“Come try it out.” She dared him with a wicked, deep-throated chuckle. “Bring your depth finder.”
What a sight. The strange woman and the dog he fed every damn day were treading in tandem, two against one. Phoebe should have known better.
“I’ve got a measuring stick.” Hank grinned. “But it retracts in the cold.”
“Speaking of cold…” She hooked her arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. “If you’re not going to join us, I’d like to take another stab at getting out.”
Post in hand, he stood. “My feet are touching bottom.”
“Not mine.”
“Yours is wet.” He laid his hand on the towel she’d left hanging over the post. “Bring it up here and I’ll dry it for you.”
“One free look is all you get, cowboy. A second will cost you.”
“How much?”
With the pounding of her fist she sent a waterspout into his face. He staggered back as Phoebe bounded onto the lakeshore.
“Damn! You must have ice water in your veins, woman.”
“Warm hands, cold heart. Go back where you came from, please.” She assumed a witchy pitch. “And your little dog, too.”
If he could’ve, he would’ve. Back to the little house in the North Dakota hills where he’d grown up, where his brother lived with his wife and kids, and where the only water anybody had to worry about was spring runoff. Even though he liked the Black Hills—what red-blooded Lakota didn’t?—he wasn’t big on weddings or wild women. But Hank Night Horse was a man who kept his word.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Nice meeting you.”
So this was what a real wedding was all about.
Hank scanned the schedule he’d been handed at the Hilltop Lodge reception desk along with the key to a room with “a great view of the lake.” He’d told Scott—the host, according to the badge on the blue jacket—he’d already had a great view at the lake. Scott had promised him an even better one at sunrise, and Hank said he wouldn’t miss it. But a wedding was something else. He’d witnessed a few horseback weddings sandwiched between rodeo events, and he’d stood up for one of his cousins in front of a judge, but he’d never actually watched a guy jump through so many hoops just to trade promises.
Damn. A three-day schedule? His friend had claimed to be done with weekend-event schedules now that he’d hung up his spurs, but you’d never know it by the list Hank was looking at now. Social hour, wedding rehearsal, rehearsal dinner. He had to laugh at the thought of a rodeo cowboy publicly practicing his walk down the aisle. The sound of Western-boot heels crossing the wood floor brought the picture to life.
“What’s so funny, Horse?” Zach Beaudry clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “You laughin’ at me? You wait till it’s your turn.”
“For this?” Grinning, Hank turned, brandishing the flower-flocked paper beneath his friend’s nose. “If you don’t draw a number, you don’t take a turn.”
“My advice?” Zach snatched the schedule and traded it for a handshake. “Take a number. You don’t wanna miss the ride of a lifetime.”
“Here’s two, just for you. Number one, I patch you cowboys up for a living. I know all about that ride of a lifetime. And number two…” Hank gave his starry-eyed friend a loose-fisted tap in the chest. No man wore his heart on his sleeve quite like a lovesick cowboy. “Nobody’s askin’ you for advice this weekend, Beaudry. It’s like asking the guy holding the trophy how he feels about winning.”
“Damn, you’re a smart-ass. Be careful you don’t outsmart yourself. Come meet my family.”
Hank followed Zach through a lobby full of rustic pine furniture, leather upholstery, and glass-eyed trophy heads. Rough-hewn beams supported the towering ceiling, and a fieldstone fireplace dominated one wall. They passed through a timber-framed archway into a huge dining room—bar at one end, dance floor at the other, rectangular tables scattered in between—flanked by enormous windows overlooking the lake. Hank wondered whether the shoreline was visible from the terrace beyond the massive glass doors. According to the plaque in the front entry, the lodge and the lakefront were products of a Depression-era Federal construction project, and everything about them was rough-hewn, but grand.
“This is my bride,” Zach was saying, and Hank turned from the windows to the woman linking arms with her man. “Annie, Hank Night Horse.”
She was small and pretty, and her smile seemed a little too familiar. But the way it danced in her blue eyes didn’t connect, didn’t feel like it had anything to do with him. And her curly golden ponytail looked bone dry. Hank held his breath and offered a handshake.
“Our wedding singer,” the bride said in a soft, shy voice. “Thank you for coming, Hank.”
“Sure.” And relieved. He was sure he’d never heard the voice before, so he looked his buddy in the eye and smiled. “You did well, Beaudry.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Zach put his arm around his intended. “She’s got a sister.”
“You don’t say.” Hank lifted one shoulder. “I’m willing to sing for a piece of your wedding cake, but that’s as far as I go.”
“I’m just sayin', you got a great solo voice, man, but that solo livin’ gets old.”
“I’ll bet it does. I know I don’t like to go anywhere without Phoebe.”
“She’s here? Phoebe’s here?” Zach’s face lit up like a kid who smelled puppy. “Annie, if we can’t get married on horseback, how ‘bout we put Phoebe in the wedding party? She could carry the rings. She’s like the physician’s assistant’s assistant. Hank’s pretty good with his hands, but Phoebe’s got heart. He’s stitchin’ a guy up, she’s lovin’ him up like only man’s best friend knows how to do. Helps you cowboy up so you can climb back on another bull.”
“He can’t,” Ann assured Hank. “We wrote it into the contract.”
“That’s good, ‘cause I’m tired of sewing him up and watching him rip out my stitches in the next go-round.”
“Where’s Phoebe?” Zach demanded. “I’ll bet she’s not tired of me.”
“She’s outside. Caused me some trouble, so she’s in the doghouse.”
“No way. You tell Phoebe she can—” Zach glanced past Hank and gave a high sign. “Sally! Over here! I want you to meet somebody.”
“Can he swim?”
That was the voice. “Sounds like I’m out of my depth again.” Hank turned and hit her feet first with a gaze that traveled slowly upward, from the red toenails she’d claimed to be touching bottom to the blue neckline that dipped between pale breasts. He paused, smiled, connected with her eyes—blue, but more vibrant than her sister’s—and paid homage again with the touch of his finger to the brim of his hat. Her short blond hair looked freshly fixed. “I like your dress.”
“What’s that? You like me dressed?”
“That, too. But clothes don’t make the woman.” He’d already seen what did.
“So true. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Hank Night Horse.”
Ann looked up at Zach. “I have a feeling we missed something.”
“I have a feeling this is the sister,” Hank said as he offered his hand. Hers was slight and much colder than advertised. He gave it a few extra seconds to take on a little heat. He had plenty to spare.
“And