Read Online Wyoming Bold (Mills & Boon M&B) by Diana Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana Palmer
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loose.”
“She told me about that.” Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Some gift.”
“Some gift. There are people among the Cheyenne tribe here who have it. I’ve seen them gentle wild horses with just light touches and tone of voice. You know,” he added, “maybe there’s something to this theory that everything has a soul.”
Tank held up both hands. “I have to go.”
“Just thinking out loud, is all.” Greg chuckled. “Anyway, your squirrel is going to be fine. Might not be a bad idea to truck him up north a few miles to turn him loose. For the sake of the wiring in Merissa’s house, that is.”
“I was thinking the same thing!”
* * *
T ANK WENT BACK HOME . He was still laughing about the snake.
“What’s funny?” Mallory asked with a grin.
Tank smiled. “Merissa once took a snake to Greg Barnes for treatment.”
Mallory shook his head. “I’ll bet she hates snakes, too.”
“She does, but that isn’t what makes the story curious. It was a timber rattler.”
Mallory’s eyes grew larger. “It didn’t bite her?”
“Greg said she brought it in, holding it in her arms, and it just laid there. Until he tried to work on it, that is, and it struck at him.” He laughed at his brother’s expression. “She has a way with animals.”
“A timber rattler.” He sighed. “Well, that’s one for the books.”
Tank nodded and smiled.
Mallory was watching him with interest. “Things heating up, are they?”
Tank was surprised. “How would you know that?”
“You’re my brother. It isn’t like you to take an interest in a woman. Well, it’s not an everyday thing, at least.” Mallory was alluding to his own wife, Morie, in whom Tank had been briefly interested before he realized that Mallory’s antagonism to her was concealing a growing passion.
“I love Morie like a sister,” Tank said quickly. “Just in case you wondered.”
Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you better than that.”
“We had a very nice supper,” he recalled with a smile.
“I like the food at that place, too,” Mallory began.
“We went to a Chinese place in Powell,” Tank corrected.
Mallory’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
He shrugged, and jerked his head toward the base phone on Mallory’s desk in a corner of the living room. “Just wanted a change.”
“I see.” And Mallory did see. He was aware of the bugs.
Just as he said that, Rourke strolled in, one brown eye twinkling beside the one with the eye patch. His blond hair was thick and combed. He was wearing khakis, a habit from South Africa, where he lived, and he looked very smug.
“Fourteen bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.
They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”
“You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”
“You’re good,” Tank mused.
Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”
“Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.
Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.
Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his
“She told me about that.” Tank laughed. He shook his head. “Some gift.”
“Some gift. There are people among the Cheyenne tribe here who have it. I’ve seen them gentle wild horses with just light touches and tone of voice. You know,” he added, “maybe there’s something to this theory that everything has a soul.”
Tank held up both hands. “I have to go.”
“Just thinking out loud, is all.” Greg chuckled. “Anyway, your squirrel is going to be fine. Might not be a bad idea to truck him up north a few miles to turn him loose. For the sake of the wiring in Merissa’s house, that is.”
“I was thinking the same thing!”
* * *
T ANK WENT BACK HOME . He was still laughing about the snake.
“What’s funny?” Mallory asked with a grin.
Tank smiled. “Merissa once took a snake to Greg Barnes for treatment.”
Mallory shook his head. “I’ll bet she hates snakes, too.”
“She does, but that isn’t what makes the story curious. It was a timber rattler.”
Mallory’s eyes grew larger. “It didn’t bite her?”
“Greg said she brought it in, holding it in her arms, and it just laid there. Until he tried to work on it, that is, and it struck at him.” He laughed at his brother’s expression. “She has a way with animals.”
“A timber rattler.” He sighed. “Well, that’s one for the books.”
Tank nodded and smiled.
Mallory was watching him with interest. “Things heating up, are they?”
Tank was surprised. “How would you know that?”
“You’re my brother. It isn’t like you to take an interest in a woman. Well, it’s not an everyday thing, at least.” Mallory was alluding to his own wife, Morie, in whom Tank had been briefly interested before he realized that Mallory’s antagonism to her was concealing a growing passion.
“I love Morie like a sister,” Tank said quickly. “Just in case you wondered.”
Mallory clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you better than that.”
“We had a very nice supper,” he recalled with a smile.
“I like the food at that place, too,” Mallory began.
“We went to a Chinese place in Powell,” Tank corrected.
Mallory’s eyebrows lifted. “Why?”
He shrugged, and jerked his head toward the base phone on Mallory’s desk in a corner of the living room. “Just wanted a change.”
“I see.” And Mallory did see. He was aware of the bugs.
Just as he said that, Rourke strolled in, one brown eye twinkling beside the one with the eye patch. His blond hair was thick and combed. He was wearing khakis, a habit from South Africa, where he lived, and he looked very smug.
“Fourteen bugs,” he said. “I tweaked them all. He’ll be listening, alternately, to ball games from San Francisco, police calls from Catelow and pings from the International Space Station.” He grinned.
They laughed. “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid to say anything out loud,” Tank told him. “In fact, I took my girl to a restaurant in Powell because I was afraid they might have bugged the one in Catelow since I mentioned it in front of the phone.” He hesitated. “I’m probably paranoid.”
“You’re not,” Rourke commented. “They probably did have someone standing by to slip a bug under the table wherever you sat. Someone working as a temporary waiter.”
“You’re good,” Tank mused.
Rourke shrugged. “Years of practice. I used to work for Interpol, a long time ago. But the pay was somewhat less than I earn with small arms in dangerous places.”
“Hazardous work,” Mallory commented.
Rourke nodded. “But it’s what I do best.” He sighed. “There’s a revolution going on in a country near mine. Near Kenya. I was on my way there when you called for help.” He smiled at Tank’s guilty expression.
Tank knew about Rourke’s friend, Tat. He almost mentioned what Merissa had told him but he paused. She’d warned him to say nothing or it might cost the photojournalist her life. He kept his
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