Her expression brightened. “I’m glad you understand.”
Lucas reached into the car for his hat. Then he patted his thigh.
“Put your foot here.”
Delia gave a breathy laugh. “Lucas,” she purred, “do you really think this is the place to—”
“Your foot,” he said impatiently.
Smiling, she leaned back against the door, raised one leg and put it against his thigh. He grunted, took her foot in his hands and broke off the heel of her boot.
“Hey!” Delia jerked her leg back. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea what I paid for these boots?”
“No,” he said bluntly, “but I will, once I see my Amex bill this month.” His eyes met hers. “Or are you going to tell me I didn’t pay for that ridiculous outfit you’re wearing?”
“Ridiculous? I’ll have you know—”
Lucas squatted down, grabbed her other foot and snapped the heel off that boot, too.
“Now you’ll be able
to walk.”
“Walk?” Her voice rose. “Walk where? I am not walking anywhere in this heat, on this road, with pythons and wild horses and crazy people all around…Lucas? Lucas, where are you going?”
He didn’t answer. After a moment, she came trotting up alongside him.
“I hate this place,” she muttered. “Never take me to Texas again!”
He would never take her anywhere again, he thought grimly. That was something else on which they could agree.
Twenty minutes and a thousand complaints later, he heard the grumble of an engine. A red pickup appeared on the horizon.
“Thank God,” Delia said dramatically, and sank down on the edge of the road.
Lucas stepped into the truck’s path. It was going to stop, one way or another. The hot, endless trudge to nowhere was bad enough but if he had to spend another minute listening to Delia…
The truck slowed. Stopped. The driver’s door opened. A kid stepped out and Lucas felt his blood pressure rise. Was it the one who’d almost ridden him down?
It wasn’t.
The rider had been slender with big dark eyes and black curls tumbling over his forehead from under his hat. This boy was redheaded and chunky.
“Howdy.”
Flaking letters on the truck’s door spelled out El Rancho Grande. El Rancho Bankrupto, judging by the condition of the ancient vehicle.
“Heard you folks might need a ride.”
“And just who, precisely, did you hear that from?” Lucas said tightly. “A boy riding a war horse?”
The kid chuckled. “That’s funny, mister.”
“Everything around here is funny,” Lucas said, his tone low and dangerous.
“I didn’t mean it that way, I only meant—”
“For goodness’ sakes,” Delia said sharply, “will you stop being so touchy, Lucas? Of course we need a ride.” She shot a look at the truck. “But not in that—that thing.”