Turned out, the man was so crooked he could swallow nails and spit up corkscrews.
I put in a call to the FBI field office in Carson City, then one to Shay’s friend, the real Samantha Jackson, who apparently had some pull in Washington. She had an in with a government bigwig—a story I really wasn’t sure I wanted to know—and the woman was able to arrange for the proceedings to be expedited and all charges against Shay dropped.
Sam Jackson, the real one, even called a press conference and had the prosecutor exonerate Shay publicly, stating she’d merely been another innocent victim of a conniving, low-down, no-good conman.
It was all settled in a matter of days.
She was a free woman.
The microchip was turned over to the federal authorities, and Shay was ecstatic when we learned that the good folks her ex had swindled would be reimbursed some, if not all, of their money.
Today was the last of it. I’d just handed Rosemont over. He was now in the custody of two US Marshals.
I was glad Rosemont was getting his comeuppance. I still wanted to detach his limbs from his body, but knowing he’d spend a good long time in a federal penitentiary would have to do.
As I turned down the access road to the ranch, I couldn’t help but smile. It was home. Gilligan was lounging like a slug sawing logs on the porch, and Shay was in the garden tending to her vegetables. I sat in the truck and watched my wife for a few minutes as she pulled weeds and talked to the damn eggplants.
I was one lucky man.
I’d never felt so full, so alive, or so at peace with the world.
The one thing that saddened me was that I wouldn’t be able to give my wife a child. Variants were unable to bear or sire children. We were sterile. Barren. She said she was okay with that as long as we were together, but I knew my wife loved kids. She’d said she used to be a teacher of young’uns before that bunco artist ex of hers forced her to quit. What I didn’t know was how she would take to the idea I’d come up with.
As soon as Shay saw me, she flashed one of her dazzling smiles and my heart leaped in my chest. My wife’s smiles were brighter than the north star at midnight. I just hoped my wife didn’t flip her lid when I gave her the news.
Waving, she headed over to my truck. I got out and met her halfway.
“It’s all taken care of. The US Marshals picked him up, and he’s on his way to DC to stand trial. Should be open and shut since he’s claimin’ he’ll be pleading guilty to all charges.”
Hands on hips, she narrowed her eyes. “What else?”
“Whaddaya mean what else?”
“I mean your eye’s twitching like crazy, and that muscle in your jaw’s ticking. There’s something else, Clint. We both agreed no more secrets, no more lies. Now, what aren’t you telling me?”
I blew out a rough breath and scratched the stubble on my jaw with my thumbnail. “Alright. I, uh, I’ve done something, and I hope you ain’t gonna be upset with me.”
“O-kay.”
“Promise you won’t get upset.”
She raised a brow. “What did you do?”
“Promise me you won’t get upset first.”
“I can’t promise that. Not until I know what it is.”
“You do know that defeats the purpose of asking for the assurance in the first place, don’t you?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Tell me.”
I sighed and looked up to the heavens. “Okay, here goes. Since you refuse to have any of the animals slaughtered—”
She reached up and clapped a hand over my mouth. “Shhh! They’ll hear you!”
I drew back and spit. “Phew! Phew! Your hand’s all full of garden dirt, woman.”
“Oh, sorry.” She wiped her hand on her shorts. “Will you just spill it already. Whatever it is, good or bad, we’ll get through it together.”
I inhaled then I did just that. I spilled.
“I contacted an organization nearby for abused, neglected, and at-risk youth. The organization agreed that if we set up the Rattlesnake Ranch to accommodate them, it would make a great children’s camp.”
She stood frozen. Unresponsive. A sliver of dread snaked through me. “Kids could come and spend a week at a time here. We could build campfires and sit out under the stars, roast marshmallows, show ‘em how to feed and care for the animals, teach ‘em to garden.”
Her jaw hung open, yet she remained frozen. “I mean, we wouldn’t have to do much to get the place in shape. Build a few cabins. I got commitments from Frida, Elvis, Elton, Hawkeye, Jimi, Gomer, and a few others to pitch in. We could be up and runnin’ in no time…”
I let out a defeated sigh. Shay wasn’t saying a word. She wasn’t reacting at all. She was just staring, mouth agape. Did I piss her off? Why the hell wasn’t she saying anything? My eye twitch was insane. This was a bad idea.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Dammit. I’m such an insensitive dumbass.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I just thought since I can’t give you kids of our own, and you like the animals and you like to teach and all…but forget it. We don’t have to do none of it. Just forget—"
“Oh, Clint!” She leaped into my arms and wrapped her arms and legs tightly around me. “You are so amazing. I love it. I love the idea. I love you. I love everything.”
“You do?” I wiped a tear away. “Then why the hell are you cryin’?”
“Because I’m happy. I’m just so happy.”
She’s crying ‘cause she’s happy. Okay.
“Well, get used to it, because I aim to do my best to make every day a tear-jerker for ya.”
She giggled and slid down my body until her feet were on the ground.
“This is so exciting!” Shay clapped her hands in front of her chest. “My mind is buzzing with ideas.”
“Me too. I’m figurin’ you and the kids can sing to the cows. And brush ‘em.”
“Stop.” She slapped my arm playfully.
“Dress ‘em up in daisy chains.”
“Stop.”
“Put flowers in their hair.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Would you knock it off, Sheriff Thinks-He’s-A-Comedian?”
“Hey.” I waggled my brows. “You wearing some of them fancy bloomers today?”
She laughed. “Maybe.” Then she waggled her brows back. “Maybe you should come and find out.” She squealed and ran inside toward the bedroom.
Gilligan looked up, growled at me, then dropped his lazy head back on his paw.
“I know, boy. I agree. I’m way out of my league.”
Chapter 26
Epilogue: Shay
I’m Shay O’Brien Eastwood, co-owner, along with my husband, Clint Eastwood, of Rattlesnake Ranch located in Rattlesnake Canyon, Nevada.
My sister-in-law, Frida, once told me something she was taught by Pappy, the original owner of the ranch. He said that there are things on this earth that are set on a collision course from the very beginning and that sometimes, if the stars are aligned, the collision produces an explosion of fireworks and magic.
I think that perfectly describes Clint and me—fireworks and magic.
We’ve spent the past two months working hard on our plans to turn Rattlesnake Ranch into a fun place for young visitors.
Our kids camp, Pappy’s Oasis, officially opens next month, and even Sheriff Grumpy Pants couldn’t be more excited about our new venture.
As for me, I’ve found my slice of heaven here in Rattlesnake Canyon.
I’ve buried the ghosts of my past.
Started fresh.
Reinvented myself.
Best name. Best town. Best life.
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RATTLESNAKE CANYON
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