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She looked down at the big silver key in the palm of his large hand, and back up at him. “You’d trust me with a key inside the Drake domain?”
“You can’t be trusted?”
“Of course I can! We Reeds keep our word.”
“Meaning...”
She shrugged, said, “Nothing,” and reached for the key.
Warren closed his fist. Patience was gone. “Not so fast. I’ve put up with your rude behavior and foul attitude long enough. I go to your house and get more veiled jabs and hidden innuendo from First-and-Last-Name-Griff.” He took a step forward, close enough that their breath mingled and their bodies almost touched. “If you have a problem with me or my family,” he continued, his tone low and angry, “tell me straight out. If you don’t, then you need to start treating me with at least as much respect as you just gave that cow.”
Chapter 11
Bobby’s footsteps had been so light that neither Warren nor Charli had heard him approaching. “Everything all right here, Charli?” The question was directed at his boss but his eyes were on Warren.
“Everything’s fine, Bobby. Thanks for your help. Listen, the cowhide’s yours if you want it.”
“Thank you, Charli. I’ll give it to my uncle. He’ll make something special.”
“I’m sure he will.” She turned to Warren—her gaze unwavering, her eyes sending a message that he couldn’t quite read. “Where are you putting the gate?”
“Close to the southwest corner, where the land is flat and the path is worn from the obvious trips back and forth to the stream over the years. Would you like to come and have a look?”
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