The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) by Lauren Gilley Read Free Book Online Page A

she asked.
                  He shrugged and glanced down toward the arena, giving her a look at the precise stamp of his profile against the barn wall. He was very cute, in a scruffy, weathered sort of way. “I like horses; been wanting a place of my own for a while now.”
                  It felt like she’d touched an electric fence, the jolt that went through her. “You’d keep it a farm, then?”
                  He nodded, turning back to her with a wry half-smile. “Be looking for someone to run it, too, if you know of anybody who does that sort of thing.”
                  She didn’t want it to, but a bright spot of warmth bloomed to life in her chest. “I’m Emmie Johansen,” she said, extending a hand toward him. “Barn manager and trainer.”
                  His other hand was loaded with rings, too, and the metal was warm and smooth against her palm as he accepted her shake. “Walsh.”
     
    ~*~
     
    He was impressed. With the farm, yes, because it was gorgeous and leagues beyond the places where he’d ridden in a past life. But with little miss Emmie Johansen, too.
                  She was a tiny thing, prettier in the face than he’d guessed, with the full hips, ass, and breasts that made someone her size ultrafeminine. She was dressed for riding: black breeches with suede on the ass and inner thighs, tank top, boots that had seen lots of use. Her hair was a rich honey-shot gold, and though it was pulled back in a knot at the back of her head, he could see that it was wildly curly, little stray corkscrews loose around her summer-flushed face.
                  Older than she looked, he decided, because there was nothing young, dumb, or kid about the way she showed him around her barn. That’s what it was – it didn’t matter if someone else owned the place; this was her domain.
                  “We did away with the manure pile about three years ago,” she said, gesturing to the spreader and tractor rig parked on a concrete pad beside the round pen. “Best decision we ever made. It cut way down on the flies, and there’s no smell; Fred fertilizes the pastures on a rotation, so the grass doesn’t get burned.”
                  “Hmm,” he murmured. The only answer he’d given thus far. He was mentally calculating all of it, running figures…trying not to stare at her ass when she had her back to him.
                  Emmie folded her arms loosely, gaze landing on him, expression closing up. Cautious, not sure what sort of game he was playing, but clearly in love with the idea of the farm staying a farm. “That’s pretty much it. If there’s anything else you want to know–”
                  “How much is board?”
                  She blinked, but didn’t miss a beat. “Seven-hundred just to board; eight-fifty for board plus weekly lessons; nine-fifty to have your horse in full training.”
                  “Moneyed customers, then.”
                  Her grin was wry. “A broke girl’s gotta eat somehow.”
                  “Wouldn’t want you getting too skinny now.”
                  She started to retort, thought better of it, and her cheeks darkened with an embarrassed blush. “It’s competitive pricing,” she defended.
                  “A better bargain than Hawkshill,” he said of a farm about thirty miles east of Briar Hall. “And rumor has it you run a tighter ship than them.”
                  This time, the blush was pleased. “I do my best.”
                  He nodded. “Call your boss-man, love. I want a word with him.”
     
    ~*~
     
    “Okay, who is that, and is he really going to buy the place?” Becca asked when Emmie joined her in the tack room.
                  Through the window, Davis and Walsh were visible down the