Chapter Four
Four
Margot
Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I wonder what would have happened if I’d run from Nicholas the first time alarm bells went off in my head.
If I’d trusted my instincts instead of second-guessing myself because he was Nicholas Ammon, beloved televangelist and trusted preacher.
Would I have wandered my way to a psychiatrist sooner, and realized that all the scriptures and positive thinking in the world couldn’t do for my brain what an antidepressant could?
Would I have started unpacking my cartons of oldest-daughter issues in therapy years earlier?
I’ll never know, but one thing is certain: there wouldn’t be a rattlesnake in Claire and Shane’s entryway if I’d never fallen in love with Nicholas Ammon.
The familiar heat of anger lights, simmering low in my stomach. The longer I look at the snake, the hotter it burns. Fear that made me wobble-kneed moments before can’t withstand the temperature spike, and heads for more hospitable places.
Breathe.
I want to scream. Break something. Kick the couch. I take a deep breath. Then another.
Caine abandons his observation of the snake to focus on me.
He reaches toward me. I back away, unable to speak what I’m thinking.
If you touch me, I will explode. Angry? Horny?
Who knows. But I am a human land mine, and there will be casualties.
I can’t stop moving away, even though he doesn’t follow.
There’s a soft thud as the cell phone in my back pocket bumps the wall.
I’ve scooted backward all the way across the room.
“Talk to me.” His voice is low, soothing, a tone that makes me think of wolf skull masks and tight spaces.
It only upsets me more. Caine doesn’t soothe under normal circumstances.
He stirs, bothers, and scares. I don’t want nice Caine.
I want normal Caine, because nice Caine exists when everything I’ve been running from has caught me.
“Don’t be sweet to me.” The words come out almost a sob, making me clamp a hand over my mouth. I feel angry, not sad. What is happening? Releasing my grip, I inhale hard. “It’s awful.”
His head cocks. I’ve completely confused him. Fair enough—I’ve confused me too.
Then the corner of his mouth twitches. “Did you just say it’s awful when I’m sweet?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds ridiculous. “I hate it.”
“You hate it when I’m sweet.” Caine’s face cracks into a smile as he says it, like my meanness pleases him. Great. We both have odd emotional responses.
I sniff, composing myself. “It doesn’t suit you.”
He laughs harder than my attempt at an insult deserves. Taking another step toward me, he holds out his hands.
“Don’t grab me again.” Since I can’t step back any farther, I shift down the wall, an awkward crab-ish movement that makes me feel ridiculous. I still feel too exposed to get near him.
“I’m not.” The too-nice voice is back. “You need to give me Gremlin, though. You look like you might faint, and I don’t want you to drop her. Or fall on her.”
“Oh.” I stop moving, again aware of the Yorkie in my arms. “I’m not going to pass out.”
My eyes flicker to the snake, and I can’t stop a full-body shudder.
It doesn’t matter—if Caine catches the movement, he’ll blame it on the snake.
Nobody would ever imagine that I’d prefer the reptile over its keeper any day.
Snakes are supposed to strike; it’s how they survive.
Rattlesnakes are even polite enough to give you a warning first. People hide their fangs.
“We have to catch it.” I scan the living room, looking for anything we could use. In the corner there’s an opaque plastic bin. It’s mine, currently holding some items I just moved out of Jeremy’s.
“Keep your eyes on the snake,” I hiss at Caine as I set Gremlin on the couch.
Doing the opposite of my instructions, Caine glances away from the snake to me, face turning from confused to concerned.
“Whoa, easy does it. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down for a second?” Holding out a hand like I’m a wild animal, he motions toward the couch, where Gremlin has already curled up at the far end, clearly wanting none of the excitement.
“No,” I snap, hurrying to the tote. “Watch the rattlesnake. If it gets away, we’ll never find it.
” Claire and Shane returning to find that there’s a rattlesnake lost in their house cannot happen.
Plastic bin in hand, I rise, turning back toward Caine, who is—thankfully—watching the snake.
Partially coiled, its head swivels to survey its surroundings, tongue flicking every so often.
My hands are clammy, fingertips sticking to the bin as I pass Caine, moving toward the snake.
I give myself a mental pep talk as I go.
You know how to do this.
You’ve done this…sort of.
There’s a big difference between catching one of Nicholas’s escape artist corn or rat snakes and a rattlesnake, but dwelling on that won’t make my reflexes any quicker. The chill of the air coming in from the open doorway gives me hope that the snake may be sluggish, and maybe disoriented.
A rough hand closes around my upper arm. I try to wrench free, only to be gripped tighter.
“What are you doing? Don’t get near it,” Caine demands. “I’ll chase it outside with a broom or something.”
“It’ll die. Or mess up the ecosystem.” I also need the snake; it’s living proof that I was right, Nicholas was here. The man who currently has one hand wrapped around my arm and the other gripping my last nerve wasn’t the only midnight intruder.
“Then we call animal control,” he insists. “You aren’t getting near it.”
“Caine.” The temper I can usually leash is running free. “Respectfully, it’s not your call. That snake is going in this bin.” I jerk my arm away. “So help me or shut up and sit down.”
I’ve never spoken to him like this. It’s rare I speak to anyone like this, but rattlesnakes and ex-husbands are extenuating circumstances. Eyes hard, jaw tight, it’s clear he doesn’t like it, but instead of telling me off, he jerks a tight nod. “Tell me what we need to do, then.”
Oh.
I do. It isn’t particularly complex. Tub goes over snake, lid is carefully slid under tub, then tub is flipped with snake inside.
But what sounds simple doesn’t feel it as I creep up on the snake.
Caine wanted to do the box placing, but I shot that down immediately.
If someone gets bit, it should be me. This is my mess.
Holding my breath as if that will somehow make a difference, I pounce. The tub lands over the rattlesnake with a thump that feels anticlimactic. War whips around, her body blurry through the opaque plastic as she bumps into the container wall.
“Sorry,” I soothe. “I know. Not fun. We aren’t going to hurt you, though. Trust me, you don’t want to live in the walls. At least not here. No rats or anything fun to eat.”
Caine gives me an Are you baby-talking a rattlesnake? look as he drops into a crouch beside the tub. “Ready?”
I nod. Easing up one side of the tub enough for him to slide the lid under, I hold the box as he works the lid beneath.
War isn’t pleased, but after a few gentle nudges she moves onto the lid.
Caine slides the top all the way underneath, and the sound of it snapping into place is comforting.
Ever so slowly, we rotate the tub until it’s upright.
“One second. Make sure she doesn’t knock the lid off,” I tell Caine, rising to stand.
How badly he wants to ask what I’m doing is all over his face, but he doesn’t. I hurry into the kitchen, trying to remember which one is the junk drawer. When I finally find it, I paw through until I find a nail and packing tape. Back in the living room, Caine eyeballs my wares.
“The tape I understand—and appreciate. The nail is throwing me.”
I pass him the tape and press the tip of the nail to the lid of the box. “I don’t want her to suffocate.”
“Ah.” After witnessing me struggle to get the nail to pierce the plastic, he plucks it from my hand. “I’ll poke. You tape.”
“Fine.” It does work better that way. It’s hard not to stare at Caine’s hands as he creates holes in the lid of the box while I tape the edges.
The tendons cord and flex beneath his tattoos, and my eyes keep drifting back to the design on his right one.
Unlike the geometric shapes accented with realistic flowers and vines that cover his arms, the looping, lacelike lines across the back of his hand feature gemstones.
I nearly tape my own hand to the box looking at them.
When sufficient holes have been poked and I’m certain the lid won’t come off, a new wave of dread washes over me at what the snake means, how I’ll explain it to the cops, and even worse, how I’ll explain it to Caine.
A huff saves me from my thoughts. I glance toward the couch, where Gremlin is giving me an indignant look.
“Poor baby.” I hurry to her, scooping her up off the couch. “She still needs to go out.” I head for the back door. There might be evidence on the front door or porch.
I brought him with me.
Guilt swirls inside me, sediment stirred from a lake bed. I live with a perpetual layer of this is all my fault settled at the bottom of my stomach: the tiniest disturbance and my insides grow murky, shame and self-blame clouding everything.
I pass Caine, and his hand moves as if he’s going to pat my back or shoulder. I speed up. Practically running through the kitchen, dining area, and mudroom, I smack the light switch by the back door too aggressively.
“Careful.” Before I can open the back door, Caine shoulders by, blocking me. It isn’t until I see how cautiously he peers through the small glass window in the door that I realize charging out back without checking would have been dangerous.