Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Molly that Essa had been in the stall the day the colt first dropped to the straw, and the two had grown up side-by-side. Molly competed professionally for several years, too, but now lived in Chicago with her son, Tomas, and her husband, J.J. Rupert.
    “He went all the way down.” He saw her mouth twist sideways. “Pulled tendon,” she said and shook her head, and he didn’t know if it meant she didn’t agree with the veterinarian’s opinion, or something else.
    "How long ago was Boscol?" If it had just happened, then her apparent soreness made sense.
    She huffed out a heavy sigh, blowing her bangs back off her face. "Three weeks," she finally said, quietly, face turned to the window.
    "Oh, man," he muttered, turning the wheel to steer the truck onto the heavily rutted road leading to the ranch. Three weeks was a long time for her horse to still be injured. Suddenly aware of where they were, he blew out a breath, frustrated because he wasn’t prepared for what was coming next. Their conversation had made the trip go by much faster than he would have liked, a distraction which meant he wasn’t ready to deal with Brenda at the end of the drive.
    Essa didn’t respond and he allowed the conversation to die, focusing instead on the state of the road, which looked as if it hadn’t been graded for some time. The pothole craters combined with the washboard surface made the driveway a challenge to navigate, even in the sturdy pickup. He knew it would be worse with a semi, and worse still on any stock transported in the big trailers they pulled.
    Up ahead, the main homestead slowly came into view and he saw the house, too, had not been maintained as well as it should have been. Even from the distance, he could see the eaves and window frames needed sanding and painting, and there was a sag to the porch roof over the front door that made him frown. There were several trucks parked between the buildings, all but one just as beat-up as the vehicle he was currently driving. He suspected the newest truck belonged to Essa, which meant the rest belonged to the stock company. Fuck . At least the barns, corrals, and catch pens looked to be in good shape.
    Okay, first order of business will be to look at the books, see where we are financially . He could pull in the Rebels’ money guy to look things over if needed. He shook his head, thinking, I’m glad Myron is always up for a challenge .
    Parking the truck, he stepped out and stretched, hearing Essa move around inside the vehicle. There was shouting from the house, and taking the three steps up to the back porch in a single stride, he pulled open the screen door exactly as he had a thousand times each summer of his youth and stepped into the kitchen.

State of things
    Brenda ducked her head, wincing as heavy thumps sounded from the second floor. “Elias Calloway,” she yelled in the direction of the stairs, “you wanna take a little more care with my walls, honey?”
    “Sorry, Mom.” She got a muffled yell in response, and grinned, turning back to the task at hand, putting up the bags and boxes of groceries scattered across the floor. Thank goodness the ranch house had a huge pantry, because that amenity, paired with the gigantic refrigerator and freezer, meant she didn’t have to go shopping more than once every few weeks, even when feeding a dozen men three meals a day.
    She had just sunk to a squat in the middle of the kitchen floor, efficiently sorting canned goods into one of the boxes when she heard the door behind her open without a knock. Shaking her head because there was only one person on the place who would just waltz in without announcing themselves, she put the last can in the box and called, “Essa, honey, can you help me carry this box over to the pantry? I find myself overambitious in packaging, but lazy in execution, and now it’s too heavy.”
    From outside, she heard Essa’s answering voice, and startled, she spun in place, putting a knee on the floor