Wind River Rancher - Softcover

McKenna, Lindsay

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1420141767 ISBN 13: 9781420141764

Verlag: Zebra, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

The new novel from the bestselling author of Wind River Wrangler
 
Something to hold on to . . .
 Not so long ago, Reese Lockhart was commanding a company of Marines. Now his life is spiraling out of control. The Bar C ranch outside Jackson Hole, Wyoming may be his last chance to save himself . . .
 
Shaylene Crawford, an Afghanistan veteran herself, knows all too well the demons of PTSD—that’s why she’s determined to turn her family’s cattle ranch into a place where wounded warriors can work, find a home, and rebuild their souls. Her embittered father nearly drank and gambled the place away, but with help from a small crew of vets—including the newest arrival, the quietly compelling Reese Lockhart—she intends to hold on to her dream. And when someone tries to destroy that dream, Reese will do whatever it takes to defend her . . .

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lindsay McKenna is the pseudonym of award-winning author Eileen Nauman. With more than 135 titles to her credit and approximately 23 million books sold in 33 countries worldwide, Lindsay is one of the most distinguished authors in the women's fiction genre. She is the recipient of many awards, including six RT Book Reviews awards (including best military romance author) and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. In 1999, foreseeing the emergence of ebooks, she became the first bestselling women's fiction author to exclusively release a new title digitally. In recognition of her status as one of the originators of the military adventure/romance genre, Lindsay is affectionately known as “The Top Gun of Women's Military Fiction.” Lindsay comes by her military knowledge and interest honestly—by continuing a family tradition of serving in the U.S. Navy. Her father, who served on a destroyer in the Pacific theater during World War II, instilled a strong sense of patriotism and duty in his daughter. Visit her website at www.LindsayMcKenna.com.

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Wind River Rancher

By Lindsay McKenna

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2017 Nauman Living Trust
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4201-4176-4

CHAPTER 1

Reese Lockhart's stomach was tight with hunger as he stood at the outskirts of a small Wyoming town called Wind River. The sign indicated a population of two thousand. He'd gone a month without decent food. Six inches of snow stood on the sides of the road where he'd walked the last ten miles on 89A north. It headed toward Jackson Hole, where he was hoping to find work.

The town, for a Monday afternoon, was pretty slow. A couple of pickup trucks came and went, a few people walked along the sidewalks on either side of the highway that ran through the center of town. He halted outside Becker's Hay and Feed Store, an aged redbrick building standing two stories high. The red tin roof was steep and sunlight reflected off it, making Reese squint. Bright lights now hurt his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, feeling the fear of rejection once again, he pushed open the door to the store. Would he get yelled at by the owner? Told to get out? It was early May and snow had fallen the night before. The sleepy town of Wind River still had slush on its streets at midday.

The place was quiet, smelled of leather, and he saw a man in his sixties, tall, lean, and with silver hair, sitting behind the counter. He was sitting on a wooden stool that was probably the same age as he was, an ancient-looking calculator in his work-worn hands as he methodically punched the buttons.

Girding himself, ignoring the fact that he hadn't eaten in two days, Reese's gaze automatically swung around the huge establishment. A hay and feed store was something he was familiar with. Maybe the owner wanted some part-time help. He needed to make enough money to buy a decent meal.

Shoving away the shame he felt over his situation, he saw the man lift his head, wire-rim spectacles halfway down his large nose, his blue eyes squinting at Reese as he approached the long wooden counter.

"Howdy, stranger. Can I help you?" the man asked.

"Maybe," Reese said. "I'm looking for work. I saw you have several big barns out back, and a granary. Do you have any openings?" Automatically, Reese tensed. He knew he looked rough with a month's worth of beard on his face, and his clothes were dirty and shabby. At one time, he'd been a Marine Corps captain commanding a company of 120 Marines. And he'd been damn good at it until —

"I'm Charlie Becker, the owner," the man said, shifting and thrusting his hand across the desk toward him. "Welcome to Wind River. Who might you be?"

"Reese Lockhart," he said, and he gripped the man's strong hand. He liked Charlie's large, watery eyes because he saw kindness in them. Reese was very good at assessing people. He'd kept his Marines safe and helped them through their professional and personal ups and downs over the years he commanded Mike Company in Afghanistan. Charlie was close to six feet tall, lean like a rail, and wore a white cowboy shirt and blue jeans. Reese sensed this older gentleman wouldn't throw him out of here with a curse — or even worse, call law enforcement and accuse him of trespassing.

The last place where he'd tried to find some work, they'd called him a druggie and told him to get the hell out; he smelled. While walking the last ten miles to Wind River, Reese had stopped when he discovered a stream on the flat, snow-covered land, and tried to clean up the best he could. The temperature was near freezing as he'd gone into the bushes, away from the busy highway, and stripped to his waist. He'd taken handfuls of snow and scrubbed his body, shivering, but hell, that was a small price to pay to try to not smell so bad. He hadn't had a real shower in a month, either.

"You a vet, by any chance?" Charlie asked, his eyes narrowing speculatively upon Reese.

"Yes, sir. Marine Corps." He said it with pride.

"Good to know, Son." Charlie looked toward a table at the rear of the store, which held coffee, cookies, and other goodies offered to patrons. "Why don't you go help yourself to some hot coffee and food over there?" He gestured in that general direction. "My wife, Pixie, made 'em. Right good they are. I usually get a stampede of ranchers comin' in here when word gets 'round that Pixie baked some goodies." He chuckled.

Reese wanted to run to that table, but he stood relaxed as he could be, given anxiety was tunneling through him constantly. "I'd like that, sir. Thank you ..."

"Don't call me sir," Charlie said. "Americans owe ALL of you men and women who have sacrificed so much for us. Now, go help yourself to all you want. There's plenty more where that came from. Pixie usually drives in midafternoon with a new batch of whatever has inspired her in the kitchen each day."

Reese needed something worse than he needed food right now, so he hesitated. "Do you have any work I might do around here, Mr. Becker?"

"Call me Charlie. And no, I don't need help, but I got a nearby rancher who is looking for a hardworking wrangler-type to hire. You seem like you've worked a little in your life." Grinning, he stood and pointed to Reese's large, calloused hands. "I'll call over there while you grab yourself some grub." He waved, urging Reese to go eat.

Nodding, Reese rasped out a thank-you and felt his stomach growl loudly. He hoped like hell Charlie hadn't heard it. But judging from the man's facial expression, he had heard. Charlie picked up the black, landline phone on the counter to make a call to the ranch.

Halting at the long table against the back wall of the store, Reese's mouth watered. He was chilled to the bone, his combat boots wet, his socks soaked, toes numb. The coffee smelled so damned good, and with shaking hands, he poured it into an awaiting white Styrofoam cup. He took a cautious sip, the heat feeling incredible as it slid down his throat and into his shrunken, knotted gut. God, it tasted so good!

Reese kept one ear cocked toward the phone call Charlie was making. Let there be an opening for me. He worried because even though he no longer stank, his clothes were dirty and long past a washing. He knew he looked like a burned-out druggie or a homeless person, his hair long and unkempt, his black beard thick and in dire need of a trim. Reese didn't have a pair of scissors on him to do the job. His scruffy, dark green baseball cap was frayed and old, a holdover from two years ago when he was a Marine.

Eyeing the box of colorfully frosted cupcakes, his mouth watered. He wanted to grab all of them, but his discipline and manners forced him to pick up just one. His fingers trembled again as he peeled the paper from around the pink frosted cupcake.

Reese bit into the concoction, groaning internally as the sweetness hit his tongue and coated the inside of his mouth. For a moment, he was dizzy from the sugar rush, his whole body lighting up with internal celebration as the food hit his gnawing stomach. Standing there, Reese forced himself to take slow sips of the coffee. It tasted heavenly. He heard Charlie finish the call and the man came in his direction.

"Hey, Mr. Lockhart, good news," Charlie said. "The owner of the Bar C Ranch, Shay Crawford, still needs a wrangler. She's coming into town in about two hours, going to be coming by here to pick up some dog food and such. Said she'd meet you at that time."

"That's good to hear," Reese said. "Thank you ..."

Charlie nodded. "I have a bathroom in the back, with a big shower." He jabbed his index finger toward the rear corner of the store. "It's got some shaving gear in there, as well....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Zebra
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1420141767
• ISBN 13: 9781420141764
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 384
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Kensington Publishing Corporation; https://www.kensingtonbooks.com/; ; 1633 Broadway ; New York, NY 10019 ; USA
• Verantwortliche Person: Dietmar Rusche; 15110751138; rusche.dietmar@gmx.de; ; Dr.-Willi-Bergmann-Str. 13; St. Andreasberg; 37444; Deutschland