build their own canine units.” She angled her knees in his direction. He’d hit her sweet spot. “I couldn’t have a horse when I was growing up, but we had cattle dogs. I learned a lot from them.”
That sounded promising. “And you rode Sally’s horses.”
“As often as I could.”
He nodded. “It’s been a while since I had a dog. My sons always had at least one dog around, sometimes one each.”
“How many children do you have?” She sounded a little tentative. Disappointed, maybe. She hadn’t figured on kids.
“They’re not children.” If that helps any. “Trace and Ethan are in their twenties.”
“You don’t look old enough to have kids that age. You must’ve started young.”
“As young as I could.” He flashed her a wry smile. “I married a family. The boys were half-grown, and I was half-kid. Well, maybe not half, but it was a good mix to start with. We had some good times together.” He lifted one shoulder. “We’re all on our own now. Full-grown. Divorced. Footloose and…what’s the other thing?”
“Fancy free,” she quipped, joining him in some irony of her own. “Where is everybody?”
“No idea where their mother is. She cut out early. Left the boys with me.”
“What about their father?” She sounded suitably indignant on her new partner’s behalf. Logan appreciated loyalty.
It was almost a shame he had to set her straight. Try to, anyway.
“I’m their father. I adopted them, gave them my name. They both go by Wolf Track. Their mother left a picture of her, uh…one of the men. Ethan tried to look him up, but I don’t think he got anywhere. The other one…” He glanced at her as he turned onto the gravel approach to the Double D. He’d already said more than he usually did, but the look in her eyes invited more. And, what the hell… “Who knows? She never talked about her past. One of those livin'-in-the-moment people. I liked that about her right up until she was here one moment and gone the next.” “She just…left?”
“Yep. Said she’d come back for the boys and never did.”
She didn’t look too shocked. Didn’t look pitying or superior, wasn’t taking him for a saint or a sucker. Maybe she was just taking him for the way he was.
“That must’ve been hard,” she said. “Never knowing what was going to happen if she came back.”
“She wasn’t taking those boys, no matter what. Not after…” He smiled as he parked the pickup next to a paddock holding a handful of horses. “You’re good at stealing bases, you know that? I never answer questions on the first date.”
“This is hardly a date.”
“That’s right.” He cocked his finger and gave her a wink. “I picked you up.”
The man winked at her. Winked. All right, it was kind of cute, but what was he thinking? Mary hadn’t been winked at since…never? She didn’t remember anybody winking at her. It made her feel downright giddy. Of course, she’d hidden it.
Well, except for a little smile.
Hoolie Hoolihan emerged from the bunkhouse and ambled across the graveled quad that was surrounded by outbuildings and corrals. Hoolie was a true cowboy—unchanging, ageless, loyal as an old soldier. As far as Mary knew, he’d always been part of Double D. He greeted her with a proper pull on the brim of his cowboy hat before shaking Logan’s hand, tucking thumbs in his belt and commenting on the need for some rain. The visitors chimed in as they drifted toward the corral. As though they’d been cued, the horses suddenly took to the far corner like a flight of butterflies.
“Sally’s pretty pleased with herself, gettin’ you two partnered up,” Hoolie said as he hiked one boot up to the bottom fence rail. “Which one are you taking?”
“We’re going with Mary’s first instinct. Taking the claybank.” Logan glanced at his partner. “Right?”
“He’s beautiful,” Mary said, basking in his approval.
“That one’s all mustang,” Hoolie said. “No plow-horse blood in those legs.”
Logan smiled. “That’s the way we like ‘em.” At the moment, he only had eyes for the horses.
“I’ve got your book,” Hoolie said.
Logan spared him an appreciative grin. “So you’re the one.”
“The Indian way of training horses takes a lotta time, seems like.”
“I’ve been doing it all my life,” Logan quipped. “You think you can have the horse ready in just—”
“Oh, yeah.” Logan smiled, still watching the horses. “I don’t know if I can have Sergeant Tutan ready, but the horse is not a problem.”
“Are you taking him to your place?” Mary asked.
“First thing, I’m taking him back to his place. You can come if you want. Otherwise I can drop you off.”
“His place?”
“He’s a wild horse. His place is wild. That’s where we start.” Logan turned to Hoolie. “Can you help me cut him out?”
“I’ll be the gate man.”
Hoolie headed for the barn. Mary followed Logan around the front of his pickup to the empty horse trailer.
“Where are we starting?” she asked as she watched him open the tack door and reach inside for a coiled hard-twist rope. “I’m going, but I’m just curious.”
“His place.” He slid the bolt on the tack door and slid Mary a playful smile. “You like camping?”
She laughed. “I’m a soldier. Camp is my place.”
Chapter Three
He had set up his camp the day Mary had signed the agreement. The tipi was traditional. Except for its shape, the round pen was not. He had a permanent one in his backyard, but he used portable corral panels to make the circle he required in pursuit of his acquaintance with a horse. The round pen served as physical containment, but it allowed for freedom of the spirit. The rope he had watched many a tamer use to “break” a horse generally served Logan as a director’s tool. It helped him extend his arm or widen his hand. He could’ve used something else, but he was still a cowboy, and the rope was part of his gear.
And he was still an Indian. Gone were the old government-issue canvas tents his grandfather’s generation had known all too well. “Back to the blanket” had been an expression of ridicule. Back to the tipi was a summertime homecoming. Sure, he lived in a house. Most days, anyway. But there was no better shelter for camping at a powwow or getting away to a place where there were no square corners and no one knew your name than a Lakota tipi.
He’d
