by Diana Palmer
“I wish we could have a dog,” Markie said with a pointed look at his mother.
“Just as soon as we buy that mansion in France, I’ll buy you one,” she told him with a straight face.
“We’re gonna live in France?” the child exclaimed. “When?”
Joceline sighed and explained the concept of sarcasm to him.
A big Lincoln SUV met them at the small airstrip on the ranch. It was driven by a grizzled old cowboy with bright blue eyes and a big grin under his reddish-gold and gray whiskers.
“Miss Perry? I’m Sloane Callum. I’m sort of the chauffeur and odd job man around here. Mr. Blackhawk sent me to fetch you and the boy.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking hands and smiling.
“So you’re that secretary we hear so much about!” he exclaimed as he loaded her small suitcase and Markie’s duffel bag into the vehicle.
She didn’t correct him. In his day, administrative assistants were referred to as secretaries. She smiled. “I hope what you heard wasn’t too bad.”
He made a face. “I hate making coffee, too,” he told her as he watched her strap Markie in the backseat. “Damned shame, that, sticking kids as far away from their parents as possible even in a vehicle.”
She stared at him with surprise.
He shrugged. “I had a little boy down in Mexico, many years ago,” he said quietly. “He always rode up in the front of the truck with me, so I could ruffle his hair and point out things to him without getting a crick in my neck.”
“That was before air bags,” she reminded him gently. “It’s too dangerous to let a child sit up front now.”
“If you want my opinion, and not many people do—” he grinned “—I think the government pushes its way into our lives way too much. You can’t legislate morality or safety, but they’re sure trying to. We actually have cowboys around here who wear helmets to ride a damned horse!”
She muffled a giggle. He had a way of expressing things that was more amusing than disturbing. He grimaced. “Don’t mind me. I’m a throwback to prehistoric times. I don’t fit in anywhere.” He opened the door for her. “See? Neanderthal manners, I still open doors for ladies.”
She smiled at him. “I like it. You remind me of Jack Palance in that movie he won an Oscar for. I thought it was delightful, the way he protected that young woman.”
His eyebrows arched and he grinned more widely.
She buckled her seat belt while he went around and got in under the steering wheel. He looked at a note pasted to the visor and glared at it, but he buckled his own seat belt. He noticed Joceline’s puzzled stare and turned the visor so that she could read the note.
It read, “Put on the damned seat belt and shut up about government regulations on private industry.”
She burst out laughing. “Do I want to know who wrote that?”
“Your boss,” he said, and not surprisingly, as he started the SUV and drove off. “We had a big row about it when I first came to work here. I lost.”
“Most people do when they get in arguments with him.”
He drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry about your trouble,” he told her, with a glance in the rearview mirror at Markie, who was glued to the window, looking at cattle and open country in the distance. “Sick so-and-so who’d target a child.”
“Yes,” she said heavily. “It’s been something of a shock that we’ve become involved in this. Not that I’m not worried about the boss. He got shot, after all.”
“If he’d been here, never would have happened,” the cowboy said shortly. “I track him when he’s on the ranch. He don’t know it, but he’s never alone. I know how federal agents get threatened. Nobody’s taking out the boss on my watch.”
“That makes me feel better,” she said. She smiled. “I’ll bet you hunt.”
“Sure do. Animals, too,” he added enigmatically.
She caught her breath as the hacienda-style ranch house came into view. It was enormous, most assuredly a mansion with no excuses or apologies. There were electronic gates made of black wrought iron and everything else was thick, sand-colored adobe. It was mid-November, so nothing was blooming, but Joceline saw dozens of trees lining the long driveway and dotted around the Spanish patio with its big fountain. There was a stone floor on the patio and when she looked up, she was surprised to see a man with a high-powered rifle on the balcony upstairs.
“Sharpshooter,” the cowboy told her. “We have three who work shifts. Used to be just one, randomly up there, but since the boss got shot, we’re more cautious.”
“Not a bad idea,” she agreed.
“You’ll be safe here, Ms. Perry,” he told her gently. “Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all,” he added, jerking his eyes toward the oblivious child in the backseat. “You’ll both be safe.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
He parked at the door, where the semicircular driveway flanked another large, working fountain. He got out and came around to help Joceline and Markie out of the SUV.
“Look at the fountain!” Markie exclaimed, running to perch himself on the stone bench. “And it’s got fish! Goldfish!”
“Chinese goldfish,” the cowboy told him with a smile. “There’s a big Japanese koi pond out back with enormous fish of all sorts of colors. There’s even a yellow one with blue eyes.”
“Can I see?” Markie exclaimed.
“Not right now,” Joceline said firmly. “First we go see the boss and get settled in our room,” she added.
“Come along, young feller,” the old cowboy told him with a grin as he picked up the luggage and carried it through the open wrought-iron gate.
“It’s so pretty!” Markie enthused. “Look at all the trees! We don’t got even one tree at our apartment!”
“Don’t have,” Joceline corrected automatically.
“There’s a doggie!” he exclaimed, and started running toward an enormous, black-faced German shepherd dog.
“Markie, no!” Joceline almost screamed. “Don’t…!”
“Dieter, freund!” the cowboy called in fluent German. “Ja, Ja, freund. Das ist ein braver hund!”
Joceline spared him a shocked glance before she rushed to Markie’s side.
But the dog wasn’t hostile. On the contrary, he went right up to Markie with a slow, loping gait, and sat down just in front of him, leaning forward so that the child could pet him.
“He loves kids,” the cowboy told her. “Dieter is an old man, like me,” he added on a chuckle. “He came over from Germany. Notice his hocks. They almost touch the ground. American-bred German shepherds’ hind legs are joined higher up.”
She did notice. The dog’s build kept him very close to the ground. He was beautiful, with a thick shiny black coat and pale brown markings. He seemed very happy to sit and let Markie hug and pet him.
“You speak German to him,” Joceline said, curious.
“Yes. All our dogs are trained to respond to it.” He didn’t add that there was a secret attack command in German known only to the handler and a few of the most trusted cowboys. The code was never to be used unless in the gravest of emergencies. Activated, the dogs were quite capable of attacking and bringing down a human intruder. Considering Jon’s line of work, not to mention his brother’s, they couldn’t take chances. At least once, a would-be killer had tried to force his way in. He’d been taken off to jail, with a stop by the local hospital to stitch his wounds.
“What if an intruder also spoke German?” she wondered.
“They’d ignore him. They respond to our voices.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe he’s that tolerant.”
He smiled. “Considering their size and strength, it would be insane not to have them gentle around family and friends.”
“I totally agree.”
“Come on inside.”
He led them through the house. Markie protested until the dog, Dieter, was allowed to come inside, as well. He walked right beside Markie, a
s if an attachment had already been formed there.
“My goodness,” Joceline exclaimed, noticing the dog’s actions.
“He likes you,” the old cowboy told Markie with a grin.
“I like him, too. He’s cool!” Markie said excitedly, petting the dog’s head.
The inside of the house was open and dotted with comfortable chairs and plants and paintings. The color scheme was mostly shades of tan and brown, with some green and even a little gold in the upholstery and curtains. There was a huge stone fireplace, in which a fire was already roaring. It was cold.
“They got a fireplace!” Markie exclaimed. “Can I go sit by it?”
“Not without me,” Joceline said firmly. “Come on, sport, let’s get our bags unpacked before we worry people to death trying to explore, okay?”
Markie sighed. “Okay.”
The old cowboy’s blue eyes twinkled. He led them into a room the size of Joceline’s whole apartment.
“This is the main guest suite,” he told her. “There’s a smaller room through the bathroom, if you want the boy to have his own, but there are two king-size beds in here.”
Joceline was still gaping. “My whole apartment would fit in here,” she murmured.
He laughed out loud. “So would my cabin,” he told her. “But I like cozy places. You might say I’ve grown accustomed to them over the years,” he added enigmatically.
She smiled as he put the bags down. “Thanks for bringing us here.”
“Oh, I enjoyed it.” He looked at Markie wistfully. “Nice to have a kid around the place again.”
She frowned. “Again?”
“Kilraven’s little girl spent some time here.” His face went hard. “There’s gossip that one of the shooters weaseled out of being charged with her death—the one that shot the boss and threatened you. He won’t get in here, and he won’t get away if I find out the rumor is true. I know people all over who could put a stick in his spokes. She was a precious little child—” He broke off and turned away. Just for a few seconds, the expression in his eyes had been frightening.
“The boss’s room is two doors down, that way,” he added when he was in the hall, pointing in the direction. “He’s expecting you.” He smiled. “Nice to have you here, ma’am. And you, young feller,” he added to Markie. “Later, when you’re settled in, I’ll show you the horses if your mom don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” she assured him.
He gave her a quizzical glance. “You might, later. Don’t worry about offending me, you won’t,” he added with a gentle smile. “You don’t know me.”
He tipped his hat and walked off, his spurs jingling as he went out the door. Dieter got up and followed him.
“Dieter,” Markie called.
“Let him go,” Joceline said. “He may be a working dog,” she added.
“Oh. Okay then.” He looked up at her. “We going to see Mr. Blackhawk now?”
“Yes.”
She led the way down the hall and paused at the door. It was standing open.
“Joceline?”
That was Jon’s deep voice. Odd, the way the word rippled along her nerves, bringing the oddest sweet sensations. She smiled self-consciously. “Yes, it’s me.”
She walked in, holding Markie’s hand more for her own comfort than his. Jon was propped up on pillows, wearing a burgundy silk pajama top that was unbuttoned over his broad chest. His long hair was loose around his shoulders, a little tousled, as if he’d been sleeping.
He looked at Markie and smiled. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Markie said. He moved to the bed and leaned on it. “I’m sorry you got shot.”
“Yes. Me, too.”
“You got nice dogs,” Markie said. “And I like your fish, too.”
“Thanks.”
“Dieter likes me.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jon said. “He’s very fond of children. We got him from a family in Germany. He was our first breeding dog. He’s sired several generations of wonderful pets.”
“He’s gorgeous,” Joceline agreed. “I was surprised at how gentle he is.”
Jon smiled at her and winced when he shifted position. “He’s gentle until he needs to be aggressive.”
“I guess you have to have good security here,” she said.
“I’ve had a few threats over the years. At least I don’t have to check the underside of my vehicles for bombs, though,” he added flatly.
She shook her head. “Your brother attracts trouble.”
“Yes, and it’s contagious, apparently.” He reached beside him and touched a button. “Megs, would you come in here, please?”
There was a soft, female voice that answered. A couple of minutes later, a small, dark woman with long black hair and brown eyes came into the room, wiping her hands on her spotless white apron. She stopped when she saw the visitors and broke into a wide smile.
“Welcome,” she said in her softly accented English. “I knew you were coming, so I have prepared something very special for dinner. You like sushi, I am told.”
Joceline gasped. “How did you know?” It was her secret passion and she couldn’t afford to have it very often.
“I told her,” Jon said with a smile. “You came out to eat with Mac and me once, a few months ago. I’ve never seen anyone enjoy a dish so much.”
“I love it,” she confessed, but didn’t add that her bud get wouldn’t stand much of it. Sushi was frightfully expensive.
“We have a guy on the payroll who was a sushi chef before he decided he wanted to be a cowboy,” Jon explained. “I sent Megs to fetch him. We have fresh seafood flown here from California, so he can slice and dice to his heart’s content.”
“Thank you,” she said with genuine appreciation.
“My pleasure,” he replied. “It’s a small repayment for the inconvenience of you having to come up here to do my work.”
“I didn’t mind,” she protested.
“Sushi is raw fish,” Markie said with his blunt honesty, and made a face.
“Yes, but our chef can also make fish sticks and homemade French fries,” Jon murmured with twinkling black eyes. “I hear somebody really loves those.”
“Me!” Markie exclaimed. “And lots of ketchup on!”
The adults laughed.
“I am making cookies, also,” Megs said. “Would your son like to come into the kitchen and help me? He can test the cookies, if you don’t mind,” she added dryly.
“Oh, please, can I?” Markie asked his mom, hugging her legs and looking up at her with melting blue eyes. “Please?”
“Go on,” Joceline said and lifted him up to kiss his rosy cheek.
“Aww, Mom,” he protested, wiggling to be put down.
“Have fun,” she called as he followed a laughing Megs out the door.
“Megs?” she asked Jon when they were alone.
“A private joke,” he said warmly. “She overdid the nutmeg in eggnog one Christmas and I started calling her Megs. It stuck.”
She smiled. “She’s very nice. Everybody here is nice, especially that cowboy you sent to the airstrip to drive us here. The one with red whiskers. Sloane Callum.”
“Oh, yes. You liked him?” he asked.
“Very much. He offered to teach Markie how to ride later.” She frowned. “He said an odd thing, that he wouldn’t be offended if I didn’t want him to, later.”
He chuckled. “Some people don’t like to have him around. He knows it and doesn’t take offense. He and Cammy get into it once in a while. He’s very opinionated. So is she, of course.”
“He hunts, he said, and then he added that he hunted animals, too.”
“Callum spent some time in prison for hunting men,” he said abruptly.
Her eyes widened. “That was him? The hit man you told me about?” she exclaimed.
He nodded. “He was very young and his mother was dying of cancer. He fell in with a bad crowd, but they took him in after and slowly led him into doing th
ings he should never have done. He wound up in prison. He got out, went into a rehabilitation program and ended up here. He’s been with us for over ten years now.”
She was impressed. “And no blemishes on his record in all that time?”
He pursed his lips. “He did try to go after Jay Copper, when it came out that he’d ordered the hit on Mac’s wife that also led to the murder of Mac’s daughter, Melly. He was very fond of Melly. He had a son of his own, an illegitimate one. When he went to prison, and his profession became public knowledge, his girlfriend left him.”
“What happened to his son?” she wondered.
“God knows. He tried to find him, but I don’t think he ever did. He was concerned that the boy probably wouldn’t want to know him.”
She didn’t say anything. She was trying to decide how she’d feel if she’d found out that her father was a hired killer. She really didn’t know.
“This house is huge,” she said, for something to talk about that wasn’t controversial.
“Too big,” he mused. “My mother doesn’t socialize much, except when she’s trying to get me married. She gives parties and invites her candidate of the week.”
“Sorry.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to find places to hide on this ranch,” he said wistfully. “She’s getting familiar with all the ones I’ve found, so now I have to stay in San Antonio most of the time to escape her.”
“She probably wants more grandchildren,” she told him and averted her eyes.
“She’s rather pushy,” he said gently. “I’m sorry she was rude to you. She was rude to Mac’s wife, too, but Winnie took her down a few pegs,” he added. “She still calls her the ‘little blonde chainsaw,’ but she says it with affection now.”
“Winnie’s nice.”
“Very nice.” He studied her with narrowed black eyes. “You’re pretty nice yourself,” he said quietly. “Coming all this way, inconveniencing yourself, just to work.”
“You couldn’t come to the office,” she pointed out.
“No, I couldn’t. I’m sorry you had to take the child out of school.”