”
“Look all you want. Just don’t talk about it.” She laid a hand on his bony shoulder. “I’ll ride with Hank. We’ll move the cows, and then we’ll ride out to Coyote Creek and see if we can get a look at the Don.”
“If something happens, you tell him why. You wouldn’t fall so much if you’d keep a cane handy when you get tired or—”
“Three weeks.” She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Hank was finishing up the hooves on the saddle horses when Sally came looking for him in the barn. From the first, he’d had her figured for a night person. Seemed he was right. Their ships would be passing mid to late morning, which was fine by him. Hoolie had filled him up with a hearty breakfast while they planned a few things out. He met one of the helpers he kept hearing about—Indian kid named Kevin Thunder Shield, who showed up ready to ride. Hoolie hooked the kid up with a horse and gave him an assignment, but Hank couldn’t let the gelding go without a hoof trimming. And he wasn’t herding any cattle until the rest of the saddle horses got the same treatment.
“That looks great,” Sally said of the third set of hooves he’d filed. “You are good.”
“The trim’s the important part. Right, girl?” He patted the black mare’s rump. She’d behaved well. Hard to believe she’d ever been wild. “The shoes are icing on the cake. It’s getting the right trim that makes the difference for most horses.”
“We go easy on the icing around here.”
“And that’s fine. These horses don’t have to hang out in stalls and watch their toenails grow. Except that one.” He pointed to a big gray gelding. “Without shoeing that crack will keep growing.”
Sally ran her hand down the horse’s leg toward the hoof. “I didn’t see that.”
“I’ll take care of it when we get back. Hoolie and