Familiar.” Stephanie opened the door and moved slowly onto the porch. “I’m going to distract it, Rodney, and then you shoot it.”
“I might chip up the porch some.”
Stephanie shook her head. “Blow the porch up, I don’t care, just kill the snake.”
As soon as she moved toward the snake, Rodney shot. He caught the snake in the head, and Stephanie scooped Familiar into her arms. She headed to the front door, and to her surprise, it was already open. She pushed the door gently, aware that Familiar was tensing in her arms.
“Yarrr-rrr.” His fur was standing on end and he hissed into the open doorway, alerting her to the fact another snake—possibly more—was inside.
“Rodney, I think you’d better bring your gun,” she said, feeling the knot of fear that had lodged in her gut. Rattlesnakes were always a danger, but none were more dangerous than those trapped inside a house.
“Ms. Stephanie, you come on out of there. I sure wish Banjo was here. He’d know what to do. That dog would ride out with your uncle, and if he came across a snake, he’d snatch it right behind the head and shake it until he broke its neck.”
“I’ll be getting Banjo back. And the cows. And the horses.” The spur of anger helped her overcome her fear. She walked to the screen and put Familiar out on the grass. “No matter how much you want to help, you’d only be one swallow for a big rattler. Now stay outside. Rodney and I will kill it. You did your job by giving the warning.”
Rodney lifted his hat and scratched his forehead. “Ms. Stephanie, do you always talk to your cat like that?”
She laughed. “Familiar isn’t my cat. He belongs only to himself, but I do talk to him.”
“Well, I can’t speak to his intelligence, but he sure did good to warn us about the snakes.”
Stephanie didn’t push the issue. If Rodney agreed to work with her, he’d have plenty of opportunity to see how smart the highly-rated feline detective could be.
“How do you want to handle this?” she asked Rodney.
He reached into his boot and brought out another gun. “I assume you know how to use this?”
Stephanie felt the heft of the pistol in her hand. Her uncle had spent a lot of time teaching her to shoot—and not to shoot. He’d explained that timing was everything in using a weapon. She sighted down her arm. “I used to be a pretty good shot. I’m a little out of practice.”
“Just don’t tell the snake,” Rodney said, grinning. “Now let’s get ’im.”
They eased into the house, walking softly and listening. They’d made it only as far as the sunroom when she heard the warning rattle. The snake was under a chaise. Rodney signaled that he’d move the piece of furniture so she could shoot the snake.
Stephanie got down on one knee, sighting on the coils of the snake. She had to hit it clean, and in the head, preferably. She was in little danger, halfway across the room. Rodney was the one she had to protect.
“Ready?” he asked as he moved closer to the wicker chaise.
“Go.”
He grasped the chaise and lifted it high. As he stepped back, the snake lunged. Stephanie pulled the trigger. The snake fell, writhing on the floor, headless.
“Nice shooting,” Rodney said, putting the chaise across the room. “I’ll get a shovel and take care of this mess. It’s a good thing your aunt Em wasn’t around. She’d have both our hides for shooting into the wall like that.” He pointed to the bullet hole.
“Aunt Em would have shot the snake herself.” Stephanie smiled, but the pain of her loss was suddenly too much to bear. She felt the tears welling.
“Emily spoke of you all the time,” Rodney said, his own eyes growing moist. “She was as proud of you as a new cow with a calf. She had a bulletin board in the barn, and she’d cut clippings from the New York Times when you had advertising successes.”
Stephanie managed to gain control of her emotions. “Thank you, Rodney. But I should have been here, helping them.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, now I have to disagree. Your aunt said you were doing what you needed to do at the time. ’Course she always felt you’d come home to Pecos and run the ranch when you got the city out of your blood.”
“I just never thought I’d have to do it without them.”
Chapter Two
Hank Dalton idled his truck at the gates of McCammon Ranch and studied the wreckage of the realty sign listing the property for sale. He understood a little more about the woman who’d occupied his thoughts for the last three hours. She might be a city woman with no interest in ranching, but she wasn’t going to be pushed by anyone. Stephanie Chisholm wasn’t going to give up McCammon Ranch until she was good and ready to do so.
He’d come to make her an offer on the ranch. He was going to be honest with her and tell her about the water situation on the Running Z. If she didn’t want to sell, he was going to see if he could work out some grazing rights on land that bordered Twisty Creek. The water situation was serious for him. As much as he would have liked to give her time to grieve her loss, he didn’t have time. He’d filed a lawsuit against the developers who’d rerouted the creek, but the legal system was too slow. His cows would be dead and his pasture land a desert by the time the courts ruled. He gazed at the tree-lined driveway and remembered the many happy times he’d driven over for dinner with Albert and Em.
He started down the driveway when he heard a gunshot. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, he pushed the truck to the maximum as he sped toward the white ranch house. As he pulled into the yard he saw Rodney coming out of the house with a huge timber rattler hanging off a shovel.
“Ms. Stephanie clean blew his head off,” Rodney said proudly.
“How the hell did that snake get into the house?” Hank asked. “Albert never said he had a problem with rattlers.”
“Good question. There was another one on the screened porch,” Rodney said. “This one was in the sunroom. I don’t recall Albert ever saying anything about snakes getting into the house, now that you mention it. Maybe the drought drove ’em inside looking for water.”
Hank walked to the porch, wondering who had a key to the ranch house. “They had to get in some way, and wherever they came from, we need to find it and block it off.”
“Let me bury these varmints and I’ll be back,” Rodney said.
Hank knelt down by the porch and began to run his fingers along the screen where it met the wooden floor. He was halfway round when he sensed someone watching him. He looked up into stormy hazel eyes.
“Who are you?” Stephanie asked.
Hank stood, taking in everything about her. She’d changed into jeans and a sleeveless gingham top that showed off slender arms with well-developed muscles. She might be a city girl, but she looked like she could hold her own with farm activities. He smiled. “I’m your neighbor to the north, Hank Dalton.”
“Mr.
