by Day Leclaire
It took him a minute to digest her words. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“A ranch in Texas is a lot different than an apartment in Maryland. I don’t think they quite realize that yet.”
Slowly he turned to look at her and the trust he read in her calm expression left him fighting for control. “You’re not afraid I’ll hurt them?” he questioned roughly.
She actually laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’d never do that, despite what Randolph said. Buster shouldn’t have touched Mad Dog. And as you said, if he doesn’t realize it now, he will as soon as you speak to him.”
He cleared his throat. “I won’t be long.”
“There’s no hurry,” she replied. “I’ll start dinner while you deal with the boys.”
He couldn’t answer. Instead he nodded and headed for the barn. The boys were waiting just inside the door. Buster stood in front of his brother, his expression one of stoic resolve. The phrase “taking it like a man” leapt to mind and Jake studied them in silence, waiting. Buster broke first.
“We’re sorry for what we did, Uncle Jake. And it won’t never happen again. We promise.”
Chick peeked apprehensively around his brother and nodded, before popping his thumb into his mouth and sucking furiously.
Jake inclined his head. “That’s good to know. Because if I can’t trust your word, I’ll have to restrict you to the house instead of having you help around the ranch.” Surprise warred with exhilaration on their expressive faces.
“Really? You mean it? We can help you?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it.”
“We promise!” Buster stated fervently. “We’ll do everything you say.”
Chick tugged on his brother’s arm and whispered something.
“Okay, I’ll ask.” Buster glanced at Jake. “You want both of us to help, right?”
“Yep. A ranch this size needs every pair of hands available.” He gave Buster a stern look. “But there’s a lot of dangerous animals and equipment on a ranch. One thoughtless mistake can get you seriously hurt—like with Mad Dog. I know you wouldn’t want Chick injured through your carelessness.”
“No, sir,” came the somber reply.
“That means you can’t do anything without asking permission first. You got that?”
“Got it.”
Chick gave a decisive nod of agreement.
“Okay. The only problem is…Your little stunt today has caused Dusty and my men a lot of extra work, which means they’re going to have trouble getting all their chores done.”
Buster didn’t hesitate. “Maybe we could do some of those chores.”
Jake pretended to consider. “You know, I think that’s an excellent way to make amends.” He hooked a thumb toward a pair of pitchforks propped in the corner of the barn. “Let’s see how good you are at pitching hay.” He watched in satisfaction as the boys scrambled to obey. A little hard work and they’d be too worn-out to get into any more mischief. He hoped.
Which just left Wynne. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and grinned. That shouldn’t be much of a problem, either. If he put his mind to it, he didn’t doubt he could think of one or two activities to keep her occupied. Like reviewing what she’d learned about driving a stick shift. Only this time, he’d make sure they didn’t just talk about fifth gear.
He’d make sure they experienced it, as well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAKE SAT at his grandfather’s desk and stared at the bills and correspondence littering the oak surface. Just over a week had passed since he’d returned home and a veritable mountain of work had piled up. He’d hoped by coming to the Chesterfield ranch he’d find the peace and quiet to accomplish it. No runaway horses. No grouchy foreman. No hero-worshiping kids. And no starry-eyed wife who thought the sun rose and set at her husband’s behest.
But instead of settling down to business, he found himself gazing off into space, picturing an impish smile, winter-white hair and impassioned green eyes. In the past week he’d developed an uncontrollable need to steal Wynne away as frequently as possible and review the finer points of driving a standard transmission. Worse, when he wasn’t preoccupied with his wife, his mind turned to what new activity he’d introduce to the boys and how he might wheedle one, tiny word out of Chick.
The phone at his elbow rang and he snatched it up with relief—anything to block such appealing, impossible daydreams. “Hondo.”
“Thought I might find you there,” Peter’s satisfied voice echoed down the line. “I just spoke to Judge Graydon. He approved the dinner party.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I don’t think he liked the idea of a public hearing, either. As for a date…He’s available Saturday night. Randolph, needless to say, is protesting for all he’s worth. Not that it’s done a lick of good. Graydon supports you in this instance.”
“I assume my cousin has to be there,” Jake stated with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
“’Fraid so. I did suggest he bring Evie. I’m hoping she’ll help control that temper of his.”
“Not likely. But I trust you impressed on him the importance of keeping his mouth shut around my wife.”
“I did, and I sincerely doubt he’ll start any trouble. I think the incident at Belle’s was a sufficient deterrent. He won’t be interested in a repeat performance.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
“So, that just leaves Wynne. I assume you’ve talked to her? She knows what to expect?”
“I’ll deal with that end of things, you worry about the legalities.”
“Fine.” There was a significant pause. “I’m curious to meet her, considering the impression she’s made around here. People in town have been talking about little else. Seems everyone has a story involving her.”
“Involving her how?” Jake demanded.
“You know…Her contributions to charity, how she visits the shut-ins, the way she cares for her nephews, her nonstop defense of you.” Peter chuckled. “Woe betide anyone who speaks ill of her husband. She lets them have it with both barrels.”
“Does she?” Jake murmured, grinning.
“Sure does. When the time comes, you’ll have to fight off her suitors with a stick.”
“When the time comes?” Jake’s brows drew together, his grin dying a rapid death. “What time? And what suitors? What the hell are you talking about?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Peter admitted, “Randolph’s continued to spread the rumor around town that your marriage is a pretense. That as soon as the judge gives his final approval, you’ll divorce her. Though in all honesty, it’s not much of a rumor, is it?”
“The length of my marriage is nobody’s business but mine.”
“And Wynne’s,” Peter retorted coolly. “Anyway…Every bachelor within sixty miles who’s exchanged so much as a word with her, is hot to cozy up to the soonto-be ex-Mrs. Hondo. They all think she’d make a perfect wife. I probably would, too, if I’d ever met her.”
Jake’s hand closed into a white-knuckle fist. The soonto-be ex-Mrs. Hondo? Ex-Mrs. Hondo? “You so much as look at her funny,” he snarled, “and not only will you be my ex-lawyer, you’ll also be my ex-friend carrying around a handful of ex-teeth.”
He banged down the phone and thrust back his chair. Damn Peter for stirring up such disturbing images. The problem was…He was probably right. Most men would consider Wynne the answer to their dreams, kids and all. If she’d come to Chesterfield looking for a husband, instead of to the Montagues’ ball, she’d have had potential husbands lined up and begging for her hand. And they wouldn’t have been interested in any temporary arrangement, either. They’d have been every bit as intent as Wynne on having a happily-ever-after marriage.
Unable to contain his restlessness, Jake wandered through his grandfather’s ranch house, picking up the occasional knickknack before setting it back in place. As reluctant as he was to admit it, he loved the ranch almost as
much as he’d loved his grandfather. But it was a love mixed with anger and resentment, stirring to life demons better left undisturbed. Chesterfield Ranch represented all he’d been denied as a child. Hell, he’d never stepped foot inside the house proper until he was practically an adult. And then—when it was far too late—he’d been offered it all.
It was a beautiful place, he reluctantly conceded, one that cried out for a family. His grandfather had often said that it would never be a true home without the ring of youthful voices bouncing off its high, sweeping ceilings. For the first time, Jake understood what that meant.
The house seemed to be holding its breath, its walls achingly empty of the plethora of childish artwork it needed to accent the knotty juniper trim. The air smelled stale and unused without the scent of cookies baking in the kitchen or the light tantalizing fragrance of a woman’s perfume. And the rooms were too neat—no cookbooks left in an open pile on the table, no toys scattered haphazardly across the carpet, no woman’s accessories cluttering the bathroom. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture how it would react to Wynne and the boys.
He found the image all too appealing.
With a muttered exclamation, he returned to the office and snatched his Stetson off the hat rack. Not only was he a fool, but he was also the grandson of a fool. And if he didn’t get out of here right now, he’d do something stupid. Like pack up Wynne and the boys and turn this house into the home it was meant to be.
“Wynne? You there?” Jake yanked off his muddy boots—something he’d never have done until a week ago—and opened the door to the kitchen. “Elf?”
“Look out, Jake!” he heard her panicked shout. “Don’t come in.”
“Why not?” Already in the room, he stared at Wynne in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing on the counter?”
Buster peeked down from the top of the refrigerator. “Hey there, Uncle Jake.”
He stared from one to the other. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
A cupboard door swung open and from his curled-up perch on the shelf, Chick pointed toward a splash of sunlight on the floor.
Jake turned to look, then jumped back, cutting loose with a blistering expletive.
“I did try to warn you,” Wynne said meekly.
“Next time forget all the ‘look out’ and ‘don’t come in’ stuff and just scream, ‘snake.’ Trust me, I’ll get the message.” He stared at the reptile coiled on the floor and let out a long, low whistle. “That has got to be the biggest damn—darn rattler I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“We weren’t certain that’s what it was, but we didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Smart move, sweetheart.” He shot them a quick look, tension gripping him. “Everybody all right? Anyone bit?”
“We’re fine,” Wynne reassured.
“Chick needs to pee real bad,” Buster chimed in. “I thought about havin’ him wet down the snake, but figured it would only make the thing madder. Maybe mad enough to slither up here and get even.”
Jake fought to keep a straight face. “I appreciate your restraint.”
As though tired of being left out of the conversation, the snake swung its spade-shaped head in his direction, its tail quivering an ominous warning. Jake froze, knowing better than to make any sudden moves.
“Would you mind putting it outside?” Wynne requested nervously.
“Would I mind—” He eyed the distance between him and the snake. “No, sweetpea. I wouldn’t mind. As a matter of fact, I’ll get right on it.” Deciding he was far enough away to avoid an unexpected strike, he backed slowly toward the mudroom. Scooping up his boots, he donned them with due speed.
He poked his head around the door. “Care to explain how you came to be entertaining a diamondback?”
“It wasn’t by choice, believe me. It must have been hibernating in the woodbox by the stove. We were going to try baking cookies on the fire-burner and I opened the box to get some wood and—”
“It’s a wood-burner and I get the picture.” His shut his eyes. In fact, it was all too vivid a picture, almost crippling in its impact. It was also an image he’d have to hold at bay if he were to be of any use. “Listen to me, Wynne. I need to get to the den and since I don’t think our friend here is going to let me by without payin’ a stiff penalty, I’ll have to circle around. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Stay put, okay?”
“No worries there,” Wynne replied, attempting a smile.
Not wasting another minute, he exited through the mudroom and ran like hell for the front of the house. In thirty seconds flat, he’d beat a path to the den, had the gun case unlocked and his rifle loaded. Ramming home the shell, he headed for the kitchen. At the doorway, he paused, checking cautiously for the snake. It hadn’t moved, but lay coiled in the sunlight, warming itself.
“All of you, turn around and don’t look,” he ordered.
“What are you going to do with the gun?” Wynne asked apprehensively.
“What do you think? I’m going to blow that critter to kingdom come.”
“Here?” she questioned, appalled. “In the kitchen?”
“Right here and right now.” He shouldered the rifle. “Close your eyes. It’s gonna be messy.”
“Jake, no. You can’t.”
He sighted along the barrel. “What do you mean I can’t? I’ll have you know I’m a dead shot.”
She lowered her voice. “Not in front of the children, you aren’t.”
“Why not?” Buster demanded. “We want to see Uncle Jake blow the snake to kingdom come.”
Chick nodded, his powder-blue eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. He popped his thumb from his mouth and took aim with his index finger. “Pkkkww.”
Wynne stared at him in delight. “Chick! You spoke.”
Buster made a sound of disgust. “Pkkkww isn’t a word. It’s a noise. You know, like a gun blast.”
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen for an instant, then brightened. “That’s okay, Chick,” she said with an encouraging smile. “You’ll talk when you’re good and ready.”
“Excuse me, but could we please focus on the problem at hand?” Jake interrupted, an exasperated edge to his voice.
She frowned. “Right. The snake. I’d really rather you not shoot it in the house. In fact…I’m not sure I want it shot, period.” She gazed hopefully at Jake. “Can’t we just move it someplace else?”
He lowered his rifle. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” He pointed. “For your information, that snake is a western diamondback. It’s the second most venomous reptile in the U.S. Know what that means?”
Eyes enormous, Wynne shook her head.
“It means that this snake’s gonna meet its maker and I’m the one who’s sending it there. And if I find any of its brothers, sisters or cousins hanging around, they’ll join ‘im in snake heaven.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Why the hell—damn!—heck am I even standing here discussing this, when I should be taking care of business?”
“But—”
“Forget it,” he said flatly. “Do you really want to risk one of the kids getting bit? Because that’s what could happen if I don’t kill it.”
“Of course I don’t want the boys put at risk. But…Can’t you kill it outside?”
“How do you expect me to get it there? Say ‘Hey, pardner, would you mind slitherin’ outside so we can discuss this problem man-to-reptile?’”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
Dusty burst through the mudroom door. “What’s all the excitement?” he demanded, panting for breath. “Saw you running like your britches were afire.” Spotting the snake, he squawked and scrambled backward.
Apparently Dusty’s arrival was one human too many. With a furious shake of its tail, the rattler slithered toward him.
“What the hell are you waiting for, boss?” Dusty shouted. “Shoot the sucker!”
“Sorry, old friend. My wife won’t let me. And watch your language in front of
the boys.”
“This ain’t funny, Jake. Come on! Shoulder that blowpipe and let ‘er rip, will ya?”
“Not unless Wynne agrees.”
“I’m runnin’ short of options here,” Dusty bellowed as the rattler rapidly closed the distance between them. “What do you want me to do? Spit on the dang thing? Fire, I say..Fire!”
“Wynne?”
“Boss!”
“Okay! Shoot it! Shoot it!” Wynne yelped, tumbling off the counter.
The snake swung in her direction, preparing to strike. It was the last move it ever made.
The rifle blast practically deafened them. Peeking through her fingers, Wynne saw Dusty flat on his back, a cloud of dust and debris hanging over him. The snake lay in a small crater nearby, unmoving.
She fought for breath. “Dusty.” His name escaped in a panicked whisper. “Oh, no. What have I done? Dusty, speak to me. Are you bit? Shot? What’s wrong?”
“He passed out,” Jake informed her dryly. “Too much excitement, I guess.”
With a groan, the foreman sat up and looked around. Spying the dead snake, his face split into a wide grin. “Looks like I got me a new belt. Maybe a hatband, too.” He picked up the snake by its tail and glanced at Wynne, offering generously, “Want the rattle for a key chain?”
Jake didn’t give her a chance to reply, but dropped his rifle onto the table and literally snatched her off the floor, enfolding her in a fierce embrace. “You scared the life out of me, you know that?” he muttered. “I can’t leave you alone for five seconds without your getting into some scrape or another.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him a reassuring hug. His heart pounded against her cheek, his rapid breath stirring the hair at her temple. A familiar lethargy stole over her, leaving her deaf and blind to everything but Jake. It was always this way when he touched her and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same. “Maybe next time you’d better just shoot it,” she offered generously.
“Instead of listening to my wife? Thanks. I’ll do that.” He glanced at the boys. “Hop down. The show’s over.”