her bare left hand.
“I’m not big on socializing. More of a bookworm, actually.”
That almost made him like her. He spent most of his evenings at home with a dog and a good book, himself. “Small cabin,” he warned.
“I’ll fit.” She gestured at her petite self as the hint of a smile crossed her face and was just as quickly gone. “I’m relocating,” she clarified, “so living in would be easier than finding a job and a place to stay, both.”
So she wasn’t going to give up. Which was fine, really; there was no reason the new hire had to be male. He just had a vision of a woman needing a lot of attention and guidance, gossiping up a blue streak, causing trouble with the veterans.
Both his mother and his boss would have scolded him for that type of prejudice.
Anyway, Kayla seemed independent and not much of a talker. The more Finn looked at her, though, the more he thought she might cause a little interest, at least, among the guys.
And if she were using... “There’s a drug test,” he said abruptly and watched her reaction.
“Not a problem.” Her response was instant and unambiguous.
Okay, then. Maybe she was a possibility.
They talked through the duties of the job—feeding and walking the dogs, some housekeeping in the offices, but mostly cleaning kennels. She had experience cleaning, references. She liked dogs. She’d done cooking, too, which wasn’t a need they had now, but they might in the future.
Now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk her into the job or talk her out of it. Something about her, some hint of self-sufficiency, made him like her, at least as much as he liked any woman. And they did need to hire someone soon. But he got the feeling there was a lot she wasn’t saying.
Would it be okay to have a woman around? He tested the notion on himself. He didn’t date, didn’t deserve to after what he’d done. That meant he spent almost no time around women his age. A nice, quiet woman might be a welcome change.
Or she might be a big complication he didn’t need.
“What’s the living situation?” she asked. “You said a cabin. Where’s it located?”
He gestured west. “There’s a row of seven cabins. Small, like I said. And a little run-down. Seeing as you’re female, we’d put you on the end of the row—that’s what we did with the one female vet who stayed here—but eventually they’ll fill up, mostly with men. Veterans with issues.”
She blanched, visibly.
He waited. From the bird feeder outside his window, a chickadee scolded. The smell of mountain sage drifted in.
“What kind of issues?” Her voice came out a little husky.
“PTSD related, mostly. Some physical disabilities, too. Anything that would cause a vet to give up hope, is how the owner of the ranch puts it. We give residents a place to get their heads together, do some physical labor and help some four-legged critters who need it. The idea is to help them get back on their feet.”
She looked away, out the window, chewing on her lower lip.
He took pity. “We don’t allow any firearms. No drugs or alcohol. And we have a couple of mental health specialists and a doctor on call. Planning on a chaplain, too.” Once we start bringing in enough money to hire one, he almost added, but didn’t. “If somebody’s problems seem too much for us to handle, we refer them elsewhere.”
“I see.” She looked thoughtful.
They should’ve put what kind of nonprofit it was in the ad, to screen out people who were scared of veterans. But the truth was, they’d limited the ad to the fewest words possible, economizing.
“I can show you around,” he said. “If you like what you see, we can talk more.”
He was pretty sure that conversation wouldn’t happen, judging by the way her attitude had changed once their focus on veterans had come up.
He hoisted himself to his feet, grabbed his cane and started toward the door.
She’d stood up to follow, but when she saw him full-length, she took a step back.
It shouldn’t surprise him. Even with the inch or so he’d lost from the spinal surgery, he was still six-four. And he’d been lifting to work off some steam. Pretty much The Incredible Hulk.
It had used to work in his favor with women, at least some of them, way back when that had mattered.
“You’re military?” she asked as he gestured for her to walk out ahead of him.
“Yep.” He waited for the fake thank you for your service.
She didn’t say it. “What branch?” she asked.
He was closing the door behind them. When he turned to answer, he saw that she’d moved ahead and was kneeling down in front of a little boy who sat on the floor of the outer office, his back against the wall, holding a small gaming device.
Finn sucked in a breath, restrained a surprised exclamation, tried to compose himself.
Kid looked to be about five. Freckle faced and towheaded.
Just like Derek.
His emotions churning, he watched her tap the boy’s chin to get his attention. Odd that such a small boy had been so quiet during the, what, half hour that they’d been talking. Derek could never have done it.
“My son, Leo,” she said, glancing up at Finn. And then, to the boy: “We’re going to walk around with Mr. Gallagher. We might have a place to stay for a bit, a tiny little house.”
The boy’s eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to speak. Then he looked over at Finn and snapped it shut. He scooted farther behind his mother.
Could the kid be afraid of his limp or his cane? Could Kayla? But if she couldn’t deal with that, or her kid couldn’t, then they needed to take themselves far away from Redemption Ranch. His problems were minor compared to some of the veterans who would soon be staying here.
And beyond that, what kind of risks would a young kid face in a place like this? The vets he wasn’t really worried about, but a little kid could be trouble around dogs—if he was too afraid of them, or not afraid enough.
No kids were going to be hurt on Finn’s watch. Never again.
“This way,” he said, his voice brusque. He’d show them around, because he had said he would. Unlike a lot of people, he didn’t retract his promises.
He touched her back to guide her out. As he felt the ridge of her spine through the shirt, she looked up at him, eyes wide and startled.
He withdrew his hand immediately, his face heating. He hadn’t meant his touch to be flirtatious, but apparently it had come off some weird way.
He could already tell this wasn’t going to work.
*
