Read Online Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire by Justine Davis, Rachel Lee - Free Book Online
Authors: Justine Davis, Rachel Lee
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contacts you in any way, let me know. Then we’ll talk about what more we can do.”
He wasn’t being unreasonable, and she knew it. In fact, he was being far more helpful than most lawmen would be, she figured. After all, fifteen years had passed, and in all that time there was absolutely no indication that Richard Jackson intended any further harm to his daughter. He hadn’t even made a threat toward her. So maybe he had learned his lesson.
“Thanks, Nate. I really appreciate it.”
He spread his hands. “We’ll do more the instant there’s any indication we need to. Now how’s the rest of your life?”
For some reason she found herself telling him about Cromwell and Craig Nighthawk. Maybe she wanted to get some idea of what Nate thought of Nighthawk. Maybe she needed reassurance on that score, too. Trusting men didn’t come easily to her, but she trusted Nate Tate. How could any woman not trust a man with a beautiful, loving wife and six obviously happy daughters…not to mention grandchildren.
“He replaced the flowers, huh,” Nate said when she finished her tale. He was still smiling over her description of the sheep. “Nighthawk’s okay. I don’t think you need to worry about him. In fact, I think he might be a good neighbor to have. All his dealings that I know of have been honest and straight.”
“What about…his arrest?”
Nate shook his head. “That was a big mistake. Some folks won’t let go of it, but don’t you pay them any mind. They’d believe anything that makes another human being look bad. Hell, I’ll bet they read the supermarket tabloids and think they’re gospel!”
When she stepped out onto the street a little while later, the sun momentarily blinded her. She paused, and for an instant the world seemed to freeze. Was that Richard Jackson standing on the corner over there?
She blinked hard and looked again, but whoever it was had moved on. It couldn’t have been him. How could it be? She didn’t even remember what he looked like.
But unease followed her through the supermarket, and all the way home.
When she pulled up to her house, she was astonished to see Craig Nighthawk’s dog sitting on her front porch. Then she remembered that Guinevere was in heat. Great. How foolish of her to think that out here in the middle of nowhere this wasn’t going to be a problem.
She climbed out of her Jimmy and surveyed the situation. If she tried to get into the house right now, chances were that Mop would slip right past her and get inside. Or maybe Guin would be totally disobedient and slip outside. Either way she was probably going to wind up with some pups she didn’t want—assuming Mop didn’t hurt her dog.
Limping more than usual because of fatigue, she walked slowly up to the porch. The komondor turned to look at her, his brown eyes hardly visible beneath his thick cords of fur. His snout was dark brown and shorthaired, but the rest of him did indeed resemble a slightly dirty string mop. And he was every bit as big as Guinevere.
“Hello, Mop.”
His shaggy head cocked as he recognized his name. Well, that was promising. She didn’t have it in her heart to be angry with him. He was only being a dog, after all, and right now Guinevere was irresistible to him, a femme fatale in white-and-brown fur.
“I’m sorry, guy, but the lady is unavailable.”
Mop moved something which appeared to be a tail.
“No, I’m afraid you can’t persuade me by wagging. I’m hard-hearted, you see. Utterly implacable. Immovable.”
Mop appeared unimpressed.
“The Wicked Witch of the West has nothing on me. Trust me. I shall be very angry if Guinevere has a litter. She has registered champion bloodlines, you see.”
Mop offered a pleading groan.
“Well, I understand perfectly that you may be a prime example of your breed,” Esther told him kindly. “In fact you may come from champion bloodlines as well. But they are different lines, you see. Mop, I hate to tell you this,
He wasn’t being unreasonable, and she knew it. In fact, he was being far more helpful than most lawmen would be, she figured. After all, fifteen years had passed, and in all that time there was absolutely no indication that Richard Jackson intended any further harm to his daughter. He hadn’t even made a threat toward her. So maybe he had learned his lesson.
“Thanks, Nate. I really appreciate it.”
He spread his hands. “We’ll do more the instant there’s any indication we need to. Now how’s the rest of your life?”
For some reason she found herself telling him about Cromwell and Craig Nighthawk. Maybe she wanted to get some idea of what Nate thought of Nighthawk. Maybe she needed reassurance on that score, too. Trusting men didn’t come easily to her, but she trusted Nate Tate. How could any woman not trust a man with a beautiful, loving wife and six obviously happy daughters…not to mention grandchildren.
“He replaced the flowers, huh,” Nate said when she finished her tale. He was still smiling over her description of the sheep. “Nighthawk’s okay. I don’t think you need to worry about him. In fact, I think he might be a good neighbor to have. All his dealings that I know of have been honest and straight.”
“What about…his arrest?”
Nate shook his head. “That was a big mistake. Some folks won’t let go of it, but don’t you pay them any mind. They’d believe anything that makes another human being look bad. Hell, I’ll bet they read the supermarket tabloids and think they’re gospel!”
When she stepped out onto the street a little while later, the sun momentarily blinded her. She paused, and for an instant the world seemed to freeze. Was that Richard Jackson standing on the corner over there?
She blinked hard and looked again, but whoever it was had moved on. It couldn’t have been him. How could it be? She didn’t even remember what he looked like.
But unease followed her through the supermarket, and all the way home.
When she pulled up to her house, she was astonished to see Craig Nighthawk’s dog sitting on her front porch. Then she remembered that Guinevere was in heat. Great. How foolish of her to think that out here in the middle of nowhere this wasn’t going to be a problem.
She climbed out of her Jimmy and surveyed the situation. If she tried to get into the house right now, chances were that Mop would slip right past her and get inside. Or maybe Guin would be totally disobedient and slip outside. Either way she was probably going to wind up with some pups she didn’t want—assuming Mop didn’t hurt her dog.
Limping more than usual because of fatigue, she walked slowly up to the porch. The komondor turned to look at her, his brown eyes hardly visible beneath his thick cords of fur. His snout was dark brown and shorthaired, but the rest of him did indeed resemble a slightly dirty string mop. And he was every bit as big as Guinevere.
“Hello, Mop.”
His shaggy head cocked as he recognized his name. Well, that was promising. She didn’t have it in her heart to be angry with him. He was only being a dog, after all, and right now Guinevere was irresistible to him, a femme fatale in white-and-brown fur.
“I’m sorry, guy, but the lady is unavailable.”
Mop moved something which appeared to be a tail.
“No, I’m afraid you can’t persuade me by wagging. I’m hard-hearted, you see. Utterly implacable. Immovable.”
Mop appeared unimpressed.
“The Wicked Witch of the West has nothing on me. Trust me. I shall be very angry if Guinevere has a litter. She has registered champion bloodlines, you see.”
Mop offered a pleading groan.
“Well, I understand perfectly that you may be a prime example of your breed,” Esther told him kindly. “In fact you may come from champion bloodlines as well. But they are different lines, you see. Mop, I hate to tell you this,
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