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

explained to the blonde. “She gets a little dramatic.”
                  In answer, the gate squealed as it was forced open, long weeds and brambles catching at the lower rungs.
                  Visible only as shadows, Becca, Sherman, and Mocha appeared on the other side.
                  “Oh my God,” Becca said. “I was so worried.”
                  Tally whinnied to his friends and they answered.
                  Emmie hesitated, turning to her gate-unlocker. “Thank you,” she told him, and meant it.
                  “Go on,” he said. “Don’t be losing hold of that nag.”
                  She wasn’t sure, but as she walked through the gate, she thought she caught the quick gleam of white teeth as he grinned.
     

Three
     
    Dolly’s quiet chuff of greeting from the porch was the first thing he heard as the growl of the engine died away. The Aussie/Border Collie cross was laid out across the top step, mismatched eyes trained on him, tail thumping the boards.
                  “Dolly-girl,” Walsh greeted, climbing off his bike, taking the two steps up onto the porch and bending to stroke the dog where she liked it best, behind the ears. She licked his wrist and made a happy sound.
                  Home sweet home. Arriving, petting his dog – it always set things to rights inside him, eased the tension across his shoulders.
                  He’d left a lamp on in the front window, and it shone out on the porch, illuminating his keys as he found the right one and unlocked the front door. Dolly pressed in behind him, heading for her bowl and sitting in front of it expectantly. She knew the routine: lock up, set the mail on the table, hang up his cut, boots off – and then chow time.
                  It was a tiny house. Three rooms encased in time-eaten white clapboard, quaint front and back porches. Room enough only for one man and one dog. But the kitchen was fairly modern and the back porch was screened in. It sat a stone’s throw off the railroad tracks, and the trains rattled the windows at night when they passed.
                  The front room was part-kitchen, part-den, the stove and accoutrements on one side, his one fat chair, the dog bed, and TV on the other. The back room was his bedroom, and off that the bathroom, with its wall-mounted sink and narrow fiberglass shower stall.
                  Walsh went to the cabinets, pulled down a can of Purina wet food and opened it for Dolly, pouring it and a scoop of dry Chow into her bowl and leaving her to it. He grabbed a Newcastle for himself from the fridge, leaned back against the counter and drank half of it standing up.
                  His mind was whirring away like a computer.
                  Of all the possibilities, there was one he hadn’t considered until right this moment. Briar Hall falling into the wrong hands spelled discovery for the Dogs. No one was aware of the connection between the club and the cattle property. At least…that had always been the case. But if that little barn manager had gotten a good enough look at either of them…
                  The girl came back to him, what he’d been able to see of her. Small, well below his own insubstantial height. Pale hair – it had seemed to glow in the gathering dark. And that faint sharp edge he’d always associated with horse women. Handling animals that large and dangerous had a way of washing all the silliness out of a person.
                  But even the most practical of civilians could prove a liability.
                  He pushed her out of his mind for the moment. Now wasn’t the time to try and recall the exact golden shade of her hair. She’d done something more impactful than provide him with a few moments’ entertainment. She’d pressed home the urgency of