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That evening as Jake, Hank and a few of the other hands sat around the dinner table, Hank pushed back from the table. “Ain’t right, Jake.” “It was her choice to settle in the barn. She said she wanted to stay close to the stallion. What would you have me do?” Jake shrugged. “What about the chains?” Hank felt his expression harden. “That were the army and not me, Hank, and you know it as well as I do.” Jake’s wife, Molly, headed for the door with a plate she had dished up for the Whisperer. Hank stood up and took it. “Let me.” He smiled the smile that made the women around those parts wonder just why he remained running free. As Hank reached the doorway, his large muscular form dominating it, he looked back at Jake. “You know it ain’t right.” Jake raised an eyebrow, but this time, no smile accompanied it. “You best remember how things are before you find yourself between a rock and the Colonel.” Hank didn’t much care for the way Jake put that. Jake knew darn well Hank and Colonel Roberts didn’t like each other. It seemed to Hank the Colonel’s horse had more sense than the man. Only reason he could see for Roberts having that kind of authority lay in the fact the Colonel’s brother had been elected to Congress. Jake was right about one thing. Crossing the Colonel usually ended in trouble for someone. But then trouble had its good points, Hank thought, as he stepped out onto the porch. A full moon lit the path to the barn, its light filtering into the old building, laying a soft glow on the Whisperer. Her head tilted to one side, she looked lost in watching the stallion shifting around in the corral, the relaxed posture stood in stark contrast to the shackle around the young woman’s ankle and its chain fastened to the support post by the stall. Hank cleared his throat. “I already knew you were there,” she said, her eyes staying on the stallion. “What is it you want?” 3
Copyright 2004-2006 by H.H. Self. All rights reserved. last updated November, 2007
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