Page 13 of Sweet Courage

The way he said her name—careful, deliberate—sent a completely unexpected flutter straight through her stomach.

“Well,” she took a step toward where her car was parked down the block, “try not to break in those boots all at once. Blisters are no joke.”

“Alice has a swamp-water remedy for that.”

“Then you’re in good hands.” She lifted a hand in a quick wave. “Drive safe, Hanson.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Walking away, Kat didn’t look back until she reached her car. When she finally glanced over her shoulder, Hanson was just climbing into Jess’s sedan. He moved carefully, his focus absolute, navigating the simple task of getting behind the wheel with a quiet determination that shouldn’t have been attractive.

Sliding into her own driver’s seat, Kat let out a long breath. The annoyance she’d felt in the parking lot felt like it belonged to a different lifetime. Sandra Estes might have lacked subtlety, but as Kat pulled out onto Main Street, she had to admit the woman’s assessment hadn’t been entirely wrong.

Chapter Six

Dragging the wide push broom down the center aisle, the rhythmic swish of stiff bristles against concrete offered a mindless, repetitive calm. The barn smelled predictably of horse, hay, and something distinctly country. Best of all, it was quiet. Hanson stopped at the halfway mark, leaning the heavy broom handle against his hip to stretch a kink out of his shoulder. He liked sweeping. It was linear. Predictable. It didn’t require him to hold multiple steps in his head at once. It was something he could do without finding himself standing in a state of confusion, battling for clarity.

The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway broke the silence. Curiosity would have to take a back seat to practical. If he’d learned anything since the explosion that had sent him hurtling through the air all those months ago, it was that stopping mid task only made his life more challenging. He closed his eyes for a second, fighting down the familiar, tight spike of frustration in his chest. Keeping the rhythm, he reached the end of the aisle and carefully set the broom handle against the wall and stood in the doorway, looking out at the silver pickup parked beside the main house. Thinking back on all the vehicles that came and went from the Sweet ranch, he felt his teeth clamp down hard. There was no way he could place the silver truck, but he did know, whoever it was, to have come along the side and not parked in front, had to be family or business.

Most of the ranch hands had come back to life after a few days of fluids and rest. He could go see if Alice or someone needed help. Especially since he didn’t really know what else to do now that he’d finished sweeping the aisle.

Sarah Sue, Preston Sweet’s wife, came out of the kitchen door with Alice on her heel. Opening the tailgate, she reached forward and released the crate door. The two women stood back, quietly, no movement, just watching the back of the truck.

Crossing the yard, taking careful steps not to make too much noise, he slowed as he realized what was going on. The women were giving a gorgeous black and tan German Shepherd time to sniff the air and acclimate a little bit. By the time Hanson was only a few feet away, Sarah Sue moved her hand, signaling for the dog to come out. A second signal and the animal hopped off the back and came to a sit at Sarah Sue’s feet. The animal was well trained. No surprise for a military K9. A little surprising considering the dog had a problem. Looking around, he tried to remember what that problem was. Nothing was coming to mind. At least he remembered that the Sweets worked with troubled K9s. That was something. Coming up to Alice’s side, the dog was even more striking up close. “He’s a beauty.”

All heads turned in his direction, including the dog’s. The Shepherd’s ears shifted, one then the other, his posture alert without being tense. The animal studied him with the kind of focused intelligence that made most men feel as if they were the ones being evaluated. Hanson knew that look. He’d seen it on working dogs before; the assessment, the calculation, the wait for a reason to trust or dismiss.

“Easy, boy,” Sarah Sue said softly.

The dog’s gaze barely flicked in her direction before settling back on Hanson.

Alice tipped her head. “Well now.”

The way Sarah Sue’s gaze darted from animal to man, it was a safe guess she’d notice the dog’s reaction to him as well. She made another gesture and the dog quickly stood and pranced to heel at her side. “Good boy.” She pet the top of his head, but the animal didn’t react.

What Hanson didn’t know was if that was due to his training or problems. “Remind me what his issues are?”

Again, the dog tilted his head in Hanson’s direction.

“Hearing loss,” Sarah answered. “That’s why I’m doing more hand signals than verbal commands.”

The animal’s gaze remained fixed on Hanson.

“You checking me out, huh?” Hanson lowered his chin slightly, keeping his movements slow.

The Shepherd’s ears gave another small, inquisitive twitch. He took a single, measured step away from Sarah Sue’s leg, leaning a fraction of his weight toward Hanson.

The loud smack of the kitchen’s screen door shattered the quiet.

“A dog! Mom, look, it’s the new dog!” Mason practically vibrated as he bounded from the porch, his high, excited voice carrying across the yard. His mom was right behind him, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt before the boy could launch himself down the steps.

The Shepherd’s reaction was instantaneous. He flinched, his body going rigid, but his head didn’t snap toward the porch. Instead, he spun toward the open driveway, his dark eyes scanning the empty space frantically, his tail tucked tight against his hindquarters. He was picking up the chaotic vibration of the boy’s arrival, but the high, breathless pitch of Mason’s voice didn’t seem to register as a directional sound. The dog was completely disoriented.

Sarah Sue immediately stepped into the dog’s line of sight, blocking out the yard, and threw a sharp, flat-palmed hand signal. Sit.

The Shepherd dropped his hindquarters to the dirt, but he was panting now, his previous calm entirely fractured.

“Hold your horses, buddy,” Jess scolded gently, keeping a firm grip on her son. “You know the rules. We don’t rush working dogs.”