Page 8 of Operation Wolf: Hunter
Please,my wolf said,don’t pretend like this is all my fault. That hormonal surge is all you.
“Christ,” the woman remarked, holding the ice pack to her side. Her husky voice brought me out of my internal argument. “Those horses really pack a punch.”
“Yeah, about that.” I planted my hands on my hips and looked down at her, my anger rising. “Just what the hell did you think you were doing to that poor animal?”
“I was trying to get him back in the stable!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
I tried not to notice how striking the color of her brown irises was against her thick black lashes and the way her sienna skin tone glowed with health.
Damn, she’s stunning.
She continued, “All the other horses went easily enough. I don’t understand why that one was being so damn stubborn.”
I checked my wristwatch. It was barely two o’clock. “And why exactly were you trying to get the horses into the stables in the middle of the afternoon?”
The woman blinked up at me. “Well, I took them out for about an hour or so to stretch their legs, and I figured it was time to get them back inside.”
I groaned, taking a seat in the opposite chair. I had a bad feeling about this. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been letting the horses out for only a few hours every day?”
“Well, yeah.” The woman looked at me quizzically. “Why?”
I rubbed at my temples to stave off the headache I knew was coming. “It’s hardly a wonder that horse was fighting you. You can’t leave them cooped up in the stables all day. And why the hell were you dragging him around with that rope?”
“I couldn’t figure out how to get the halter on him,” the woman said stiffly. She raised her chin, straightening her shoulders despite the pain she was probably experiencing in her side. “Just who the hell do you think you are, barging in on me and asking questions like this? I sure as hell don’t remember inviting you onto my property.”
“Yourproperty?” I countered, baiting her into giving up more information.
She lifted her chin another notch. “That’s right. My name is Kia Nash, and I’m Daniel Nash’s great-niece. I recently inherited this piece of property.”
“And you clearly have no idea what to do with it,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance and all, Miss Nash, but it’s obvious to me that you’re in a little over your head here. I grew up with Old Daniel, and I know if you’d met him even once, some of his love for this ranch would have rubbed off on you. It’s plain you never knew the man. This ranch was his life.”
Kia scowled. “Well, if that’s the case, then why does it appear to be in such a shambles?”
She gestured around to the kitchen with its scuffed linoleum floors, scratched cupboard doors, and peeling, yellowed wallpaper. I couldn’t help but notice that, despite the decay, every surface gleamed as though it had been freshly scrubbed.
“He left me a damn mess to clean up, and I don’t have the first clue how to go about it.”
I opened my mouth to berate her for speaking ill of the dead, but her eyes unfocused, and she clapped her hand to her head.
“Ugh,” she said. “I really don’t feel so good.”
“Shit,” I muttered, catching her chin in my hand so that I could look into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. “We should get you to the doctor. Do you have a car?”
“Yeah. Why?” She blinked, trying to focus. “Don’t you have one?”
“No, I rode here.” I helped her to her feet, cursing myself for my stupidity. I should have known better than to leave my truck behind. “Let’s get your keys.”
Her car—a beetle-green Chevy Malibu—was parked out back, and I frowned as I noticed how shiny and clean it was despite the dusty heat and the fact that it had been through such a long drive.
“My hair,” Kia mumbled, touching her locks that were now a wild mass of curls. “I have to fix it.”
“Oh, please.” I bundled her into the car. “Trust me, no one’s going to care about your hair right now.”
I drove her to Dr. Miller’s clinic, which was ten miles down the road and operated out of the back of his homey cottage. As I pulled up, Dr. Miller’s wife came bustling out of the house, a white apron tied around her rotund figure.
“Why, Hunter Golden!” Mrs. Miller’s rosy face creased into in a smile. “I can hardly believe my eyes! What are you doing here, back in these parts?”
“Just checking on the ranch,” I said, taking Kia by the hand and bringing her forward. “This is Kia Nash, the new owner of Bridle Hill Ranch. She took a nasty knock to the head and banged up her ribs earlier. I’d like the doc to check her out.”
