“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.
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