"Lee, Rachel - Lost Warriors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lee Rachel)

trained in survival to a level few people ever achieve. I doubt there'c a
thing on earth they need or want.. . except to be left alone."

Nate rose and carried his coffee over to the window. Outside, the concrete
apron baked in the late afternoon sun, and beyond it was visibie the blue
lirqe of the western mountains. Beautiful country. God's country. Nate
sighed. "I'm worried about vigilantes, Yuma. Good folks won't get involved,
of course, but there are some.. : Shaking his head, he turned from the
window and faced Yuma. " But there are others, and you know it as well as I
do. So ask your friends to back off and keep clear until I can find out who
the hell is behind the thefts. "

After a moment, Yuma nodded. "Okay."

"I know you resent the hell out of it, man. I don't blame you: '

Yuma shrugged. There was nothing more to be said. Justice and reality were
often worlds apart.

Nate resumed his seat and sipped again at his coffee. Yuma shoved a box of
doughnuts toward him. The sheriff shook his head. "Nope. Gotta take off
twenty pounds." He patted his softening middle.

One corner of Yuma's mouth lifted. "I thought you said you'd earned it: '

"I figured I had, but Doc Randall doesn't think so." And Marge wasn't
interested in sex much anymore. He couldn't help but think maybe she wasn't
finding him attractive these days. But he left that thought unspoken.
"Twenty pounds by Christmas. Think I'll make it?"

Yuma cracked a faint smile. "With Thanksgiving in the middle? You might
have to do it twice."

Nate chuckled deeply and lifted his mug yet again.

Nate was stalling, Yuma realized. The bad news wasn't finished with yet. He
reached for a doughnut powdered with confectioner's sugar and bit into it,
watching the sugar sift down onto the front of his sagqgreen flight suit. He
seldom wore anything else, just flight suits and combat boots. The uniform
felt comfortable. Familiar. Like himself. And he sure as hell didn't have
anybody to impress.

Nate drained his mug and filled it again. Yuma's tension grew with each
passing minute of delay. Damn it, he wondered , was the sheriff here to fire
him?

"How're Marge and the girls?" he finally asked to fill the silqnce. Nate
had six daughters, ranging in age from twenty-four to twelve.

"Fine. At least, the girls are. Marge I'm not so sure about: Nate wandered