Chapter Five
Noah felt like a fool, embarrassed that he had put Dair through all those questions regarding her amputated leg. As much as he was drawn to her, he couldn’t hire her if she couldn’t keep up with the demands of horse training. It was that simple and that complicated. If Dair was bothered by his questions, she didn’t seem to be as upset about it as he was. He knew from his own experience that sharing how he got PTSD wasn’t comfortable. And yet, he’d had to ask her to bare it all about the loss of her lower leg. It bothered him.
As Dair sat there, considering his offer for the job as an assistant trainer, she seemed calm and centered compared to how he felt. His gut was twisted in a knot.
Yet, maybe it showed her under pressure, and she’d handled it with grace. Dair would be the same with a fractious horse, too, Noah was sure.
Her beautiful light brown eyes were narrowed as she thought over his offer, and never had he wanted anyone to say yes more than her. Noah knew she needed a job, but maybe his questions about being able to ride and train had upset her even though she wasn’t showing it. Tension thrummed through him and he forced himself to sit there and try to relax. As a WMD dog handler, if he had communicated his tension or worry down the leash to his dog, the animal would have instantly picked it up, and that wouldn’t have been good. Noah was glad he could hide his real feelings and present a quiet demeanor to Dair.
“You’ll let me train from the saddle?” she asked.
Dipping his head, he said, “Absolutely.” He saw some relief in her eyes.
“How many horses are you planning on bringing in for training? I know you said you have six already.”
“If you look at saddle training on those six, that’s six hours out of your day,” he said. “I’m going to need your help elsewhere, so I can’t have you training eight hours a day. From where I’m sitting, six is the max. Are you okay with that number?” Noah knew her income would be from horse training, and she had to have enough to pay herself as well as the ranch, on a monthly basis. At six horses a day, that would be doable. Noah could feel her thinking. He liked her questions; they showed she was engaged with the possibility of working under his direction.
Rubbing her palms down the sides of her jeans, she said, “Yes, I’ d like to work with you, Noah. I think I can contribute in a lot of ways other than just training horses.” She smiled a little and straightened, holding up her hands. “I’m pretty good at cleaning stalls, too.”
Frowning, he said, “I’m hoping Shay will find another vet who can do that. Both of us need to be released from normal barn-cleaning duties to manage the arena and people coming to ride their horses in it. Never mind, we have training to do.”
“It looks like a pretty big job,” she agreed. “But I can help. When I was at Henry’s farm, I would go down and help the guys clean out stalls.” She patted her leg. “This doesn’t stop me from doing hard physical labor. So don’t treat me like I’m fragile. Okay?”
Shrugging, Noah gave her an apologetic look. “I’m feeling pretty ignorant about amputees in general, Dair. I’m sorry I had to ask you those questions, but I just didn’t know what you could or couldn’t do with your leg.”
“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging. “How could you know? Not many people have been around an amputee.”
“I know.” He sighed, slowly unwinding and standing, pulling his gloves from his back pocket. “But I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed.”
She stood, dusting off her rear. “Don’t ever be afraid to talk to me about my leg, okay?”
Nodding, he lifted his hat, pushed his fingers through his hair, and settled it back on his head. “I’ll try. It’s personal, you know? I wouldn’t want anyone poking around in my combat issues, and that’s what it is for you, too.”
She walked with him out of the tack room and into the aisleway. “Listen, when you lose a limb, you get used to it. At the hospital, the personnel there treated people like me every day. I’m accustomed to talking about it. It’s not an embarrassment. Okay?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, pulling on his gloves. He glanced at his watch. “If you want, come with me to my house and I’ll throw some sandwiches together for us. It’s noon, and you’ve got to be as hungry as I am.”
“Shay said if you hired me that I’d be assigned to your house?”
“Yes. I’ll show you your bedroom after we eat. Come on.”
* * *
Dair tried to hold on to the bubbling joy within her. She had a job! Her step felt lighter as they walked over to Noah’s pickup. The sun was shining brightly, the sky clearing, becoming a light blue vault above them as she climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle.
This time, Noah didn’t try to help her. She could see him struggling to treat her as if she weren’t a bird with a broken wing, and she wasn’t. Still, her heart cracked open a bit more because he cared. There was a lot of protectiveness in the man, but she didn’t find that a minus, but a plus. Dair didn’t want Noah to see her as injured and not whole. At least, not job-wise. He had to have a hundred percent belief she could do the jobs asked of her, regardless of whether she had two real legs under her or not. He seemed highly uncomfortable asking about it, but she hoped, over time, it would become a non-issue.
When Noah parked at the single-story home, she saw Garret heading into his house. He raised his hand in hello before disappearing inside. She followed Noah up the shoveled concrete sidewalk, and he opened the door for her. Knowing military men were taught to do such things for women, she nodded her thanks and moved past him. She wasn’t going to make an issue out of it. And it was kind of nice, she had to admit. Inside the mudroom, she saw pegs to hang jackets and hats. She appreciated the wooden bench on one side of the red tiled floor. The walls were a pale beige, but the color brightened the area.
Noah sat down next to her, pulling off his muddy, wet cowboy boots. “When we get you moved in here, if you have another pair of dry shoes, you might want to put them over there where I keep mine.”
“I’ve got a second pair,” she assured him, “but I can’t pull off the one on my prosthesis.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “Sorry . . . I didn’t think about that.”
She nodded and took a roll of paper towels, tearing off a few to wipe off the bottom of her sneakers. “I can’t take off my right tennis shoe or I’ll be out of balance, because the shoe on my prosthesis has to stay on.”
“No problem,” he muttered, embarrassed. Placing his boots aside, he leaned over, grabbed a clean, dry pair of boots, and tugged them on. “We’ll make it work however it’s best for you, Dair.”
She could feel him scrambling again, feel him inwardly chastising himself for not thinking about her needs under the circumstances. “You couldn’t know,” she said softly, finishing cleaning the mud off the treads. Dropping the paper into a nearby wastebasket, she stood and smoothed her jeans.
Standing, he held her gaze. “I imagine this has caused you all kinds of changes in a routine I take for granted.”
Touched by his sensitivity and the awareness of her issues, she smiled faintly. “Yes, it turned my world upside down. Having two legs, having an ankle that would turn and twist, or my foot bending and flexing as I walked, it never entered my mind that one day I wouldn’t.” She gestured to her left foot. “There’s prosthetics out there that enable someone like me to be more adapted to uneven ground, but they cost a heck of a lot of money and it’s not covered by my medical insurance.”
“Your prosthetic foot doesn’t bend or flex?”
She heard the concern in his voice and saw the care in his gray eyes. It did something warm to Dair, and she felt more emotional than normal. Noah was trying to be kind and aware of her situation, and she appreciated that. It wasn’t that he was smothering her. He was grappling to understand her world. “No, not as much as I’d like. But I compensate for it.”
Noah gestured for her to go into the kitchen. “How do you do that?”
“I pay attention to the uneven ground ahead of me, and my back and legs do the rest of the compensation.” The kitchen was painted a light blue, with white and blue curtains at the end of a long row of windows at the sink and counter. The amount of light made the large, homey-looking kitchen bright and lively. Dair stood just inside it, appreciating its warmth and how comfortable it felt to her. Noah moved up to her shoulder.
“What do you think? Do you like it?”
She smiled a little. “Gas stove. That’s great. I cook. Do you?” She lifted her chin, catching his mirthful gaze. His mouth was a wonderful part of him. and she felt something stir deep within her. Although Noah was quiet and appeared to be a type B sort of person, Dair knew he wasn’t. She could feel that competitiveness within him, although it was well cloaked.
“I work at it,” he said, chuckling. “Have a seat at the table. I have some leftover tuna in the fridge. You okay with a sandwich?”
“Sure, I like tuna sandwiches,” she said, “but can I help?”
“Nah, sit down. We’ll get all this sorted out in the coming weeks.”
The rectangular table looked to be made out of golden-brown maple. She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, watching him go to work in the kitchen. He wore an orange, blue, and white plaid flannel long-sleeved shirt, the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders. Noah was lean but built tight and hard, which was typical of wranglers she knew in the past. She liked that he had slightly bowed legs, telling her he rode a lot.
“Want coffee?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yes, please.”
He reached into the fridge. “I got sweet pickles.”
“Always go good with tuna. Sure.”
He pulled out the jar, setting it on the white marble counter that had black lines through it. “Chips?”
“Roger that.” And she smiled when he did. Falling into military lingo was so much a part of her life. Their life.
“Isn’t it nice to be able to talk in military speak?” Noah set the bowl of tuna on the counter.
“Sure is.” She watched him quickly wash his hands in the sink and then cobble the sandwiches together. The ceramic plates were clean, bright colors, and soon he brought two of them over to the table. “It’s nice to be waited on,” she told him, taking her plate, their fingers briefly touching, “but I could have gotten mugs and poured our coffee for us.” She liked the idea of living with this man. But another part of her wondered about it because she was so drawn to Noah. And that kiss . . .
“Let me spoil you a little today.”
The look in his eyes was more than just kindness. There was something else behind it, but Dair couldn’t discern what it might be. “I’m not used to being spoiled at all. Where I grew up, everyone worked hard seven days a week.”
He poured coffee into the mugs and brought them to the table. After sliding one into her hands, he sat down at her right elbow. “I guess it’s my upbringing,” he admitted, pushing the open bag of Fritos her way. “My mother was insistent that I learn to be a gentleman toward a lady. And of course, in the military, that’s ingrained in me, too.”
“Military men are a throwback to an age where they were expected to open doors for women, treated them like they were fragile and needed to be protected,” she agreed drily.
“I know the military is moving to women combat slots, but I’d have problems with it,” he admitted between bites. “Not that the women who do it aren’t capable. It’s just what’s ingrained in me from my family teaching me differently.”
“We’re in a time and place where women and their roles are changing pretty quickly,” she agreed. “This is a good sandwich, Noah.” She saw ruddiness come to his cheeks and he had an endearingly bashful expression. It occurred to Dair that Noah rarely received compliments.
“Thanks. I’m not a very good cook, and I’m limited to just a few dishes. If you want a chef, wait until tomorrow when Garret makes our Sunday afternoon supper. You’ll come to look forward to his cooking every weekend, believe me. All of us do.”
She smiled. “Well, I think for a guy, you’re doing okay with tuna sandwiches.” Dair saw color deepen in his cheeks. Almost like a terribly shy little boy who was told that he was wonderful. What kind of family did he have? She had a lot of questions about him, but tempered her curiosity.
“At least I won’t kill you.”
She laughed outright, seeing the sour grin hover on his mouth and the amusement dancing in his gray eyes. “That’s good to know.”
“Generally speaking, when there’s two of us in the house, we split up everything, from cleaning to cooking and washing clothes.”
“That’s fair,” she agreed. “How do you want to do it? Me cook for a week and then trade off with you?”
“Whatever works for you, Dair. When Kira first came here, she was assigned to Garret’s home and they traded off weekly. That way, when groceries were bought, we had everything we needed for that week.” He shrugged. “I’m open to whatever you’re comfortable with.” And then added, “I’m really looking forward to someone else doing the cooking. As I said, not much of a selection: hot dogs, hamburgers, and stuff like that. Garret makes an incredible dinner, and that’s when I get something other than my own attempts at cooking.”
She chuckled. “Okay, I get it. I’ve been in my mother’s kitchen from the time my head reached the kitchen counter. Is there anything you don’t like to eat?”
“I hate organ meats—liver, heart, and kidneys. My dad is a hunter and what he killed, we ate growing up. I liked the venison from the deer and rabbit, but I couldn’t stomach the other parts.”
She grinned. “I grew up on wild meat, too. But I love the organs. My mom used to make a stew out of them.”
Groaning, Noah said, “If you want them, that’s fine, but I’m not eating them. I can always throw together my perennial favorite: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“Oh,” she deadpanned, picking up a sweet pickle, “I think I can live without those things. I hope to drive to Laramie and visit my family from time to time, and I’m sure I’ll get my fill over there.” She saw relief come to his expression and appreciated that his game face had left the moment he was done interviewing her. Dair understood why. And she knew WMD dog handlers had to have the ability not to translate their real emotional state down the leash to their dog. In this case, he was dealing with her in a similar way, and that was fine with her. But here, in the house, it looked like he relaxed and showed his real self, warts and all.
“Good to know.”
“What else don’t you like to eat?”
“I’m pretty easy on everything else. Really.”
Her lips twitched. “Okay. Guess I’ll find out as I go along. I’m half Comanche and I was raised on wild foods, greens and herbs. My grandmother Rainbow would pick things such as dandelion greens and drive to my mom’s home and leave a bunch on the drain board for us to steam for dinner at night. Stuff like that.”
“Hmmm, I’ve never had dandelion greens.”
“Or watercress in salads?” She saw him give her a wary look. “Nope, you’ve never tasted them, I guess?”
“No. My mom shopped at the Driggs grocery store.”
She withheld her laugh. “Okay, you’re a drugstore cowboy. I get it, Noah. And I’ll make things you can eat. Fair enough?”
“Yeah . . . thanks. Limited palate and all, huh?”
“You have other nice qualities about you that more than make up for it,” she murmured, meaning it. Again, that ruddiness in his cheeks deepened for a moment. Did he always blush like this? Dair didn’t know and wasn’t about to embarrass him further by asking.
“So,” Noah said, “tell me about how your physical body adjusts to wearing that prosthesis. You said you compensated for it since it wouldn’t move in the same way a real foot would.”
Feeling his earnest desire to understand, she said, “When I’m doing heavy-duty physical work, by the end of the day, the bottom of my residual leg is aching. The socket is very well padded and custom built, but a lot of jarring downward on it causes soreness. Because my mechanical foot doesn’t absorb shock the way a real one can, the energy moves up my prosthesis to my residual leg.”
“What do you do about the soreness? Does it go away after a night’s sleep?”
“Depends,” she admitted, finishing off her sandwich. “I love baths, but it’s tough for me to climb in and out of one without a frame to grab onto. So, in a shower, I just stand under hot water, lean back and let the water fall on that leg. The moist heat takes out the soreness pretty fast.”
Nodding, he said, “I see.”
Tilting her head, she felt him ruminating about something, but he wasn’t saying what it was.
“Each bedroom has a bathroom,” he said, “and there’s a shower and a bathtub in each one; it’s nice to have a choice.”
“It is,” she agreed. There was turbulence in his eyes. Beginning to realize Noah thought a lot but said little, she wondered if there would come a time when she could ask questions and get him to open up.
“Do you get a sore back?” Noah wondered.
Groaning, she said, “I don’t know of anyone, man or woman, who has a leg prosthetic and doesn’t have lower-back muscle soreness. The prosthesis just doesn’t behave like a real leg would, and again, that energy is transferred upward to the hips and spinal column.”
“When you were out at Henry’s farm, did riding a horse make your back sore?”
“Never. Riding always helps because my legs are off the ground and the horse’s legs are doing the work instead.”
“That’s good,” Noah said, finishing his sandwich and closing the bag of Fritos. “So what does make your back sore?”
“Oh, sometimes when I’m not paying strict attention over uneven ground, I can trip, almost fall. Or”—she grimaced—“I’ll fall. I’ve learned when that happens, how to roll and not injure my left leg in the process, because I could.”
“What about cleaning out stalls?”
“I cleaned stalls at Henry’s place because he refused to charge me for the training his dressage instructor gave me. I wanted to pay him back somehow, for his generosity to me. I would clean about ten stalls a day on the weekends. Then, I’d get some lower-back achiness if I did too many.”
“Anyone would if they’re shoveling horse manure and shavings or straw for that many stalls.”
“Well,” she said with a grin, “that’s true. But again, my left knee and my leg in the socket, take brutal, constant stress.”
“And that energy is again moved up to your lower spine and hips?”
“Right. Humans are built such that their spinal column is primary to everything they do. The hips become our balance point. I never realized just how much until I got wounded. But I do now.”
Shaking his head, Noah muttered, “I’m really sorry this happened to you, Dair.”
“Hey, don’t pity me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“It sounded like it, Noah. Treat me as if I don’t have a prosthesis, okay? Pity is something I can’t handle.” She saw him move uncomfortably and then he grabbed the Fritos and the empty plates, heading for the kitchen. Okay, she sounded a bit defensive about it. Dammit. And there was no way to fix this. He was going to have to adjust to her condition whether either of them liked it or not.
Dair wondered if he saw her as weaker than the normal human being. Most people did if they saw someone with a prosthesis. Saw them as less than whole. Mouth tightening, she decided to sit on her thoughts. Noah was trying to understand, was all. Nothing more, her gut told her.
He came back over with the coffeepot and refilled their mugs. “I’ve got a lot to learn, Dair. Keep teaching me, okay?” He lifted his head, holding her stare.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I got defensive. I can’t stand people feeling sorry for me. I’ve worked damned hard to be able to do what everyone else does. And I can.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he said. “Want some dessert? I made brownies a couple of nights ago.”
She brightened. “You made brownies?”
“Well,” he hedged with a grimace, “it’s a box mix, nothing fancy.”
“That counts,” she said. “Sure, I’d love one.” She saw him lose that darkness in his eyes. Dair wanted to get around this uncomfortable moment with him, too. “Do they have nuts in them?” she asked, hopeful.
“Yeah, I put black walnuts in them. Shay has three trees and she picks them every fall. They weren’t in the mix, but I decided to add them because she said she always did. She’s helped me expand the list of foods I can prepare.”
“Sounds great.” All the upset she saw in Noah’s face over their previous discussion was gone. Dair was learning a lot about him just through his body language, voice tone, and his facial expressions. She’d been trained to do this because as a dog handler, she had to be excruciatingly aware of her dog’s slightest change. And dogs didn’t speak English. If she translated her worry, tension, or anger in other ways to her dog, it would distract him. Now, she was glad she had that training because reading Noah’s face was helpful to her. He seemed happy now, and she felt the brownies were a peace offering he wanted to share with her. It spoke to his wanting her to be a part of his team and that was a good sign, too.
Bringing the pan of brownies over, he set a small plate in front of her. “I think I overbaked these. They’re a little hard. Bite carefully. I don’t want you to break a tooth on one of them.” He sat down.
Taking one large square, Dair could feel how hard it was. At least the guy was trying. “Did your mom ever force you into the kitchen to learn to cook?” She nibbled on the hard brownie. It was going to take some work to soften it up in order to eat it, but it tasted fine. Maybe dunk it for thirty seconds in some hot coffee? She didn’t want to embarrass him like that.
“Can you tell she didn’t?” He took one of the brownies and clunked it on the napkin. “They’re hard as rocks.”
“But they’re edible, Noah. That’s all that counts and they aren’t burned. You know you can soften them in a glass of milk, tea, or coffee.” She could see he was apologizing for them, but he didn’t need to. “I don’t know about you, but my mom would send me a tin of cookies over to Afghanistan. And they were always hard as rocks by the time they arrived because they took so long to get there, and it was so damned hot in the summer. I dipped them in a tin cup of hot coffee and ate every one of them.” She smiled fondly. “And I always gave Zeus, my WMD dog, one of them, too, if it didn’t have chocolate in it. He never got brownies. But she’d send me over sugar cookies and blondies, which he loved as much as I did.”
“Bet he thought it was a bone like this one.” Noah grinned, holding up his pitiful looking, hardened brownie.
Laughing a little, Dair nodded. “Yeah, he probably thought it was a chew toy or something. My mom knew Zeus couldn’t have chocolate brownies, and she’d always add a rawhide bone for him to chew on instead, and he loved it. I’m used to rock-hard cookies, so don’t worry about your brownies here. I’ll eat whatever you give me. They’re good.”
“Are you always this easy to please?”
She raised a brow. “Pretty much. Why?”
“That’s a good trait to have.” Gesturing, he said, “Soon enough, unfortunately, you’re going to meet Shay’s father, Ray Crawford. And he’s anything but easygoing. Shay did warn you about him?”
“Only that he is an alcoholic and he lives in the last house on this row of houses. Why?”
“Well, he had a stroke two years ago. In the will he wrote—and this was when Shay was in the military, so she had no idea he’d written one—it said that if he became incapacitated for any reason, that she would become the legal owner of the Bar C. Actually, she was already the legal owner of the Bar C because her mother willed it to her, not him. He always said he owned it, but he didn’t.”
“Maybe male pride? She mentioned her father had a stroke, and she got an honorable hardship discharge and came home and took over.”
“Right.” Noah’s dark brows fell as he nibbled on the brownie. “What you may not know is that Crawford is working hard to overcome his stroke condition, which has partially paralyzed his left side. He was wheelchair bound, but then when Shay had the arena built, along with these four homes, he wanted to leave the nursing home in Jackson Hole and live on the ranch. He made it known he wanted to pick up the reins of the ranch once more if he got strong once again.”
“But,” Dair said, “Shay said he’s an alcoholic.”
“Yeah, a really nasty drunk,” Noah muttered, shaking his head. He searched her eyes. “He’s a hateful, angry, abusive bastard. And you need to stay as far away from him as you can, Dair. He’s not nice to anyone. Kira, Garret’s wife, took care of him for a while, making him food to eat, cleaning his house, and stuff like that. But he got so nasty, she refused to work for him. That was when Ray had a screaming match with Shay and Reese. He told both of them that he was going to take the Bar C back because he didn’t like the way she was running it.”
“Oh, no,” Dair whispered. “I didn’t know this.”
“Well, I’m sure Shay was waiting to see if I was going to hire you before she aired any dirty laundry or the skeletons in her family closet. It’s none of anyone’s business, but Shay has always treated the wranglers like her real family, and she’s honest and open about the issue. Plus, Reese, who married her, is now the shield protecting poor Shay from her rabid father.”
“There’s bad blood in every family, I guess,” Dair said quietly, holding his turbulent stare. She felt a sense of protectiveness emanating strongly from Noah. “Has Ray taken legal action yet?”
“Not yet. Reese has a lawyer, though. There was a blow-up with Kira a while ago and Reese had had enough of Crawford going after everyone. Garret and him took him to a condo in town, rented it for him and told him not to come back to the ranch. But Ray got a lawyer and without going into a major legal battle with him, he’s returned back to his house here on the ranch. It’s not a happy situation for anyone and Crawford refuses to leave. Reese is working at mounting a defense because they know Crawford won’t stand down. The guy can walk pretty well, now. He’s still weak on his left side, but he’s at the gym every day, has hired a trainer, and he’s getting better and better. What he wants to do is sue Shay and Reese to get the Bar C back. Crawford wants to be able to walk into court looking fully healed from his stroke, no longer needing a wheelchair, crutches, or a walker in order to get around. That would prove to the judge sitting on the case, that he’s fully capable of running his ranch.”
Dair’s stomach went into free fall. “And if he did such a thing and won? What would he do with Shay and Reese?”
Snorting, Noah muttered, “Crawford has already told them he’d permanently kick them off the ranch. But the deal is that Shay’s mother’s will entitles Shay to win any case that Crawford tries to mount against them. It’s a lot of time, money, and stress for Reese and her.”
Sorrow flowed through Dair. “Poor Shay . . .”
Noah reached out, tapping her forearm. “Crawford has made it his business to hunt down every wrangler on this ranch and tell them to his or her face that when he gets the Bar C back, they’re fired. He hates military vets. He thinks we’re the dirt of the earth, and he’ll call you other names if he gets within earshot of you, Dair. You need to avoid him at all costs.” His voice deepening with concern, his fingers resting on her arm, he said, “He’s going to go after you because you have a prosthesis. I worry about that, Dair. Everyone else around here is wounded just as much as you, only it’s not so physically obvious. We all have PTSD pretty bad. But those are what I call internal, invisible wounds, not like yours.” He forced himself to remove his hand from her arm. “I’ll try to protect you from Ray, but a situation may come up in the future when I’m not around to take him on. And you’ll have to defend yourself.”
“He’s that bad?” Dair wanted Noah’s roughened hand to remain on her arm. His touch was welcome, and her flesh beneath her tee tingled pleasantly. Not fooling herself, she knew he’d done it out of worry and concern for her. It wasn’t about lust or anything else, judging from the concern in his gaze.
“That bad. If he does find and corner you? Leave. Don’t speak to the bastard. Talking to him only en-flames him, and he might lose his control. Reese is this close”—he held up two fingers with a quarter inch of daylight between them—“to kicking him off the Bar C for good. He’s already spoken to the lawyer about having a restraining order issued to keep Ray off the property, but Shay is against it. She’s the daughter caught in the middle. But she doesn’t want to see us flayed alive under Crawford’s anger and filthy mouth, either. She’s being torn in half by her father.”
“Whew,” Dair murmured, “that’s stressful for everyone. I feel sorry for Shay and Reese, though.”
“I wanted to clue you in because you need to know this before you take this job, Dair. Crawford is a burr under everyone’s saddle around here. If there was a legal suit, it would take more than two or three years to get to court, but still, you need to know that your job isn’t as secure as you might want. Okay?”