Chapter 3

When the unusual cowboy dropped out of sight, Bonnie McWilliam sighed and took another look around. She checked out a mound of desiccated grass, then an exposed slab of rock well back from the dust pan where she had fallen. There was no shade.

“Damn the pants,” she muttered, making a quick check for possible dangers, settling on bunchgrass, easing her back against the shaded side of a slate boulder. Heat enveloped her. Cursing her impulsive behaviour, she wished for a bottle of water. Bonnie stretched out her legs, laying the folder on her lap, opening the zipper, reviewing the most recent data. An assay report showed quantities of cerium and zircon, along with fluorite and gadolinite. Unfortunately, the elements she wanted only showed in trace amounts. Lanthanum, Praseodymium and Neodymium would have made the venture worthwhile, but there were only a few small pockets of relatively common hydrothermal rare-earth minerals. Thus far, assay results hadn’t been encouraging, to say the least.

Despite heat and thirst, Bonnie kept reading. Like interactions with her boorish drilling crew, most of the pages were tedious and exasperating. She unfolded a seismic chart, studying layers and faults beneath the drilling bore. After several minutes, chart figures became a meaningless blur.

She spread the folder, lifting it over her head for shade. The blazing sun was becoming unbearable, her shirt and bra sticky with perspiration. Bonnie muttered, chastizing herself for releasing her frustration, getting so angry she stormed off without water, a hat, or her cell phone. Even if she had the phone, asking one of that crew to come on a quad with something cold to drink wasn’t an option.

Uncharacteristically distracted, Bonnie forgot about the geological data, abscently reviewing her encounter with the cowboy, once again picturing his mocking grin. His casual, teasing disdain gnawed at her. Those cool, grey-blue eyes seemed to reach into her, reading her like a book. She felt as though he had seen right through her layers of insularity, along with her carefully crafted, artificial boardroom armour. That face filled her drifting thoughts. He wasn’t young, but his features didn’t seem worn, certainly not creased with signs of disipation. There was something in his eyes that stirred her at some primal level. Out of habit, she fought down the attraction, distractedly reminding herself that he was going to visit a woman.

“Just another ranch hand,” she muttered, trying to forget the man. “Probably hoping to get laid with the widow.”

With determination, she tried refocusing on pages of print-out while holding the folder over her head. Once again, data blurred. Heat beaded her forehead with perspiration. She swept back strands of loose hair. After only a few minutes, she was visualizing the cowboy and especially the horse. Though years older, he was a potent distraction. Curious, she wondered how he could afford such a fine mount, or if the horse was even his. Memory of Tango and the weathered cowboy had her mind slipping into the start of a romantic fantasy. Bonnie took a deep breath, giving herself a mental shake.

“I don’t need another problem in my life!” she muttered heatedly, huffing out a breath. “He knew who I was, but certainly didn’t show much respect. Damn! I own four sections here! What is he?” Although that rankled, something else puzzled her. “He didn’t even bother staring at my girls! Why didn’t he check them out?”

More often than not, her breasts seemed a curse. Even those men interested in her money seldom looked beyond her chest.

‘Unless I missed something, he wasn’t mentally undressing me.’ she thought, frowning as she remembered. ‘Unusual. Certainly not like those disgusting morons on the drill crew!’ She toyed with that, asking herself, ‘could he be gay?’

With an unladylike snort, she finally admitted the need of shade and water. Bonnie shifted the open folder to her lap, replacing papers, zipping them away. A glance off to the southeast revealed a long, settling column of dust that seemed to be heading for her work site.

“I hope that’s the mechanic,” she muttered, glancing at her wrist. She scowled again, reminded that she no longer wore a wristwatch, thanks to dependance on a cell phone. She angrily slapped a clump of dusty grass with her binder and started to push away from the slate boulder. Not three feet away, rattles burred a nasty warning.

Instantly paralyzed, Bonnie McWilliam tried to breathe and couldn’t. She gulped, trying to force air into her lungs. She wanted to scream. Terrified of rattlesnakes, she knew the sound. Caught between panic and detached awareness, her entire being tensed. Though the leather folder might provide a shield, she wasn’t capable of moving an arm or turning her head. From the corner of her eye, she recognized the coiling patterns.

The prairie rattler wasn’t large, but it was dangerous. Most of the undulating form looked dull and dusty. Tail lashing, probably less than four feet of snake rippled within striking distance. triangular head rearing, his mouth opened, his tail quivered and burred. Only a few feet beyond that snake, another appeared, began to coil and hiss. A third materialized, undulating through the grass, moving away from the other two, vanishing into a clump of brush below the rock face.

Bonnie felt her heart flutter. Somehow, time seemed to stand still, that instant drawn out, even though it also seemed compressed into fragments of a second. She knew the folder could block a first strike. She knew that karate training gave her the reflexes. She knew it would be possible to slap aside one rattler with her folder and evade the second. Despite all that, she remained paralyzed. She hated snakes. Rattlers terrified her. Blood pounded through ears, rushing through her head, pulse hammering. Vision narrowing, her head turned, meeting the eyes of the rattlesnake. His fangs showed in a wide, cottony mouth as he reared back, preparing to strike.

The head vanished, Bonnie’s world exploding. A thunderclap slammed her ears, making her whole body convulse. A second blast struck and she saw the other snake cut in half, dirt billowing up in a cloud. Serpentine bodies thrashed. Blood and gore splattered her blouse and hair. Abruptly galvanized, Bonnie jumped to her feet, spinning around, binder held like a weapon. She quickly checked around for more snakes.

Only after catching a couple of breaths did she look down the slope to her left. She stared.

The cowboy had returned. Braced on an uneven slope, his mount was almost level with her. Heart pounding, Bonnie gaped. There was another suspended instant when she drank in the big pistol held in his right hand. There was a faint wisp of drifting gunsmoke. The rider’s features were intense, deadly serious and focused.

“You!” she blurted.

His brows arched and he grinned. “Yep. Me.”

Free hand on her cleavage, Bonnie pressed a palm over a racing heart. She panted, catching more breaths, forcing her mind to quiet. “But, you rode away!”

He smiled broadly and gave her a merry wink, saying carelessly, “‘Wal, pretty lady, ain’t it a good thing I came back.”

Bonnie gulped air and swallowed against a parched throat. “Why did you?”

“‘Cause I recalled that this time of the year, rattlers usually hang out under that slate wall.”

He opened the pistol, knocking out two brass shells, replacing them from ammunition on his belt. When the weapon was holstered, he hooked a thong over the hammer, then angled his mount away from the rocks. “You must have a guardian angel,” he said, circling until she was once again on the right side of his big mount.

teeth flashed with another smile. He gestured at the broken outcrop of slate. “Lots of prarie rattlers around here. Sometimes, even a diamondback. Snakes winter in the deep fissures.”.” He gave a teasing grin. ““That’s one good reason for packing a gun.”

She blinked, accepting the casual rebuke. Then, she glanced down at her chest and winced. “Ewe! Yuck! I’ve got snake blood in my hair! All over my blouse!”

“Yep,” he said, giving a slow nod. “Quite a mess.” He reached back, pulling at a nylon strap, producing a canteen, unscrewing the lid, handing it over. Without a word, Bonnie accepted the canteen, splashing hot, sticky cheeks, rinsing off gore. When she tried washing blood splotches on her blouse, she realized the water made her bra and blouse semi-transparent. She stopped, blushed and tipped up the canteen, chugging down several mouthfulls. After splashing her face again, she handed back the canteen, giving the man a gracious nod.

“Thank you.”

He screwed on the cap, looping the strap on his saddle horn.

“It’s a long, hot hike back to your camp,” he stated, jerking his chin towards the southeast. “. Can I give you a ride? Diesel mechanic will be at the rig before you can shower and change.”

“What?” she said, blinking up at him. “How did you know a mechanic was coming?”

“A few hours ago the manager told me you called. He asked if they should send him out.”

“Asked you?”

He gave a nod. “Garry Industrial and Maintenance,” he said, flashing another grin. “A subsidiary of Garry Drilling. Remember? You turned down our bid.”

“Bid?” Mouth falling open, Bonnie hardly noticed when fingers slackened and her binder dropped. “Who, who are you?” she asked, biting on her lower lip. She managed to break eye contact, stooping to recover her paperwork.

“Wal’ neighbour,” he replied, once again affecting a Western drawl. “Already told you ‘thet.” He touched fingers to his forehead. “I’m Brad Garry.” His smile was bright and amused. “You do recall my bid? Garry Mining and Development?”

“You, you can’t be him!” she breathed, staring, trying to match the image of a multibillionaire industrialist with the small, somewhat shabby cowboy. She tried desperately to recall a picture. The figure in business attire that appeared in magazines seemed taller, larger, wider, and quite different. Most had been distant shots obscured by one or two screening bodyguards. “Garry Mining and Development,” she marvelled, recalling other companies with the name. “Garry Explorations, Garry-Interasco Diamond Mines, Garry Far Reaches Gold and Rare Earths, and even Montana Swift Air!”