Her blood chilled as she caught a glimpse of what had spooked Ruby.
Snake.
Chapter 13
Gil’s heart stopped as the mare plowed into Quint, flinging him on his back in the dirt directly in her path. Before Gil could react, Carma hauled on the reins and the horse reared, going almost vertical. For a frozen eternity her front hooves pawed the air above Quint’s helpless body. Then Carma tilted sideways, the drag on the reins and her weight enough to tip the horse off-balance—and away from Quint. Ruby flopped on her side, taking Carma with her.
Gil leapt to grab Quint, hauling him out of range of flailing hooves.
Sprawled half on, half off the mare, Carma kept her grip on the reins, pinning the horse down while Gil dragged the boy clear. Then she let go and rolled free as Ruby scrambled to her feet and bolted to where Tori held her stablemate, Ranger. Carma came to her knees and jabbed a finger toward the base of a post only feet from where Gil was standing. “Snake!”
Everyone froze.
Gil rotated his head one degree at a time, searching the ground, while his hands dug into Quint’s shoulders to keep the boy still. He saw nothing but dirt. “What color was it?”
“Brown, with dark blotches.”
“Copperhead. Bastard probably came out of the junkpile.” Tori’s eyes darted side to side as she turned a slow circle, but the snake had beat a hasty retreat.
“Attracted by the water.” Gil glared at the puddle around the base of the post, where the sprinkler head had leaked. “I’ll get someone out here to fix those tomorrow.”
“Are you okay?” Beni asked, sliding down from Cadillac to inspect Carma.
She clambered to her feet, shaking dirt out of her hair. “Fine…thanks to this nice soft sand.”
“It’s lucky Ruby didn’t land on you. Or Quint.” Hank captured the mare and ran a calming hand down her neck.
“That wasn’t luck.” Tori’s gaze was sharp. “You pulled her over on purpose.”
Carma shrugged, impressively calm. “It’s a reflex. I help my dad train his movie horses, and we have to teach them how to fall. Like in a battle scene, you know?”
“You’re a stunt woman?” Beni blinked at her in awe. “In what movies?”
“Have you seen The Trail of Blood and Tears?”
His eyes went even wider. “Were you the one who stole the cavalry’s horses and chased them down the side of the ravine?”
“Yes. In one take, thank God. There was no way I was gonna do that again.”
Beni was practically bouncing in place. “What else?”
“Um, a few.” She glanced at Gil, who realized his fingers were still digging into Quint’s shoulders. Shit. His hands were shaking. He stuffed them into the pockets of his jeans. In mere seconds a little harmless fun could’ve turned into the unthinkable. Gil’s voice was gruff with the effort to keep from letting his terror show.
“Are you hurt?” he asked Quint.
“Nah.” He brushed dirt from his shoulder, as if that was the worst he’d suffered, but his hand wasn’t quite steady, either.
Carma met Gil’s gaze and her eyes reflected his fear, mingled with reassurance. It’s okay. We’re all okay. Then she turned to the others. “I think we should quit while we’re all in one piece.”
“Thanks to you.” Quint offered her a rare, unguarded smile, then went to join Beni, whose excited chatter echoed across the yard as they walked to the barn.
Carma turned to Gil. “Are you okay?”
He just shook his head, his heart still banging like a bass drum. Carma stepped close and rubbed a slow circle over the painful thud. Gil felt a strange tug in his chest—as if she were a ground wire draining the electric sizzle of fear from his body—and wanted to lean into her touch until his nerves stopped jangling.
“My mother says it’s less painful to be in a wreck than watch her kid take one,” she said, her voice as soothing as the caress.
“No shit.” In all the times he’d been bucked off and stomped on, Gil had never felt this gut-curdling terror. What if Quint had been seriously injured, with Krista halfway around the world? The full weight of the responsibility crashed down on him, nearly buckling his knees. This was only the beginning. There would be driving. And sex. Booze, and drugs, and God knew what else. And it would be up to him to help Quint make the best possible choices.
Gil Sanchez. The king of bad decisions.
“You’ll do fine,” Carma promised.
He barely noticed that she’d answered another question he hadn’t asked. “Why would he listen to me, of all people?”
“You can tell him you’ve already been there, done that, and show him the scars to prove it.”
Lord knew, he had one for every occasion. Carma’s eyes went sympathetic, echoing the thought back at him. His hand started to come up, reaching for her, then dropped when Tori called out to him.
“We’re taking the horses to the barn. Hank’s gonna bring back flashlights. Could you help him look around for our uninvited guest and any of his friends?”
Gil jerked his gaze away from Carma, grasping at an excuse to put some distance between them before he gave in to the urge to drag her into his arms and bury his face in her hair until the nightmares cleared from his vision. “I’ll check under the rest of the sprinklers right now.”
He paced off to do just that. Carma wandered over to grab a rope Tori had left hanging on a post and began idly twirling it. Her way of releasing tension? Gil could barely concentrate on his search, his eyes drawn to the hypnotic flicker and dance of the loop.
He was just finishing his circuit of the arena when Hank came back with three flashlights, offering one to Carma. “For the walk back to the house.”
“I’ll come with you.” She coiled the rope and tucked it into the crook of her elbow before taking the light. “I know the drill. We get a few stray diamondbacks at home.”
Hank raised his eyebrows. “Is there anything you won’t do?”
“Oyster shooters.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I got tricked into trying them one time…and I still gag every time I think about it.”
Hank laughed, tossed a flashlight to Gil, then brandished the shovel that had been leaning on the fence. “How do you feel about deep-fried snake?”
“Like there’s too much good food in the world to bother,” Carma declared.
Hank laughed again, and Gil had an absurd urge to remind him that he was supposedly head over heels in love and shouldn’t be flirting with another woman. Christ. That acid burn behind Gil’s sternum wasn’t…
No. He ground his fist into his chest. Just indigestion from too much horseradish sauce on his fish, curdled by a dose of sheer terror. Jealousy went hand in hand with possessiveness, and that was a very short, very dangerous step from the ultimate form of addiction.
Gil snatched the shovel from Hank and headed for the horse pasture, the beam of his flashlight sweeping wide over the ground as he walked. Hank and Carma moved toward the steer pasture, their words ringing clear in the cool night air.
“What’s with the rope?” Hank asked. “Is that how you Montanans catch snakes?”
Carma’s tone was solemn. “It’s an old Blackfeet trick. If we find one, I’ll spin my loop to hypnotize it while you sneak up with the shovel.”
“Really?”
There was a long beat of silence. Then Carma broke out laughing, and something clenched in Gil’s chest at the sound. No one laughed like Native women. Deep and throaty, as if it came from the very bottom of their hearts. His mother used to laugh that way when he was little. With him. Sometimes at him, when he’d do and say any silly thing just to hear her. But she hadn’t taken the laughter with her when she left. When she came to Earnest, or he and Delon went to visit, her smiles had been muted, the laughter replaced by painfully fierce hugs.
He shove
d the memory away to concentrate on the task at hand. The ground was dry and snake-free around the compact electric waterer the horses used.
“All clear over here,” Hank said, from where he’d split off to search the fence line along the edge of the junkyard.
“Here too,” Carma called out from near the oblong steel tank where the steers watered.
“He must’ve gone back into hiding.” Hank trotted over and fell into step beside Gil, nudging him with an elbow as they walked toward where Carma waited. “I like her. And I think she actually likes you.”
Gil’s heart clutched, forcing him to inject more acid into his words. “Super cool. Lend me a Sharpie, and I’ll write our initials on my arm and draw a heart around them.”
“You might as well have hired a skywriter when you invited her to move into your apartment. And don’t even try to tell me you just needed a secretary.” Hank pivoted to skip backward, mimicking a playground singsong. “Gil’s got a cru-ush. Gil’s got a cru-ush.”
Gil considered throttling him, then his gaze met Carma’s. She held up the rope and angled a pointed glance from Hank to the open tank beside her. Gil stifled a grin as, with a flip of her wrist, she built a loop.
He scowled and advanced on Hank, who predictably danced away with a Catch me if you can laugh. Carma took one quick swing and dropped the loop over his head. Hank yelped as she pulled it tight to pin his arms to his sides. Then she gave a hard tug. He stumbled backward, collided with the knee-high side of the stock tank, and toppled into the chilly water with a satisfying splash.
“Nice,” Gil said, holding up a hand.
She slapped his palm in a celebratory high five. “Thanks. Excellent teamwork.”
They left Hank sputtering and swearing. As they strolled back to the house, Carma slipped her hand into Gil’s, startling him with the intimacy of her fingers sliding into spaces that no woman had occupied since Krista. His instinct was to jerk away, but his grip tightened instead, a reaction that felt as dangerous as anything that had happened in the past hour—snake included.
Hank sloshed out of the water tank, calling after them. “You know what? You two deserve each other.”
Deserve?
Gil pulled his hand free. Any woman deserved more than what he had to offer. Especially one who would risk her neck to protect his son.
* * *
It was after midnight when Gil closed his laptop, pulled out his earbuds, and stood to stretch, vertebrae popping as he arched his back. He really should put a decent desk and chair in his bedroom for nights like this, when sleep was out of the question and he couldn’t slip over to the office. He might be able to sneak past Quint, but he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from going straight to Carma.
He knew better than to make big moves when he was off-balance, and after the night’s raw terror had shredded his defenses, he needed time to make repairs.
He eased the bedroom door open and soft-footed out to the kitchen, intending to get a glass of milk. A soft murmur froze him in his tracks. Ears straining, he crept toward Quint’s bedroom. When he held his breath, he could almost make out words. The urge to press his ear to the door was almost irresistible, but he refused to invade the boy’s privacy. And, he had to admit, he was a little afraid of what he might hear about himself.
He did have to know who Quint was talking to at this hour, though.
With a sharp knock as a warning, he pushed the door open and took two swift steps, to where he could see over Quint’s shoulder. His breath rushed out in relief at the sight of a lovely blond girl. “Gwen.”
“Uh, hi, Mr. Sanchez,” Quint’s sister said, covering any guilt or surprise with a cheery smile while Quint hunched against the headboard, his entire body screaming, Busted!
“Just call me Gil.”
“Um, okay.” But probably not, considering he’d been telling Gwen that for most of her twelve years.
Gil leaned against the wall beside Quint’s headboard and crossed his arms. “Looks like a beautiful day in Africa. Unlike here, where it’s the middle of a school night.”
Pink flared under her creamy skin. “Quint said he’s getting plenty of sleep.”
Quint made a noise like I’m just going to crawl under my blankets now.
“Yeah. Especially after his alarm goes off.” Gil narrowed his eyes at Gwen. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Daddy hired a local tutor. He said we should learn the culture and language from a native of this country instead of being holed up in an embassy school.” She primly smoothed the skirt of her sundress. “We’re taking a break.”
Which, knowing Gwen, meant bribing the tutor to get lost while she chatted with Quint. That poor soul was going to get an education of his own, trying to wrangle Krista’s daughters.
“I’m glad you’re keeping in touch,” Gil drawled. Thrilled, in fact. At least Quint was talking to someone. “But your brother has a social studies test tomorrow.”
Gwen’s expression went fierce. “You’re not going to punish him, are you?”
“Do I look mad?”
“Um…yes?”
Gil frowned, then tried to rearrange his face into something less intimidating. Oh, to hell with it. “I’m not mad. I just want Quint to hang up now. And we have to make rules about when you two can talk, so he’s not collecting tardy slips and you’re not skipping class.”
“I’m not…” she began, then opted for an angelic smile. “You know, Mom said I should call Quint anytime I want.”
Translated: But she didn’t mean at 1:00 a.m. Texas time, so please don’t mention this to her. “Uh-huh. Say good night, Gwennie.”
She sighed. “G’night, Quint.”
“Night.” He managed a tense smile. “Tell Lizzie I’ll talk to her this weekend when I call Mom.”
Quint hit the disconnect button and folded the tablet into its protective case. The snap of the magnetic clasp echoed in the silent room.
“How often do you call her?” Gil asked.
Quint hunched his shoulders again, not looking at Gil. “A couple of times a week. But only when I can’t sleep anyway.”
An infliction inherited from his father? Damn. But Gil was dying to ask what they talked about. Did Quint tell his sister everything that happened at school? He’d bet she’d heard about today’s track meet, the crap with Sam Carruthers, how Quint really felt about nearly being stomped by a horse…
“Did you tell her about the snake?” was what Gil asked.
“Yeah.” Quint’s shoulders relaxed a few degrees. “She wasn’t impressed. Their gardener caught something called a zebra spitting cobra last week and let them look at it before he took it out of town and turned it loose.”
“Does it spit zebras or venom?”
Quint snorted. “Venom. It’s striped like a zebra.”
“Huh. Sounds like another good reason not to move to Namibia.” He pushed off the wall and grabbed the tablet from Quint’s lap. “Try to go to sleep, before I change my mind about tattling to your mom.”
As if Gil would confess that this had been going on under his nose—while he was obsessing over a woman instead of paying attention to his kid. He paused by the door. “Listen, Quint, about Carma…”
“It’s cool,” Quint said.
Sure, he was saying that now, when he was possibly in trouble. “The timing isn’t the greatest,” Gil said.
Quint shrugged. “I figured she’d show up sooner or later. I mean, you’ve been texting with her for how long? And I assume you’ve been seeing her, too.”
Gil’s jaw sagged. “I… How do you know about the texts?”
“I snooped,” Quint said matter-of-factly.
“When?”
“You always have me read and answer your texts while we’re driving. Carma’s name caught my eye ’cuz it’s kinda odd. I only sneaked a peek, then
quit when I realized it was personal, in case there were dick pics or something.” He wrinkled his nose. “That would be gross.”
“Yes, it would. And I didn’t. We didn’t. It was just…” Gil ran out of words. How had he ended up explaining himself?
“Anyway, it is cool,” Quint said. “She’s…different, and I see why you like her, so don’t go messing it up on my account.”
Gil gave his head a shake. “Um…fine. Glad we have your blessing.”
“You’re welcome.” Quint slid down and pulled the blanket to his chin. “I should probably get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Gil went out, shut the door, then stood staring into the dark and wondering if there would ever be a time when he felt like he was actually in charge.
Chapter 14
The cursing started at seven minutes after five. Carma groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. It was no use. Gil’s voice was like a damn dog that would stop barking just long enough to let her doze off, then start yapping again and jolt her awake.
At ten to six she flung the pillow at the wall, tossed back the covers, and stomped into the bathroom, hoping it knocked dust off the ceiling and into his morning coffee. A long, hot shower would’ve soaked away some of the aches from the previous night’s adventures in snake wrangling, but she wasn’t in the mood to be soothed. When she’d washed, she slapped on some makeup and dressed in a denim skirt and a ribbed sweater the color of a new copper penny.
Then she stomped down the stairs and into the rear hallway, slamming every door behind her.
Gil stepped out of his office. “You’re up early.”
“Not by choice.” He jerked back when she stabbed a finger into his sternum. “You absolutely had to tell someone their lumpers are a bunch of incompetent sloths before the sun was even up? And what the hell is a lumper, anyway?”
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