Cowboy Hank (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 3)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Turing on the faucet, Helena washed her face with the lavender scented hand soap and rinsed with warm water. She craved a nice, long, hot shower and clean clothes.

  She didn’t have much time. Freya had always been well behaved and would stay put, but Helena feared someone would find her in the shed.

  Drying her face with a scratchy paper towel, she crumbled it and gave it a toss into the trashcan, then grabbed another and stepped out into the hallway. From the arched doorway, she inspected the room again. The crowd had seemed to grow since she’d stepped into the restroom. Humiliation looped through her as she glanced across the dead animals mounted on the walls as if they stared down at her in judgement. Never would she have dreamed she’d be in a place to have to steal food. Yet, a mother’s love outweighed any mortification. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her daughter starve.

  A waitress flitted from table to table taking orders. She looked stressed and outnumbered by patrons.

  A customer added another log to the fire and Helena could feel the heat all the way over where she stood in the shadows. If she could she’d love to sit down in front of the hearth for a few minutes and dry off.

  Hearing laughter, Helena followed the sound, spotting a couple sitting at a corner table, stealing kisses. The woman was draped over the man, more interested in each other than their plates of untouched food. She leaned in and whispered something in the man’s ear that made him jerkily reach for his hat propped on the chair and slam it down on his head. He stood and held out his palm to the smiling brunette who rolled the tip of her tongue along her plump bottom lip before eagerly laying her hand into his. They quickly left, leaving their food behind.

  Helena looked over the other tables. Everyone seemed intent on watching the band and no one would be leaving any time soon.

  The bartender had her back turned.

  The waitress scurried to the kitchen.

  Helena started to take a step when she heard a loud woot followed by a burly man jumping up from a chair. The woman sitting next to him was apologizing for spilling his beer onto his lap.

  Using the temporary distraction to her advantage, Helena realized it was now or never.

  Weaving her way to the table where the couple had been sitting, she swiped up the sandwich, wrapped it in the paper towel and hurried toward the exit.

  Three

  Helena didn’t stop until she made it outside.

  Her heart beat so fast she thought she might pass out.

  She’d never stolen anything in her life. Yet did she really steal the food? The couple had left their plates and the meal would have been tossed out.

  If she didn’t feel like it was stealing, then why did she feel so guilty?

  Starting to tuck the paper towel covered sandwich underneath her jacket she realized she’d forgotten it in the bathroom. Oh no. She couldn’t go back so she quickened her pace on the asphalt, only making it to the corner of the building when she heard, “Stop!”

  She almost jumped out of her shoes at the gruff shout. She stopped and listened. A part of her wanted to run but where could she run to? Tucking the food under her shirt, she pivoted. The security light was behind the man so she couldn’t see his face, but he appeared to be ten feet tall and as big as a house. He wore a hat and his fists were pressed onto his waist.

  Did he see her take the food?

  She took a step back, her mind swirling with available avenues to get safely out of this predicament.

  “Don’t move!” he demanded in a booming voice.

  Opening her mouth, nothing came out. What could she say?

  What should she do?

  She couldn’t make it to Freya before he caught her. So she stayed with her feet planted on the ground, her pants of breaths creating a cloud in the cool temperature. She needed to be brave and stay alert. “W-who are you?”

  “Who the hell are you?” The deep growling tone made her squirm. “Why are you in the bar?”

  “I only used the restroom. I got caught in the rain.”

  “And then stole a customer’s food.”

  “No.” Now she added lying to her growing list of sins.

  “Lady, I watched you do it.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m the owner. It means a lot. I can’t have someone stealing my customer’s food off their plates. I should call the Sheriff.”

  The owner! Damn. He said “should” not “will” and that made a big difference. “There’s no reason for that, sir. I-I can explain.”

  “This should be good,” he huffed.

  “I didn’t steal someone’s food…not technically. I mean…I didn’t steal what they were eating. The couple had left. I took leftovers.” She realized she was only making things worse. “I can leave the food.” She lifted her shirt just enough to remove the stuffed napkin and laid it at her feet then took two steps back. “There. Now we can pretend this never happened.”

  With another deep growl, the owner stomped toward her and stopped within inches of the food, then swung his chin up. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt the heat of his gaze. “It’s still considered stealing.”

  She backed up and he followed. The security light on the side of the building lit his face. His whiskered jaw was tight and his lips thin. The rim of the hat was dragged down low on his forehead, shading his eyes. “I-I did it. But you see…” Would he be nicer if she revealed she’d stolen the food for her daughter? Or would that be the revelation that made him call the Sheriff?

  “Yeah, I know. I have it on camera.”

  Humiliation slithered through her. She wanted to cry. Hell, maybe it’d help her situation, but she’d never used that emotion to get out of any situation. His broad shoulders slumped some and his sigh sounded like a gust of wind. “Why did you take the food? Are you in trouble?”

  *****

  The mystery woman looked aghast, and possibly ready to faint. Or maybe even scream. But the anger nestled in Hank’s gut fizzled in exchange for concern.

  He realized how ridiculous this situation was over a sandwich.

  She took a step back and looked over her shoulder. Would she run?

  Possible, but how would he react? He wouldn’t chase her.

  Hank grinned. “Look, if you’re in trouble—”

  “No, I’m not.” The light from the security light cast a golden glow on her delicate features. Her nostrils flared then her mouth opened again only to clamp shut.

  Beautiful mouth, he noted. Full, sensual lips that looked a little pouty but by her cold glare he doubted she knew how to pout. He roved his gaze over her features. In the bright lighting he couldn’t get an idea what color her eyes were, but her nose was narrow and pert, and her clothes were about two sizes too big for her slender figure.

  Her hair was drying fast. He couldn’t remember ever seeing hair so…what? Wild? It wasn’t brunette like he’d first thought. More like a strawberry blonde. Wavy for sure. Tendrils curled around her pale cheeks.

  Clearing his throat, the woman jumped as if a ghost had goosed her.

  Yeah, she was in trouble.

  He couldn’t be firm with someone who obviously needed help.

  “How about we start over? I’m Hank Hawke. I own this place.” When she didn’t answer, he shifted in his boots feeling some guilt. Now why in the hell should he feel guilty for scaring her? “This is the time when you tell me your name.”

  There was a length of hesitation before she finally muttered, “Helena.”

  “Helena? Just Helena?” He’d never had a woman look at him with such disgust. Or maybe it was fear. Damn, it could go either direction and he didn’t want either one.

  She tucked those errant strands of hair behind her ear. “If we’re done here, I’m leaving.”

  Let her go. Let her go. Let her go. “How about you come inside, sit by the fire and I’ll have George make you whatever you want to eat. On the house.”

  She again glanced over her shoulder and looked back at him, nail
ing him with a confused glare. “Why?”

  “To feed you.”

  “Is that your way of getting me to stay here long enough for the Sheriff to arrive? I left the food. You’re out nothing.”

  “No. I’m not calling Sheriff Conley. I’m just offering food. That’s all. No strings attached.” Something told him she carried a lot of dead weight.

  “I don’t need your hand out.”

  “Really?” He blinked. “You won’t accept a freshy cooked meal, but you were willing to take a sandwich off someone’s plate?” He realized his words were too harsh once her bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry. Let’s pretend this scenario didn’t happen. Deal?”

  Her brows smoothed. “Is that possible?”

  Hank chuckled. “It is for me. Now, about that meal…”

  If the light were better, he might have evaluated her expression better, but all he could really see was the new shine in her eyes and the downward tilt of her lips. “I can’t accept that.”

  “Why not? I’m not offering a kidney. It’s just a meal. After all, I made you leave yours on the sidewalk, which it’s now ruined.” He picked it up, removed the napkin and gave the cold sandwich a toss into the grass. Two feral cats pounced on the food. “They’re happy.” He wadded up the napkin and stuffed it into his back pocket.

  She rolled in those amazing plush lips as if she debated what to say. “Mr. Hawke—”

  He darted a glance behind him. “Where is he?” He cleared his throat. “The name’s Hank, ma’am.”

  Her chin tilted even more. “I just want to get my daughter and go.” The words came on an exhale as if she’d been dying to say them.

  “Sure—wait, what did you say?” Had he heard wrong?

  “My daughter. I’ll get her and we’ll move on. I’m sorry I even walked into your bar.” She turned and disappeared into the dark.

  A daughter? Where was she? Had the mystery woman left her child outside? What the fuck?

  Hank swiped off his hat and tore his hand through his hair. An inner voice told him he should forget the event and go back inside.

  Anyone else probably would let her go and dismiss all the craziness, but Hank couldn’t. Something gnawed inside his gut and he couldn’t shake it. The woman, and child, could catch their deaths out there.

  At the corner of the building, he stared into the darkness, not seeing anything. Where had she gone? She couldn’t have gotten far…

  Four

  Hank stood in the doorway of the shed, speechless.

  Not only had the lady stolen a sandwich but she’d broken into his shed.

  He rubbed the creases from his forehead thinking he should just call Conley and let him hash out the details of the situation but seeing the woman scramble around the interior of the shed swiping up damp clothes she’d laid out to dry did something to him. She looked pale under the flickering overhead light he’d switched on, and it got him right in the center of his chest. Not to mention, the tiny child curled up on the floor, wrapped in a ratty towel certainly made the situation much more dire and concerning.

  “Look, it’s already cold outside and the temperature will drop more. You can’t take her out in it.” He flicked a gaze to the sleeping child. She looked tiny. Three or four maybe. “How old is she?”

  Helena didn’t bother to stop from stuffing the wet clothes into the bookbag that looked like it was about to burst at the seams. “She’s five.”

  “Hey, listen, lady. Stop for a minute.”

  She paused in her attempt at overstuffing the bag then lifted her quivering chin. Her eyes were red rimmed, but he could finally see they were a copper color. A brilliant copper surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes. They seemed to compete with the shininess of her hair that looked darker in the warm lighting. “I’m sorry about the lock. We just needed to find a place to get out of the storm. I have a few dollars. I know it’s probably not enough for the lock but—” She stood and held out her palm, two crumpled bills lay in the center.

  His heart hitched. What the hell? “I don’t give a damn about the lock. There was more rust than metal anyway.”

  “So you’re going to call the Sheriff?” Her skin paled more. Her bottom lip trembled. She looked ready to break—and he didn’t want to see that.

  “No. No Sheriff. But I can’t let you go back out into this weather. It’s starting to rain again and it’s not safe.”

  She shoved the dollar bills into the front pocket of her loose jeans then brought her gaze back up. Her vulnerability in her slumped shoulders belied the stubbornness in her eyes. “We’re not staying here.”

  “We can work something out—” before his words were out her brows snapped up and she took a step back, something akin to fear appeared on her delicate features.

  Now what had he said?

  “If you touch me, I’ll scream the roof off this place,” she warned.

  He blinked. “What? What are you talking about? I’m not gong to touch you.” He blew out a long breath. Had someone hurt her in the past? Forced her into something she didn’t want? He drew his hands into fists, and she must have taken the act against her because she stepped over to the little girl and swept her up, which caused her to moan and flitter her eyes open into slits.

  “Mommy? Did you get food?”

  “No, sweetheart. Go back to sleep,” Helena whispered, keeping her daring gaze glued to Hank.

  Not wanting to scare either of them, he took a step back, unblocking her exit. He held up his hands in compliance. “Listen, I was only going to suggest that you and your kid come inside the bar. It’s warm, dry and I can get you both food, as much food as you can eat.”

  The creases around her eyes relaxed some. “Why would you do that?” The suspicion remained in the depth of her puzzled eyes.

  “Because the girl’s hungry, right? That’s who you were getting the food for, isn’t it?” Hank felt like the biggest ass after rerouting the woman’s intentions. He’d come off as a shitty human being and made an untenable situation worse. Now the woman feared him, and he didn’t want to make anyone feel that way.

  She didn’t answer. She only stood there, cradling her child.

  He swallowed what felt like a ton of bricks. “What are you afraid of? I’m only offering help.”

  With a tense hesitation, she finally said, “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Damn, how could she? A woman with a young child needed to be leery of strangers. “You have every right not to be trustful because you don’t know me, but we can walk right into the back door and straight into the kitchen. George, the cook, he’s in there so we won’t be alone. You were in the bar, so you know it’s crowded. I’ll remain six feet from you. If at any time you feel threatened, you can call Sherriff Conley yourself. That is if you have a phone. Hell, I’ll let you use mine.”

  Hesitant to answer him, she finally nodded. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Swiping off his hat, he pressed it against his chest. “Ma’am, I can’t force you to come inside but I hope you’ll make the right decision for the girl.”

  “I’m hungry, Mommy,” the child piped in sleepily.

  Hank decided he needed to give Helena some space and let her have some time to think about things. “I’m going I’mback inside. You two are free to come in, just through the back door so you don’t have to walk through the bar, and George will make you whatever you want. Otherwise, you’re free to stay here. I’ll bring out a few more blankets. Sound fair?” Although he couldn’t stop her, he hoped she didn’t take the kid back out into the weather, or herself. The weather forecast called for storms all night and being out on the road in the dark was dangerous.

  He didn’t bother waiting for her answer because he guessed it wouldn’t come.

  Closing the door, he made his way to the back of the bar and into the kitchen. George lifted his chin, blinked, then shrugged, not asking any questions.

  Hank strolled into his office, grabbed his cell phone off his desk and dialed
his brother who answered on the second ring.

  “Hank? What’s wrong?” Creed sounded tired.

  “I need a favor. Can you bring a couple of blankets to the bar? And ask Mindy if she has an extra shirt and pants, small sweats would be great.” He paced the floor. Why didn’t he have any extra blankets in the place? Because he never had company.

  “Wait? What the hell? What time is it?” Creed’s groan rattled the line.

  “Late. Can I get some blankets and clothes, bro?”

  “Not until you tell me why,” he said.

  Hank heard Mindy in the background. “Who is it?”

  “Hank,” Creed told her. “Hang on. Mindy wants to speak to you.”

  “Hank, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. I have company and I don’t have any extra blankets. I need to borrow some. If you have a shirt and sweats too that’d be great. I know it’s late—”

  “No worries. Of course. I have plenty of blankets and some extra clothes. What size?”

  “Hell, I don’t have a clue. She looks about your size. Shorter probably. Thin.”

  “I’ll have Creed bring them over.” His groan could be heard. “Don’t mind your brother. We’ve been up with the baby.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s teething,” she explained.

  “Look, if it’s too much, I’ll call Boone…” Hank felt guilty for asking.

  “No. It’s really not a problem. Creed’ll be there soon. Talk to you later.”

  Hank hung up, left his phone on the desk and went back into the kitchen.

  “All okay, my friend?” George whipped something in a glass bowl.

  “Fine. Why?”

  “You look a bit out of sorts.”

  “Can you make some food—” The back door opened and Hank’s explanation disappeared with a hiss of breath. Helena and her daughter stepped inside. Now that the little girl was awake and standing on her own two feet, barefoot, Hank could see the similarity between mother and daughter. “Hi,” he said to them both.