Free The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two by Kate Morris Page B

the barn where he hooks the mare to the cross ties to remove her gear. Kelly is shocked when Hannah runs her hand over the horse’s shoulder, finding the saddle girth and cinch strap and begins tugging until she gets it free. Obviously he’s been underestimating her physical strength. Carefully, lest he earn Reagan’s wrath, he removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter.
    “Let me, Hannah,” he orders and gently moves her back two steps so that he can heft the saddle off of the horse.
    His hands rest a moment too long on her slim shoulders. Why the hell does she have to be blind? There is no way of not touching her sometimes. He wishes that she had some other handicap that didn’t require him to touch her all the damn time. Then again, he’s starting to learn that Hannah McClane is very far from being handicapped.
    The mare immediately starts prancing and whinnying to her friends that she’ll be right along to share in the mid-morning bounty of deep pasture grass and whatever it is that horses gossip about. They whinny right back to her.
    “Wait over here,” Kelly says as he leads Hannah to stand directly with her back against a stall door where she’s out of his way. Again with the touching, “Stay right here. I’ll be right back, ok?”
    “Aye, aye, captain,” she says and salutes proudly. Her salute is all kinds of fucked up, but she’s cute as hell doing it, so he ruffles the wind-blown hair on top of her head. She smiles broadly at him in response.
    He has the mare out to pasture in six seconds flat. Conveniently, Kelly tells himself that it’s because he doesn’t want to leave Hannah alone too long, when in truth, it’s because he doesn’t want to be away from her for longer than six seconds. When he returns, she is right where he left her. At least she listened. This time.
    “I just need to put this saddle and gear away. I’ll be right back again, ok?” he tells her, and she nods absent-mindedly. She has her head tilted back toward the barn roof, smiling to herself and swaying slightly.
    “Hannah? You ok?” he pauses with all the tack on his one arm.
    “Yes, I’m ok, Kelly. Are you ok?” she asks him in that soprano, Disney character voice without even glancing his way. He frowns at her but knows she can’t tell. Of course, knowing her she probably damn well can.
    “What the heck are you doing?”
    “Listening, smelling. I like the different sounds in here. It’s going to storm,” she says with absolute certainty. Sometimes she freaks him out a little, though he isn’t going to admit that to anyone, especially not her. Maybe she is touched like Grams infers.
    “I don’t think so. It’s clear as a bell out today, hot, not a cloud in the sky,” he reports to her, trying to help her not feel foolish for incorrectly predicting the weather.
    “No, it’s going to rain,” she declares with cast-iron conviction. He frowns at her again and shakes his head.
    “All right, I’ll be back in a sec,” he concedes and walks quickly to the back of the barn where the tack room is located.
    He hangs the bridle on its pre-determined hook and the saddle on its own rack to air out the underside’s thick wool padding. The plaid saddle pad and Navaho print blanket go on a different rack to allow them to dry the horse’s sweat more thoroughly. When he turns to go and retrieve Hannah, he nearly runs her down as she stands just inside the doorway of the tack room.
    “Jesus, Hannah!” he exclaims. “You startled me. How the hell did you get over here so fast? I didn’t even hear you.” She smiles at him and looks at her feet, causing her hair to fall about her face in soft cascades.
    “I just followed you. I can hear you . You aren’t exactly quiet, Kelly,” she purrs demurely and looks up again, pinning him with those strange eyes.
    “Um, all right, let’s go to the house now, ok?” he requests uneasily and takes her hand. He wants to dump her in the house and go cut lumber or pick up a