One Cowboy, One Christmas

Chapter Two

Waking up in a strange room was nothing new for Zach Beaudry, but waking up in a pretty room was pretty damn strange. His usual off-ramp motel—good for a thousand-of-a-kind room and a one-size-fits-all bed—suited him just fine. No fault, no foul, no pressure.

He closed his eyes. Purple. Everything around him was purple. Motels didn’t do much purple. The color of pressure.

Where the hell was he? He felt like he’d been wasted for a week and had no clue what he’d started out celebrating. If he’d been drinking to forget, he’d accomplished his mission. He remembered bits and pieces—a long walk, a glittering Christmas tree, a pretty woman in white—but they didn’t come together in a way that made a lot of sense. How had he landed in a bed—somebody’s personal bed—surrounded by personal pictures of real people, furniture that wasn’t bolted down, and colors only a woman could love?

His head pounded. The pressure was on. If he had to pay the piper, he was owed at least a fond memory of the song, not to mention the wine and the woman. Hell, for all he knew, he might owe her. Before she walked in, he needed to neutralize his disadvantage by recalling who she was, what she looked like, and whether it had been good for her.

But nothing was clicking for him except his badly abused joints. Jacking himself into a sitting position was a dizzying experience, and he was about ready to crawl back under the mostly purple covers when he heard female voices outside the door.

“…take him into the clinic this morning.”

“Why? I checked on him. He’s still breathing. His color is better.”

“Even so…”

They sounded familiar, these voices. Familiar to him and with him. Breathing? Check. Color? Approved.

Even so?

“They don’t like doctors, these guys. Doctors tell them all kinds of stuff they don’t want to hear.”

“Nobody wants to be told his toes might fall off.”

Zach pulled the flowery quilt into his lap as he looked down at his dangling feet. He counted ten toes, all attached. In a minute he’d try moving them.

“Heard on the radio the temperature dropped more than thirty degrees last night. Old-timers say the winter’s gonna be one for the record books.”

“They say that every fall.”

“Sometimes they’re right.”

“All the times they were wrong didn’t get recorded.”

Zach smiled inside his head. His face wasn’t ready. Cracking wasn’t out of the question. But he was a cowboy, and like all dying breeds of men, he was particularly fond of old-timers. Kind women with soft voices gave him a good feeling, too, and the survivor in him was bent on rounding up all the good feelings he could find.

“If he isn’t sick, he’s probably hungry. Either way…”

A tentative fist knocked on the door.

“Both, but hungry’s in the lead,” Zach answered.

The door swung open, and an angel appeared.

Where had that come from? Zach had used some sappy lines in his life, but angel wasn’t a word likely to leap off his tongue. Still, it fit. The mass of golden curls surrounded her doll’s face like a halo, and she looked so slight in her crisp white top and slim jeans that he could picture her taking flight in the right kind of updraft.

“Oh!” She pinked up real pretty when she laid eyes on him. Doll face. He’d never say anything like that, either, but it sure fit. “You’re up,” she observed, considerably down the scale from her oh! “How…how are you feeling?”

“Dazed and clueless.” He bunched up the quilt for better coverage below his waist. “Last I remember I was headed for Texas.”

“You still have a long way to go, then.”

“Ran outta gas.” He glanced at a bright window with frilly see-through curtains, looking for a hint. Tree branches didn’t cut it. “I’m pretty sure that’s a corner piece to this whole puzzle.”

“Hoolie says it’s more than that, but the important thing is—”

Tree outside the window. Tree inside the window.

“Is it Christmas already?”

“We have almost a month yet.” She glanced over her shoulder as she pushed the door wide. Back to him. “I think you should see a doctor. Do you need help getting dressed?”

“I need to know where I am.”

“You’re at the Double D Ranch in South Dakota, cowboy.” Voice number two rolled in on a wheelchair. “Sally Drexler,” she announced and then nodded toward the angel. “My sister, Ann.”

“Drexler, the stock contractor? I remember the name.”

“And I remember Zach Beaudry. I’ve been sidelined for quite a while now, but we’ve actually met before. Back when I was sassy and nimble.”

“Hey, I hear you, Sally. Rodeo’s a cruel mistress. One good kick in the nimble and all you’ve got left is sass.” And his was kinda twisting naked in the wind here.

“That’s the Zach Beaudry I remember,” Sally said with a slightly off-balance smile. “You’re a poet and you know it. Especially when those sports commentators come at you with a microphone.”

“Not anymore. I don’t like questions that begin with how disappointing is it, and they generally don’t like my answers.” He turned to Angel Ann. “Now, your question was…”

“Do you want to see a doctor?”

“Hell, no. But that wasn’t the question. Something about helping me get dressed, which is an offer that’s hard to refuse.”

“I’ll get Hoolie.”

“What’s a Hoolie?”

“You’ll like him,” Sally said. “He’s a cowboy, too.”

“Do I have clothes somewhere?” Zach returned the lopsided smile. “‘Cause if I don’t have an outfit, Hoolie might not like me.”

“We dried them.” Ann transferred a short stack of neatly folded clothes from her sister’s knees to the bed, about six inches from Zach’s hand. Like she was afraid to get too close. “Actually, we washed and dried them. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s great. Thanks.” He could see he was going to have to ditch the subtle humor. She’d missed his little I-see-by-your-outfit joke. “I didn’t think I was gonna make it. I remember that now. How far did I walk?”

“Three miles. We’re three miles off the road, and it dipped down below zero last night.”

“Hip still giving you trouble?” Sally asked. “I’m not in the business anymore, but I still watch and read all things rodeo. You know what I thought when Red Bull cleaned your clock that night?”

“That I was a dead man,” Zach guessed.

“That I was an idiot. I sold that bull to the Chase Brothers when he was a yearling.”

“He’s been Bull of the Year twice.” Zach grinned. “Congratulations. You’ve got yourself some good breeding stock.”

“I sold most of that, too. In this business you either have to be a fortune-teller or a fortune inheritor. I inherited a dream, and all I can tell you is, you never can tell.”

“Which is why you can’t be counted out until you are a dead man.” He laid his hand on the folded clothes. “I’ll get myself dressed and see what I can do about getting out of your way this morning.”

“No rush,” Sally said as she wheeled back on one side for a turnaround. “I have business to attend to. When Hoolie comes in, send him back to the office, will you, Annie?”

Ann stepped aside for Sally’s chair, manning the door as she spoke. “I have breakfast ready for you, and Hoolie wants to know whether to pull your pickup in.”

“You got a can and a couple gallons of gas I could buy?” At a dollar-fifty a gallon? Unless they wanted to cash a check for him. He’d have to call the bank first, save himself from adding insult to injury.

“You can discuss that with Hoolie. He’s already had a look at the pickup. I gave him your keys.” She paused, doorknob in hand. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. That’s…that’s great. Thanks. Hey…” Zach gave a come-on nod, and Ann took a step in his direction. “Was Sally in an accident?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“I been on the circuit quite a few years now. I meet a lot of people. I know the name, but human faces kinda morph together. You know, like in some of those TV ads. I get a chance to look a bull in the eye, that’s a face I don’t forget, but people…” He lifted one shoulder, gave an apologetic smile. “Guess I’ve taken one too many kicks in the head.”

“You couldn’t offend my sister if you tried. She never met a cowboy she didn’t like. If you’ve forgotten any of your career stats, I guarantee she can fill you in. She misses being part of it all.” She smiled back. “But she’s found something else.”

“Yeah?” He took his shirt from the pile and shook out the folds.

“Yeah. Something just as wild. How do you like your eggs?”

“Cooked.” He plunged his right arm into a sleeve. “I’m easy.”

That made two of them. Ann had been scared he’d remember, scared he wouldn’t. Now that it was settled, she could kick herself for caring, or she could take care of herself on the inside and maintain her cool on the outside.

Oh, yes, she certainly could. She’d learned a lot since her brief encounter with Zach Beaudry. She’d grown a lot. Actually, she’d shrunk quite a bit—at least sixty pounds’ worth, although she wasn’t one for stats—but she considered herself to be a bigger person than she was eight years ago, and exactly what she’d weighed when weight was a stat she had no use for anyway. Really. Back then she’d been dying her hair and using more makeup, following the advice of one transformation how-to after another. If she met her old self right now, she probably wouldn’t recognize her, either.

Yeah, she would. Ann would know her by her fear, and she’d just had a flashback. That insecure little big girl was tucked away inside her now and always would be. She deserved to be protected. Zach Beaudry’s poor memory left Ann’s good one in control. Maybe she’d remind him, just to see how he reacted. Maybe she wouldn’t. It would all play out soon enough, and it would be her call.

She was lining up the last dripping strips of fried bacon on paper towels when she heard the back door close. Hoolie Hoolihan announced himself with his signature two-note whistle from the mudroom, and she responded in kind. It was one of those routines that went way back. As far as Ann knew, her father had carved Hoolie from a Double D fence post and whistled him to life. That was the old hired man’s story, anyway, and he was sticking to it.

“How’s your patient?”

“He’s out of the woods.” Ann cracked an egg into the iron skillet, ignoring the gnarled, leathery hand that pulled a bacon soldier from her carefully arranged rank and file. “Soon to be headed for Texas.”

“Not if he’s countin’ on the ride he left sittin’ out there on the highway. Is he gonna let me tow her? Like I says, she was sittin’ on Easy, but I gave her a little juice, and she still wouldn’t turn over.”

“You can ask him after you check in with Sally. She’s back in the—”

“You can ask him now.” He favored his left side as he ambled across the tile floor and stuck out his hand. “Zach Beaudry. You must be the man they keep referring me to. Hoolie?”

“Gas ain’t gonna do ‘er. You got Triple A?”

Zach chuckled and shook his head.

“The last guy we had broke down out here, he told me he had Triple A. One of them fancy foreign jobs. Good luck gettin’ parts around here for one o’ them babies. But he was gone next I looked, so I guess the Force was with him, huh? Satellite, beamer-upper, club card, something. ‘Course, you wouldn’t be freezin’ your ass off walkin’ in from the highway…”

“…if I hadn’t left home without the card. Next time I’m takin’ the Beamer and the satellite.”

“You can always get a horse. You’ll still freeze your ass off.” Hoolie looked up expectantly, eyes twinkling.

“But it sure beats walkin’.” Zach clapped a hand on the wiry old cowboy’s shoulder. The men shared a laugh while Ann smiled to herself and tended to the eggs. “How much gas did you put in? I’m beginning to think she’s got a hollow leg.”

“I put in five gallons, but no go. I can pull ‘er into the shop here and have a look later on. Long as she’s American made, I can prob’ly get ‘er goin’. Or you can use my tools if you’re in a hurry.”

“I’m on your schedule, Hoolie, thanks. Gotta say, I hope your schedule includes breakfast.”

Ann took her cue to glance up. Zach smiled. He was clueless, all right.

“It did,” Hoolie said. “Three hours ago. You walked in from the road with that gimpy leg?”

“Hell, no. I borrowed one of Annie’s.”

More instant-compadre humor.

“Ann.” She slid two fried eggs on to a shiny white plate and presented it to Zach, who questioned her with a look. She gave a perfunctory smile. “It’s just Ann. My sister gets a pass because it’s better than what she used to call me.”

“Gotcha. I got an older brother.”

She added buttered toast to his plate. “Help yourself to the bacon.”

He took two pieces.

“It’s all yours,” she said, and he claimed one more with quiet thanks as she turned to open a cupboard.

“I don’t know how I walked in from the road, Hoolie,” Zach said as he seated himself at the place she’d set at the breakfast counter. Some part of him gave an inhuman click, and he winced. “Feels like some of my replacement parts gave out. You got any extra sockets in your toolbox?”

“We can sure check.” Hoolie turned to Ann and nodded toward the hallway. “How’s she feelin’ this morning?”

“Other than a little extra fatigue, given all the excitement, herself seems to be feeling herself.” Ann handed Hoolie a cup of coffee. “But that doesn’t mean she can take on the world, and don’t you let her forget it, Hoolie. She listens to you.”

“She wants to take in more horses.”

“I know.”

He shrugged, sipped, shrugged again, avoiding Ann’s eyes. “She says the Bureau of Land Management is offering a pretty good deal on a one-year contract with extension options. We can handle a few more.”

“Hoo-Lie,” she warned as she grabbed another coffee mug from the open cabinet.

“I’m with you,” he pled quickly. “We’re full up.”

“And when I’m not around, you’re with her.”

“Well, she can make a lot of sense when you’re not around.” Hoolie leaned closer to Zach’s ear. “I try to please, but there’s only one of me and two of them.”

“You gotta love the one you’re with,” Zach said as he mopped a puddle of egg yolk off his plate with the corner of a wheat-toast triangle.

“I just do what I’m told,” Hoolie muttered, head down, headed for the hallway. “Try to, anyway.”

“Now you’ve embarrassed him.” Ann set a mug of black coffee near Zach’s plate.

“He knows I’m joshin’ ‘im.” He closed his eyes and mmm’ed over his first taste of her coffee. She’d passed the ultimate test. He came up smiling. “How long has he been with you?”

“Hoolie came with the ranch. He worked for my father.”

“So you inherited him?”

“Of course not.” On second thought, her indignation dissipated. “I should have said Hoolie’s with the Double D. I don’t know what we’d do without him. Maybe he inherited us.”

“I guess I did embarrass him. Love can be a touchy word when it hits home. I thought he was just workin’ for wages.” He chewed on his bacon while she puzzled over what line he might have crossed between cowboys. “Maybe I can help him out today. I can’t go anywhere until I get my pickup fixed. What kind of horses you run here?”

“Wild ones.”

“The best kind.” He sipped his coffee while she poured herself a cup. “Switching from bulls to horses?”

“We’re taking in wild horses. We’re kind of a sanctuary for unadoptable mustangs culled from wild herds on Federal land. They’re protected by law, so they have to be put somewhere.” She raised her green coffee mug in tribute. “Give us your old, your injured, your perennially rejected.”

“Your can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot ‘em,” he supplied.

She seated herself on the counter stool beside him. “If you’re a rancher, your choices can seem almost that impossible. We used to be ranchers. Our father did, anyway. Now we’re more like…” she thought for a moment, couldn’t come up with anything better than “…a sanctuary. That’s what we’ve become.”

“You get paid to take in these useless horses?”

“The BLM helps with the upkeep, yes, but we’re, um…”

“Doin’ charity work?” He drew an air sign. “Bless you, sisters.” And he grinned. “I really mean that. A buddy of mine works for the BLM out in Wyoming. Took me up in the hills one time, and we caught up with a band of mustangs. One of the prettiest sights I’ve ever seen. Usefulness is definitely overrated. Hell, look at me.”

“You have wild horses in Montana, don’t you?”

“Montana?” He looked at her, considering. She froze. He finally smiled. “Somebody’s keepin’ track of more than my rodeo stats.”

“Well…” Her token smile bridged the gap between heartbeats. “That’s what sports fans do.”

“Were you a fan, too?”

“Not really.” She lifted a shoulder, avoided his eyes. “I was in college when Sally got into the stock contractor business.”

“You never went along for the ride?”

She could feel him studying her while she studied the tiny oil beads in her coffee. “You’ve seen one rodeo, you’ve seen ‘em all, pretty much.”

“Ouch.”

“People get hurt. Animals get hurt.” She looked up, suddenly brightening. “I do like to watch the barrel racing.”

“Me, too. Pretty girls on great horses—can’t beat a combination like that.” He set his cup down and went after the last of his eggs. “What do you do, Ann? Besides take care of your sister and keep this place going?”

“I teach high school English and history. Sally’s the one who really keeps this place going. I help her as much as I can.”

“I like history. English, not so much. You gotta write. I don’t mind reading, but I can’t spell worth a damn.” He took a bite of eggs, a bite of toast, chewed, watched her. “I figured you for a teacher. You got a familiar way about you. Patient.” Without taking his eyes off her, he flicked the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and caught a crumb. “Forgiving.”

“That’s an odd thing to say. Most people don’t—”

“Sally needs a ride,” Hoolie announced at their backs, causing Ann a bit of a jolt. “She wants to take a turn around that northeast section while she’s feeling up to it, and I got work to do.”

“I’ll drive her.” Ann slid down from the stool, taking her coffee with her.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Hoolie told Zach. “You drive the ladies, and I’ll work on your pickup when you get back.”

“I can take care of it, Hoolie,” Ann insisted.

“Go on and show the man around. Show him what we’ve got goin’ here. He’d enjoy the tour.” Hoolie clapped a hand on his new buddy’s shoulder. “Right, Zach?”

“Sure would.”

Ann credited him with sounding interested. It was limited credit, considering his options were even more limited.

It felt good to be behind the wheel of a fully operational pickup. Good to be moving, especially when his body was dragging its tail. Zach hated it when his body acted pitiful. He was a firm believer in mind over matter, and believing had served him well for a good long time. Then along came the bad time, starting with a couple of cracked ribs. But taped ribs were all in a day’s work. He was breathing normally by the time a plunging hoof had landed on his left foot. Bones too small to worry about hadn’t been allowed to mend properly. Then came torn ligaments in his knee, broken fingers, fractured collarbone and horn-skewered hip. His buddies had comforted him cowboy style, telling him how he’d looked when Red Bull tossed him in the air “like a short-order cook flipping a pancake.” He hadn’t seen it that way himself, but that was what he was told. Cowboy humor. When it hurts too much to laugh, your friends’ll do it for you.

The damn bull had used an ice pick on him instead of a spatula. But it would be a cold day in hell before he’d let a bull have the final say on Zach Beaudry. He’d come close again, but it turned out he hadn’t hit bottom. He hadn’t landed in hell or anywhere near death’s door.

And a cold day in South Dakota was hardly unusual, unless you weren’t used to a high, wide, handsome sky the color of a bird’s egg and air so pure you could smell God’s fresh-hung laundry. The rolling hills and jagged buttes were swathed in a dull patchwork of brown-andtan stubble. Frost feathers clung to the drooping heads of tall prairie grass, and silver-gray sage was the closest kin to anything evergreen poking out of the sod. There was no road to follow—only cow paths, tire tracks and Sally’s orders.

“Head for high ground,” she sang out from the far side of the pickup cab. Zach noticed a slight tremor in the gloved hand directing the way.

Straddling the gearbox hump, Ann must have noticed, too. Without a word she laid a solicitous hand on her sister’s knee as Zach arced the steering wheel and tipped the two women in his direction. Sally brushed the hand away. It was a subtle but telling exchange, and Zach had no trouble reading the “tell.” It’s my hand, my play. He reached across Ann’s knee, downshifted and put the pickup on an uphill course, following two parallel ribbons worn in the sod. He let his jacketed forearm linger a moment past necessary. His tell, for whatever it might be worth. Tenderness noted, Angel Ann.