jays squawked from the trees near the house, probably wondering when the next pie was going to appear, but other than that the place was silent. Ryan looped the lead rope attached to Skipper’s halter over the gatepost and then headed for the house, wondering what in hell the deal was.
He knocked on the door. A few seconds later it opened and Ellison gave him a politely inquiring look that made him wonder if he had or had not heard a scream. No—he’d heard it. It’d been a woman’s voice and since Jessie was a half mile away, Ellison had to be the screamer.
“Are you okay?” he asked. She looked okay. Not a blond hair out of place.
“Yes,” she said simply.
Ryan waited a couple seconds and then, when it became clear that she was not going to expand on her answer, he said, “I thought I heard someone yell.”
Color rose in Ellison’s face but her expression remained controlled as she said, “I hadn’t realized I was that loud.”
“You were.”
“Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “There was a snake on the steps. It startled me.”
“That was probably—”
“Hiss. I know. The boy who brought the pie warned me, but I forgot.”
Ryan regarded her for a moment, wondering how someone could belt out a shriek like that then appear so indifferent. Long practice? Ice water in the veins? He felt the urge to shake her up but, for the good of everyone involved, refrained. “Well, as long as everything is okay. Sorry to have disturbed you.” He touched his hat, a gesture he’d picked up from Walt many years ago.
“It’s not okay,” she blurted as he turned to go. He turned back, surprised at the note of what had sounded a lot like desperation in her voice. She cleared her throat again, then said more calmly, “Something needs to be done about the snake.”
“He’s harmless,” Ryan said. He didn’t want her taking a shovel to poor old Hiss, who showed up every May and stayed until late July when he went off to who knew where.
“I don’t think my aunt and uncle will welcome a snake this close to the house.”
“I’ll see if I can get Lonnie to catch him and move him...although he may come back. Snakes do that.” And Hiss had. Every year.
“Then move him far away.”
“Will do,” Ryan said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to work.” He had a lot to get done before he left for the Wolf Point rodeo and he had to carve out some time to practice tonight.
“Of course,” Ellison said. “Sorry to have delayed you.”
“Not a problem.”
* * *
ELLIE CLOSED THE door slowly and leaned back against it, then turned and watched through the leaded-glass panes as the cowboy returned to his horse. Her heart was still hammering from the snake encounter and it seemed to be hammering even harder after talking to Ryan Madison.
The snake had to have been six feet long, coiled up on the bottom stone step enjoying the sun. Ellie wasn’t particularly squeamish about snakes, as long as they kept their distance, but she’d practically stepped on this one and if it hadn’t seen her coming and slithered into action, she would have. But instead she’d seen the movement, recognized what it was and screamed.
Was there any way she could blame hormones? Ellie wasn’t a screamer. She continued to watch as Ryan walked through the gate to the plain brown horse that waited on the other side, pulled the rope off the gatepost, coiled it and tied it to his saddle. Then he mounted, the movement quick and smooth and somehow very sexy, gathered his reins and urged the horse out across the field.
Yes. He was definitely a cowboy, as he’d stated during their interview.
One that came to the rescue of screaming women.
Ellie pressed her hands against her warm cheeks. Hormones or not, that wasn’t going to happen again. The phone rang and Ellie followed the sound to the old-fashioned landline in the living room, answering it on the fifth ring.
“This is Walter Feldman,” the man said stiffly. “I understand that you want to set up a meeting with me.”
“I do.” And she was going to keep an open mind about this guy that Milo said was hell to work with.
“When?”
“Anytime that’s convenient to you.”
“This afternoon work?”
Ellie glanced at the clock. It was close to eleven. “Yes. That would be fine. Say three o’clock?”
“I’ll be there. Goodbye.” The line went dead.
Ellie wrinkled her forehead as she put the receiver back in the cradle. Open mind. He’d said his piece, made his appointment and hung up. That at least smacked of efficiency. Ellie reached for her sweater. That gave her an hour or two to take her self-guided tour, maybe come up with some questions to ask about the ranch itself.
She paused at the top of the porch steps as she pulled the sweater up over her arms and checked for the snake. Nothing, thank goodness, but she still hurried down the steps. Realistically the snake had probably been as frightened as she’d been—but it probably wasn’t as embarrassed.
It was no big deal, she told herself as she crossed the flagstones. She’d had a couple missteps with the local wildlife, but now she had more of an idea of what to do—watch out for snakes and keep the food in the house. And she might try thinking about the cowboy strictly as an employee, not as a rather fascinating man. It’d probably be better for her blood pressure.
* * *
WALTER FELDMAN WAS barely three inches taller than Ellie. His lined face was freshly shaved and he was dressed in a carefully pressed and starched white Western shirt and dark blue jeans. His boots were polished and he wore a string tie around his neck with a silver slide. Classic cowboy...who smelled vaguely of alcohol. It wasn’t on his breath, but it was there.
“Have a seat,” she said with a smile. He hesitated, then sat, his gaze traveling around the room that had once belonged to him. Maybe she should have arranged to meet at his place.
“I have my papers here,” he said, shifting his attention back to her.
“Your papers?” Ellie asked with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Ryan said that you’d want a rundown of what I do.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you.” She reached out for the papers, watching to see if his hands shook at all. Nope. Steady as a rock. He’d written out his job description on plain white computer paper in careful block letters—all caps. No sign of unsteadiness in his handwriting, either, and since he had to have written this today, after being warned by Ryan, she decided not to jump to any conclusions about him being an alcoholic.
But he had been drinking heavily recently. His red-rimmed eyes, shining vividly blue in his lined face, gave testament to that. That and her hypersensitive sense of smell,
