Untameable: Merciless. Diana Palmer

getting a crick in my neck.”

      “That was before air bags,” she reminded him gently. “It’s too dangerous to let a child sit up front now.”

      “If you want my opinion, and not many people do—” he grinned “—I think the government pushes its way into our lives way too much. You can’t legislate morality or safety, but they’re sure trying to. We actually have cowboys around here who wear helmets to ride a damned horse!”

      She muffled a giggle. He had a way of expressing things that was more amusing than disturbing. He grimaced. “Don’t mind me. I’m a throwback to prehistoric times. I don’t fit in anywhere.” He opened the door for her. “See? Neanderthal manners, I still open doors for ladies.”

      She smiled at him. “I like it. You remind me of Jack Palance in that movie he won an Oscar for. I thought it was delightful, the way he protected that young woman.”

      His eyebrows arched and he grinned more widely.

      She buckled her seat belt while he went around and got in under the steering wheel. He looked at a note pasted to the visor and glared at it, but he buckled his own seat belt. He noticed Joceline’s puzzled stare and turned the visor so that she could read the note.

      It read, “Put on the damned seat belt and shut up about government regulations on private industry.”

      She burst out laughing. “Do I want to know who wrote that?”

      “Your boss,” he said, and not surprisingly, as he started the SUV and drove off. “We had a big row about it when I first came to work here. I lost.”

      “Most people do when they get in arguments with him.”

      He drew in a long breath. “I’m sorry about your trouble,” he told her, with a glance in the rearview mirror at Markie, who was glued to the window, looking at cattle and open country in the distance. “Sick so-and-so who’d target a child.”

      “Yes,” she said heavily. “It’s been something of a shock that we’ve become involved in this. Not that I’m not worried about the boss. He got shot, after all.”

      “If he’d been here, never would have happened,” the cowboy said shortly. “I track him when he’s on the ranch. He don’t know it, but he’s never alone. I know how federal agents get threatened. Nobody’s taking out the boss on my watch.”

      “That makes me feel better,” she said. She smiled. “I’ll bet you hunt.”

      “Sure do. Animals, too,” he added enigmatically.

      She caught her breath as the hacienda-style ranch house came into view. It was enormous, most assuredly a mansion with no excuses or apologies. There were electronic gates made of black wrought iron and everything else was thick, sand-colored adobe. It was mid-November, so nothing was blooming, but Joceline saw dozens of trees lining the long driveway and dotted around the Spanish patio with its big fountain. There was a stone floor on the patio and when she looked up, she was surprised to see a man with a high-powered rifle on the balcony upstairs.

      “Sharpshooter,” the cowboy told her. “We have three who work shifts. Used to be just one, randomly up there, but since the boss got shot, we’re more cautious.”

      “Not a bad idea,” she agreed.

      “You’ll be safe here, Ms. Perry,” he told her gently. “Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all,” he added, jerking his eyes toward the oblivious child in the backseat. “You’ll both be safe.”

      She smiled. “Thanks.”

      He parked at the door, where the semicircular driveway flanked another large, working fountain. He got out and came around to help Joceline and Markie out of the SUV.

      “Look at the fountain!” Markie exclaimed, running to perch himself on the stone bench. “And it’s got fish! Goldfish!”

      “Chinese goldfish,” the cowboy told him with a smile. “There’s a big Japanese koi pond out back with enormous fish of all sorts of colors. There’s even a yellow one with blue eyes.”

      “Can I see?” Markie exclaimed.

      “Not right now,” Joceline said firmly. “First we go see the boss and get settled in our room,” she added.

      “Come along, young feller,” the old cowboy told him with a grin as he picked up the luggage and carried it through the open wrought-iron gate.

      “It’s so pretty!” Markie enthused. “Look at all the trees! We don’t got even one tree at our apartment!”

      “Don’t have,” Joceline corrected automatically.

      “There’s a doggie!” he exclaimed, and started running toward an enormous, black-faced German shepherd dog.

      “Markie, no!” Joceline almost screamed. “Don’t …!”

      “Dieter, freund!” the cowboy called in fluent German. “Ja, Ja, freund. Das ist ein braver hund!”

      Joceline spared him a shocked glance before she rushed to Markie’s side.

      But the dog wasn’t hostile. On the contrary, he went right up to Markie with a slow, loping gait, and sat down just in front of him, leaning forward so that the child could pet him.

      “He loves kids,” the cowboy told her. “Dieter is an old man, like me,” he added on a chuckle. “He came over from Germany. Notice his hocks. They almost touch the ground. American-bred German shepherds’ hind legs are joined higher up.”

      She did notice. The dog’s build kept him very close to the ground. He was beautiful, with a thick shiny black coat and pale brown markings. He seemed very happy to sit and let Markie hug and pet him.

      “You speak German to him,” Joceline said, curious.

      “Yes. All our dogs are trained to respond to it.” He didn’t add that there was a secret attack command in German known only to the handler and a few of the most trusted cowboys. The code was never to be used unless in the gravest of emergencies. Activated, the dogs were quite capable of attacking and bringing down a human intruder. Considering Jon’s line of work, not to mention his brother’s, they couldn’t take chances. At least once, a would-be killer had tried to force his way in. He’d been taken off to jail, with a stop by the local hospital to stitch his wounds.

      “What if an intruder also spoke German?” she wondered.

      “They’d ignore him. They respond to our voices.”

      She shook her head. “I can’t believe he’s that tolerant.”

      He smiled. “Considering their size and strength, it would be insane not to have them gentle around family and friends.”

      “I totally agree.”

      “Come on inside.”

      He led them through the house. Markie protested until the dog, Dieter, was allowed to come inside, as well. He walked right beside Markie, as if an attachment had already been formed there.

      “My goodness,” Joceline exclaimed, noticing the dog’s actions.

      “He likes you,” the old cowboy told Markie with a grin.

      “I like him, too. He’s cool!” Markie said excitedly, petting the dog’s head.

      The inside of the house was open and dotted with comfortable chairs and plants and paintings. The color scheme was mostly shades of tan and brown, with some green and even a little gold in the upholstery and curtains. There was a huge stone fireplace, in which a fire was already roaring. It was cold.

      “They got a fireplace!” Markie exclaimed. “Can I go sit by it?”

      “Not without me,” Joceline said firmly. “Come on, sport, let’s get our bags unpacked before we worry people to death trying to explore, okay?”