The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

swatting a cypress branch aside, she was striding into a pasture, a broad expanse of tangled grasses swaying in the wind.
                  Off to her right, a barn loomed as a dark shape stamped against the sky. It gave off that distinctly abandoned vibe: overgrown at its base, one massive door flapping idly. There were no lights, no vehicles, no homey scents of animals floating toward her.
                  What was this place?
                  A shrill whinny pierced the gloom, and she started, jogging forward a few steps through the tall grass. “Tally?” she called. She puckered her lips and made a loud kissing sound. “Tally, come here, man. I don’t wanna hike all over this damn place looking for you.”
                  “Don’t suspect you’ll have to, love,” a male voice called out to her. “I’ve got him down here.”
                  Emmie froze, heart slamming up into her throat. Her skin shrank tight over her bones, the sensation painful, as panic coursed through her in sudden, hot currents.
                  She felt like one of the horses she cared for: Stranger Danger! And a strange man, at that. She wasn’t afraid of men, but being five-foot-nothing had its strength disadvantages when you were talking strange men in dark pastures.
                  She wrapped her hand tight around the flashlight and let the beam precede her as she stepped over the small rise ahead, and surveyed what lay below.
                  Two men stood in the center of a dirt driveway, both in dark clothes, one dark-headed, the other pale in the glow of the flashlight. The blonde had a belt looped right behind Tally’s ears, holding the horse beneath his throatlatch with a makeshift collar.
                  It was the blonde who glanced toward her, squinting against the glare. “Put that away before you blind everybody,” he said, and it confirmed her initial impression. He was English, the accent unmistakable. The words were said kindly, but in a way that suggested he meant to be listened to.
                  Emmie aimed the flashlight down at her boots. It was dark, but she could still see both men, and the white of Tally’s eye as he glanced at her and snorted.
                  “Easy,” the Englishman told the horse, stroking his neck. Something flashed on his hand. Rings, maybe?
                  Emmie pushed down the fear rising in her belly and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry he bothered you,” she said, pulling the halter down off her shoulder and stepping forward. “I hope he didn’t damage anything. He’s a boarder’s horse, and we can’t seem to keep him inside a fence.”
                  The blonde man held onto the belt until she had the halter secure on Tally’s head, then pulled it free and stepped back; slow, deliberate movements like he’d been around horses before. Greenhorns all shared a certain clumsiness. This man eased back smoothly, sliding the belt back through the loops on his jeans.
                  “No harm done,” he said. “Gave us a bit of a start, seeing him come over the hill. I thought somebody’d be along to find him eventually.”
                  She took a firm grip on the leadline, acutely aware of the dark-haired man’s stare off to the side. His malevolence was visible even in the failing light. “Well…thank you for catching him.” She clucked to Tally and began to turn him away.
                  The Englishman spoke again. “You came over from Briar Hall, yeah?”
                  She paused, skin still prickling, nerves rattling her breath. “Yes. I wouldn’t have trespassed, but Tally–”
                  He waved off the explanation with a dismissive gesture. “If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you get over here?”
                  She