“It’s a snake,” he said in a mocking high tone as he opened his own door and got in. He looked at her, cowering against the door. “He’s got no fangs,” he said. “And you’re a new scent that upsets him. He’s old and blind. I just saved him from a ring of unsympathetic cowboys.” He cranked the truck. “It’s okay, Precious,” he said softly, and breathed out close to the pillowcase. “It’s just a vagrant we’re feeding,” he added.
“Vagrant,” she huffed. But she put on her seat belt. “So a lot of people are trying to off your... pet?”
“Apparently,” he said as he pulled out into the road.
She was studying him. Handsome. Big. Capable and not afraid of anything. Even rattlesnakes. She was dealing with something far more dangerous, but she couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t dare do anything to complicate the situation she was already in. Her companions wouldn’t understand, and they weren’t forgiving. Nor could she admit what she was really doing. A slipup at this point would cost her her life. Not a good idea.
“I’m not a vagrant,” she added, however, insulted by his estimation of her situation.
“You look like one.” He was glancing pointedly at her ragged jeans.
Her jeans had the knees torn out—that was the fashion. “I paid a lot for these jeans,” she huffed. She caught herself. “On the sale rack, I mean.”
“When I was a kid, the kids who wore torn jeans to school were all poor.” He glanced at her, and he wasn’t smiling. “It’s almost an insult to poor people to sell jeans that mock them.”
She caught her breath. “That wasn’t the idea at all,” she said defensively. Honestly, she’d never considered that aspect.
“Looks like it to me,” he said. “Dad dressed us out of mid-range stores, always. He could have afforded couture, but he said we had to live in the real world so we might as well grow up in it. No special presents, no special clothes. We were raised like other people’s kids.” He smiled. “We grew to like it. Because we really fit in with other ranchers’ kids. If Dad and Mom had gone the other route, the only place we’d have fit in was in cities. And who the hell would trade this—” he swept an arm toward the horizon, empty of everything except grass and cattle and outbuildings and the approaching ranch house, a towering beautiful old Victorian house “—for a city anywhere on earth?”
She felt his pride in the statement. She looked around, smiling inwardly. This was her kind of place. But she had a part to play, and she’d better play it.
“I’m aiming higher,” she said pertly. “A penthouse in Manhattan.”
“You’d be disappointed,” he said. “The view is mostly blocked by other penthouses. Not to mention pigeons.”
She made a face. She’d had her issues with pigeons.
“And wealth isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, either,” he added as he pulled up in front of the house. “There are too many things that money can’t buy. Come on.”
He grabbed the sack that contained Precious, gently, and then went around to open the passenger door. But Josie had already opened it and jumped down onto the ground. He motioned her toward the steps.
Heather Everett was waiting for him on the porch. She was just as lovely as she’d been in her early twenties, when she’d been a famous recording artist. She was just as famous now, if behind the scenes. She wrote Grammy-winning songs, the most recent two of which had been recorded by the rock groupDesperado, from up in Wyoming. Both had won Grammys. Worse, Josie knew her; she’d seen her at the last Grammy awards night. Josie was friends with the lead singer of the Desperado rock group. She had to hope that Heather wouldn’t recognize her.
“No,” she told John, blocking the front door and glaring at the sack.
“The boys have been working all morning, making a nice, big cage for him.”
“No,” she repeated, although her pale blue eyes slid to Josie and back to John with a hidden question.
“He can’t get out,” he pointed out. “He’s old and blind, too. He’ll stay put. I promise.”
“Didn’t you promise that with your last long, scaly pet, who wound up in the washing machine and almost gave our housekeeper at the time a heart attack?”
“That was different,” John said. “He was a young snake and curious. Poor Precious can’t see. He’d starve to death if he wasn’t fed. He’s undernourished right now because he can’t hunt game anymore. He doesn’t have any fangs,” he added hopefully.
Heather was weakening. John was the last child who was still at home. She was feeling empty-nest syndrome, with both Tanner and Odalie living elsewhere.
“It’s an escape-proof cage,” John promised. He straightened. “If he ever gets out, I’ll go live with Tanner and Stasia until everything calms down.”
“You aren’t helping your case,” Heather repeated.
“I’ll promise anything you like,” he told her.
She drew in a breath. “I’ll think about it. He’d better not get loose!”
He grinned. “He won’t.”
She looked at the pillowcase and shuddered. “Isn’t that one of my new bamboo pillowcases?” she added.
