Cowboy Hank (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 3)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “Mommy! Hank wants you.” Freya tried to jerk her hand away.

  Helena smiled through the sudden downpour. “Keep walking. It’s okay.”

  “Are you mad at me?” Freya pressed her shoes into the concrete.

  Helena stopped and bent to look at her daughter in the eye. Taking her shoulders Helena said, “No, I’m not mad at you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Freya…”

  “Can we talk?” Hank was beside them.

  “There’s nothing to say. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. Now please just leave us alone.”

  “At least give me five minutes. Then if you still want to leave town, I’ll give you and Freya a ride to anywhere you wish to go. I promise.”

  “Talk to him,” Freya said.

  “How about you let Freya sit in the truck where it’s dry? We can speak over by the diner away from the rain,” Hank said.

  She then looked at him, seeing that he was soaked. Rain dripped off the rim of his hat. His eyes were full of…what? Understanding? Concern? “Five minutes only.”

  Then she and Freya would leave. No ifs, ands or buts.

  “I’ll wait over by the diner.”

  Watching him walk through the rain, a raw pain developed inside her. It was a dreary day much like this one when she was told that Greyson had been fatally shot. She’d become a newlywed without a husband.

  So a little rain wouldn’t hurt her.

  *****

  “I’m sorry. I guess I crossed a boundary, but like I told you before I don’t give a damn what’s in your past, but I do think it’s fair for me to ask if I need to be on the lookout for someone who means you, and Freya, harm.” Hank felt a jab to his gut. After hearing what Freya said, he felt a familiar worry crawl into his spine.

  Helena glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest while he kept his distance, not wanting to invade any more of her space. The woman had some tenacity, not that he hadn’t seen it before, but he’d peeled back a layer or two and saw a bit more of her. He’d wanted to ask Freya questions, but he didn’t. He’d only listened. Maybe that’d been a mistake, but he didn’t feel like he should feel responsible.

  Her hair plastered to her cheeks as she stared at him with bright eyes that reached past the invisible wall he’d erected. That should be enough for him to take her wherever she wanted to go, and yet, he couldn’t. He wanted her to stay. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed how pretty she was, that cherub’s bow mouth. Or her laugh that sounded like a melody—when she dared to show some happiness.

  “The job and cabin are still yours if you want them, and I hope you do. I need a waitress and that cabin could use a woman’s touch. I’ll mind my own damn business and when, or if, you decide to tell me anything, you should know I can be a damn good listener.” He hesitated then added, “I know a little about running myself and I’ve realized there comes a point when we have to plant our feet to the ground and take on the tsunami. You’re not alone here. There are people in this town who you can call a friend, me included.” He saw something change in her beautiful eyes, but she stayed silent. “I tell you what. I’m going back into the diner and getting our food. That’ll give you some time to think this over and decide if you’re staying or where you want me to take you. I’ll take you wherever you want to go and this,” he pushed the money at her. “Is yours to keep.”

  “Hank…I can’t…”

  “Yes, you can. Helena you have a kid to think about. Someone once changed my life, turned me around, when I lowered my guard and accepted their help. It doesn’t make us weak, but it definitely makes us smart.” He stepped around her and strolled through the glass door. When Chynna saw him, she held up a large white bag, shaking it. Her smile spoke volumes.

  “I figured you’d need this,” she said saucily.

  “Thanks, Chynna.” He accepted the bag. “What do I owe you?”

  She handed him the bill and he fished out the right amount of cash with a huge tip.

  “That’s a nice tip, Hank. I feel like I owe you one too.” She stuck the twenty in her pocket. “I know you well enough to know you can be charming when needed. Pull some of that out and convince her to get to know Cooper’s Hawk. This small town can heal broken hearts.”

  “I hear you.” He took the bag and made his way back out into the parking lot and felt a sense of relief when he saw Helena sitting in the truck. Whether that was a good thing or not, he was about to find out.

  Eight

  Hank delivered a bowl of stew to Owen who occupied his usual stool, yet he had ordered an iced tea instead of beer. Hank guessed that was a step in the right direction.

  “Good to see you, Owen.” Hank said.

  “I’m glad to be here, especially on stew day. The only other person who could cook like this was my wife, God rest her soul.”

  Movement caught Hank’s attention. Helena was returning from the back hallway and she stopped to take an order.

  His brother, Boone, who’d volunteered to fill in for Jazz because she was out for a few days for a personal emergency, draped his arm over Hank’s shoulders and said, “Best be careful or you’re going to spill stew in someone’s lap, but I don’t blame you one bit.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hank busied himself wiping down the bar.

  “Helena? I guess you haven’t noticed that she’s hot.”

  “Watch yourself, bro. She’s a mom,” he warned.

  “Yeah? You should probably remember that too.” Boone shrugged then stepped over to fill a drink order.

  Hank knew his brother was right, if he didn’t watch his boundaries he’d make a fool of himself. He’d caught himself making unusual mistakes today like adding cream to coffee when the customer wanted black. Then he screwed up a takeout order. He even messed up with the liquor distributor by ordering too many boxes of whiskey, now his office was jam packed.

  A week had passed since Helena started at Pelican, and although she’d had to learn a few ins and outs, she was doing a fine job. In fact, Hank believed his business had doubled. Customers wanted to catch a glimpse of the new woman in town. Everyone seemed to like her. In fact, some cowboys seemed to like her too much, but Helena didn’t show any interest in return. Hank wasn’t sure why but that pleased him.

  Hell, he knew why. He’d found that he liked having her close. The glimpses of smiles she gave him while they were working. How she tossed her hair over her shoulder. Or watching her bend over tables as she was wiping it down.

  Even right now, she offered up a serving of friendliness as she brought a couple their food. She’d been rolling in the tips, as Hank knew she would.

  After all the customers left at closing, before he took Helena and Freya home, they would sit down and talk about how the day had gone. What started out as business had turned into casual conversation as their discussions were more about life in general. Although their chats were lengthy, Hank made sure he stayed in his lane, making sure she didn’t feel any pressure from him.

  Freya’s giggles filtered in from the kitchen as George invited her in to help him—or rather, she had her own workspace to play with dough, or mix ingredients. The activity seemed to keep her busy when she grew tired of coloring. George’s wife had even brought in their youngest daughter so she could meet Freya.

  She and Helena both were settling in at Cooper’s Hawk.

  During her break yesterday she’d left and came back with a bag from a local boutique and when she’d come out of the restroom, she was wearing a new shirt and jeans that fit her perfectly. Even a pair of new cowgirl boots. She looked like she belonged and she was glowing.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed her flitting around each table, asking if they needed more coffee.

  When she stopped at a table of cowboys who’d stopped by on their way to a cattle show they flirted with her until she flushed all colors of red. Hank considered the exchange innocent, but the strange reaction in his
gut wasn’t. He could identify that raking feeling as jealousy, something he couldn’t remember having before, not with anyone.

  She reminded Hank of a beautiful butterfly as fast as she fluttered from one table to the next taking orders without a hitch in her step or smile. She didn’t even complain that she was kept busy, like Jeannie had, who’d quit the same day Helena started.

  “How was the soup, buddy?” Hank asked Owen.

  “Best I’ve ever had,” the old man gave a thumb’s up. “Tell George he’s outdone himself.”

  “Glad to hear.”

  “Care if I have a bit of whiskey for the road, my friend?”

  With some hesitation, Hank decided he couldn’t be the man’s babysitter. A little wouldn’t hurt him so he picked the best bottle, grabbed a shot glass and poured two fingers worth. Owen swallowed it in one gulp.

  “Down the hatch,” he said grumpily.

  “How’s the farm coming along these days?” Hank asked.

  “Great.”

  Hank had heard through the grapevine that the man was getting behind on his bills. “Didn’t Jamie Thornberry leave town? Maybe you should think about hiring some new hands. I could help find a few capable men if needed.”

  “Don’t need help.” Owen scratched his beard.

  Hiding his smile, Hank already knew how stubborn the old man could be, but these days he seemed bitter and forgetful, and more arthritic. Hank knew better than anyone how working the land could age a man and Owen had a case of loneliness to add to the problem.

  “What’d ya say, friend. Another?” Owen pushed his empty glass across the bar.

  “I thought you and I had made a deal when I drove you home. Two beers or one whiskey,” Hank reminded him.

  “Ahhh…am I going to have to find me someone who will pour a drink? You get to my age and see how your old bones feel.”

  Pouring the man half the amount of the last, that seemed to perk him right up. At least he didn’t kick it back in one gulp this time but sipped it. “Trust me, buddy. Age isn’t prejudice. This rain ain’t doing any one any good.” The rain and colder weather reminded him of his old wounds. The phantom pains still made their presence known, and his muscles felt like he still had shrapnel jammed into them.

  “Looks like the help is doing good.” Owen shot a glance over his shoulder as Helena gave Hank a smile on her way to take Freya to sleep in his office.

  “She’s definitely bringing in more business. Townsfolk are curious I guess.”

  “Helps that she’s easy on the eyes too.” Owen snickered.

  “Yeah, that she is.” He leaned a hip against the counter and hooked his thumbs into his front pockets glimpsing the sight of Helena through the open doorway as she bent over to cover Freya with a blanket.

  “You can always tell through a woman’s eyes if she’s lonely and that woman is about the loneliest I think I’ve ever met.”

  “Owen, now come on. You can’t tell any of that by looking at a woman.” Hank turned his attention away from Helena and back onto the old man.

  “Hey, I’ve been around the block a few times. I wasn’t always a scraggly toothless sourpuss. And she, my friend, would fall into your arms.”

  “If only I could be so lucky to have a woman fall into my arms” he muttered and pushed away from the bar, focusing on refilling the pretzel bowls.

  “You saying you’ve thought about it?” Owen snorted. “Of course you have. Gave her a warm place to rest her pretty head, didn’t you?”

  “I rented her my cabin.” Hank picked a toothpick out of the holder and stuck it between his lips.

  “Weren’t you supposed to move there yourself?”

  “I have the apartment upstairs here. Suits me fine.” Hank followed Helena’s movement as she stepped out of the office and went to clean off a table.

  “She likes you, pal.” Owen tapped his twisted fingers on the bar.

  “I think you’ve had too much of that whiskey,” Hank muttered.

  “Yeah, and I bet you haven’t noticed the way she plays with her hair when she’s around you either. Take it from an old man, don’t lollygag around and miss your shot.”

  Hank laughed. “Dude, with all this advice and knowledge of women maybe you should start a dating site.”

  “Don’t you wish. My wife and I had a romantic fairytale. Too bad every happily ever after must end.” Sadness returned in his expression. The creases around his eyes seemed deeper.

  “You’re a lucky man, my friend. Some of us aren’t.” Hank washed a glass and dried it.

  “A flower blossoms at its own pace, Hank. All we can do is fertilize it, nurture it, and admire it while it’s here.” Owen slipped off the stool and jutted his chin in Helena’s direction. “Some flowers need a little more sunlight to grow again, but as long as the roots are hearty, you’ll rightly see that beauty again.”

  “You know, Owen, you’re a smart man.”

  “It’s about time someone saw that. Y’all think the only smarts I have is with pigs and cattle.” He winked. “I’m heading home. I have a show coming on the tube. See you tomorrow.”

  Later, after the kitchen closed and George left, and the only customers remaining were a couple sitting at a table that were more interested in inspecting each other’s tongue than finishing their meal, Hank told Boone, “Go on home, bro. Thanks for helping out. I owe you one.”

  “Any time, buddy.” Finishing washing the last glass, Boone set it on top of the stack then grabbed his hat from under the bar. “See you tomorrow, Helena,” he called over to where she was refilling sugar containers.

  “See you, Boone.” She offered him a wide smile and Hank felt that unusual feeling unfurl in his chest. Jealousy again? Damn. He was a dog rooting around the wrong tree. She only saw him as a boss and landlord, no matter what Owen said. Disappointed that Hank was, he realized she didn’t need anything from him but a paycheck.

  He’d respect those lines she’d drawn.

  Yet, when she came over and slipped up on the stool, tossing her hair over one shoulder, the enticing whiff of her sweet vanilla scent made him grow harder below his belt. Not good when he needed to keep things strictly platonic between them. This was a test of will.

  She looked tired, still carrying those dark circles under her eyes, but at least he’d noticed her smile was popping up more and more each day. “Today was good.” She looked at him through the veil of her lashes.

  “How are you sleeping?” He remembered her saying that she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months.

  “Better. Once my cheek hits the pillow I’m out, thanks to busting my butt around here every night. My boss is a slave driver,” she teased.

  “I bet your boss wouldn’t take too kindly to being called that,” he squinted.

  “Actually, I have the best boss.”

  “Oh, now you want to make up, do you?” He liked the easy conversation between them. “I’m interviewing a few prospective employees over the next few days. I’ll get some more help. I just want to say thank you for sticking around and pitching in.” And he meant every word. Like he’d told her at the beginning, good help was hard to find.

  “I’m sorry. I feel like this is partially my fault.” She propped her elbows on the edge of the counter, watching him.

  “Your fault? How so?” He emptied the pretzel crumbs into the trash then wiped down the already spotless bar. He had a lot of restless energy anytime she was in proximity.

  “Jeannie quit. I don’t think she liked me much from the beginning.”

  “That girl doesn’t have a fondness for anyone except her boyfriend. I think she realized early on that waiting tables just wasn’t her thing.” He flung the towel over his shoulder.

  “George said you’re thinking of expanding the kitchen.”

  “Been thinking hard on it. If business keeps on like this, I won’t have a choice.”

  “Have you thought of finding a different location?”

  “Maybe,” he said.

&
nbsp; “Is your hand okay? You keep flexing it.”

  He shrugged. “On occasion I’m reminded on the injury.”

  “Come and have a seat.” She patted the stool next to her.

  Every bell rang, warning him that he should find an excuse not to go, but he found himself incapable of denying her. So, he rounded the bar and took the stool. “I’m here.”

  Her smile lifted the corners of her lush lips. “Give me your hand.” She held out hers.

  Doing as she asked, his teeth grinded when she started massaging his palm. “Now what have I done to deserve this treatment?”

  “Call it a reward for all your kindness.” Her gaze held his. “Hmm.”

  “Thank you for letting Freya hang out in your office. I don’t like her hanging out here, but my options are a bit slim.”

  How did she expect him to concentrate on her words when her fingers rubbing his muscles made his muscles pool around his bones. He’d almost forgotten the couple sitting at the table until she asked for the bill.

  “Let me get this one. You relax,” he offered.

  The customers left and he cleared the table and took the dirty dishes into the kitchen. He realized he wasn’t alone when he caught a familiar scent. Helena had joined him at the sink.

  “No reason you should wash these alone. We’re both tired and double the help means half the time.” She rolled up her sleeves.

  He liked her way of thinking. “You drying?”

  “Sure.”

  He ran some water, poured in a few drops of dish soap and went to scrubbing the plate with renewed energy. Having her standing next to him certainly did do something for his body.

  “I have a question, Hank.” She dried the plate and set it aside. “Boone told me that you work the family ranch, run this place as well as volunteer for a search and rescue team. Question is, how do you juggle all that?”

  “Very carefully.”

  She leaned a hip against the counter and her eyes were on him. “I think you can handle a question I’m sure you get often. What was it like over on enemy soil?”

  “You mean Boone didn’t give you the four-one-one?” That would be a first.