“Aw, you gotta love Phoebe,” Zach said cheerfully. “Hank’s part of the medical team working the rodeo circuit, and Phoebe’s his bedside manner.”
Sally’s eyes brightened. “I’ve spent a lot of time around the rodeo circuit. I used to be a stock contractor. Zach delivered the thrills and I furnished the spills. But that was probably before your time.”
“I just hand out the pills.”
“He does a lot more than that,” Zach said. “Pops joints back in place, sets bones, makes the prettiest stitches you ever saw. Plus, he shoes horses on the side.”
Sally challenged Hank’s credentials with a high-headed smile. “All that and a wedding singer, too?”
“First time.” Hank gave Ann an indulgent smile. “I hear brides can be hard to please, and I’m a what-you-hear-is-what-you-get kind of a guy. I don’t mind being the funeral singer. You get no complaints from the star of the show.”
“You’re listed on the program without the name of the song, which I really wanted…” Ann glanced at Zach. They were already developing their own code.
Good start, Hank thought. He and his former wife had never gotten that far.
“But we agreed to leave it up to you,” Zach filled in.
“It’s my gift. I want it to be a surprise.”
Ann shrugged. “I promise not to complain.”
“I promise not to sing ‘Streets of Laredo.'” Hank glanced across the room. A handful of people were gathered at the bar. Two women were setting bowls of flowers on the white-draped table. He turned to Sally. “What’s your wedding assignment?”
“Maid of honor, of course. It’s a plum role. By the way,” she reported to her sister, “more gifts were delivered here today. I had the desk clerk store them under lock and key. There’s actually one from Dan Tutan.”
Tutan. Hank frowned. He hadn’t heard the name since he was a kid, when he’d heard it whispered respectfully, sometimes uneasily, eventually contemptuously around the Night Horse home.
“Or his wife,” Ann was saying. “She takes neigh-borliness seriously.”
“Dan Tutan’s your neighbor?” Hank asked.
Sally sighed. “A few miles down the road. Not close enough so we have to see him every day. But before I say fortunately, is he a friend of yours?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he’d like to turn our wild-horse sanctuary into a dog-food factory.”
“Why’s that?”
“The horses like to mess with him,” Zach said. “They know he’s extremely messable.”
“Tutan’s had a pretty sweet deal on grazing leases around here for so long he’s forgotten what a lease is,” Sally said. “We’re bidding on some leases and some grazing permits that he’s held for years, and we’ve got a good chance at them because of the sanctuary. We’re a retirement home for unadoptable wild horses. We give them grassland instead of a Bureau of Land Management feedlot. So Tutan doesn’t like us much these days. How do you know him?”
“My father knew him.” Hank glanced away. “Tutan wouldn’t know me from an Indian-head penny.”
“He’d know the penny,” Sally said. “Damn Tootin’ never walks away from any kind of money.”
Zach clapped a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Don’t tell him which one we picked up for a song.”
“Damn Tootin'.” Hank chuckled. He didn’t think he’d heard that one.
“Were they friends?” Sally asked. “Your father and my neighbor?”
“My dad worked for Tutan for a while. Long time ago. No, they weren’t friends.”
“Good. I’m not good at watching what I say about people I hate.” Sally linked arms with her sister. “I’d get the bomb squad to check out his gift if I were you. And then put it in the regifting pile.”
“Tell us how you really feel, Sally,” Zach teased. He winked at Hank. “I’m glad you’re giving us live music. That’s something she can’t regift.”
“I’m recording everything,” Sally said. “Hell, if your singer’s any good, I’ll burn a few CDs for Christmas presents. The frugal rancher’s three R’s: regift, repurpose, recycle.” She poked Zach in the chest as though she were testing for doneness. “But we can’t regift your brother’s trip, so you’re going to use that one.”
“We’ll get to it. There’s no rush.”
“No rush to go on your honeymoon?” Sally flashed Hank a smile. “What’s this guy’s problem, Doc?”
“Can’t say.”
“You’re ducking behind that confidentiality screen, aren’t you?” She turned back to Zach. “Your extremely wealthy brother hands you the extreme honeymoon, the wedding trip of your dreams, the one you mapped out with your bride, and you’re saying we’ll get to it? Like anytime is honeymoon time?”
“Well, isn’t it?” Zach held up a cautionary hand. “Hold on, now, I haven’t said I do yet. I gotta go work on those vows some more, make sure we both say I do it anytime. All the time. Rain or shine.”
The bride blushed.
The maid of honor laughed. “Say what you want, cowboy. I figure a nice long, romantic honeymoon will guarantee me a niece or nephew nine months later. If you don’t get away from the Double D, what you’ll do is exactly what you’ve been doing, which is working your fool britches off.”
“Britches off is step one, Sally,” Zach said. “It’s not much work, and it’s no guarantee, but it’s a start. Right, Hank?”
Hank answered his friend with a look. The conversation had veered into no-comment land.
“I can handle the Double D.” Sally glanced back and forth between Zach and Ann. “I’m fine.”
“We’re here for a wedding,” Ann said, “which is a one-time thing, and we’re doing it up right. Right here. Right now. We’re going to rehearse.” Ann offered a hand for the taking. “Hank?”
“You want me to practice walkin’ and talkin', fine.” Hank took the bride’s hand with a smile. “But I don’t rehearse my songs in public. It’s bad luck.”
“Let’s walk and talk, then. Help me make a list of reasons why Zach should ride horses instead of bulls.”
Sally hung back, watching her sister walk away with two attractive men. Two cowboys. Lucky Annie. As far as Sally was concerned, there were only two kinds of men out West: cowboys and culls. She didn’t know any men from back East.
Sally had been around a lot of cowboys, and most of them were pretty easy to figure. All you had to do was take a look at the shirt. A cowboy wore his heart on his sleeve and a number on his back. He lived day to day and traveled rodeo to rodeo, accumulating cash and consequences. He was addicted to adrenaline, and he’d paid dearly for his sky-highs with rock-bottom lows. By the time he’d filled his PRCA permit with enough wins to earn the right to call himself a Professional Rodeo Cowboy, he’d paid in some combination of torn flesh, spilled blood and broken bone.
Such was the story of Zach Beaudry. He’d been the up-and-coming bull rider to beat until he’d met up with the unbecoming end of a bull’s horn. Like the rest of his kind, he knew how to tough it out. Hunker down and cowboy up. Put the pieces back together and get back on the road. Which had led him to Annie’s doorstep.
Hank Night Horse had the look of