Читать книгу Night Hawk онлайн | страница 14

He smiled a little. “No?” He rose and pushed the chair back.

Kai stood. “Operators wear game faces. You don’t.”

“My wife is teaching me to let that be a thing of the past.” Talon opened the door for her. “Go into the kitchen and ask Cass to show you to your bedroom. He’ll get you squared away. And then, take your wrangling equipment to the locker in the barn. By that time, my foreman should be back from his run to town. If you happen to run into him, introduce yourself. If not, you’ll meet him tonight at dinner.”

“Good enough,” Kai murmured. Her voice lowered with feeling. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Talon. I promise, I won’t let you or your family down.”

He patted her shoulder. “I believe you, Kai. Welcome home.”

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GIL HANFORD DROVE in with the flatbed truck filled with sixty bales of straw for the horse stalls on the Triple H Ranch. It was midafternoon as he backed the truck up to the graveled slope that led up to the main red barn. The huge doors were slid open at both ends to allow a breeze through the massive three-story building. He was hoping that Talon Holt had hired someone to do this kind of work, leaving him free to do other more important things to get this broken-down ranch back online.

He thought he spotted someone near the lockers, but the shadows were deep inside the barn because no one had turned on the overhead lights. Could be Cass. But, God knew, his duties were stretched thin, too, which is why his boss needed to hire another wrangler. And soon.

As he backed the truck up into the wide concrete breezeway, ten wooden box stalls on one side and the tack room and wrangler locker area on the other side, he did spot someone standing in front of an open locker. Unable to get a good look at him because he was backing up the truck, Gil’s hopes rose. All he saw was the backside of the person. Had Talon hired a wrangler?

Turning off the engine, Gil climbed out of the cab and shut the door. The whicker of several horses in nearby box stalls greeted him. He inhaled the scent of the alfalfa and timothy-grass hay stored up on the second floor above them. It was a good, clean smell, one he grew up with on his father’s ranch near Billings, Montana.