Page 16 of Sweet Courage

“Not at all.” Colleen glanced at her watch. “If Clint has the trailer hooked up, we can be on our way.”

Like good little soldiers following their leader, Hanson and the two ladies followed Alice out the back door.

Outside, Clint had the heavy steel lever in hand. Hanson heard the solid clunk as the trailer hitch locked securely over the ball. Clint gave the metal a firm shake to test the connection, then stepped back, wiping a smudge of grease from his thumb onto a rag he’d pulled from his back pocket. “We’re all set. I decided to bring the bigger trailer, just in case you lovely ladies fall in love with more than one horse.”

“Oh,” Colleen frowned, “I don’t know that I can—”

Alice cut her off. “Don’t you make up your mind yet. We could be coming home with an empty trailer, but if we like what we see, you never know.” Without waiting for a response, the woman walked around to ride shotgun in the massive pickup truck that probably could have sat a horse without a trailer.

Opening the back door for the ladies, he waited as Kat climbed in and scooted to the middle of the back seat. Expecting Colleen to climb in next, he was taken aback when she instead got in on the other side. With Kat sitting in the middle rather than sliding all the way to the other side, suddenly the spacious crew cab seemed to shrink. Making matters worse, the faint, clean scent of vanilla and citrus completely overrode the smell of stale coffee and leather upholstery. He didn’t have to be a genius to know the drive to Millers Creek was going to feel very long this morning.

Settled comfortably by the window, Colleen pulled out her folder and opened to the first page. “Connor says that he trained the sire of one of the horses at auction today. He seems to think if the animal is half the horse his father was, he’d be a great fit.”

“Is that the gelding he called about?” Kat asked with ease of a rancher rather than an educator.

“Nope.” Colleen shook her head. “Connor didn’t specify why his first choice was the gelding out of Starfire farms, but if he’s this pleased with the second choice, the first choice must be something else.”

All the heads in the vehicle nodded their agreement. The respect they all held for Connor Farraday was as tangible as the metal frame surrounding them.

Doing his best to resist the urge to reach out and gently touch Kat’s hand, Hanson turned his attention to the window as the truck turned onto the main road. The dull, constant hum of the tires against the asphalt filled the cab. For a guy who had spent the last few months desperate for quiet and predictable routines, he found himself surprisingly eager for the noise and chaos ahead—anything to distract him from the beautiful woman who was clearly getting under his skin.

The truck slowed, pulling off the two-lane highway and into a sprawling, chaotic stretch of pasture that had been converted into a makeshift parking lot to handle the overflow of trucks. And there was overflow. Trucks of every size, make, and model were crammed together, most of them dragging long, aluminum stock trailers. Not that she attended a whole lot of horse auctions, but she couldn’t remember any overflowing into the pasture for parking. Hopefully, this wasn’t going to create any trouble for Colleen and the horse she wanted.

When Clint finally found a spot big enough for the rig and threw the vehicle into park, Kat waited for Hanson to climb out of the truck. Relief over not having the heat of him so close to her or the scent of whatever earthy soap he used, battled with wanting to stay close just a little longer.

The moment they all descended from the truck, the noise hit her immediately. A steady, layered rumble. Men shouting over the roar of diesel engines, the metallic clang of heavy gates swinging shut, the sharp whistle of a handler, and underneath it all, the anxious whinnies and deep nickers of horses.

At her side, hand resting atop the open truck door, Hanson took in the rows of trucks and stock trailers stretching out across the lot. With every step toward the massive arena doubling as a horse auction today, he seemed to be studying, absorbing, every sight; tailgates down, men leaning against fenders in jeans gone soft from actual wear, boots that had done real work, hat brims pulled low against a sun that hadn’t even committed to being hot yet. He had the look of a man doing math in his head and not quite landing on an answer.

Already a few paces ahead, binder tucked tight against her side, Colleen scanned the area like a general preparing for battle.

Dressed like any cowboy, Hanson still carried the quiet, rigid discipline of a well-trained soldier. Not just the way he moved, but how his eyes scanned the crowds, assessing the chaos rather than just living in it.

“We’ll get our bidder number,” Alice announced, stopping near a pair of folding tables set up outside the main entrance. “Colleen, why don’t you all head back to the pens and take a look at Connor’s picks before the bidding starts.”

“Perfect.” Colleen didn’t hesitate, veering off toward the maze of pipe-iron fences stretched out behind the main building.

Kat bumped Hanson’s elbow with her own. “Try not to look like you’re from California.”

“I am from California.”

“I know. But try anyway.” She flashed a smile to soften her words, delighted when the corners of his mouth tipped upward, hinting at the sense of humor that was slowly showing itself.

They navigated the narrow dirt aisles between the pens. Some stood quietly, head to tail, swatting flies. Others paced nervously, kicking at the metal rails. Handlers moved constantly, opening gates, running hands down legs, checking teeth.

Hanson kept his hands linked behind his back, his jaw set in a tight line. Anyone who understood the military would recognize the stance. Considering the noise and organized chaos around him, she could only imagine what this was doing to him.

Slowing her pace just a fraction, she kept her shoulder close to his, offering a quiet, steady presence in the middle of the sensory overload. She could almost feel some of the tension ease from that shoulder—almost.

“There’s the first one.” Colleen stopped in front of a pen holding three horses. She rested her forearms on the top rail, her eyes zeroing in on a sturdy, quiet-looking bay. “Connor’s second choice.”

Hanson stopped next to her, looking at the horse. “Looks sleepy.”

“Looks steady,” Colleen corrected. “But we’ll see how he moves.” She pulled a pen from her binder and started making notes as men with clipboards did the same, moving between the rows, exchanging brief nods, the unbothered confidence of people who’d been doing this their whole lives and felt no particular need to hurry about it.

They turned down another aisle and Hanson slowed—not dramatically, just a half-step hitch in his stride, the kind she’d catalogued without meaning to, the particular pause that meant something had caught his attention completely. A chestnut gelding stood in the corner pen with his head low, one back foot cocked, half-dozing through all the noise and movement around him with an air of complete, settled indifference.

“What is it?” she asked softly so as not to distract the others.