Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(101)

“You clean up real good, Mr. Lockhart,” Charlie said, rising and taking his clothes. “I’m assuming these are DOA?”

Reese nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Thanks for your help here,” he said, and he motioned to the clothes he now wore.

“Like I said,” Charlie murmured, dumping the clothes into a huge wastebasket, “our country OWES YOU.”

Charlie gave him the Styrofoam boxes, and told him the owner of Kassie’s Coffee Shop had sent hamburgers over for Reese. Then Charlie showed him to a spot where he could eat the food. It was delicious.

As he bit into the burger, he closed his eyes, made a low sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, slumping against the metal chair. Reese knew if he gulped it down, he’d more than likely throw it up, so he tamped down on his animal desire. He chewed it slowly, savoring every last taste and bit of the lettuce, tomatoes, onion, cheddar cheese, and bacon on it. It took him thirty minutes to clean up everything. The apple pie was melt-in-your mouth, reminding him of his mother’s own home-cooked pies.

An old ache centered in his heart. His parents wanted him home, but God, that had been a disaster. Reese wasn’t going to make them pay for his PTSD and they didn’t understand why he had to leave. He wasn’t the best at expressing his shame over symptoms that he couldn’t control. And he’d refused their money. His father, a hardworking mechanic, had saved all his life for their retirement and Reese wasn’t about to let him give it to him. He had to stand on his own two feet, pull himself up by his bootstraps, and not accept handouts.

As he rose and placed the chair against the wall, he saw the door open. A young woman with light brown hair, slightly curly around her oval face, walked in. She was wearing a black baseball cap, a blue chambray shirt the same as he wore, a heavy Levi’s jacket, and a pair of loose-fitting jeans that told him she had a lush figure hidden beneath them. His heart jolted as their eyes met briefly. She had sky blue eyes, just this side of turquoise, wide set, intelligent, and Reese sensed the same primal instinctive-ness that he possessed. She was attractive, wearing no makeup, but her high cheekbones were flushed, as if she’d been running or working out hard.

His stomach clenched, and suddenly Reese worried that if she was the owner of the Bar C, she’d be afraid of him like so many other women who saw him were. In the Corps, wearing his uniform or utilities, women always gave him a pleasing look, scoping him out, their gazes telling him they’d like to know him a lot better. He almost laughed as he struggled to get his anxiety corralled. Since he’d fallen from grace, his scruffy, bearded homeless look scared the hell out of all females. Reese knew he wasn’t a bad-looking man, but somehow, no woman could look beneath his present state of dishevelment and see the real him. He would NEVER hurt a woman or child. But the look in their eyes spoke of exactly that: that he was capable of violence against them. It was a bitter pill to swallow to be judged by what he wore instead of who he really was.

“Hey,” Charlie called, twisting his head in Reese’s direction, “Miss Shay is here. Come on up and meet her, Reese.”

God, this was like a firing squad. All his life, he’d drawn straight As in school and in college. Always a winner. Always successful at whatever he tackled. He was first in everything he’d ever tried. And now, he was last. Dead last.

Squaring his shoulders, Reese walked toward the counter and watched as the young woman who was about a head shorter than him, maybe around five foot eight or nine inches tall, assessed him critically. Reese could feel the heat of her blue gaze stripping him from his uncovered head down to his boots as he rounded the corner of the counter.

“Shay, meet Reese Lockhart,” Charlie said. “Reese, this is Shay Crawford, owner of the Bar C.”

Reese saw a shadow flit across her eyes for just a moment, and then it was gone. Her mouth was full, lush just like her breasts and hips. A hum started low in his body, appreciating her purely as a woman. When she extended her slender hand, he engulfed it gently within his. Reese tried to keep the surprise out of his face as he felt the calluses along her palm and the roughness on her fingers, telling him she worked hard.

“Ma’am,” he murmured, “nice to meet you. I asked Charlie if anyone needed a wrangler and he said you did.” Reese released her hand, albeit reluctantly. To his surprise, she stood her ground even though he was a good six inches taller than she was. He didn’t scare her and that made Reese sag inwardly with relief. Those fearless-looking blue eyes of hers were direct and he held her gaze, understanding she was feeling him out on an instinctual level. In the kind of black ops work he had done, instinct is what had saved his life so often. Reese sensed strongly she possessed the same powerful intuition herself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lockhart.” She glanced over at Charlie. “He said you were a vet? That you were a Marine?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her lips twisted and she smiled a little. “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

Her lips pulled faintly at the corners. “You’re right. You’re still a Marine even if you’re now a civilian. Call me Shay, Mr. Lockhart. I was in the service too. I’m fine with less protocol.”

Reese nodded. “Manners are hard to erase,” he noted, a slight, teasing note in his voice. “But I’ll try.”

She leaned against the counter with her hips, hands on the edge of the smooth oak. “What kind of work are you looking for?”