“On the contrary. At the moment I have a particular fondness for big cats.”
Was he flirting with her?
No, that frown back on his face clearly spelled disapproval, or disgust, or something. “Don’t tell me this time that you haven’t been soaking yourself in coconut and vanilla? You reek of a sweet dessert, even more than this afternoon.”
“Reek?”
He blushed. The big guy actually blushed. “Well, reek is mayhap not the right word. You exude sweetness, m’lady.”
M’lady? First mayhap, now m’lady. What next? Forsooth and ’tis and ’twas? “And you have a thing against sweetness?”
“Hah! I have a sweet fang like you would not believe.”
“Did you say fang?”
The blush on his face deepened. “Of course not. I said sweet tooth.” He pressed his lips together, but not before she noticed that his two lateral incisors, or canine teeth, were, in fact, slightly elongated. He was probably embarrassed about his dental imperfections.
“You have news?” she said then.
He nodded. “Circle of Light is a hundred-thousand-acre property outside Bozeman. The Circle Z was a working ranch in the beginning. Then, when the cattle market crashed fifty years ago, it became what is known as a dude ranch. A dude ranch is geared more toward tourism than ranch business, relying on guests who pay for such activities as horseback riding, target shooting, hiking, camping, hayrides, whatever those are, and sing-alongs, for cloud’s sake! Plus whitewater rafting and—”
“I know what a dude ranch is,” she snapped.
“You have been to a dude ranch?” he asked, with surprise.
“No, but I’ve watched the City Slickers movies.” It was her turn to blush.
He rolled his eyes. “Anyhow, the Circle Z was sold in 2010 to a group of foreign investors who turned it into Circle of Light. Supposedly still a dude ranch experience, along with a bunch of transcendental crap, like meditation, extreme yoga, and something called nature immersion therapy. But that’s just a front. In essence, the ranch lures troubled teens and young adults as a safe refuge where they can work as housekeeping staff, riding and fishing instructors, and so on, all the while being groomed and indoctrinated, first in basic Islamic religious tenets, but then into the extremist ISIS philosophy. From there, they move on to Syria or Pakistan or Afghanistan, where they get further training in the Sharia lifestyle, including weaponry and battle strategy. As a result, most of the staff is constantly changing.”
“Is Celie still there?”
“I don’t know. They’re very secretive. Even the guests are screened heavily. The only way to infiltrate the compound is through a guest reservation or as a recruit, both of which would be difficult.”
“Hmm. I’m a quick learner. I could bone up on Islam enough to appear as if I have an interest. Should we apply for jobs or pretend to be city slickers? Which would be quicker?”
“There is no ‘we.’ If I take on this mission, it will be me alone, or possibly some of my vang—my employees. It’s too dangerous for you to engage with these sword-happy terrorists. They would as soon lop off a head as negotiate.”
“No, no, no. If I hire you for this mission, I’ll be with you every step of the way. It’s my sister whose head is in question, and—”
“Not just your sister’s head. If you poke your pretty little head in the wrong place, yours will roll, too.”
She gulped at that image, and didn’t even bother to react to his dubious reference to her as pretty. It was probably just a throwaway cliché, anyway. Men like him were attracted to Sports Illustrated swimsuit model types, not skinny nerdy girls with a white thumb. “Celie is my responsibility. She always has been. Besides, my sister is so stubborn, she probably wouldn’t leave without me there to kick her butt. Even if she’s scared to death, as she appeared to be in that video. Besides, no offense, but you’re a stranger and darn intimidating in appearance.” When she saw his jaw clench, she went on, “I could apply for a position as a cook. Any kind of cook, really. Not just desserts. I know some basic yoga, but I’m hardly qualified to teach, unless their standards are really low. And, of course, I could clean rooms, if necessary. How about you? Can you do maintenance work, carpentry? Push a mop? Rake stalls? Can you even ride a horse, for heaven’s sake?”
“I built a longship one time,” he told her stiffly, “and, yes, I can ride a horse, though I much prefer a car or motorcycle. Can you ride?”
“A little,” she said, though it had been fifteen years since she’d gone to the summer camp where there had been trail riding. She’d had blisters on her rump for a month. Not her cup of tea.