She’d smelled chicken coops more fragrant, but the acrid order was quickly eclipsed by the sheer size of the unholy mess spread out before her, and for just a moment her knees weakened as she slowly took it all in. Piled-up boots, horse blankets, trousers, union suits, and tin plates competed for space with coils of rope, rain slickers and a multitude of other items so unfamiliar she didn’t even know their names, let alone their purpose. The windows and walls were dirty, and she had no idea if the floor was carpeted or bare wood. A pointed look behind her showed Yates standing with his arms folded, his face again unreadable. “I see why you need a housekeeper, but someone with kennel experience might be more appropriate.” He stiffened in response, giving her a modicum of satisfaction. She removed the pins from her hat and took it off, but held on to it because there was no clear space to set it down. “Why is all this in here and not in say, a barn?” “Bunkhouse burned down a year ago.
