Ride the Thunder (20 page)

“I don’t give a damn if it’s unloaded, the safety’s on, or it’s disassembled!” Brig retorted. “Don’t ever point a gun at me or you’ll wish to God you hadn’t!” He took it from him and thrust it back in Jordanna’s hands. “And you should have more sense than to give your rifle to a rank amateur.”

“I’m no amateur,” Max bristled.

“Leave it be,” Fletcher inserted, offering the advice to Max. “Why don’t you go sit down on those rocks where you’ll be out of the line of fire, Max?” He lifted his rifle to take aim on the target.

Hesitating for an instant, Max glared at the impassive facade of his cousin, then walked to the outcropping of rock. As he sat down on a jutting formation, Jordanna heard the warning whirr of a rattlesnake. She glimpsed the coiled snake within striking distance of Max’s shoulder.

Simultaneously, Brig barked the order, “Don’t move,
Max.” Before her father could react, Brig had grabbed the rifle from his grasp. In one fluid move, he snapped it to his shoulder and fired. The snake’s head exploded into fragments, leaving a writhing, twisting body on the rock.

White with shock, Max stared at the remains of the reptile. Disregarding Brig’s instructions, he had straightened from the rock at the warning rattle. Only the swift reflexes of his cousin had saved him from being bitten by the snake.

“This is snake country,” Brig announced. “Most of them will be in hibernation soon, especially in the higher elevations. But there might be more like this one, sunning itself on a rock enjoying the last warmth of Indian summer. Keep your eyes open. And look.” His hard gaze centered on her father. “You should have seen it, Fletcher. You are supposed to be the hunter.”

“I should have,” he agreed.

“Better go to the house, Max, and have Jocko pour you a stiff shot of whiskey,” Brig advised.

“I think I will,” he agreed shakily and started toward the back entrance of the log building.

Brig watched him for an instant, then followed. Christopher hesitated, glancing from Jordanna to his father. Opening his mouth as if to say something, he changed his mind and walked after the other two.

Numbed by the swiftness of it all, Jordanna glanced at her father. “Where did he learn to handle a gun like that?”

Her father began unloading his rifle, changing his mind about doing more target practicing. Glancing sideways, he watched Tandy leave before answering her question.

“McCord was a professional soldier before he bought this ranch.”

“A professional soldier?” She was surprised by the information. “Do you mean he was a career man in one of the services?”

“No. He was a mercenary, hired by various foreign governments.”

Jordanna remembered that feeling of danger she had experienced the first time she’d met Brig. She thought of his coldness, his cynicism. A man who did that would have to be hard. In his own way, he was a predator.

“He saved Max’s life. If he hadn’t reacted so quickly, the snake would have struck him,” she said.

“Yes.” Her father seemed to consider that thoughtfully. “I’m a little surprised by that.”

“Why?”

“The two of them may be cousins, but there is no love lost between them.” At her questioning look, Fletcher explained, “According to the information the agency obtained, old man Sanger, the founder of the company, left the bulk of his estate to McCord with certain provisos. Brig refused to meet the conditions of the inheritance and Max obtained control of the company. However, if Max dies, the conditions no longer stand and Brig gets the company with no strings attached.”

“Then . . .” The Sanger discount stores were a major chain, a multi-million dollar corporation. If Max were dead, Brig would have control of it, and all its money. “. . . he stands to gain a lot,” Jordanna whispered.

“The company happens to be floundering at the moment, rather badly from what I’ve been able to uncover.”

Jordanna felt almost relieved to hear it. “Is that the stock Max is trying to sell you?”

“Yes.”

“If the company is going broke, why would you want to buy it? Why would you even consider it?”

“Because it has some solid foundations under it. With some financial backing and sound management at the top, it wouldn’t be long until it was a giant again.”

“Are you going to provide that financial backing?”

He didn’t answer immediately as he met her frank gaze. When he did, he looked away. “I haven’t decided.” He slid his rifle back in its scabbard. “I doubt if I’ll make up my mind until all the reports are in.”

“But you are considering it?” she persisted.

“Yes. But my ultimate decision will depend on a variety of circumstances.” He smiled suddenly, the absently thoughtful expression leaving his face. “End of business discussion. This is a hunting trip, remember?”

So many other things had crowded in, she had almost forgotten the objective of their trip. “I think I did.” Jordanna laughed. The dancing lights in his brown eyes and the ready smile was so like the man she identified as her father, not the cold stranger she had glimpsed earlier.

“Let’s go check our targets,” he suggested. “You were wide of the mark on that first shot.”

“A case of nerves,” she admitted and fell in step with him to examine the paper plates.

“Because Brig McCord was watching you?”

“Yes.” There was no need to lie. The man disturbed her—in many ways.

“Use a little charm,” he repeated his earlier advice. “Be nice to him.”

“Yes, Dad.”

O
N THE FIRST
step to the rear entrance of the house, Brig paused to glance at the father and daughter engaged in what appeared to be some earnest discussion. Daughter. He was still trying to take that relationship in.

The physical resemblance was vague, although it was conceivable that Fletcher’s gray hair had once been auburn. The touch of green in her eyes could have been inherited from her mother. Brig remembered Olivia Smith’s eyes had been a vivid shade of green. Instead of her mother’s petiteness, Jordanna could have obtained her slender stature from her father.

The side view of her revealed the thrusting peaks of her breasts pushing at the knitted sweater. He felt the tightening in his groin and cursed himself for letting Fletcher talk him into going ahead with the hunting trip. At the time, he’d let himself believe he was capitulating because of the money. Now Brig wondered how much of a part the discovery Jordanna was Fletcher’s daughter, not his mistress, had played in the
decision. More than he was willing to admit, he suspected.

He’d committed himself to spending the next three weeks with her—and her father. How was he going to keep his hands off of her? Or should he even bother to try? She had been willing enough the last time. But there was her father—and her brother, and Max. On a trip like this, they would all be living on top of each other, five chaperones counting Jocko and Tandy. Would he be able to steal even five minutes alone with her? The mounting frustration made him clench his jaw. It was still tender where she had slapped him. Maybe she wouldn’t want five minutes alone with him. By God, he’d make her want it! Brig resolved grimly. She hadn’t possessed his mind these last months only to elude him in the flesh now.

“Mr. McCord?” A voice demanded his attention.

He lifted his unfocused gaze to the lithesome young man stopping in front of him.

“Yes?”

“I know rattlesnakes are poisonous, but are their bites fatal?” Christopher Smith questioned with an absent frown.

“Not as a rule.”

“What do you mean?”

“It depends on the location of the bite, how much venom reaches the bloodstream, how quickly it’s treated, and the general health of the victim. More people die from shock than from the poison.”

“The location of the bite. If it was near the head, it could be potentially fatal,” be persisted.

“It is possible.” His gaze ran dryly over the dark haired man, faintly amused by his apprehension. “But don’t worry. We have serum for snake bite.”

“So if Max had been bitten around the shoulder . . .”

“He wouldn’t have died. We would have drained what venom we could immediately from the wound and given him a shot of serum. He’d have been quite ill for a few days probably, but since he doesn’t have
a bad heart or anything like that, it’s highly unlikely he would have died.” It was obvious the son wasn’t the woodsman/hunter his father was. “Out here, we can’t be sure how quickly we can get to a hospital or professional medical help, so we always have snake bite kits with us, complete with serum.”

“I see.” Christopher appeared relieved. “I suppose it’s standard procedure, something most guides would do.”

“That’s right.”

“I have one other question I’d like you to answer for me,” he said with a long, thoughtful look.

“What is it?”

“Max isn’t the outdoor type. He isn’t cut out for this kind of a vacation.”

“Neither are you,” Brig countered.

“Not as a rule.”

The youthful jaw hardened, the only indication he had heard the comment. “My point is—why did you invite him on this trip?”

“Why did
I
invite him?” Brig frowned in amusement. “You have things mixed up. Having Max come along wasn’t my idea. Fletcher is the one who mentioned it first. You’ll have to speak to him.”

“I see.” The handsome face looked very sober. “My mistake,” Christopher shrugged.

“Anything else you wanted to know?”

“No, I guess not.” Kit turned to take back the rifle scabbard. Brig climbed the wood steps to the back door. Max was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass in front of him. His color had returned to normal. Brig entered the kitchen. Ignoring the bottle of whiskey on the counter, he walked to the stove and poured himself a piping-hot cup of coffee. A drink would have been preferable. The trouble was, Brig doubted that he would stop until he’d drank himself senseless.

“How do you feel?” Brig walked to the table, sweeping Max with an appraising look.

“I’ll make it.”

“I warned you these mountains weren’t anything
like the city.” Pulling out a chair, Brig straddled it and rested his arms on the curved back, cradling the cup in his hands.

“You told me the mountains would kill me. I didn’t realize it was a prophecy,” Max declared. It was said as a joke but he couldn’t seem to laugh at it.

“You didn’t have to take Fletcher up on his invitation to go hunting with him. Or you could have waited for tamer country.”

“I haven’t got all the time in the world. I’ve got him all set up. I can’t let him get away from me for three weeks to cool dawn when I’ve got him all warmed up.”

“There isn’t any other reason for you tagging along?” Brig eyed him with a cold, narrow look. He didn’t like the thought that had been growing in his mind. It filled him with an ugly, mean feeling.

“I don’t think I follow you.” Max looked puzzled.

“Fletcher’s daughter. You must have known she was coming with him.” He knew his cousin fancied himself as a lady-killer. If Max put his slimy hands on Jordanna, Brig thought he would kill him. But he had to know. The wondering was worse than the knowing.

“Jordanna? You really put your foot into that one, Brig.” Max laughed, taking delight in the mistake Brig had made. “Whatever gave you the idea that she was Fletcher’s mistress? I wish I had kept my mouth shut and let you make a fool of yourself. You were doing such a great job of it.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” He took a sip of the scalding coffee in his cup. It burned the bitter taste from his tongue, but it didn’t improve his irritation at the unneeded reminder of the bungling mess he’d made earlier. “But I’m not deceived about you, Max. Was Jordanna an added incentive for you to make this trip? She is a looker. And you have never been the kind who didn’t look without touching.”

Max paused to consider both his answer and Brig’s challenging expression. “I won’t deny that I thought about it. She and Fletcher are as thick as thieves.
With her on my side I have a better chance of getting his support,” he admitted. “However, she’s as difficult to get close to as her father. She has the reputation of being a cold fish.” At the upward sweep of Brig’s thick brow, in silent question, Max elaborated. “From all I’ve heard, she’s too inhibited despite her fiery looks. When she slapped you, that was probably the most emotional reaction she had ever displayed.”

Brig knew better. The knowledge groaned inside of him, but he kept silent. Max was in a talkative mood. The brush with the snake and the shot of whiskey had loosened his tongue. Brig didn’t interfere with its flapping.

“So while I considered it, there was too much risk of it back-firing. It doesn’t make sense. Olivia is ten times the woman her daughter is. There isn’t an inhibited bone in Olivia’s body.”

“Is that the voice of experience talking?”

“That is none of your business.”

The back door opened and Tandy Barnes entered the kitchen. Brig looked sideways. “Where have you been?”

“Giving Frank and Jocko a hand with the generator.” He walked to the sink to wash the grease from his hands.

“What was wrong with it?” Dismounting his chair, Brig walked to the stove to refill his cup.