Free Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) by Rebecca Carey Lyles

wear hats with neck straps.”
    Kate felt her face warming as she thought of her recently purchased clothing. Shopping for something to replace prison orange had been an exciting adventure for her and Amy. At least her hat didn’t tie under her chin.
    Trisha reached for her juice. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your face? It must hurt.”
    Kate wrinkled her nose. She should have known there’d be questions. “I tripped on the path last night.” She showed them her palms. “I’m sore, but nothing’s broken.”
    As the girls chattered, Kate sensed the curious glances of the men at nearby tables. How to make a great first impression. Not only was she the odd duck from the East Coast, she looked like she’d ridden a motorcycle through a sandstorm.
    Trisha gave her an overview of life at the ranch. “Everybody pitches in and does whatever needs to be done. Right, Bethany?”
    “Yeah. We’re assigned certain duties for the day, but if there’s a big trail ride coming up and the wranglers need help, we all saddle horses and help the guests mount. Or, if we get behind on cabin cleaning, the entire crew cleans cabins.”
    Trisha nodded. “Mrs. D says we’re a team. It won’t take you long to get the hang of it.”
    “I hope I catch on fast.” Kate set her fork on her plate. “Ranching is all new to me.”
    “You’ll do fine. It was new to us last year.”
    Bethany buttered a second biscuit. “We were town girls who didn’t know a thing about ranching. But we learned fast, didn’t we, Trish?”
    Trisha, who was staring at the dining room entrance, didn’t respond. The room quieted, and others turned toward the doorway. “Can you believe it, Beth?” Trisha lowered her voice to a whisper. “They must have, like, let him out early.”
    Kate studied the dark-haired young man. Head down, he shuffled toward the serving window. He appeared to be Hispanic, maybe sixteen-years old, of medium-to-slight build. Similar to the others, he was dressed in jeans, boots and a long-sleeved work shirt.
    She turned to the girls. “Is he an employee?”
    “Mrs. D is such a softie.” Bethany’s voice was barely above a murmur. “She must have hired him again. Manuel worked here last summer—until he was sent to reform school, that is.” She scraped her chair back. “We’ll tell you about him later.”
    Trisha stood. “We’d better get busy. We’re supposed to clean stalls this morning.”
    The girls took their dishes to the kitchen and left. The men in the room began to converse again in low tones. Kate drank her coffee, which was stronger than what she was used to. But maybe it would help her stay awake after so few hours of sleep.
    She watched Manuel find a seat at the far end of a mostly empty table. Whatever he did, it couldn’t be any worse than anything she’d done. And his remorse was obvious. After a few years in the pen, it was easy to tell the difference between those who were sorry for their wrongdoing and those who were not—the Jerry Ramseys of the world.
    She thought about the events of the previous evening. After Mike opened the bathroom door and nailed boards across the window, she’d washed her wounds and applied the first-aid cream his mom sent over. She smiled. The memory of Mike’s touch and his earnest concern for her well-being made her insides do somersaults. But …
    She sighed. He’d been kind last night. Nothing more, nothing less. Plus, he was a man, and she had yet to meet a man she could trust, other than her dad and Uncle Dean. It was her uncle’s hunting knife she’d placed under her pillow last night, fully aware she hadn’t seen the last of her former lover.
    Kate stood, picked up her dishes and carried them to the kitchen, where she placed them in a basin filled with soapy water and started toward the back door.
    “Where in the blazes do you think you’re going?”
    She swiveled to face Cyrus, who blocked the opening between the kitchen and the dining room.