“That bad?” Sandy asked, frowning.
“Worse.” Kane finished his drink. “I want you to radio home and have Dad send the helicopter here to pick her up. I don’t want to be around her; she’s dangerous.”
“Frank took the copter to Washington State. Something to do with Tynan Mills.”
“Damn!” Kane said under his breath. “Look, radio Dad and tell him to get some transportation here fast. If nothing else, tell him to have a truck meet us in Eternity. If I have to spend the entire two weeks with that woman I may kill her.”
“You’d better hold off on that. Your mother might not like a dead greenhorn.”
“It’s not a laughing matter. You haven’t met her.” Kane took a deep breath. “I will do my best to get along with her until I can ship her out of here. All right? Will you radio Dad now?”
Nodding in agreement as Kane left the cabin, Sandy went to the radio to call.
When Kane entered the big two-story main house, the first thing he saw was the little blond mystery writer, and his first thought was to wonder if all her stories were based on people trying to kill her. If they were, he could understand why they’d tried to do it. In spite of what he’d told Sandy about trying to get along with her, when he saw her there alone, he tried to tiptoe out before she saw him.
“Caught!” she said, seeming to be highly amused at seeing him trying to escape undetected.
Turning back to her, Kane tried to force himself to smile at her. She was a guest of his, or, more correctly, his neighbor’s, and he was going to try to be a good host to her. The bottom floor of the big log house was all one room, with the bedrooms upstairs, and she was sitting at the bar, looking amused. He couldn’t explain what it was he disliked so much about her, but it
was something. She was pretty enough, and if he’d seen her on the street he might have been interested, but she seemed so smug, so sure of herself, that all he could think of was getting away from her.
He forced himself to smile, and moved behind the bar. “Would you like a drink? You must be thirsty after your long flight.”
“Aren’t you worried about what I’ll do if I get drunk?”
That thought had been uppermost in his mind, and when she seemed to guess it, he could feel his face turning red.
“Don’t worry, Tex,” she said in an exaggerated drawl as she put her foot up on the bar stool next to her. “I can handle my liquor as well as the next man.”
Kane’s hand tightened around the bottle of whisky. Something about the woman more than annoyed him: everything she said, did, insinuated, hinted at, made him furious. Without bothering to ask her what she wanted, he fixed her a weak gin and tonic with no ice, and when he handed it to her, he couldn’t bring himself to smile.
She looked down at the drink, and for the first time he saw a human expression cross her face. The first time she’d looked at him, she’d stared at him as though he were something in a circus and he’d wondered if she was retarded. Minutes later she was shooting the snake, and minutes after that she was screaming and clawing. Now she looked a little sad, but the expression went away and she looked back at him with a smirk.
“To you, cowboy,” she said, but he put his hand on her wrist and wouldn’t allow her to drink.
“The name isn’t ‘cowboy.’ ”
Lowering the glass, she frowned at him. “What was it that ticked you off so much this afternoon? That I didn’t do what you ordered me to do or that you didn’t get to play the hero and save Miss Ruthie yourself?”
Very slowly he walked around the bar to stand in front of her. Then, his eyes never leaving hers, he put his foot on her stool right between her legs. When she saw the hole that her bullet had made in the toe of his boot—had it been even a fraction of an inch to the right, it would have taken his toes with it—she did have the courtesy to look a little shocked. But the expression didn’t last long. The next minute she stuck her finger into the hole and touched his toe—the bullet had taken away a patch of his sock—and said, “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy…”
Even as a child Kane had never hurt a girl. His eldest brother, Frank, had given him a lecture once when he came home from first grade with two black eyes that Cindy Miller had given him. Kane hadn’t fought back but had stood there and let her slug him until the teacher came and pulled Cindy away. His teacher had said she didn’t know if Kane was a fool or a hero in the making. Frank hadn’t been ambivalent: he’d said Kane was stupid.
But right now Kane wanted to hurt this girl. He wanted to strangle her, and before he knew what he was doing, he went after her, his hands extended.
“There you are,” Ruth said, floating down the stairs in a lovely dress of red silk.
Abruptly, Kane came out of what he was sure was a waking nightmare, and when he straightened up, he saw the little mystery writer scurry off the stool and run to Ruth as though for protection. Kane had to turn away, horrified at himself at what he’d been about to do.
“Am I glad to see you!” Cale said to Ruth. “We were having the most boring discussion about pork bellies. You want a drink? Cowboy Taggert makes a very nice warm, weak gin and tonic.”
“I’ll get you anything you want, Ruth,” Kane said, calming his racing heart and refusing to look at the horrid woman standing so near her.
“A little chilled white wine,” Ruth said demurely, and Kane smiled at her.
“Lovebirds already,” Cale muttered, but Kane resolutely refused to acknowledge her presence. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d realize she was unwanted and leave him and Ruth alone.
When he handed Ruth her glass, he looked into her dark eyes and thought about her hair spread out on a pillow.