“Cider?”

She lifted her mug for show, but he put his hand over hers and guided her drink to his mouth. “It’s hot,” she whispered.

“Mmm.” He pressed his lips together. “I’ll pass.” “Would you like something else?” she offered, and he shook his head. “You’re welcome to stay through the holidays. A week was your bet, not mine.”

“Maybe I was hopin’ you’d raise me.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Try it,” he challenged, his eyes mesmerizing her. “Aren’t you curious?”

“What would happen?”

“That’s not the way the game is played. You gotta say, I’ll see your week—” he lifted his hand slowly toward her hair, moved a barely visible strand with a barely moving finger “—and raise you all the way into the next.”

“I can’t afford you…” She couldn’t move. His cool finger touched her cheek, trailed tingles to her chin. “…that…long.” His kiss was impossibly tender. A touch of warm breath, a taste of spice.

An all-knowing smile. “Yeah, you can.”

One Cowboy, One Christmas

By

Kathleen Eagle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I’m back, just as I promised in my letter to you in In Care of Sam Beaudry. This time it’s the special holiday delivery of a special cowboy—Sam’s brother, Zach Beaudry.

Oh, I do love me some cowboys. One in the flesh and numerous on paper. I married the former, and the rest is history. (Not to mention her story.) I met Clyde Eagle on June 8 in the year…well, in the past century. But I remember it as though it happened last week. He was dressed in a red Western-style shirt, scuffed boots, a straw cowboy hat…and let’s just say he wore his Wranglers as only a cowboy can. And—icing on the cake—he was gentling a young buckskin horse. This prim Eastern college girl made a photographic memory that day that would make its mark on every romantic tale she’s written from that century to this.

Zach Beaudry is one of those paper cowboys, but with my creativity and your imagination, we’re about to bring him to life. Zach’s a professional bull rider who’s almost forgotten what home means. He’s tired, broke and half-frozen when he lands on the doorstep of the Double D Ranch, and he’s risked every part of his body except his heart. But Ann Drexler is about to remedy that little oversight.

Welcome to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. One Cowboy, One Christmas is only the beginning.

Happy holidays!

Kathleen Eagle

About the Author

KATHLEEN EAGLE published her first book, a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award winner, with Mills & Boon in 1984. Since then she has published more than forty books, including historical and contemporary, series and single-title, earning her nearly every award in the industry. Her books have consistently appeared on regional and national bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list and the New York Times extended bestseller list. Kathleen lives in Minnesota with her husband, who is Lakota Sioux. They have three grown children and three lively grandchildren.

For Mary Bracho extraordinary teacher, cherished friend

Chapter One

“Don’t die on me, Zel.”

I’ve been dying, Zachary. I’ve been trying to tell you that.

“Come on, Zel. You know how much I love you, girl. You’re all I’ve got. Don’t do this to me here. Not now.”

But it had to be here because it would be now. His beloved pickup truck, Zelda, had quit on him, and Zach Beaudry had no one to blame but himself. He’d taken his sweet time hitting the road, and then miscalculated a shortcut. For all he knew he was a hundred miles from gas. But even if they were sitting next to a pump, the three dollars he had in his pocket wouldn’t get him out of South Dakota, which was not where he wanted to be right now. Not even reliable old Zelda could get him much of anywhere on fumes. He was sitting out in the cold in the middle of nowhere. And getting colder. Zach made no apologies to anyone for being a fair-weather lover.

Cowboy. Fair-weather cowboy. As a lover, he was the all-weather model.

He shifted the pickup into Neutral and pulled hard on the steering wheel, using the downhill slope to get her off the blacktop and into the roadside grass, where she shuddered to a standstill. He stroked the padded dash. “You’ll be safe here.”

But Zach would not. It was getting dark, and it was already too damn cold for his cowboy ass. Was it December yet? November in this part of the country was hard enough on beat-up bones and worn-out joints. Zach’s battered body was a barometer, and he was feeling South Dakota, big-time. He’d have given his right arm to be climbing into a hotel hot tub instead of a brutal blast of north wind. The right was his free arm anyway. Damn thing had lost altitude, touched some part of the bull and caused him a scoreless ride last time out. Whole lotta pain for an ugly little goose egg.

It wasn’t scoring him a ride this night, either. A carload of teenagers whizzed by, topping off the insult by laying on the horn as they passed him. It was at least twenty minutes before another vehicle came along. He stepped out and waved both arms this time, damn near getting himself killed. Whatever happened to do unto others? In places like this, decent people didn’t leave each other stranded in the cold.

His face was feeling stiff, and he figured he’d better start walking before his toes went numb. He struck out for a distant yard light, which was the only sign of human habitation in sight. He couldn’t tell how distant, but he knew he’d be hurting by the time he got there, and he was counting on some kindly old man to be answering the door. No shame among the lame.

It wasn’t like Zach was fresh off the operating table—it had been a few months since his last round of repairs—but he hadn’t given himself enough time. He’d lopped a couple of weeks off the near end of the doc’s estimated recovery time, rigged up a brace, done some heavy-duty taping and climbed onto another bull. Hung in there for five seconds—four seconds past feeling the pop in his hip and three seconds short of the buzzer.

He could still feel the pain shooting down his leg with every step. Only this time he had to pick the damn thing up, swing it forward and drop it down again on his own. Couldn’t even wangle a ride off his own kind.

Pride be damned, he just hoped somebody would be answering the door at the end of the road. The light in the front window was a good sign.

The four steps to the covered porch might as well have been four hundred, and he was looking to climb them with a lead weight chained to his left leg. His eyes were just as screwed up as his hip. Big black spots danced around with tiny red flashers, and he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. He stumbled over some shrubbery, steadied himself on the porch railing and peered between vertical slats.

There in the front window stood a spruce tree with a silver star affixed to the top. Zach was pretty sure the red sparks were all in his head, but the white lights twinkling by the hundreds throughout the huge tree, those were real. He wasn’t too sure about the woman hanging the shiny balls. Most of her hair was caught up on her head and fastened in a curly clump, but the light captured by the escaped bits crowned her with a golden halo. Her face was a soft shadow, her body a willowy silhouette beneath a long white gown. If this was where the mind ran off to when cold started shutting down the rest of the body, then Zach’s final worldly thought was, This ain’t such a bad way to go.

He wanted to tell her, touch her, thank her. If she would just turn to the window, he could die looking into the eyes of a Christmas angel. She would find him, know him, forgive and love him, all in a look, and he would go to his Maker feeling good inside. Fighting to free his leg from a dried-out bush, he stumbled over a stone face with the bulging eyes, fangs and flaring nostrils of a hideous watchdog sitting on the porch beside the steps. It took all the strength he had left to throw the hellhound off him. Down the steps he went.

But he went down fighting.

“Sally?”

Something—someone—had fallen. The glass ornament that had just slipped from Ann’s fingers crunched under her slippered foot.

“Sally, what happened?”

No answer. No movement in the foyer. She would have heard the door if her sister had tried to sneak outside. Ann flipped the porch light on and peered through the narrow window flanking the front door. One of her gargoyles lay in pieces at the edge of the porch. Ann’s heartbeat tripped into overdrive as she opened the door, expecting the worst. “Sally?”

“What’s going on?” Sally called out from down the hall.

She was safe inside, thank God. If Ann knew her older sister, Sally had had her fingers crossed when she’d promised not to leave the house anymore without telling somebody where she was going. Sally hated being treated like an invalid, and Ann tried not to do it. They seldom talked about Sally’s condition, especially when the symptoms were in remission. They knew the pain of multiple sclerosis, each in her own way. It had become a third sister. The cruel and unpredictable one.

“I don’t know,” Ann said. “Probably just the wind.”

Or the fourteen-year-old she’d presented with an ultimatum at school earlier in the week. If we can’t depend on you to show up when you’re supposed to, Kevin, we’ll have to reassess the terms of our agreement.

“It sounded like a battering ram. Where’s that dog when you need him?”

“Someplace warm.” And no doubt having a good laugh. The dog and the boy had become a team over the summer, which had been part of the plan. Kevin Thunder Shield needed a loyal and true friend, and Baby needed a boy of her own. Ann just never knew with Kevin. Maybe he’d gotten a ride and she’d go out to the barn and find clean stalls. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise? “My gargoyle’s broken, but other than that…”

There was something on the top step. A glove? Ann grabbed her parka off the hefty hook under the hat rack and plunged her arm into the sleeve.

“Sounds like a trespasser with good taste,” Sally said. “Maybe a wandering gnome.”

“He left a clue,” Ann reported as she opened the door. “Cover me. I’m going out there.” It was an old joke between them, but it used to be Sally stepping out in front. The idea of little Annie serving as a convincing backup for her once-mighty sister was almost laughable.

But times and conditions had changed. Stepping out had become Ann’s job, and what she found was hand in glove. Hand attached to arm attached to the rest of a man’s body draped facedown over her front-porch steps.

“Oh…dear God.”

“What is it, Annie?”

“Stay inside.” For what it was worth, Ann tossed the order over her shoulder as she stepped onto the porch. “It’s colder than…” Her nightclothes puddled around her thin slippers as she squatted close to the man’s head. She clutched the front of her parka together with one hand and gingerly lifted the brim of his black cowboy hat with the other. “Hey. Mister. Are you…” Oh. Dear. God. No. Way.

“Who’s out there, Annie?”

“Sally, please stay—”

Too late. Sally was standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on her cane. “Is he drunk?”

Ann leaned close to his face, took a sniff and shook her head. “He’d be better off if he were,” she decided. “I think he’s frozen.”

“Totally?”

He answered with a groan.

“I know him.” Sally suddenly had her sister’s back. “That’s—”

“Will you please get back in the house?” Ann knew him, too. Better than her sister did, she suspected, but it had been years. Eight and a half, to be about a month short of exact. “Hey.” She touched his shoulder. “Hey, mister, can you stand up? Or maybe just…”

“That’s Zach Beaudry,” Sally said. “He’s a bull rider. Used to be really good. I remember—”

The man groaned again and mumbled something about a pickup. Ann moved around to his side, down two steps, and tried to haul him up by his arm. Then by her two arms, an effort that nearly sent both of them down another two steps.

“Did something happen? Are you hurt?” His pilelined denim jacket didn’t look very warm, but it was clean. “I don’t see any blood.”

“He’s frozen,” Sally reminded her. “He must have walked from the road.”

“I’ll get you in the house, but you have to help me,” Ann told the cowboy hat, and then she warned her sister, “Not you! I’ll do it. You hold the door.” She sat him up against the railing. “Can you grab on here, and I’ll…That’s it, that’s it.” He almost fell over on her before he got his legs underneath him—railing under one arm, Ann under the other. “Okay, two steps up.” He managed one. “Now the left.”

“Left side…no good.”

“How about the right?”

“Solid.”

“Okay, so…hang on.” She moved around to his left side. “We’ll figure out a way to get you to a doctor.”

“Just thaw-awww…” He tried and failed to hold his own, took a moment to brace himself against his slimshouldered buttress, and tried again. Through her parka and his jacket, Ann could feel the violent quiver in his left hip. The cause was more than mere cold. “…thaw me out. Damn.”

“I’m afraid you’ve broken something.”

“Yeah.” He waved his free arm toward the pottery shards scattered across the porch. “Hadda…kill that…dog. S-sorry.”

“I’ll put him in Grandma’s room,” Ann told her sister, the doorstop. “No way can we get him up the stairs.”

Grandma had been dead for fifteen years, but the spare room in the back of the house was still Grandma’s. Sally had the master bedroom on the main floor, and the hired man had his own bunkhouse, so Ann had the second floor all to herself. If nothing else, there was no shortage of sleeping quarters at the Double D Ranch.

“We should put him in some warm water first.” Sally closed the front door and ducked under Zach’s free arm, where she’d been once before. Briefly. “Or tepid water. Can you handle yourself in the bathtub, Zach?”

“Handle my…self?”

“Get your blood circulating again,” Sally chirped. She’d been hurting and tired an hour ago, but cowboys—on TV or, better yet, in person—never failed to put some lift in her voice, which was music to momentarily dispel all Ann’s misgivings about the man. After so many years, why not?

“Hands f-frozen,” the cowboy muttered. “Can’t handle m-much.”

“How about your clothes? Can you take your clothes—oops.” Ann grabbed the newel post and redoubled her support. “Steady.”

“Blackin’ out a little.”

He was leaning a lot. The hard brim of that big hat clobbered her in the eye. That hat. She remembered trying to find the windows to his soul in the shadows, but from where she had lain, he’d been all succulent lips, chiseled nose and hat brim.

Aren’t you going to take off your hat?

That’s up to you.

Ann grabbed his hat and scored a ringer over the newel post as they started down the hall. She kept her eyes on the road and off the passenger as the threesome bounced off the walls a few times on their way to the bathroom, where Sally used the rubber end of her cane to push the door wide open. She took the lead but stepped aside with a nod toward the toilet. “Sit down. No, wait.” Again the cane extended her reach, and the toilet lid clattered over the seat.

Their guest gave a dry chuckle. “Up for b-boys, down for girls. I’m a…”

“Here.” While Sally started running the bathwater, Ann shouldered him into place over the toilet seat. Heave… “Sit right here, Zach.”

“No, I’m good. Boys can go…” ho “…outside. But don’t tell Ma.” He looked up at Ann and frowned as she unbuttoned his long-on-style, lean-on-insulation jacket. “Ma?”

Sally grabbed her arm. “You’d better let me handle that, Annie.”

“I don’t think so. He’s a big hunk of dead weight.” His pathetic excuse for a laugh turned into a feeble groan. Ann closed her eyes and tugged on his belt buckle. “I just hope he’s wearing some kind of underwear.” Not that she was prudish, really.

Well, maybe a little.

“Me, too,” he muttered.

“How’s the water, Sally?” Ann straddled his leg and started working on a boot. “Help me out, Zach. Wiggle your foot a little.”

“Can’t feel ‘em. Musta lost ‘em.”

“Just a little,” she coaxed, and felt a little movement, a little slippage. “That’s good.”

“Aaaaa!”

“There. Found a foot.”

“It sure smells like a foot,” Sally said in response to the drop of a ripe black sock.

“Looks like a bunch of red peppers.” Ann gently curled her hand around five stiff toes. Zach sucked air between his teeth, and she quivered deep in her stomach.

“I think red is good. You don’t want to see any blueberries,” Sally said, and he groaned again. “Or raisins. Or—”

“Not hungry.” He slumped, and his forehead rested against Ann’s hip. “Gimme a minute to get…”

Ann slipped her arm around his back. “Okay, let’s get you in the tub.”

“You have to get his jeans off, Annie.”

“Well, we have to get him up.”

“I…I can…” He floundered and swayed, but with a little help he stood for his undressing.

Ann drew a deep breath, unbuttoned, unzipped and unseated his jeans. Brief boxers answered the earlier question. They were gray and snug, and he was an innie.

Hands on her shoulders, he steadied himself and posed a new one. “Am I up?”

Sally had the nerve to laugh.

“Lift your leg,” Ann ordered. He did, but he almost lost what little balance he’d achieved. “Not on me!”

“What kind of a dog—” flailing, he grabbed the side of the tub and stepped free of his jeans “—you take me for?”

“The kind that’s better thawed.” On hands and knees Ann bumped his leg with her shoulder. “Can you step in the tub, please? Use the rail.”

She found herself looking up at her sister between a pair of sparsely hairy legs. Sally was leaning heavily on her cane, but her grin was easily worth Ann’s indignity.

“Rail?”

“Like you’re getting down in the chute, Zach.” Sally helped him find her safety rail. “Slow and—”

“Yeowww!”

“—easy,” Sally warned as he went down like a drunk on a banana peel. His hold on the safety rail was all that kept him from going under.

Ann was soaked. “Trust me, it isn’t hot.”

Knees in the air, Zach slid down the back of the tub, up to his chin in rocking and rolling water. Ann reached for his shoulders and held him still. “Just for a few minutes.”

His sporadic shivers shifted to steady shuddering.

“You have to rub to get the blood flowing,” Sally instructed from the sidelines. “Unless there’s frostbite. No rubbing frostbite.”

“How will I know if something’s frostbitten?”

“You start rubbing, it’ll fall off in your hand.”

“Don’t…” Zach waved a trembling finger under Ann’s nose.

“Annie won’t get your gun, cowboy.”

“Sally!”

“He’s turning beet-red.” Sally waved the end of her cane over the tub like a magic wand. “That’s what I call a royal flush.”

“Like hell,” Zach grumbled as Ann pushed his hand into the water.

“No, really,” Sally insisted.

“Yeah, really,” he groaned as Ann kneaded gently, his big hand sandwiched in both of hers. “Hurts like hell.”

“I’m telling you, red is good.” Sally took a seat on the toilet. “Rub his feet, Annie. Go easy.”

“I’m not sure about the rubbing.” But she tended to his fingers, simply holding them between her palms, one hand at a time. He protested and then gave over. Or under. Or out. His breathing had slowed, as though he were drifting off to sleep. “I think we should call someone for advice, Sally. At least find out—”

“I’m good,” he said. “I promise. No…no trouble.”

“I’ll Google it.” Sally punctuated her decision with a thump of her cane. “Back in a few.”

“Call Ask-A-Nurse.” Ann preferred fresh brainpower to search-engine options. She spoke quietly to Zach. “If there’s any chance I’m causing any damage or you feel like any of your parts might fall off, you will speak up, won’t you?”

“Uh-uh,” he muttered. “Startin’ to feel better.”

“I can have an ambulance here in—”

“Don’t.” He opened his eyes and galvanized her with a curious look.

Oh, God, don’t let him remember me. Her insides buzzed, horror and hope bouncing off each other within the thin-skinned bottle that was Ann Drexler. Dear God, let me be memorable.

The question in his eyes dissolved, unspoken and unresolved. Or simply unimportant. “Please don’t. I’ll…be on my feet…”

She shook off the moment, turning her hands into an envelope for five long toes. “Can you feel your—”

“Yeah. Barely. Don’t break’em.”

“Glass toes?” She smiled, half tempted to try giving them a tickle. They’d been molded into the shape of a cowboy boot. Naked, they were curled and cute. Flaming piggies.

“Yeah. Like the rest of me. Ice, maybe, but you…” He braced his hands on either side of his hips and struggled to gain control of his seat. “Ahh, you’re an angel.”

“Ice princess, according to the last guy I went out with.”

“And sent packing,” Sally put in as she parked her wheelchair in the doorway. “Brought you a ride, Zach. I call him Ferdinand. He won’t buck, but he can spin.”

“Lemme at ‘im.” Zach started up, sat back down, hung his head chin to chest. “Damn.”

“Easy, cowboy.” Ann sat back on her heels, watching her sister rise laboriously from her chair and worrying about how much the excitement had tired her out. But Sally was clearly pleased to take part in the rescue, and, as ever, her pleasure pleased Ann. “Okay, Zach, here comes the tricky part.”

“The packing?”

So he’d caught that. Was this some kind of in-and-out game? Zach in, Zach out.

Private joke, public laugh.

“The getting you out and dry and dressed.” Ann glanced up at Sally, who thought she was laughing with her. Little did she know. “Where’s Hoolie when we need him?”

“There’s a dance at the VFW tonight,” Sally said.

“Damn.” Zach’s mantra.

“You aren’t missing any—” Ann turned in time to get sloshed as he tried and failed to get up on his own. She laid her hand on his slick, sleek shoulder. “Slow down, Zach.”

“Still just a little…” He reached for support and found Sally’s safety rail on the one hand and Ann on the other.

She threaded her arm beneath his and around his back, braced herself and helped him haul himself out of the water. Whoosh. He was heavy, wet and slippery, but she wasn’t going down under him. Not this time.

“Step over and out, Zach.”

“Out-ssside,” he muttered as he released the rail and piled a few more pounds on Ann’s shoulders. “Jeez, I drew a spinner.”

“Hang on. Sally? Towels.”

“Right behind him, little sister.” Sally wrapped a blue bath sheet around Zach’s waist. “Got my wheels right outside the door, along with some chamomile tea. According to my Googling, we shouldn’t be—”

“Be careful,” Ann warned. “Wet floor.” One slip, and they’d all go down like bowling pins.

They wrapped Zach like a mummy, sat him in Sally’s wheelchair and swore to him he was not on his way to another hospital, nor hell, nor heaven, nor—for the moment—Texas.

Dressing him wasn’t an option, so they helped him peel off his wet shorts and tucked him into bed like an overgrown baby while Sally ticked off a list of Internet pointers about hypothermia. “We need to warm him all over, inside and out. Going after fingers and toes first was a mistake, but oh, well.”

Zach gave a shivery chuckle. “Oh, well.”

“Prop him up so he can drink this.”

Ann turned and scowled at the “Mustang Love” coffee mug decorated with a picture of a ponytailed girl and a high-tailed colt. “You prop him up.”

Sally gave a smug smile. “No can do.”

“I’ll p-prop…” But he didn’t move.

Ann countered with an irritated sigh, stuffed a second pillow under his shoulders, tucked her arm beneath his head and signaled her sister for a handoff. The soothing warmth of the mug settled her, and she calmly shared—warm tea, warm bed, warm heart. She was a Good Samaritan. Nothing more.

His dark, damp hair smelled like High Plains winter—fresh, pure and utterly unpredictable. She remembered the way it had fallen over his forehead the first time she’d taken off his hat, the way she’d turned him from studlike to coltish with a wave of her hand, the glint in his eyes gone a little shy, his smile sweet and playful. Remove the lid, let the heart light shine. Hard to believe she’d ever been that naive. Undone by a hunk of hair.

Deliberately she hadn’t noticed this time. But she noticed it now. Nice hair.

“Maybe you should give him some skin, Annie.”

Ann looked up. Get real.

“Full-body contact is the best human defrost system,” Sally said with a shrug.

“Is this the gospel according to Google?”

“Well, it does make perfect—”

“I believe,” Zach muttered.

Ann filled his mouth to overflowing with tea.

“From now on, when in South Dakota, remember the dress code,” Sally said as she caught the dribble from the corner of his mouth with one of the towels he was no longer wearing. “Thermal skivvies after Halloween.”

“‘S why I’m headin’…for Texas.”

“Not tonight,” Sally said. “You been rode pretty hard.”

“Thanks for not…p-puttin’ me up wet.” Eyes at half-mast he looked up at Ann and offered a wan smile. “S-sorry to b-bother you this t-time of n-night.”

“Still cold?” She imagined crawling into bed with him, shook her head hard and tucked the comforter under his quivering chin. “We can still get you to the—”

“No way,” he said. “I’m good.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to her fingers. “You’re an angel.”

Hardly. Angels didn’t quiver over an innocent kiss on the hand. They glided away looking supremely serene.

“Tree topper,” he whispered. Hypothermia had given him a brain freeze. Maybe tomorrow he’d remember her.

And maybe she could learn to glide and look supremely serene.

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.

They topped a rise and stopped, silently surveying roughly twenty horses strung out along the draw below. Their coats were thick and dull, their manes shaggy and tangled, their bodies clad in prairie camouflage—dun and grullo and palomino, spots the colors of rocks and ridges, tails like grass.

“Good,” Sally said after a moment. “We’re downwind. But they’ll sense our presence soon enough. See that bay stallion?” She pointed to a stout, thick-necked standout. “He’s a Spanish Sulphur Mustang. We just sold some of his colts. Got some good money for them even though horse prices are down. He’s getting a reputation for himself, which helps pay the bills.”

“How many acres you got here?” Zach asked.

“Five thousand, but we’re bidding on a lease for fifteen hundred more.”

Ann stiffened. “We are?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I can’t believe it’s available. Along the river on the north side.” It was Sally’s turn to pat a knee. “It’s water, Annie.”

“We’d have to get more domestic livestock, and we can’t handle that. We don’t have enough help, Sally.”

“More rodeo stock?” Zach asked.

“More cattle,” Ann said. “We’re a balancing act these days, running steers and just enough of a cow-calf operation to call ourselves a ranch. Horses don’t qualify as farm animals in this state. Without the domestic stock we’d pay much higher property taxes.”

“So we’ll get a few more,” Sally said. “We’re officially nonprofit now.”

Ann sighed. “That’s for sure.”

“Which means we’re satisfying the federal side. I’ve got the balancing act under control, Annie. And I have a few new ideas in the incubator.” Sally leaned for a look at her driver. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“No doubt.” Zach scanned the jagged horizon. “Pretty piece of land they’ve got here. They fit right in.”

“They belong here as much as we do. More than we do, but they have to depend on us these days.”

“Can’t tell by lookin’ at ‘em.”

“Which is the way it should be,” Sally said. “Have you ever seen the holding pens the culls end up in when there’s no place else for them to go?”

Zach nodded. “I’ve seen pictures. They’re well fed.”

“They’re sad,” Ann said quietly.

“Horses are born to run.” Sally gave a sweeping gesture across the dashboard. “That’s who they are, and they know it. The wild ones do, anyway.”

“So you’re just giving them a place to live free. They don’t have to do anything but be themselves.”

“Pretty much. We sell as many of the colts as we can. I wish we could afford to put more training into them. I know our sales would improve.” Sally leaned forward again, peering past her sister. “How much horse sense do you have, Zach?”

“He’s a cowboy, Sally. Of course he knows horses.”

“Do you, Zach?”

“Been around ‘em most of my life, one way or another. Can’t say I ever owned one, but I never owned a bull, either.” He smiled. “I’ll ride anything with four legs.”

“But you want your ride to buck,” Sally said cheerfully.

“That’s the only way I get paid.” Zach nodded toward the scene below. “I’m like them, I guess. I know who I am.” He glanced at Ann. “Is that what they mean by horse sense? Having as much sense as a horse?”

“It’s about being practical,” Ann said, slipping her sister a pointed look.

“In that case, I’ve probably got some catchin’ up to do.”

“You’re not the only one,” Ann said quietly.

“Mount up, Zach. My little sister will soon have us up to speed in pursuit of practicality.”

Again he nodded toward the herd. “If that’s what practicality looks like, I’m mounted and ready for the gate.” One by one the horses began raising their heads, ears perked and seeking signals. Zach chuckled. “Who calls the play?”

“The wolf,” Ann said. “They know he’ll show up sooner or later, and they’re ready either way. And that’s horse sense.”

“How do you like my little sister, Zach? Makes you think, doesn’t she?”

“Whether you want to or not.” He caught Ann’s eye, gave her a smile and a wink. “Maybe that’s why she’s in better shape than both of us put together, Sally. Ready to fight off the wolf when he comes to your door.”

“Or hold him off while we take flight.” Sally chuckled. “In our dreams.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Ann complained. “Obviously somebody’s going to have to run this bunch in today so we can cut those two skinny old mares out and that gelding. They won’t like it, but they’re not getting enough to eat.”

“Where’s that kid of yours who’s supposed to help out?”

“Wherever he is, he’s using up his lifeline.”

“We get help from Annie’s students,” Sally explained. “Some are more dependable than others.”

Ann nodded. “The sanctuary is a community service. Kids get in trouble, they can sometimes do their time here. Most of them do very well, and some of them even come back as volunteers. We had five of them off and on last summer. It’s a good program.”

“Pain in the patoot,” Sally muttered.

“It’s my patoot,” Ann said. “I know how to take care of it.”

Zach laughed. “I like your little sister just fine, Sally. Just fine.”

He liked their layout, too. If he’d done what he’d planned to do when he’d had the money—and he’d been in the money for a while there, had a few stellar seasons—he’d have his own place. He’d had his eye on a little ranch near San Antonio, but it had gone to developers while he was still playing in his winnings.

His brother, Sam, had won some big money not too long ago, or so he’d heard, and he wondered how Sam was spending it. But he kept his wondering to himself. Sam was one of the “more dependable than others” kind. He showed up when he was supposed to, did his job without risking his neck, banked his paycheck and paid his bills on time. Hard to imagine him buying a lottery ticket, but if anybody could pick the right numbers, it would be Sam.

When he’d asked Sam to buy his share of their grandfather’s land, Sam had tried to talk him out of it. Said he’d loan Zach what he could to get him started on the professional rodeo circuit, the PRCA. Zach hadn’t cared about land back then. He’d been a high school bullriding champion, and he was going down the road wearing brand-new boots, driving a brand-new pickup. Sturdy, skilled, strong-willed, he had what he needed. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hold me down or cramp my considerable style, bro.

Except his own body.

He’d been sitting too long, and the notion of hitting the road anytime soon wasn’t sitting too well with his diced-and-spliced hip. You’re gonna pay for all that walkin’ last night, son. Your body and your truck were all you had to look after, but you beat up the one and deserted the other.

He watched the Drexler house grow in appeal as much as in size as the pickup drew closer. He thought about the warm bed behind the first-floor corner window. He wouldn’t mind laying his aching body in it for another night. Being held down was no longer much of an issue. Getting up was the challenge.

He dropped the women off near the back door and headed for the outbuildings, where his beloved Zelda stood powerless, her bumper chained to a small tractor hitch like a big blue fish on a hook. Hoolie pulled his head out from under Zelda’s hood and wiped his hands on a greasy rag, which he stuck in the back pocket of his greasy coveralls. A disjointed memory of his father flashed through Zach’s mind as he parked the Double D pickup nose to nose with his own. Greasy coveralls had looked damn cool through a little boy’s eyes. If it was broke, Dad could fix it.

“You got some engine trouble here, Zach,” Hoolie said. Like after last night, trouble was news. “I could use some help gettin’ her into the shop, but I can tell you right now, she ain’t goin’ nowhere unless she gets a good overhaul. Rings, seals, the whole she-bang. Not that you weren’t runnin’ on fumes, but who needs a gas gauge when you’ve got that second tank?”

“That’s what I say.”

“How long since you’ve had ‘em both full?”

“Since gas was under a dollar a gallon. How long ago was that?”

“I ain’t that old, son.” The old man smiled. “Tell you what. You help me out around here, I’ll fix your pickup for you. Don’t give me that look. It’s a simple American-made straight shift. I can order parts off the Internet, slicker’n cowpies.” He did a two-finger dance on an imaginary keyboard, tweedled a dial-up signal, made a zip-zip gesture and smacked the back of one stiff hand into the palm of the other. “In one tube and out the other, sure as you’re born. Hell of a deal, that Internet.”

“Haven’t used it much myself.”

“You gotta get with the twenty-first century, boy. For some things. Others, hell, you can’t beat a handshake and an old-fashioned trade, even up. I help you, you help me.”

Zach nodded. “What do you need?”

“A good hand. All-around cowboy. These girls got a good thing goin’ here, but they’re runnin’ me ragged.”

“Good for what?” Not for profit, according to the “girls.”

“Good for what ails us in the twenty-first century. Tube-headedness. All input and no output. Too many one-way streets. Too much live and not enough letlive.”

“Gotcha.”

“So, what do you say?”

Zach glanced under Zelda’s hood. Poor girl. Mouth wide open and she can’t make a sound. In their prime he’d made sure she had nothing but the best. A guy had no excuse for neglecting his ride. “You’re a pretty decent mechanic?”

“Worked for my dad until he closed up shop. Then I came to work for Don Drexler. Every piece of equipment, every vehicle on the place runs like a top.”

Zach smiled. “I say I’m getting the best end of the deal.”

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