Cowboy Hank (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 3)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “Thank you,” Freya said.

  Hank appeared taken back before he patted her back and stepped out of her hug. “No problem.”

  “Come on, Freya,” Helena encouraged. “Hank has work he wants to get back to.”

  Freya came to stand next to Helena.

  “I’ll see you in a bit with those waters. Oh, the thermostat is by the refrigerator if you need to adjust it. I tend to like it cold,” Hank said then left, quietly closing the door behind him.

  “Time for bed for you,” Helena said to Freya.

  Freya’s shoulders slumped. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes. We need to be up early in the morning. But first,” She dug out the toothbrush and toothpaste from the bag and handed it over. “Go brush your teeth.”

  “Okay.”

  The bathroom was barely bigger than a broom closet, but it had the necessities. A stand-up shower sink and toilet, and to her surprise it was clean and well organized. While Freya brushed her teeth, Helena found the sheets and made the bed.

  “Mommy, I’m glad we found this place. I like it here,” Freya said as Helena tucked her under the soft blankets.

  Feeling a tug in her chest, she felt guilty. A constant feeling these days. “Remember, it’s only for one night.”

  “Where will we go tomorrow? Home?”

  Helena laid her hand at the base of her neck where her pulse quickened. “We can’t, sweetie. At least not right now.”

  “I miss my bed and my dolls.” Freya let out a yawn and her eyelids became heavy.

  “I know you do.” Helen kissed Freya’s cheek. “Go to sleep now.”

  Within a few seconds she drifted off. Helena left the bed and stood in the center of the room, giving the room and the furnishings a closer inspection without Hank watching. On top of a bookshelf she found a framed picture of Hank sitting atop a horse with the mountains as a backdrop. A book about ranching had a page dog-eared about halfway in. A ceramic ashtray contained a handful of coins and a package of gum.

  Another shelf contained instant coffee, dry creamer, a couple of cans of baked beans, packages of ramen noodles, a bowl, and cup. She got the feeling that Hank lived a simple life. She could appreciate that.

  Stepping into the bathroom with the borrowed clothes, the shower seemed to draw her attention. She needed a shower—craved a shower. Her hair needed a good scrubbing.

  When would Hank come back?

  The thought of seeing him again dirty and stinky made her cringe. Not that she cared what he thought, or neither did she feel like she needed to impress him, but truthfully so, Hank was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen and that could count for something.

  A knot grew in her throat and she forced her thoughts back into the present.

  She’d learned in life not to put off tomorrow what needed done now. And right now that was a hot shower.

  Turning on the water, she undressed and kicked her wrinkled clothing to the side. Checking the water temperature, she found it perfect and stepped under the hot spray. She let out a moan of satisfaction. Although she knew she should hurry, she couldn’t resist standing under the stream of water for a few minutes longer than necessary. A person could never understand how much they could miss something as simple as a shower until they didn’t have access to one.

  Reaching for the only available bottle, she didn’t even snub her nose up at the manly shampoo, conditioner and soap combination and poured a good amount into her palm. Scrubbing her hair and body until she tingled, she now smelled like Hank. Her nipples scrunched and she had an unexpected awareness between her thighs.

  Rinsing, she shut off the water and stepped out, using a fresh towel. The soft, thick terry cloth felt like heaven compared to the scratchy towel she and Freya had been using. Another simple luxury that she’d forgotten how much she loved.

  Using the towel as a turban for her wet hair, she looked down at the heap of dirty clothes she’d had on then at the stack of fresh clothes. She didn’t like borrowing clothes, but she wasn’t prideful.

  Picking up the shirt, she shook it out and pulled on the soft blue flannel that was a little loose but was warm and comfortable. The sweatpants were long, but she rolled them and tied the string at the waist. It was quite heavenly to have on clean clothes.

  Swiping her hand down the condensation on the mirror, she was glad to see that some of the color had come back although her skin appeared dry from her being out in the weather.

  Maybe Hank had lotion.

  Helena felt a bit like a snoop as she opened the medicine cabinet and scanned the masculine products on the glass shelves. Picking up an almost empty bottle of cologne, she brought it to her nose and inhaled the strong, musky, leather scent.

  A soft knock sounded on the door and she jerked, causing the bottle of cologne to slip from her fingers. The glass fell into the sink with a loud clatter but at least it didn’t break. Cringing, she quickly stuck it back on the shelf and closed the door

  “Helena?” came Hank’s voice through the door. “I have your water.”

  She dragged the towel off her head and gave her damp tresses a quick finger comb. By the time she opened the door, she was a bit breathless.

  Hank had several bottles of water cradled in his arms as well as a coloring book and crayons. She stepped back so he could empty his load on the table. “The book and crayons are from George for Freya.” His brows creased while he took a quick inspection of her.

  “I took a shower. I hope that’s okay.”

  He treated her with a nice smile. “No problem at all.” He shifted on his worn boots. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No. We’re fine. You said you’ll be sleeping downstairs?”

  “Yes. In my office. The bar is closing soon so it’ll be quiet.” He took a step toward the exit. “Sleep as long as you want in the morning. We don’t start opening until lunch time.”

  “We’ll be up early but thank you.”

  He roved his gaze down her. “I see the clothes worked.”

  “They’re a little big but amazingly comfortable. She must be taller than me.”

  “Yes, she is. Okay then. I’ll let you get some sleep. See you in the morning.” He took his leave rather quickly.

  Five

  “Get her settled in?”

  “I thought you left.” Hank said to Creed who was sitting in the office.

  “Thought I’d stick around a little longer to find out who you have upstairs.” Creed pushed his chair back onto two legs.

  “It’s late. Go home,” Hank dropped into the chair behind the desk.

  “Ah, so that’s how it works. I bring the blankets and you kick me out. You’re lucky I’m here. Nic’s teething. I don’t remember Livvy crying this much.”

  Hank noticed the dark circles under his brother’s eyes. “You look like shit, bro. You been sleeping?”

  “Here and there. We don’t realize our age until we have a baby. Damn, I’m getting old.” He whistled through his teeth.

  “How’s the house coming along?”

  “We’re finally on the home stretch but it’s one freaking delay after another, and I think I pulled my back hefting the refrigerator into your cabin.” Creed dropped his chair back onto four legs and rubbed his shoulder.

  Although life had changed dramatically for Creed since his high school sweetheart came back to town and announced that she and Creed had an adult child, Jane. Since then, they’d married and had Nic, Mindy had become stepmother to Livvy and were in the process of building a new home. Although stressed, Hank couldn’t remember seeing Creed happier. He’d found a second chance with his soul mate. Although Hank didn’t think too hard about his own happily ever after story, he did wonder on occasion if one day he’d find some joy too. At forty, he wasn’t getting any younger.

  “Thanks for bringing the blankets and clothes,” Hank said. “Hopefully Nic’s teeth will pop through soon. Enjoy him while he’s young. They grow up and become teens like Livvy,” Hank teased
. Livvy was a great kid, but she had the Hawke’s stubborn streak that made her and Creed butt heads at times.

  Creed blew out a long breath. “Hell, I can’t say much. Remember the hell we used to give Ma? We’re lucky she didn’t ship us off to some military school after all the rowdy shit we caused.” He swiped off his hat and hooked it on his bent knee. “So, who’s the guest?”

  “Guests,” Hank corrected.

  “Guests? Two women?”

  “One woman and her daughter.” Easing back into the vinyl chair, Hank stroked his whiskered chin, debating how much he wanted to share about the mysterious woman and her kid. Not that he didn’t trust his brother…hell, he knew he could trust him with his life, but there wasn’t much information he could offer.

  “Wait, this isn’t another Mindy and Jane situation is it?” Although Creed grinned, he hadn’t been laughing when he found out Mindy had kept Jane a secret for nineteen years.

  “Nope, it’s not like that at all.” Hank leaned his elbows on the edge of the desk.

  “Will I get to meet her?” Creed arched his brow.

  “Probably not.” Although if Helena and Freya were homeless, he needed to find a way to help them. He rubbed his forehead. Maybe he needed Creed’s input. “She needs some help”

  “Help? Like what?”

  “They needed a place to get out of the weather, so they snuck inside the shed.” He’d leave the part out about the sandwich because what did it add to the story? He’d always found himself wanting to protect the underdog, and in this situation Helena and Freya were in need of assistance.

  “So what you’re saying is that they’re displaced?”

  “She didn’t quite put it into those words, but that’s the feeling I’m getting.”

  Creed cleared his throat. “And you just met her when? Tonight? How old is her daughter?”

  “I don’t know. Wait, she told me. Five.”

  “Damn. Do you know anything about this lady?” Creed said.

  “No. If I would have asked too many questions, I think she would have bolted.”

  “So what do you plan on doing?”

  Swiping his palms down his face, Hank shrugged. “I can’t force them to stay in, but I need to figure something out.”

  “Offer her a job here at Pelican. Didn’t you say you need some extra help since the new waitress isn’t working out?”

  “I don’t think that’s an option. She’d have to work somewhere where she could have her daughter with her. This wouldn’t be the best place for a kid to hang out, right?”

  “Better than out on the streets.”

  “True. What about at the Landing? Does Willow need some help around the office?”

  Creed braced his elbows on his knees. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. How about I ask Mindy if she needs any help at the rink? That’s a child friendly environment, and maybe I could ask Livvy to help keep an eye on the kid?”

  Full of restless energy, Hank picked up the pen from the holder and clicked the cap repeatedly. “Thanks for the help.”

  Creed’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the screen. “It’s Mindy. I gotta take this.” He clicked it on, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Sure. I’ll stop at the corner market. Be there soon. Love you.” He disconnected and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve got to go, bro. We’re out of milk and the pacifier is missing. That’s translation for “shit’s about to get real’.”

  “Milk? I have a couple of gallons in the fridge,” Hank offered. “Take them. I have a delivery tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I’ll grab one. Do you have a pacifier somewhere too?”

  “Sorry. I gave up mine some thirty-nine years ago.”

  Creed stood and shook his head wryly. “Let me know how it goes with the woman.”

  Alone, Hank laid his head back on the chair and closed his eyes.

  He was dog-tired.

  His mind wandered to the woman upstairs.

  She probably wasn’t what some would call a classic beauty, but she was certainly pretty. She had nice eyes and smile. The splattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose made her look younger. How old was she anyway?

  He’d never really thought about it before, but he thought freckles were cute.

  He caught the smell of his soap on her and he’d felt something trigger below the waist. An image of her naked in his shower scrubbing also did something to him. Not quite a full-blown boner, but a semi-hard on that made him feel like he probably needed to hold soft curves more often.

  Forcing his eyes open, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  He reminded himself that this wasn’t just any woman.

  She had a lot on her plate…and he understood that all too well.

  Thank goodness he’d remembered to move his medicine bottles before she saw them. He didn’t reveal to people he just met that he struggled with PTSD and depression. Not that he was ashamed. Once upon a time he had been, but he’d realized that mental illness wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. He just didn’t like how most people looked at him differently when they found out. He preferred to let them get to know him first and then tell them.

  He pushed up from the chair and went to check on things in the outer room.

  The second he stepped through the arched door he heard the raised voices. Owen pounded his fist down on the counter and bellowed, “The bar ain’t closed yet. I want another damn beer. That ain’t too much to ask for. A hardworking man’s allowed to have a damn beer when he wants one.”

  “You know the rules, Owen. We reserve the right to refuse to serve alcohol. You’ve reached your limit,” Jazz told him calmly. When she saw Hank, she said, “Right, Hank?”

  Owen turned two shades of red.

  “That’s right,” Hank said. “Jazz, why don’t you go ahead and leave for the night. I’ll take over here.”

  With a nod, she grabbed her jacket and purse from under the bar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “What’s going on, Owen?” Hank turned his attention to the slumped man who wobbled. Normally, he was relaxed. He had a drinking problem and sometimes after a few too many his attitude did a one-eighty.

  “I just wanted another beer.” He looked up from the bar with bloodshot eyes and regarded Hank with a low sigh. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem, but no one should tell a man he can’t have another round.” His gnarled fingers never left the edge of the bar as if he’d fall if he let go.

  “Jazz is doing her job, buddy. You know the rules.” Hank pointed to a sign that listed the rules of the bar. “We won’t serve anyone who we think has reached a limit. It’s for everyone’s safety. You can’t harass my help, man.”

  “I’m sorry.” His scrawny shoulders dropped some and he gave a nod. “I didn’t mean no harm. I like Jazz.”

  “I’ll make you a cup of strong coffee and see what we have left in the kitchen to eat. Stay there, buddy.”

  “Alright then, Hank.” He seemed to be mellowing once he realized he wouldn’t’ get that round.

  Hank poured each of them a cup of coffee, a shot of expresso added in for Owen, and grabbed a leftover slice of pizza, then joined the man who’d sobered up some in just the few minutes Hank was in the kitchen. The bar was empty and Hank was grateful to have some time alone with the lonely man.

  “I’m sorry about that” Tears filled Owen’s eyes. “I guess I’m just an old grumpy man these days. My kids don’t even want to spend any time with me.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Hank patted the man on the back but carefully, so he didn’t send him falling off the stool.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if you wouldn’t let me back in here.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin as he polished off the pizza. “It’s not the drink that brings me in here as much as the company.”

  “We haven’t come to that yet, my friend, so let’s not let it get that far. Okay?” Hank took a sip of his coffee. He still had some work to do in the office before he could hit the sack. After his long
nap earlier he probably wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. “How about I drive you home?”

  His bushy brows connected in one straight line and his forehead that was covered in age spots from years of working his farm creased. “Oh, I can walk. It’s not that far.”

  “It’s three miles. That’s too far.”

  “I can call Gladys. She’ll send one of the boys to pick me up.”

  “Don’t call your daughter, man. She gets up early for work. I don’t mind giving you a lift. I won’t sleep for a while anyway.” He slid off the stool and helped Owen up.

  “Ah, Hank. You’ve been raised right. You’re a hero in my book.”

  “I’m no hero but thank you.”

  “You deserve happiness.”

  “And so do you,” Hank said.

  *****

  Helena whipped up, slamming her feet to the floor, frantically searching for Freya who wasn’t in bed any longer. “Freya?” Looking under the bed, in the bathroom, she’d exhausted all places where the little girl could have hidden.

  Worried, she raced downstairs, cursing herself for trusting Hank. She should have known better. If he called the Sheriff, she and Freya could end up back in the arms of Craven again.

  Helena came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Freya was sitting where they’d eaten last night, giggling and coloring in the book George had given her, while scooping up eggs with a fork. Hank sat across from her behind an empty plate, freshly shaved and wearing a large smile. His hat was missing and his hair was damp.

  Her heart hitched.

  “Mommy! Look!” Freya held up a strip of bacon.

  Helena swept in, her adrenaline still rushing from the scare. “Freya, why didn’t you wake me?”

  Her daughter’s enthusiasm fizzled some. “Hank said you should sleep. He made me breakfast.”

  “It appears I’ve found someone who loves eggs as much as I do,” Hank laughed. “Are you hungry?”

  Ignoring his question, Helena stayed focused. “You are not to be out of my eyesight. You know better,” she scolded her daughter who had lost all signs of her excitement now.