Free The Skeleton King (Dartmoor Book 3) by Lauren Gilley

breath and turned to greet the farm owner.
     
    ~*~
     
    “Lean Dog. You mean, like, the Lean Dogs? The biker dudes with all the leather and all the riding together and that stuff?” Becca asked.
                  “That would be them, yeah,” Emmie said, adding a scoop of electrolyte granules to the next bucket in line.
                  Walsh was still up at the house with Davis, it had been almost two hours now. Emmie had no idea if that boded well for negotiations – or if she wanted them to go well in the first place.
                  “I’m confused,” Becca said as she scooped Farrier’s Formula into the proper buckets. “Is he gonna kick us all out and use the barn as a motorcycle garage?”
                  “He says he wants to keep it running as is,” Emmie said, frowning to herself. “Says he likes horses.”
                  “Is he lying?”
                  “No idea.”
                  “God, I hope he buys it,” Becca said. “I so don’t want to leave.”
                  Emmie felt agreement wasn’t necessary.
                  A quick rap at the doorjamb brought her head around, and she was surprised to find Amy Richards lingering in the threshold. “Em, can we talk?” she asked, expression almost hesitant.
                  “Uh…”
                  “I’ll go feed,” Becca said, stacking up the buckets.
                  “Thanks.” Emmie dusted the orange granules off her hands. “Coffee?” she asked her mentor, and they headed for the office.
     
    ~*~
     
    Though doubtless a maid service came to clean the house, Davis Richards didn’t have a housekeeper or homecare worker. He made his own coffee in his massive, stainless-everything kitchen, poured it, and invited Walsh out onto the wraparound porch where they settled into white rocking chairs, overlooking the barn and arenas below. The silence stayed companionable for a while, and then filled up with expectation.
                  “That’s a nice Harley you’ve got down there,” Richards said in the deep, gruff voice that seemed to leave his throat with a lurch, like he was trying to surprise whoever he was talking to. “I didn’t know you Lean Dogs could afford bikes that nice.”
                  Walsh twisted his mouth in a wry non-smile. “You know I’m a Dog, then.”
                  “I asked around. Talked to a buddy who knows there’s somebody named Walsh who rides with that crew.” He glanced over with shrewd assessment. “Figure there’s not too many British bikers around here named Kingston Walsh.”
                  “You figured right.”
                  He made a phlegmy, old-man sound in the back of his throat. “So what’s going on here? The MC wants to buy my farm? Why? Y’all need another crack house? A brothel? Gonna start selling turns with horses?”
                  Walsh couldn’t suppress a low, dry laugh. “No, sir. That we’re not doing.” He added, “This isn’t for the club. Not to be used the way you’re thinking.”
                  “But a man like you can’t afford a place like this. Not alone.”
                  “You’re right, I can’t.” Walsh shrugged. “I have the club’s support behind me. We’re a family – we support each other. Just like you,” he said with a pointed stare that made the man scoot back in his chair. “But the plan is for Briar Hall to keep functioning as a boarding and training barn.”
                  “Why?” Richards demanded.
                  “It benefits our interests to keep high-density housing developments to a minimum.”
                  The old man snorted. “This isn’t a small town, Mr. Walsh.”
                  “You’re right. But there’s no