Hesitating, Layla frowned. “What is it, boy? What’s the matter?”
The dog was concentrating on a small, secluded area between the commode and the sink cabinet. Layla edged closer. Peered into the dark corner.
At first she thought she was seeing a crumpled bath towel. Then, the object moved!
Smokey jumped, startled. Layla caught his collar to keep him from lunging. Something was slowly rising from the pile. An arrow-shaped head, colored in diamonds of varying brown tones, pointed directly at her. The eyes were yellow, pupils barely slits. The forked tongue darted out, waving in exploration and assessment.
Layla could hardly move, hardly breathe. Before her brain had fully identified the creature as a rattlesnake, instinct had insisted she flee. Only her fear for Smokey’s safety kept her from screaming and running. If she let go of the fiercely protective dog, he’d surely attack the snake in her defense and be bitten!
Every muscle tense, she backed slowly toward the door, tugging Smokey with her. He resisted, his claws scratching the slick floor. If Layla’s grip hadn’t been augmented by surging adrenaline, she might not have had the strength to restrain him.
Yellow eyes tracked their progress. Behind the coiled body a tail vibrated with the characteristic warning of a timber rattler.
Layla felt the rug beneath her feet. They were in the clear! Still holding tight to her faithful dog, she caught hold of the doorknob in her free hand and slammed the door shut, trapping the snake in the bathroom.
Were they safe now? It sure didn’t feel like it. Whirling, she dragged Smokey with her to the outside door and burst onto the porch without looking. All she cared about was getting away from danger. Fast!
Michael had been about to knock. Layla careened into him at a run. In her frenzied state, she cut loose with a scream that echoed through the quiet mountain valley like a siren.
Michael staggered and caught her, righting them both. “Whoa! What’s wrong?”
Layla pointed mutely. Smokey was pawing at the now-closed door, trying desperately to get back into the cabin.
“S-s-snake.”
“Where?”
“Bathroom.” She grabbed his arm as he reached for the door. “No! Don’t go in there. It’s really big.”
Shaking his head as if he thought she was imagining things, Michael said, “That’s impossible. This is the middle of winter. All the snakes are hibernating.”
“Not that one.”
He hesitated, studying her expression. “I can see you’ve had a scare. Trust me, it can’t be a snake.”
“Oh, yeah?” Layla was getting perturbed. “Listen, cowboy, you may think you know all about snakes but I’m no novice, either.” She gestured wildly toward the cabin. “That is a rattlesnake. If Smokey hadn’t warned me, you’d be hauling me to the hospital right now. Or worse.”
“Okay. I’ll take it slow. Stay here. As soon as I’ve looked the place over and made sure there’s no danger, I’ll call you.”
“Yeah, right.” She released his arm and took hold of her dog’s collar. “Okay. Go look. But watch your step. I shut the thing in the bathroom. Unless it slithered under the door it should still be there.”
The look Michael gave her was one of tolerance laced with disbelief. Nevertheless, he was cautious when he opened the door and entered the cabin.
Listening as best she could over Smokey’s rumbling growl, Layla could hear Michael’s footsteps progressing. She envisioned him stopping at the bathroom and easing open the door. His colorful exclamation removed all doubt that he’d found her unwelcome visitor.
There was a rustling. A thump. Another mumbled comment she was glad she couldn’t fully hear.
Time seemed to creep by. Layla was about to peek inside when Michael reappeared, carrying a pillowcase with a lump the size of a throw pillow in the bottom. Arm extended, he carefully walked past her.
“You caught it?”
“Yes. Wait for me. I’ll be right back.”
Layla sagged against the wall, then slid to a seat on the floor of the porch. She felt as if she’d just run a marathon. Smokey lay beside her and rested his head on her lap. Clearly, he was certain the threat had passed.
To her dismay, tears threatened. She felt like a ninny. There was no reason to cry. All was well. Michael had come to the rescue and nothing bad had happened. Maybe that was what bothered her. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone but herself and it galled her to have to keep leaning on Michael.
He returned quickly.
“What did you do with it?” Layla asked.
“What any rancher would do. It wouldn’t have survived in this weather, anyway. What I can’t figure out is why it was awake. Maybe it was hibernating in the cabin all along and the warmth of your fires woke it up.”
“Oh, that’s comforting,” she said wryly. “Do you think it had friends?”
“Not likely.”
Layla knew different. Snakes tended to congregate. If that one was in her cabin by accident, there was a good chance he wasn’t sleeping alone. She raised an eyebrow at the stoic rancher. Since Michael wasn’t worried about other snakes in the immediate vicinity, chances were he’d decided the rattler had been placed in her cabin to frighten her. She certainly thought so.
When he held out his hand, she took it and let him help her up. “I’m glad you showed up this morning. What brought you down here?” Layla was dusting off her jeans.
“I wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“Pretty good, considering.”
“I also came to get you so you wouldn’t have to walk to the house. Are you ready to go?”
“More than ready.”
She wasn’t particularly keen on cooking, especially after all that had just happened, but she wasn’t the type to shirk duty. And she certainly wasn’t ready to reenter her cabin. Not yet.
He escorted her to the waiting truck. “How are you really feeling? Be honest.”
“Achy. Grumpy. Sore. Shaky. Pick one.”
“Sounds like it’s all of the above. Don’t worry. You can have the day off. I decided to make coffee and hard-boil some eggs this morning. I figured I could manage that much.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” he said with a chuckle. “Now that I know I can boil water without burning it, there’s no telling what else I can fix.”
“Could I have hot tea?” Layla asked. “That’s another boiling water thing, so it should be within your scope of expertise.”
“I think I can manage. You didn’t even have to teach me how to light the burners on the stove.”
“You are a quick study, aren’t you?”
“I try.” He sobered. “There are a few things that have slipped under my radar, though. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, especially since last night. This morning’s excitement only confirms my decision.”
“Uh-oh. Am I fired?”
“No way.” He brought the truck to a stop behind the ranch house and turned to face her instead of getting out right away. “On the contrary. I think you and I should stick closer than we have been. If I’m working outside, that’s where I want you to be. If you have to start cooking or something, I’ll come inside.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Why not? What did I do?”
“Almost got yourself killed, for starters.”
“Hey, I couldn’t help that.”
“I know. While you’re here, your life may be in danger. Until we figure out what’s been going on, I aim to be your shadow. Period. End of discussion.”
“End of discussion, nothing. I’m not one of your cows. You can’t stick me in a corral and keep me prisoner just so you don’t have to worry about me.”
Michael snorted derisively. “I wish it was that simple. I never dreamed you were going to fight me over this.”
Layla sighed, then looked at him sadly. “Maybe I should just go.”
“Is that what you
want to do?”
“No, but—”
“Then don’t even consider it. Think for a minute. It won’t be so bad. You like working outdoors and I could use a few survival tips in the kitchen.” He glanced at the house. “Besides, you hate housecleaning.”
“How can you tell?”
“Trust me. I can tell,” he said. The corners of his mouth were twitching. “You’ve never even asked me where we keep the vacuum cleaner.”
“I didn’t need to know.”
“Exactly. So, is it a deal? Are we partners till we figure out the puzzle?” He seemed relieved when she mirrored his expression.
“Okay,” she said. “But absolutely no roping or branding.”
“We don’t brand cattle anymore. We use ear tags.”
Layla giggled and fingered a dangling earring. “Not the cows, silly. I meant me.”
Layla and Michael were still in the kitchen when Sam Vance arrived and let himself in with a cheery, “Morning.”
Michael stood and greeted him. “Sam! Good to see you. Sam Vance, I’d like you to meet Layla Dixon. Have they pulled her truck out yet?”
“Ma’am.” Sam nodded to accentuate the greeting, then answered. “Yes. There was paint from the other vehicle on the damaged fender, like you thought. We’ll send samples to be tested.”
“Is my truck here?” she asked. “I want to go see it.”
“We’ll all go,” Michael said.
Sam gave him a cautious look and held up his hand. “Dr. Dixon can go by herself. Detective Hilliard rode with me. She’s waiting outside.”
Though he didn’t like being separated from her, Michael capitulated. “Okay. We’ll join you in a sec.”
As soon as Layla had left, Michael faced his cousin. “All right. What else?”
“Got a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” Michael poured a mug for Sam and refilled his own. “Here’s your coffee. Talk.”
“How much do you know about your lady friend?”
“She used to live around here, over by Manitou Springs, and she’s a licensed veterinarian. Why?”
“Is that all?”
“Pretty much.” Michael was scowling. “Why all these questions about Layla? She was the victim last night, not the one responsible for the crash.”
Sam took a slow sip from his mug. “So you said. Where did she go after you rescued her?”
“Nowhere. We came straight back here and I dropped her at the cabin.”
“The one Holly and Jake stayed in when they were on the run from the drug cartel?”
“The same. What are you getting at? Spit it out.”
“Didn’t it strike you as odd that I’d show up to take this report myself?”
Michael shrugged. “Not really. You’re family. I asked you to handle it for Layla’s sake. I wanted to get her away from the scene last night and the easiest way to do that was to give the officers your name. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, her accident was an attempted homicide, right up your alley.”
“It may be more complicated than that,” Sam said. “Early this morning, I got a call there was a body found in a truck near the airport. It looked like suicide by carbon monoxide.” He paused, scowled. “I bought that cause of death until I noticed fresh purple and pink scrape marks on the right front fender and bumper of the deceased’s vehicle.”
“From Layla’s truck?”
“I’d say there’s a high probability,” Sam told him.
Astonished, Michael stared, unseeing, at the door she’d recently passed through. “Who was the guy? Do you know?”
“Yeah. Harry Redding, a petty crook we’ve had our eye on for years. Worked for Ritchie Stark, a guy with a rap sheet as long as my arm. Good old Ritchie has an alibi for last night or he’d be at the top of my suspect list.”
“This is unbelievable.”
Sam snorted. “It gets better. Chloe already thought Redding was the man she surprised in the hospital when he was trying to finish off Dad.”
“Whoa. I thought Brendan had had that sleazeball arrested and carted off to jail after he collared him at Chloe’s house.”
“He did. Redding got a sharp lawyer and made bail.”
Scowling, Michael grabbed Sam’s arm so roughly his coffee sloshed. “Are you telling me this whole thing is tied together? The dead guy is the one who shot Max, attacked Chloe at the hospital and just tried to kill Layla?”
“It’s starting to look like it.”
“Does that mean it’s all over? Max is safe now?”
Sam shook his head. “We’re not taking the guards off Dad’s hospital room door, if that’s what you’re asking. Assuming Redding was murdered rather than committing suicide, we know there has to be at least one more person involved. If I were a betting man, which I’m not, I’d wager the circle is much more extensive.”
“Why us?” Michael was beside himself.
“I don’t know.” Sam spoke slowly, pensively. “But I do know that we’d all better keep our eyes open. I have a feeling this vendetta, or whatever it is, is a lot bigger than any of us have dared imagine.”
Chapter Eight
Layla chatted with the driver of the tow truck and a friendly woman detective who had introduced herself as Rebecca Hilliard, Becca for short. When Michael and his cousin joined them outside, Becca busied herself taking paint scrapings and checking out the damage to the truck rather than take an active part in Sam’s discussion.
Michael looked awful. Layla could only guess what was upsetting him because, like every man she’d ever known, he was being closemouthed. Well, fine. Let him brood. If he didn’t want to help her look into getting her poor, beat-up truck repaired, she’d see to it herself. And if her continued presence was making him too uptight, she’d pack her bags and hit the road again—as soon as she had wheels.
Scanning the damage to her trusty vehicle, she sighed. There was clearly more wrong with the dear old thing than a simple dented fender. She was bending down, peering at the undercarriage, when Sam approached.
“How’s it look?” he asked.
“Not good.” Layla straightened. “I don’t think she was pigeon-toed before. I’m afraid the axle may be broken.”
“Well, you did land in a tree. Sort of.” He gave her a friendly smile. “I think you’d better have the radiator checked, too.”
That reminded her of the poisoned cattle. “Oh, no! It isn’t leaking, is it?”
“Not anymore,” Sam said. “It’s empty.”
“What about the wild animals? If they lap it up…”
Sam raised his hand in a gesture of calm. “Don’t worry. The tow truck took care of any spills.”
“Michael said it was leaking gas, too. He was afraid it was going to catch fire.”
“Not once the engine cooled down.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, Sam pulled out a small piece of paper. “Mike tells me you used to live around here.”
“A long time ago, when I was a kid. Why?”
“Just curious.” He displayed a photo. “Does this guy look familiar?”
“I don’t think so.” Layla shaded her eyes with her hand and studied the grainy picture more closely, trying to jog her memory. “No, I’m afraid not. Who is he?”
“His name is Redding, but at last count he was going by six or seven different aliases. Look closely at his face. He has a spider tattoo on his left wrist. You sure you haven’t seen him? Maybe years ago?”
“I was twelve when we moved away, Detective.” Layla looked to Michael. “What’s going on here? Am I supposed to recognize this man?”
Michael took his place at her side, as protective as he’d been right after the accident. “No. You’re not. The police are just following up on a few leads, aren’t you, Sam?”
“Gotta check ’em all,” he said as he stuck the photo back into his pocket. “Well, take care. I hope your truck isn’t totaled.”
“So do I,” Layla replied. “I can’t hit the road without a decent set of wh
eels.”
Sam paused. “If I were you, I wouldn’t plan on going anywhere for a while, Dr. Dixon.” He nodded toward his female partner. “Detective Hilliard or I may need to talk to you again.”
Layla felt Michael’s hand lightly at her elbow, as if he were shielding her. But from what? She certainly didn’t need protection from the police. They were all on the same side of the law.
Michael’s expression was shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, emphasizing his determination with perhaps a hint of anger. Maybe even a little alarm. That was the most disquieting. She and the rugged rancher had already been through plenty of trauma together and he’d never shown the slightest weakness. If, now, he felt he had reason to be afraid of someone or something, she knew the situation was worse than she’d imagined.
The tow truck departed. Becca stopped to shake Layla’s hand and present a business card. “If you think of anything else that might help, please give me a call.”
“I will,” Layla said. “Thanks.” She watched the amiable officer get into the unmarked police car.
Sam paused by the driver’s door and addressed Michael. “See you in church tonight?”
He shrugged. “With all that’s happened, I forgot. This is Sunday, isn’t it?”
“All day. I had to work but I’ll be off duty later. Jessi took Amy to Sunday School this morning. She really looks forward to going.”
“Sorry, Sam. I should have asked about your family. How are the twins?”
“Fat, sassy and beginning to sleep longer,” he said proudly. “I may live through their early years after all.” Waving, he slid behind the wheel of the car, slammed the door and drove away.
Layla turned to face Michael, her hands fisted on her hips. “Okay, mister. What’s going on? And who is that weasel-faced guy in the picture?”
“A petty criminal.”
“Then why did Sam seem so sure I’d know him? I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket.” She arched an eyebrow. “Not since I got out of college, anyway.”
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