Read Online The Serpent's Bite by Warren Adler - Free Book Online

up in water that is colder than a witch’s tit in hell, sleeping stiff in a sleeping bag like you were a mummy, coyotes screaming in your ears all night, prowling grizzlies, lousy cowboy food, fucking wild animals everywhere, hungry predators, miles from civilization. Good God.”
    â€œHe has his reasons, I suppose,” Scott said. “Bring us together again. Bonding.”
    â€œWell worth it if he shows us the money. Great bonding material, money.”
    â€œYou’ve got a one track mind, Courtney.”
    He had expected the conversation to be at an end. But then his sister began again.
    â€œOn the other hand, maybe he’s going to tell us that he’s been diagnosed with some rare deadly disease, and this is his way to kind of make a statement. A last hurrah kind of thing.”
    â€œYou seem to be stuck on the subject of his…you know what I mean.”
    â€œWishful thinking maybe,” Courtney blurted.
    While her remark was chilling, he wondered if he was seriously capable of entertaining such a cold-blooded thought. He was his father, for crying out loud.
    â€œSee you on the other side of hell, big bro,” she said, hanging up.

Chapter 4

    O n the drive to the trailhead, their father had confined his remarks to the glories of the digital camera, which he described as a miracle of technology.
    â€œNo more film, and you can instantly check whether you’ve got the picture right. Takes much better digital than the iPhone.”
    â€œI remember last time, Dad,” Courtney said, determined to maintain a posture of approval and interest. “You took lots of great pictures.”
    â€œYes, I did,” her father acknowledged. “And looking at them always brings back happy memories. I get lots of shots out of this little baby. And if I don’t like them, I wipe them out.” He held up the camera. “Easy as pie.”
    â€œGood, Dad,” Scott interjected. “I left my camera home. Old-fashioned kind. Not digital. I’m into happy memories, but I’m not much for the tangible kind. Often they don’t tell the real story.”
    He looked toward Courtney, offering a sarcastic half smile. Despite his vow to avoid assessing her physically, he could not resist inspection. She was, indeed, in remarkably good shape. Her figure, accentuated by her tight jeans and shirt, which pulled tightly against her high breasts, remained youthful and sexy. Her hazel eyes, showing emerald green in the clear sunlight, were as startling as ever, and her high cheekbones and chiseled, straight nose gave her a haughty look, perhaps too haughty for the Hollywood version of female vulnerability. Abruptly, as hecontemplated her Cupid’s-bow lips, he ceased his assessment, feeling what he had repressed for years begin again.
    During the process of matching rider with horse, Harry had checked each person’s baggage for weight, noting that they were above his declared weight limit of thirty pounds per person to spare the mules. Scott had brought some heavy cartons of wine, and Courtney had admitted to carrying three bottles of Stoli. Their father declared a bottle of scotch, but after a brief lighthearted debate, they opted to leave other items behind and retain the beverages.
    â€œBooze always wins hands down,” Harry laughed, his unusually florid complexion suggesting his own obvious predilection.
    As Harry saddled the horses and fiddled with the tack and stirrups, Temple shot a number of pictures, some posed, some candid.
    Scott studied his father carefully as they mounted up. He looked reasonably fit, although he had needed help from both Harry and Tomas to climb into the saddle.
    Earlier, on first meeting his father that morning, he noted that the man was his usual fatherly self, embracing them, as if nothing had occurred between them that had ruffled the paternal relationship. They were not baffled by his gesture, since he had always exhibited these