LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER FOUR

      BRYLEE SAT ON the creek bank, with her bare feet dangling in the water, and soaked up the afternoon sunlight and the outrageously blue sky. Snidely was off in the woods somewhere, playing the great hunter, though in truth, that silly dog didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. He was most definitely the diplomatic type—a lover, not a fighter.

      When the other dog appeared, floppy-eared and thin, Snidely returned to Brylee’s side and sat vigilantly beside her, though he didn’t make a sound—not even a warning growl. His tail switched back and forth, just briefly, and Brylee knew he was hoping for friendship, though he’d do battle in her defense if he had to.

      She stroked his sleek head and murmured, “It’s okay, buddy,” and if Snidely didn’t understand her words, he did comprehend her tone, because he relaxed.

      The black dog, painfully skinny, with a dull coat, stood on the other side of the creek, watching Brylee and Snidely. He seemed calm and, at the same time, poised to flee if he sensed a threat of any kind.

      Brylee was surprised when she spotted a collar around the newcomer’s neck, complete with tags. He looked like a stray, not somebody’s pet.

      Anger surged inside her. What was up with the symptoms of starvation and the timid manner? Whoever this dog belonged to— And it was no great stretch to figure that one out, since she knew every cat and dog and horse within a twenty-mile radius of Three Trees and she’d never so much as glimpsed this fellow before.

      The poor creature had the misfortune to belong to none other than Zane Sutton, knee-meltingly handsome movie star. Major land owner.

      Arrogant, self-indulgent, shallow jerk.

      Brylee pulled her feet out of the creek, tugged on her socks and shoes and stood up. “Hey, boy,” she said to the dog on the other side. “Are you lost?”

      The dog eyed her, eyed Snidely and sat down in the tall grass to await his fate.

      Brylee made her way to the line of flat rocks that bridged the creek—she’d been crossing that way for so long that she could have done it with her eyes closed—while Snidely plunged valiantly, if reluctantly, into the water and paddled across.

      The black dog didn’t move, though it gave a little whimper of fretful submission as she drew near.

      “Let’s get you home,” Brylee said, after crouching in front of the dog and taking a casual glance at its tags.

      Sure enough, he belonged to Zane. And his name was Slim. Was that some kind of cruel joke? On a surge of righteous indignation, Brylee shot like a geyser to her full height.

      Snidely climbed gamely out of the creek and shook himself off, sprinkling both her and Slim with shimmering diamonds of sun-infused water, pure as crystal and freezing cold.

      The march through the woods was familiar to Brylee, of course—she’d visited often, when her friend Karrie had lived on Hangman’s Bend Ranch. Back then, of course, the place had been in good repair, a working cattle spread, with a larger house and barn than most of its neighbors boasted, to be sure, but Karrie and her family had been regular people, well-grounded country folks—not pearly teethed movie stars living out some weird fantasy of getting back to the land and all that other sentimental hogwash.

      By the time she, Snidely and Slim emerged into the large clearing where the house, barn and corral stood, Brylee had worked up a powerful huff.

      The illustrious Mr. Sutton was outside, shirtless, evidently repairing the corral fence. His jeans rode low on his lean hips, and his chest and back were muscular, probably honed by hours in some swanky gym. Seeing Brylee and the two dogs coming out of the trees, he paused, hammer in hand, a row of nails between his lips, and watched as they approached.

      “Is this your dog?” Brylee demanded furiously, when she’d come within a dozen feet of the man and then suddenly stopped in her tracks. It was as though some kind of barrier or force field had slammed down between them.

      “Yep,” Zane said, after taking the nails out of his mouth and dropping them into the pocket of his beat-up jeans. They certainly didn’t fit his image, those jeans—was he trying to look as if he belonged in Montana? “He’s mine, all right.”

      Brylee sputtered for a few inglorious seconds. “Did it ever occur to you to feed him once in a while?”

      Zane opened his mouth, closed it again. His grin was so insolent, and so damned sexy, that she would have slapped it right off his face, if her personal principles allowed—which, of course, they didn’t.

      A boy came out of the house just then, also shirtless, and sprinted toward them. “Slim!” he called jubilantly. “I wondered where you’d wandered off to.”

      Zane flicked a glance at the gangly child, a preteen actually, on the verge of a rapid growth spurt. “Brylee Parrish,” he said quietly, “meet my kid brother, Nash.”

      Nash looked so pleased to make her acquaintance that what remained of Brylee’s animal rights lecture died in her throat.

      “Hello, Nash,” she said, after swallowing.

      The boy turned shy, blushing extravagantly. “Hello,” he murmured.

      Zane seemed to find the exchange mildly amusing. “Take old Slim into the house,” he told Nash quietly, “and see if you can get him to chow down on some kibble.”

      Nash hesitated, glanced at Brylee again, from under the thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen on any guy—except maybe Zane himself—and whistled low to summon the dog.

      The two of them vanished inside, Nash reluctantly, Slim going with the flow.

      “He’s a stray,” Zane said presently. “I haven’t had him long enough to fatten him up.”

      Brylee was flummoxed. She’d steamed over here on a mission of justice and mercy, and now, suddenly, she was becalmed, a ship with no wind in its sails.

      “The boy or the dog?” she asked.

      Zane’s smile was affable, with a twinkle to it. “Both, I guess,” he said.

      By then, Brylee felt like a complete fool. She’d assumed the worst—movie stars, that disruptive, now-you-see-them, now-you-don’t class of people, rarely proved her first impression of them wrong. This one had, though, and the realization left her tongue-tied and embarrassed, wishing she hadn’t come on like the storied gangbusters, full of accusations and spitting fire.

      “Oh,” she said.

      Zane’s smile eased off into a sexy grin. “Is that all

Скачать книгу