“Don’t go to any trouble,’’ he called from the living room.

I looked at the meager offering. Martha Stewart I’m not. “You don’t have to worry about that.’’

The cat waited long enough so she wouldn’t seem desperate. Then, streaking past Carlos like she believed speed made her invisible, she tore into the kitchen to eat. A blessed quiet reigned in my cottage. Nights were getting cool enough to open the windows. Nature sounds filtered in through the screens. A bullfrog croaked from a distant creek. An owl hooted. The breeze ruffled leaves on the oak trees that shade my property.

When I joined Carlos, his head was leaned back on the couch, his eyes closed.

“You asleep?’’ I whispered.

“Just resting my eyes.’’ He took the bottle of beer I offered, and gave me a weak smile. “Long day.’’

“Probably be another one tomorrow.’’

He took a swallow of beer. Closed his eyes again. I waited what I thought was an appropriate time, and then asked, “So, who do you think killed Norman Sydney?’’

His eyes slowly opened. He shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right?’’

“What?’’

“Not tonight, Mace. I just want to kick back and unwind. I don’t want to be interrogated.’’

I got a little huffy. “It’s hardly an interrogation. It’s just one little question.’’

“I thought you weren’t interested in trying to solve this case. You said, and I quote: Those weird Hollywood people can kill each other off for all I care.’’

“Right. And I’m not getting involved. That doesn’t mean I’m not curious, though.’’

“Curiosity killed the dog.’’

“Cat,’’ I said. Sometimes Carlos confuses his English-language aphorisms.

“Okay, cat.’’ He rested his head on the back of the couch again.

I looked at his face and saw stress and fatigue written there. Carlos was right. I had vowed to steer clear. And it wasn’t worth us arguing over. I clinked my bottle softly against the one he held in his hand.

“Bottom’s up,’’ I said. “Let the stress release begin.’’

By the time we polished off our beers and half the can of peanuts, we were both feeling mellow.

“How about dessert?’’ Carlos said.

I remembered finishing off a bag of Oreos in front of the TV.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything sweet in the house.’’ I picked a stray peanut off his chest.

“I think you do.’’ He looked at me, desire suddenly sparking in those bottomless-pool eyes.

“Oh.’’

I fed him the peanut. He bit gently at my fingertip, and then ran his tongue around the nail. With his finger, he traced a trail across my lips, down my chin, and then slowly, slowly along the outside of my throat. I swallowed. When his lips followed the path his finger had made, I shivered, even though my body was the opposite of cold.

“Yeah,’’ he said. “Oh.’’

He brought his face back to mine. Our lips met. His tasted like peanuts. That wasn’t a problem. I could eat peanuts all day.

I stood, held out my hand, and pulled him to his feet. “On second thought,’’ I said, “I might have a sweet treat or two hidden in my bedroom.’’

“¡Qué bueno! I love a treasure hunt.’’

_____

Afterward, I lay in my bed behind Carlos as he slept. With my thumb, I followed the curlicue of a cowlick at the back of his neck. I straightened it, and then watched it spring right back to its original position.

It struck me that our relationship was a little like that stubborn curl. I could try to force it into something it wasn’t, or I could just let it grow the way it wanted to. I listened to the even rhythm of his breathing. Heat from his body warmed me as I pressed my naked body against his. I felt well loved. It seemed like more than just the physical afterglow of sex. Was it real happiness?

I wanted to shower, but I could feel myself dropping off to sleep. I felt the familiar heaviness, the letting-go of muscle tension in my limbs. I was beyond relaxed. Why fight it? My body had just begun floating downward into the mattress’s soft embrace when the shrilling of the telephone jarred me back to consciousness.

Beside me, Carlos grumbled and buried his head in a pillow.

The nightstand clock said 10:37—late for idle chit-chat. I hoped nothing had happened to Mama, or to one of my sisters. The number displayed on the phone was local, but not one I recognized. My hand shook a bit as I picked up the phone and said hello.

“Hey, darlin,’ long time no see.’’

I gasped, and felt Carlos’s body go rigid beside me. He was wide awake now.

“Well, say something, why don’t you?’’ The caller’s tone was light, joshing. “Sorry it’s late. I just wanted to call to let you know it looks like we’re going to be working together out there on that movie set.’’

I tried to get my tongue and lips to form some words. All I managed was a little squeak.

A low, sexy chuckle came over the line, hitting me hard in the memory bank. “I expected a little more of a response to the news than that.’’

Instinctively, I turned my back to Carlos, hunching my shoulders and tucking the phone close to my mouth. Even in the dim moonlight that shone through the bedroom window, I knew Carlos would be able to read the emotions on my face. If he did, what would he see?

A tapping issued from the phone, like the caller was knocking the mouthpiece against something to make sure it was working.

“Is this thing on? Are you there, Mace?’’ He paused. “It’s me. Jeb Ennis.’’

The Bar J Ranch crew arrived with its own soundtrack. A stock trailer squeaked and rattled as it rolled over rough pasture toward the movie set’s cow pen. About two dozen head of Brangus cattle lowed from inside. Hauling the trailer was a big Ford dually, a pickup with four wheels on the rear axle. George Strait’s River of Love floated out through the open windows of the battered truck. Three cowboys crowded onto the front seat. I recognized the driver of the white truck by his black hat.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Mace.’’ Maddie squinted at the truck, shading her eyes from the mid-morning sun. “Besides, I thought Jeb lost his ranch. How’d he even get this job?”

I shrugged. I didn’t trust my voice. The fact my stomach was in my throat would surely make the words come out funny. Plus, I didn’t want to get into a big discussion with my sister about Jeb, the first male to pluck out my heart and stomp on it. Even after all these years, I always ended up making excuses for him, which made me feel like a sap.

Marty smoothed her blond hair behind her ears. “I heard he’s been working hard to rebuild Bar J. He’ll probably do whatever he can to earn a few extra bucks.’’

“Humph!’’ Maddie snorted. “So he can squander them again, no doubt. What a loser.’’

“Remember Maddie, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’’’

Mama was capable of chastising Maddie with a verse from Matthew, even as she reached over and rearranged my hair. Then she licked her finger and rubbed at my cheek. “I can’t tell if that’s dirt or manure, Mace. Either way, it’s not a good look.’’

I jerked away. “Like I care, Mama. This isn’t a fashion shoot. I’m working here.’’

“Humph!’’ Maddie glared in Jeb’s direction, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, you care, sister. That’s the problem.’’

I shrugged again, in what I hoped was a carefree manner.

We were gathered at the corral. The crime scene investigators had finished, even removing the section of fence where we’d found Norman. The movie set’s carpenters hurriedly patched it with similarly weathered wood. Mama and my sisters came to help me feed and water the horses. We also worked on preparing saddles and other tack for an upcoming scene.