Chapter Eight
Balancing two flimsy cardboard boats of loaded hot dogs for the others and one traditional dog for himself, Hanson navigated the uneven dirt path leading away from the concession stand.
At least walking across the covered arena was proving easier than ordering hot dogs had been.
After listening to the guy in front order multiple hot dogs each with different toppings, his mind went blank, realizing he couldn’t remember who wanted what.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought perhaps everyone had agreed loaded.
He’d never been so thrilled not to have to remember details as when the counter guy merely nodded after he’d said four loaded hot dogs.
The next part had been more challenging.
Somehow, through the noise of the auction and the horses and the people roaming about, he finally was able to order a plain hot dog for himself.
Once he got to the condiment counter, remembering he liked mustard and ketchup must have been muscle memory—the one thing he could rely on.
Determined not to drop their lunch in the dirt, he kept his eyes on the ground, ensuring his boots didn’t catch on the deep ruts left by heavy truck tires.
“I was about to send out a search party.” Kat appeared from between a pair of dually trucks, stepping into his path. She had her small leather bag slung across her chest and a look of deep appreciation on her face as her eyes dropped to the food he carried.
“The line was long.” Hanson offered her the boat in his left hand.
Kat took the cardboard container, her fingers brushing his knuckles in the transfer, her gaze darting from her hot dog to his. “Your hotdog looks rather lonesome.”
“Lonesome?” How the heck could a hot dog look lonesome?
“Okay, plain.” She took a bite and the way she moaned at the flavors had him sucking in a deep calming breath. “Now this is a Texas hot dog. Not that bun wrapped thing you have.”
“I’ll have you know I come from a long line of meat eaters who consider anything more than ketchup, mustard and maybe a smidge of relish, sacrilege.”
She shook her head and held out her hot dog smothered in onions and jalapenos. “Here. Take a bite.”
Against his better judgment—and every instinct that had kept him alive through two deployments—he took the bite she offered.
The first second was fine. And flavorful.
Just as he was about to bob his head in agreement a delighted moan caught in his throat.
The throat that was now suddenly blazing like a four-alarm fire.
His eyes watered and he frantically scrambled to unscrew the cap on his soda, before successfully downing half the bottle in one massive gulp.
Sporting an impish grin that told him she had known exactly what was going to happen, Kat handed him a napkin. “You’ll get used to it.”
Used to it? He seriously considered whether or not her version of a loaded hot dog—Texas style—wouldn’t make an excellent weapon of war. The enemy didn’t stand a chance.
Still grinning at his efforts to hide how badly his mouth still burned, she nudged his shoulder. “We might turn you into a Texan yet, California.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I don’t know about that.”
They fell into step together, weaving through the maze of parked vehicles toward the Sweet ranch rig. The noise of the auctioneer was muffled out here, replaced by the low murmur of men negotiating private deals in the shade of their trailers.
“So,” Kat picked up a stray jalapeno slice and tossed it onto her hot dog, “how are you liking the auction so far?”
“It’s fun. I think some of these people are crazy for spending so much money on a horse, but it is entertaining to watch the entire production.”
Kat laughed, a bright, unbothered sound that made a couple of passing cowboys turn their heads. Hanson noticed and shifted his stance slightly, angling his shoulder to casually block their line of sight, keeping her squarely in his own orbit.
They rounded the back of a massive silver stock trailer and spotted the ranch truck. The heavy metal rear door of the Sweet trailer was swung wide open. Clint was inside the dim interior, his voice a low, steady rumble as he tied off a lead rope to the interior rings.
Colleen stood at the base of the ramp. Eyeing the horse carefully, her stance stiff, her shoulders tense, she looked like a woman who wasn’t quite sure if she’d hit the jackpot or made a massive mistake.
Hanson stopped a few feet away. The chestnut gelding he’d noticed in the pens was currently resting a hind leg, its bottom lip loose, looking entirely unimpressed by the fact that it had just been sold and loaded into a metal box.
“Lunch has arrived,” Kat announced with a little too much enthusiasm for someone who had just eaten a fire soaked hot dog.
Alice reached for the remaining hot dog trays. “I’ll put these in the front seat, we can eat on the ride home.”
Nodding, Kat slid her booted foot onto the bumper, grinning like she’d been the one to win the bid. “I can’t believe that this is one of the horses Connor suggested.”
“His first choice.” Colleen beamed. “For me, the gray seemed too reactive. One thing I learned from Connor and Hannah is that a good therapy horse won’t flinch if a patient loses their balance, drops a crutch, or yells unexpectedly. It has to be the most chill horse on the planet.”
“This one certainly seems to fit that bill.” For some reason, Hanson found the way the horse ignored them all totally fascinating.
Colleen blew out a slow deep breath and smiled at him. “If I hadn’t any doubts, watching this boy just stand there while he’s manhandled and secured, I am positive I got the most chill horse in the auction.”
“And for a great price too.” Alice, careful of where she stood, gently patted the animal’s rump.
“I’ll tell you one thing.” Clint stepped out of the trailer. “This boy has the temperament of a golden retriever.”
Kat turned slowly, her shoulder bumping against Hanson’s arm. Shaking her head at him. “You picked him out all by yourself.”
“I noticed him. Not sure that’s the same thing.”
“I don’t know.” Colleen leaned against the side of the trailer. “Connor Farraday has been doing this his entire life, and it took him three pages of notes to explain why this horse was the right fit. You did it in ten seconds.”
Once again, Kat bumped his shoulder. “Come clean. Was your grandfather a rustler? Did you grow up on a secret ranch in the hills of San Jose?”
“My grandfather was an accountant.” Swallowing the last bite of hot dog, he crumpled the paper wrap and lobbed it into a nearby trashcan. “The closest I’ve ever gotten to a horse is the merry-go-round in Santa Cruz.”
Clint slammed the door shut, setting the heavy steel drop pin into place. The chestnut inside didn’t even shuffle its feet. “Hate to break up this cultural exchange, but, unless we’re buying another horse, there’s still work to be done at the ranch.”
Heads nodded. Someone muttered next time, and Hanson didn’t have a clue who was smiling brighter, Colleen or Alice Sweet. Side by side, at the driver’s side of the crew cab, Hanson pulled the heavy door open for her.
Just like she had on the way there, Kat climbed in and slid to the middle of the bench seat.
There was no doubt in Hanson’s mind that the ride home was going to feel even longer than the ride out.
Time to pull up his big boy boxers and sidle up to Kat.
What was wrong with him? A beautiful woman seated beside him.
Maybe he’d hit his head even harder than he’d thought.
Beside Kat, Colleen stared down at the papers the auction company had given her. “We’re going to have to give this guy a more reasonable name.”
“How so?” Kat narrowed her gaze, trying to follow what Colleen was reading.
“His registered name is Smokey Joe’s Last Call. That could be fun if he were a racehorse, but not so much for an ordinary therapy equine.”
“It does sound more like a pub or barbecue joint.” Kat bit back a teasing grin.
Chuckling, Clint turned out of the lot. “Even though that’s his registered name. Doesn’t mean anyone has to call him that.”
“Smokey Joe’s Last Call.” Colleen tested the words out loud and grimaced. “We can’t put that on his stall plate.”
“He needs a barn name.” Hot dog in hand, Alice stared out the window at some distant point. “Something that actually fits him.”
“Sleepy,” Colleen offered immediately.
“Might as well call him Dopey.” Kat shook her head at her friend.
“I suppose.” Colleen stared at a blank page in the binder she’d brought with her.
“Does that mean Grumpy or Sneezy is out of the question?” A satisfied grin rested on Hanson’s lips.
“Comedian.” Unlike before when Kat had bumped shoulders, this time she stuck out her hand and swatted him across the arm. “Not funny.” The smile she failed to bite back belied her smack and harsh words. “Well, maybe a little.”
Names bounced around the remainder of the ride home. Everything from Caramel Treat to Spice of Life to Take it Easy, and the one that seemed to roll easily off the tongue for everyone in relation to this tranquil horse—Steadfast.
With the unhurried precision of a man who’d done it a thousand times, Clint backed the trailer in, and by the time he’d set the brake and climbed out, Alice had already disappeared through the back door of the house shouting something about apples.
From his spot on the back porch, Valor’s head came up, tracking Alice stomping to the back door and turning to where the trailer rested.
It had taken Kat a bit to realize the dog wasn’t reacting to sound but to vibrations.
He was learning to let his other senses pick up where hearing had fallen away.
Now he was up on all fours with his nose reading the air and his ears doing their partial radar sweep, catching fragments of a frequency that meant something large and unfamiliar had just arrived on his territory.
Brady, stretched out in his usual spot since Valor’s arrival, only a few feet away from the struggling dog, lifted his head, assessed the situation, and put it back down, signaling his new buddy that all was well, though his gaze remained keenly focused on the production in front of him.
In only a few days, Valor had learned to follow Brady’s cues.
The trust the two had developed so quickly fascinated Kat.
In only a few seconds, Valor’s tail dropped from alert to neutral and he, like Brady, watched the unloading of the new soon-to-be therapy horse.
The heavy metal ramp of the trailer hit the dirt with a loud, ringing crash.
Brady was up on his feet now, Valor still sniffing the air.
Clint’s boots echoed against the aluminum floorboards.
A moment later, a pair of white-socked hooves backed slowly and carefully down the incline.
The chestnut gelding stepped off the metal ramp and onto the dirt of his new home.
The horse didn’t toss his head. He didn’t prance or whinny at the new surroundings.
He simply lowered his neck, let out a long breath, and started sniffing a patch of dry grass near the trailer tire.
Tires crunching on gravel, another car pulled up, then doors slammed, and Mason jumped out and ran toward the new horse.
The porch door smacked open at that moment as Alice appeared with a bucket of apples.
Someone’s cell phone went off, a hand hollered at Clint from the barn door, and poor Valor’s ears swiveled awkwardly, trying to pick up something he could make sense of.
The heavy vibration from the myriad of activity had clearly thrown him off.
His dark eyes darted frantically around the yard, his tail tucked behind him.
“He’s overwhelmed,” Hanson’s voice dropped an octave.
Kat watched the dog pace. “Too many vibrations and no way to sort them.”
Valor spun in a tight circle, trying to locate the source of the chaos.
The horse looked down at the anxious animal with those heavy-lidded dark eyes and did not move a single muscle.
Valor’s nose worked overtime. His ears swept forward, back, forward again, catching whatever frequencies remained available to him. The horse breathed out through its nose, a long slow exhale that ruffled the air between them.
Slowly, Hanson inched closer to Valor, lowering himself on one knee, he reached forward to scratch the scruff of the dog’s neck. “It’s okay, boy. I know it’s hard, but it’s going to be okay.”
A vise tightened around Kat’s heart. Somehow she knew the man was doing his best to convince himself as well as the dog that leaned into his touch.
Valor let out a heavy sigh of his own and simply sat down in the dirt, right between the horse and man, anchoring himself to the calmest things in the yard.
“Well, look at that.” Alice arrived, extending her arm for Mason to grab an apple. “Show them how it’s done.”
Mason took an apple half, set it flat on his palm, then held his hand out for the horse to take. The new equine gobbled up the fruit, leaving Mason standing proudly at his side with a Cheshire Cat grin that spread to everyone watching.
“You try it.” Alice shoved the bucket in Hanson’s direction.
“No thanks.”
“Chicken?” Kat teased.
One brow shot up over his crystal blue eyes.
Without a word, he pushed to his feet, snatched an apple half and did as Mason had done.
For some reason, the horse seemed to know he was dealing with a novice horseman and instead of gobbling the apple as he had with Mason, he slowly nibbled, allowing his lips to tickle Hanson’s palm.
The sweet smile that graced the man’s lips and the delighted sparkle in his eyes had that vise around her heart tightening for a whole lot of other reasons.
Her gaze dropped down to the dog carefully watching Hanson and the horse.
Even Valor seemed moved by the scene. If she wasn’t careful, she just might find both irresistible.