Page 10 of Sweet Courage

Walking around the property to her car in front, a rhythmic thud drew her attention toward the open doors of the main feed shed. Parked just outside the overhang a flatbed truck was loaded with massive sacks. Standing on the bed of the truck, Hanson hoisted a bag onto his shoulder. The pristine khakis from yesterday were gone, replaced by worn denim and a plain gray t-shirt, damp with sweat, and clinging to his chest. He didn’t move like the chaotic menace who had nearly run her down in the parking lot the other day. There was no rushing, no reckless jerking. Instead, he moved with a deliberate, almost mathematical precision. Lift. Turn. Step. Stack. He repeated the sequence with a slow, grinding steadiness that spoke of pure willpower rather than natural ease.

Watching him work, a twinge of guilt nudged at her conscience. Alice had mentioned the man was recovering from an accident. Given the careful way he planted his boots before transferring the weight of the heavy bags, whatever had happened to him had left a lingering mark. Yet here he was, stepping into the gap left by sick ranch hands, doing the heavy lifting without an audience to praise him.

Having finished the row, he swiped the back of his forearm across his brow and paused, staring at the stacked bags. No movement. The man stood still, his gaze narrowed, focused, and yet. No movement at all. Almost as if he was stuck in time. Both hands came to his face, scrubbing up and down.

Feeling like a voyeur, she couldn’t bring herself to move, fascinated by the stillness of the man on the truck bed. Forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, she marched up to the vehicle. “Hi there.”

His head whipped around so fast she almost turned to see if something else was behind her. “Hello.” To her surprise, there was a blank look in his expression so strong that she spotted the exact moment recognition dawned. “Nice to see you, Kat.”

“Having fun unloading the truck?”

This time his gaze darted to the bags left on the truck and the stack on the ground in the shed. She could almost see the wheels turning when he blew out a sigh and nodded slowly to no one in particular. “Yes. Unloading. I was unloading.”

Odd response. Then it hit her. He’d forgotten what he was doing. If he was loading or unloading. That was what he was recovering from. Suddenly the flicker of a guilty conscience from her anger the other day exploded into full-blown regret. “And doing a splendid job of it. Alice must be delighted with the extra help.”

“It’s the least I can do for all the family is doing for me.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

His gaze narrowed, his jaw line tightened, and his fists clenched at his side before his shoulders slumped and he blew out a heavy sigh. “I forget steps sometimes.”

“Like which is reverse or drive?”

“Or the gas pedal and the clutch. Yeah.”

She bobbed her head. “The accident?”

“Explosion.” He turned and grabbed another sack from the bed of the truck.

“I’m sorry.”

His head tipped to one side and his gaze leveled with hers. “For what?”

“Everything. For my behavior in the parking lot, for the explosion, for the struggles.” She shrugged. “Just everything.”

He paused a moment, mid step. Opened his mouth as if he were going to say something and then just nodded and went back to work.

“Well,” she took a step back, “I should be on my way.” Spinning around, she headed to her car, ideas already batting around in her mind. Behind the wheel, she turned the ignition, her mind made up. As soon as she got home she had some things to look up. Whether or not she could help the Sweet’s houseguest was at the top of the list.

Chapter Five

Sitting on the edge of the back porch, Hanson stared down at his bare feet submerged in a plastic basin of lukewarm, greenish water. Whatever atrocious-smelling concoction Alice Sweet had mixed up, it was working a minor miracle on the raw blisters covering his heels.

Drying a ceramic mug with a dish towel, Alice stepped out through the screen door. “How are they feeling?”

“Better.” Hanson flexed his toes, marveling at the sudden absence of stinging pain. “I don’t know what’s in this, but I wish I’d had it when I was in boot camp.”

“My grandmother swore by it.” Alice set the mug and towel on a small wicker table. “Pulls the heat right out. But no amount of soaking is going to fix the real problem. If you insist on helping out while the crew is shaking this nasty bug that’s going around, you’re going to need a decent pair of boots that actually fit. A good boot molds to the owner’s foot. Borrowing boots is rarely a good idea.”

“If you can do without me for a bit, I thought maybe I could run to town and pick up a pair.” He didn’t mention that the mere thought of driving a stick shift again and potentially forgetting which way was up or down, and worse, actually doing someone harm, sent a spike of anxiety up his spine and back down to his toes.

“Good idea.” Alice nodded briskly. “Jess rode into town with Carson this morning. Her keys are on the hook by the door.” The slightest hint of a smile teased at the corners of the woman’s lips. “It’s an automatic. You shouldn’t have any more parking lot escapades.”

Escapades. That was not the word he’d have used. The relief that washed over him was entirely disproportionate to the situation. “Thanks. The sooner I get going, the sooner I’ll be back.”

Her smile a little brighter, Alice nodded and headed back into the house.

Standing up, he eased out of the basin. Stepping gingerly at first, by the time he reached the kitchen, there was no sign of the pain he’d endured once he’d pulled off the snug boots. “Not bad.” If he could bottle this stuff, he’d make a killing selling it to raw recruits.