“I think she’s a rank greenhorn,” he said.

“Her name’s Melissa…something. Webster, I think. You want me to introduce you?” The calculating flare was back in Stephanie’s eyes.

“Stop,” Jared ordered.

His sister grinned unrepentantly.

“What I want you to do,” he continued with exaggerated patience, “is to hire experienced staff. We’re blowing enough money on this place as it is.”

“She needed a job,” said Stephanie. “She’s from Indiana.”

He wasn’t sure what the hell Indiana had to do with anything. While he watched, the woman awkwardly scooped a pile of horse manure from the wooden floor and dumped it into a wheelbarrow. “If she needed a million dollars, would you give it to her?”

“She didn’t ask for a million dollars. She’s on her way to Seattle. She needed money for bus fare.”

“You’re hiring transients now?”

“She’s mucking out our stalls, Jared, not signing the company checks.”

“I’m not worried about embezzlement. I’m worried about labor cost efficiency.”

He was also worried something wasn’t quite right. Why would a woman that polished take a menial job for bus fare?

She could be running away from something, he supposed. Or she could be running from someone. Which seemed more likely. An ex-boyfriend? Someone’s angry wife? It had better not be the FBI or the state troopers.

He considered her delicate profile, trying to decide if she was a criminal. She tackled the next pile of manure, her city-soft hands sliding up and down the wooden handle.

“She’s going to get blisters,” he voiced the thought out loud.

“You want to give her some gloves?” asked Stephanie.

“Somebody better,” he conceded. Aimless wanderer or criminal on the run, if they were going to employ her, the least they could do was make sure she avoided injury.

“Hey, Melissa,” Stephanie called.

The woman paused and glanced up.

“Grab some gloves out of the storeroom.”