Not close enough to really dig into her eyes to ferret out what he sensed, Gray saw her mouth was full. Even lush. Brushed with pink lipstick. Her cheekbones were high. He wondered if she had Native American blood in her. There was keen intelligence in Skylar’s eyes, and Gray applauded that. Iris wouldn’t hire someone for the wildlife center who didn’t have a lot on the ball. His heart stirred for the first time in two years. What was it about this woman that was making him feel once again?
Gray rubbed his recently shaved chin. Skylar Pascal dressed conservatively. Even her footwear showed that. She wore no heels, just commonsense white leather shoes. Sunlight glinted off her plain gold earrings and a practical watch wrapped around her slender right wrist. He liked the way her hair glinted with red, brown and blond highlights as the early-morning sunlight slanted across the narrow valley. His fingers positively itched to tunnel through that shining, thick mass.
Gray turned away, snorting to himself. He headed down the path toward the one-story redbrick building not far away. The sign above the two main double glass doors read: Elk Horn Wildlife Center. He’d helped lay those bricks to create the building as well as the sidewalk he traversed. Glad to have his black nylon goose-down jacket on, he saw his breath turn white in the freezing air. The sky was a light blue, cloudless, and he loved this quiet time of the day.
His heart turned back to Skylar Pascal. Who was she? Iris had her résumé on her desk, but hadn’t offered it to him. She’d interviewed ten people so far, and none had met her criteria. Iris was in her seventies and knew what she wanted.
She’d single-handedly built the Elk Horn into one of the most economically successful ranches in the valley. Iris was like a sweet, silver-haired grandmother to him. That nurturing exuded from her. Iris and her second husband, Timothy, along with her son, Rudd, and the rest of her family, ran the ranch.
Halting, Gray partly turned to see Skylar Pascal disappearing inside the office door. He wondered obliquely how her interview would fare with Iris Mason.
Iris had the skill of a SEAL when it came to ferreting out a person and looking behind their game face. That was one of the many things Gray liked about the woman. She saw far and deep into a person. She’d seen him, and he hadn’t tried to hide who and what he was. He’d been a wounded military contractor who had lost his wife to Russian mafia drug runners in Peru two years ago. He’d been flown home physically wounded and emotionally devastated by the experience. And when he’d interviewed with Iris, she’d seen him, warts and all. Every question she’d asked, Gray answered truthfully and without hesitation. Iris liked his honesty. And she’d hired him on the spot.
Gray wondered what Iris would think of Skylar Pascal. She appeared elegant, beautiful and confident to him. But he knew from his twenty-nine years of living that looks were deceiving. Iris had a hunting-dog nose for people, for their foibles, their weaknesses and their strengths. She’d certainly dismantled him in a hurry during his interview. But Gray hadn’t been threatened by Iris or her questions. And he had been a SEAL where one’s honor, never telling a lie, worked in his favor during that two-hour interview with Iris.
As he wandered toward the center, Gray found himself wishing that Skylar Pascal would pass the test. He didn’t know why. He really had wanted a male assistant, not a woman. But his desire was based upon a very brutal experience that would live with him until the day he died.
Iris had been rather upbeat about this woman coming in for the interview. She was an R.N., and Iris wanted someone with that degree here at the ranch. He found it synchronistic Julia had been an R.N., too. Shrugging, he put it all out of his mind. He had no say in who Iris hired or fired. He was just grateful she’d hired him because in doing so, Iris had given him his life back whether she knew it or not.
* * *
“THANKS FOR COMING,” Iris said, gesturing for Skylar to sit down in front of her desk after shaking her hand. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
Sky sat down, placing the purse in her lap. Her heart was beating so hard she wondered if the older woman could hear it. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Just ate?” Iris asked, smiling briefly as she sat down.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Sky had had coffee and some toast. It was all her tense, tight stomach would hold. When she got nervous like this, if she ate too much, she’d get sick. Not what she wanted to happen this morning.
Iris tilted her head and studied the woman. “Ma’am?” She tapped the résumé beneath her hand. “Must be your Navy training coming out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sky murmured. She liked the maternal energy she felt around Iris Mason. The elder was about five feet five inches tall, with merry-looking blue eyes that missed nothing. Her silver hair was up in an askew knot on the top of her head. On the corner of the desk was a beat-up straw hat that she probably wore when outside.
“You don’t need to call me ‘ma’am.’ Do you like to be called Skylar?”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, most people call me Sky.”
Iris nodded. “Pretty name, either way.” She frowned and went over her résumé. At certain points, Iris had a red circle next to the item. “You were in the Navy after you graduated from college. What pushed you that direction, Sky?”
“My father had been in the Marine Corps for four years. He always talked enthusiastically about the military and how it made him a man.” She shrugged, her hands damp on her purse. “I loved all his stories about the Marine Corps. I thought it would be a good fit.” Sky tried to keep her voice low and even. Inwardly, she was taut with anxiety. Luckily, there were lots of windows and light around her. Sky couldn’t stand closed-in places. It would send her into a full-blown panic attack. Or a dreaded flashback.
“So you did this out of duty to your country?”
“I wanted to be of service. My specialty is emergency-room medicine. I thought I could be of more help at the front lines.” She shrugged a little shyly. “Maybe save some lives...”
Nodding, Iris said, “I like people who like to serve. Here on our ranch, we get six dude-ranch families in every week from June first to September first. I like people who want to help others.” She squinted her eyes and studied Sky. “Did you get that service gene from your mother or your father?”
Sky tried to smile. “My mother.”
“Tell me about her.”
Sky felt suddenly exposed. Normally, interviews were straightforward and about only her job. Iris, however, seemed to have another agenda. Why? “My mother, Balin, is a full-blood Cheyenne. From the time I could remember, she taught me about generosity, being accountable and helping others. She has always been my role model.”
Iris nodded. “Native Americans have a high ethical code, and you are lucky you have a mother like that to raise you in those traditions.”
“Yes, Ms. Mason, I think so.”
“Call me Iris,” she said. “I don’t stand much on ceremony around here. Okay?”
Sky relaxed slightly. “Of course, Iris.”
Tapping the résumé with her pen, Iris said, “The job I’m looking to fill requires someone who is a multitasker of sorts, Sky. I need an R.N. here who can take care of bumps, bruises and scrapes our ranch guests get. I need a babysitter from time to time because some families bring in very young children. Even babies. And they need to be watched and cared for. Then there is my wildlife center. I need to hire an assistant to help Grayson McCoy, who runs it. That means cleaning up poop from the wild animals and doing any other dirty, grimy job