got time for TV?” He wasn’t above grinning.
“I’ve always got time for a comedian.” She took a hands-on-hips stance and gave his pickup with its custom long-box cap an appreciative once-over. The sleek, slide-in cargo box was outfitted for his business and his gypsy lifestyle. “You must have done just about what the newlyweds did. Grabbed your gear and run. Of course, they had a plane to catch. Are you hungry? Tired? Ready to rock ‘n’ roll?”
“I’ll do anything that doesn’t involve sitting.”
She raised her brow. “Interested in reclining?”
“If I do that, I’m liable to be out for a while.”
“Then let’s walk and talk before we eat, drink and be merry.” She gave a come-on gesture. “I’ll show you around.”
Her walk wasn’t quite as smooth as her talk. He’d noticed it before, but it was so subtle, he’d dismissed it as another of her quirks. Sally wasn’t your standard model female in any way, shape or form. She was special. Easy to follow, hard to figure, no doubt heavy on the upkeep.
Hardly the best fit for Hank Night Horse. He was an ordinary man who talked with a straight tongue and tried to walk a straight line. He understood most people—once you figured out what they wanted, for better or worse they were generally predictable—but Sally was like a horse he’d ridden for an elderly neighbor when he was a kid. Four out of five days the beautiful Arabian was smart, spirited, smooth-gaited, a dream to ride. But on the fifth day she’d likely take off with him and run like ahellcat until they hit some kind of a wall. She was four-fifths dream and one-fifth damned, but she was special. And four days out of five, she sure was fun to play with.
He wasn’t sure about the hitch in Sally’s gait. It was slight and oddly sporadic. An old injury wouldn’t seem to explain it, and maybe there was no explanation. Maybe it was just Sally.
They entered the machine shed through a side door, which was propped open for ventilation. Hoolie looked up from a workbench and then slid off the stool before he remembered he wasn’t going anywhere without his crutch.
He grinned anyway and reached for Hank’s handshake. “Did you bring all the tools of your trades? My saddle horse could use corrective shoes, and I’ll pay you to take this damn mummy boot off my hoof.”
“Like I told you before, you take that off too soon, you’ll pay dearly. Your horse is a different story. My pickup is a blacksmith shop on wheels. Phoebe!” The dog was headed for the door.
“Does she get along with other dogs?” Sally asked.
“Sure does. She’s around dogs all the time.”
A warning growl sounded outside the door.
“Well, that makes one of them,” Hoolie said ominously as a black-and-white shepherd slunk across the threshold, teeth bared.
“Baby!”
Sally bolted for the door, but she fell flat on her face before she got there. Tripped over her own feet like one of the TV comedians she’d claimed she always had time for. She was doing a shaky push-up on the concrete by the time Hank got to her. She tried to wave him off, her attention fixed on the dogs.
Hoolie came on strong once he had his crutch in place. “Here, you dogs, you want a piece o’ me?”
The clamor settled into a war of whines, both bitches determined to get in the last whimper as Hoolie and his crutch prevailed.
Hank found himself down on one knee beside a woman who was on her way up. “You okay?”
“Yes! Yes, of course.” She laughed as she braced her hand on his shoulder. “Totally wasn’t ready for that. Scared me.”
“They’re okay,” Hoolie called out. “Phoebe wants to play. Baby wants to lay down a few rules first.”
“I’ll give ‘em some rules,” Hank grumbled, discomfited by the loss of his dignity and his own confusion as to where it had gone.
Sally laughed again. “What are you, the Dog Whisperer?”
“I’m the alpha.” He signaled Phoebe to stay put while the shepherd took a fallback position. “You got any other dogs around here?” he asked Sally.
“Baby’s an only dog.”
“That’s her problem. We’ll fix it, though. We’ll teach her some manners. Won’t we, Phoeb?” Hank patted the dog’s silky head. “Scared you, huh?”
“It sure startled me.” Sally twisted her arm for a look at her skinned elbow. “I didn’t want to lose you over a dogfight. You’ve probably noticed I can be kind of a klutz sometimes. Two left feet.” She gave a perfunctory smile. “Except when I dance.”
“You stick to dancing and leave us to referee the dogs.”
“Only if you’ll dance with me, Henry.” She was giving him that too cute look. “Do you know that song? You’re supposed to say, Okay, Baby.”
Hank shook his head. “Nobody calls me Henry.”
“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” She flashed a smile at Hoolie. “Henry’s a fine name.”
“Nobody calls me Henry.”
“Ah, the soft underbelly. Our guardian is ticklish, Hoolie.”
“I know the feeling,” Hoolie said.
“I can handle a dogfight, but that name is a deal breaker.”
“Duly noted.” Sally slid a glance at Hoolie, who chuckled.
“Okay, now aren’t you supposed to have some wild horses around here somewhere?”
“That’s the rumor. But first, the tour.” She gave an after-you gesture. “Please follow the silk thread.”
Hank raised his brow and responded in kind. He knew her game. She was like his patients on the rodeo circuit—too stubborn to say they were hurt, so you didn’t ask. You watched how they moved. If they’d let you.
“No go?” She grabbed his arm and coaxed him by her side. “All right, then, when you’re ready to put your road-weary butt in a saddle, I’ll show you horses, Henry. Hank.”
“You’re askin’ for it, woman.”
“For what?” She met his loaded look with acoy smile. “Oh, no. I’m just hackin’ on you. Make no mistake, when it comes to serious matters, I don’t fool around.” She glanced away. “Well, I do, but I don’t ask. Do you?”
What he didn’t do was answer foolish questions.
By the time he’d seen the outbuildings—shop, machine shed, barn, loafing shed, grain bins, bunk house—the suggestion of food held considerable appeal. He was impressed with what he’d seen so far. It was a nice layout, but the cattle operation was a shadow of what it had been in its heyday, two generations ago. According to Hank’s tour guide, the Double D
