Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(102)
“Anything outdoors for the most part.”
“You’re a Marine, so you probably have some skill sets?”
“I ran a company, ma—I mean, Shay, of a hundred and twenty men and women.”
Nodding, she assessed him more closely. “What was your rank?”
“Captain.” Reese couldn’t translate what he saw in her expression and whether it was good or bad news for him. He wondered if she was enlisted or an officer. Now was not the time to ask because this was an interview.
“I need a wrangler who’s good at slinging a hammer and nails, Mr. Lockhart. I’ve got an outdoor arena I’m trying to get up with too few men to do it and it has to be covered before the first snow flies, which is usually mid-September around here.” She gauged him for a moment, her voice husky. “I make a point of hiring military vets who are down on their luck. The Bar C is more than just a place to work. Much more.”
“Okay,” he murmured. “My skill sets are in the area of construction work. My father is a mechanic and I grew up learning how to fix anything that had an engine attached to it.”
“That’s good news,” she murmured, brightening a little. Looking relieved.
“See?” Charlie gloated, preening. “I told you he was a man with a lot of talent.”
Reese felt uncomfortable with such enthusiastic praise, but stood as relaxed as he could. Shay Crawford might be attractive as hell, but she was a woman with a helluva lot of confidence and she wore the mantle of leadership well. There was no wedding ring on her left hand, but that didn’t mean anything. He was sure she was in a relationship. He didn’t see her being snooty, bossy, or power-hungry because she was in control. Instead, she seemed pensive, studying him openly and without apology, searching his eyes, looking over his face and body. Reese thought he might as well be a horse she was considering buying. He was waiting for her to ask him to open his mouth she could look at his teeth.
“I’m dying of hunger,” she told Reese. “Would you like to come over to Kassie’s Café and have a cup of coffee with me, Mr. Lockhart? I can give you a lot more information about the Bar C there. If the place isn’t too much for you to handle? I can always find somewhere that is quieter and has less distractions.”
Reese gauged her and felt his heart stir. The honesty in this woman’s eyes held him in thrall. He was shaken over her last comment. He frowned for a moment, processing it. Only someone with PTSD would ask THAT kind of question. He stared at her, trying to decipher more of who she really was. She stared back fearlessly at him, unafraid of his intense inspection. “Kassie’s sounds fine. I can handle noise for a while,” he said, nodding, settling the gray Stetson on his head. “Lead the way to the café.”
Charlie put his purchases beneath the counter, saying he could come by later and pick them up. Reese thanked him and got to the door before Shay did. His stride was longer than hers. Opening the door for her, he saw her blush. Her cheeks stained red, her glance up at him, appreciative and something else. But what?
As Reese followed her to a dark blue Ford three-quarter-ton pickup, he watched the sway of her hips down those six wooden steps to the asphalt parking lot that held spots of melting snow.
He opened the door of the truck for Shay before she could reach for the handle.
Flustered, Shay turned and looked up at him. “Really, I’m not helpless, Mr. Lockhart. I’ll open my own doors from now on.”
He gave her an apologetic glance. “Manners die hard in me.” And he smiled a little, seeing the warmth come to her eyes for a moment as she climbed in.
“Military men are like that,” she admitted, a little breathless as she closed her own door.
Reese liked her backbone. She was a strong, confident woman. He opened the door and climbed in, his hopes rising. Shay Crawford would not have invited him to coffee if she wasn’t going to hire him. His chest swelled with powerful feelings of relief. And as she backed the truck expertly out of the dirt parking spot, Reese buckled up, feeling that today was his lucky day.