brushed past Jenna and Ryan to enter the kitchen. He coughed several times, then pinched his nose shut and scowled at Whiskers. “How did it get in here?”
“You’re gonna have to sit down and teach that young whelp of yours which critters to leave be,” Whiskers said angrily. “He thought the dad-burned thing was a cat.” He limped over to turn off the simmering stew, a colorful string of curses accenting his steps. “Now we ain’t got no supper, and we’ll be takin’ meals outside on the picnic table for a month of Sundays. And it’s all your fault. If you hadn’t started your bellerin’, I’d a had it outta here before it had a chance to spray it’s stink.”
“Daddy, I want my kitty back,” Ryan wailed from the hall.
“When was the last time you took a bath, Whiskers?” Brad asked, stopping just inside the back door. The other ranch hands piled up behind him.
Tom Davison fanned the air with his hat. “Whew-ee! This place smells like a cross between Jed’s feet and a damned old billy goat.”
“Whiskers, did you finally die and somebody just forgot to tell you?” Jim Kent choked out.
“Outside,” Flint gasped, bolting for the door. He stood in the yard taking cleansing gulps of air. When Whiskers came to stand next to him, Flint moved upwind. “Do you mind?”
“Consarnit all. It weren’t my fault that kid got hold of a polecat.” Whiskers pointed to Ryan when he and Jenna joined the group. “I cain’t figure out how he kept from gettin’ bit when he picked it up. Those things can have the hydrophoby, you know.”
Worried, Flint knelt down in front of his son and searched for any signs of an open wound. “Did it bite or scratch you, Ryan?” he asked, his voice sharpened by his concern.
Ryan’s chin quivered and he shook his head. “No. What’s hydo…hydotrophy?”
“Hydrophobia. It’s another name for rabies,” Flint explained gently. He gave Ryan a reassuring hug. “It’s a dangerous disease some wild animals carry. That’s why I don’t want you trying to catch any more of them. Understand?”
Ryan nodded, the matter forgotten. The wind shifted, and he wrinkled his nose. “You stink, Whiskers.”
Clearly exasperated, the old man opened and closed his mouth several times in search of epithets suitable for ladies and young ears. “Well, you don’t smell like no rose, yourself, boy.”
When his stomach rumbled, Jed asked, “What are we gonna do about supper?”
His complexion a sickly green, Jim swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times. “How can you think about your gut now? I’ll be off my feed for a week.”
“I can’t help it,” Jed complained, his stomach growling again. “I’m hungry enough to eat that danged skunk.”
Whiskers folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I ain’t goin’ back in there till the place airs a mite.”
Jed pointed to Jenna. “What’s she doin’?”
Flint turned in time to see Jenna take a deep breath and head back toward the kitchen door. Several minutes later, tears streaming down her face, she deposited an armload of luncheon meats, condiments and two loaves of bread on the picnic table at the side of the house. She coughed several times, but to his amazement she didn’t stop. She headed right back inside.
When she returned to add a six-pack of beer, several cans of soda and a bottle of tomato juice to the pile on the table, Whiskers elbowed Flint. “Don’t that beat all you ever seen?”
She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve and slumped down in the dappled shade of an oak tree. He and his men stared in awe.
Tipping his hat, Jed broke the silence. “Thanks, ma’am.”
“Whiskers, you…and Ryan need…to wash off…with the tomato juice.” She coughed several times, then leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “It should take care of the smell on your skin, but you’ll probably have to burn your clothes.”
Admiring her in any way was the last thing Flint wanted, but when he washed Ryan with the juice, he had to give her credit. She’d braved the pungent odor when the rest of them wouldn’t.
After helping Ryan into the clothes Whiskers had retrieved from the clothesline, Flint walked over to hand her a sandwich and can of soda. “Here. You’ve earned this.”
She took the soft drink, but refused the food. “Thanks, but I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
Flint squatted down beside her, plucked a blade of grass and began to twirl it between his fingers. After what she’d just done for Ryan and his men, she deserved some sort of appreciation. But the words wanted to stick in his throat.
Damn. Eating crow wasn’t something he had to do often and it didn’t come easy. “I…appreciate what you’ve done.” He cleared his throat. “And earlier—in the hall—I guess I might have been a little harsh. But I’m sure you can understand, since my ex-wife died and I gained custody of him, I’m very protective of my son.”
Jenna gave Flint a suspicious look. He did seem to be trying to establish a truce, although it wasn’t exactly a gracious one. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ve always been that way with my brother, Cooper, even though he’s older.”
Flint looked thoughtful. “Cooper Adams is your brother?”
Not surprised he recognized the name, she nodded.
“He’s one of the best bull riders I’ve ever seen. I watched him score a ninety-four at the rodeo in Mesquite and a ninety in Amarillo. Didn’t he make the National Finals a few years back?”
Jenna nodded. “Year before last he took second place in bull riding and fourth in the all-around competition.”
Ryan’s eyes grew round and he plopped down between them. “Wow! He must be real brave.”
Remembering another bull rider and the two thousand pounds of enraged beef that had ended his life, a shudder ran the length of her spine. She stared off into the distance. Forever etched in her memory, the image would haunt her until the day she died.
“Bulls can be very dangerous,” she finally managed.
“Daddy won’t let me go down to the bull pens.” Ryan glared at his father. “I’m not allowed to go around any of the animals without a grown-up.”
“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll get hurt,” Jenna offered, grateful for the distraction.
“Not my daddy. He’s not afraid of nothin’.” When he gazed up at Flint, Ryan’s expression instantly changed to admiration.
Jenna smiled at the pride in the little boy’s voice. She remembered thinking much the same about her own father. She reached out to ruffle Ryan’s hair. “I’m sure he isn’t.”
Flint watched with a trace of envy. How would it feel to have her run her hands through his hair?
Try
