Pulling open the screen door, Shay held it for him and gestured for him to go into the mud room. “Come on in, Reese. You can hang your hat there on one of the wooden pegs.” She gestured toward the wall composed of spruce boards that glowed in the light from a nearby window. “All hats, gear, muddy boots, go in this area.”
Reese looked around. The foyer was large, with a bench in one corner where a cowboy could sit down and pull off his muddy boots and place them on a worn rug. “Nice,” he murmured, dropping his Stetson on a peg. His nostrils flared and he picked up the scent of spaghetti sauce cooking. “Something smells good,” he told her.
“Garret’s making meatballs, spaghetti, and garlic toast for tonight,” she said. “Come on. He’s probably in the kitchen. He’s our cook, thank God, so I’m free to do other things around the ranch.”
Reese followed her into a massive kitchen. The floor was composed of green and white tiles, probably linoleum from another era. The kitchen was huge and U-shaped. He saw a man about his height with a white apron around his waist at the gas stove, stirring something in a large stainless steel pot.
“Hey, Garret,” Shay called, “we’ve got another person for dinner tonight.”
Garret, who was once a Special Forces operator, turned, surprise written on his square face. His sandy-colored hair was cut military short, his eyes moving swiftly to Reese. Garret was black ops because the man glanced at him with one hard, assessing look.
“No problem,” Garret said. “We have plenty. Welcome.”
Shay went over to him, resting her hand on his thick shoulder. “Garret, I’ve just hired another vet. Meet Reese Lockhart. He was in the Marine Corps. Garret was Special Forces A team operator.” She urged Reese to come closer. “Reese, this is Garret Fleming.”
“Good,” Garret growled, wiping his hands off with a towel hanging off the stove. Turning, he thrust his hand out to Reese. “Nice to meet you, Lockhart. Welcome to the Bar C.”
Reese gripped the man’s calloused hand. “Same here.”
Garret’s grip was firm but not crushing. The man was big, broad shouldered, and probably weighed at least 220 pounds. He wore a dark red T-shirt, Levi’s, and well-worn cowboy boots. The man’s eyes reminded Reese of an eagle searching for its next meal. There was nothing casual about Garret as he released his hand. He definitely possessed the look of an undercover operator.
“Hey,” she said, “can you, when you get a chance, take the dog chow back to the kennels?”
“Sure,” he murmured, putting the lid on the pot. “I got everything ready. Just going to let the marinara sauce sit and get tasty now.”
Shay wrapped her hand around Reese’s arm. “Come on, we need to get you a room.”
Reese nodded to Garret and allowed Shay to pull him toward the hallway. Max wouldn’t leave his side. The pleasant thunk of boots against the floorboards of the wood-paneled hall, which shone gold and caramel in the sunlight, set him further at ease.
“This is my room,” Shay said, gesturing to the open door to her right. She halted. “This is one of the empty rooms right across from mine. The other one is down there on the right. Why don’t you check them out? Let me know which one you want. I have to go check the calls on the office answering machine.” She pointed to the left farther down the long hall.
“Okay,” Reese said. He lamented her hand slipping from his arm as she hurried down the hall on the right, disappearing into the office. Turning, he appreciated the sense of hominess that the ranch house exuded. The smells from the kitchen made his stomach clench with anticipation. Now, he’d be getting three square meals a day. It was nearly overwhelming to Reese as he opened the first bedroom door and stepped into it. The dog followed him in and once inside, he sat down, watching him with curiosity, thumping his big, heavy tail.
The room was large and to his surprise, there was a bathroom attached, too. There was an old brass bed with a quilt thrown over the top of it. The decor looked early 1900s to Reese as he moved to the oak dresser opposite the bed. He quickly put his few clothes into the top drawers and pushed them shut. The draperies at the window were patterned in old-fashioned red roses and green leaves on a cream background. They were open, the light from the window spilling into the room. An electric hurricane lamp sat on top of the dresser. In one corner there was a thoughtfully arranged small desk with what looked like an architect’s lamp on it, and a wooden chair.