St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

safer with him, but he’d never been very good at lying to himself. She needed safety and sleep, not sex. That was all she’d asked of him. Safety.
    Hell.
    Then, somewhere in his sleep, he’d begun dreaming of Black Hawks dropping down out of the sky, death blazing from every weapon. He woke up sweating, heard the fading sound of a helicopter flying over Taos Valley, and finally managed to get back to sleep.
    The only good news was that the size of his morning woody announced that he was fully healthy again.
    The reason for his health gave a muffled shriek when her bare feet hit the icy floor in the main room.
    “Watch out for glass,” he yelled. “I might have missed some.”
    “I thought that sparkly stuff was ice,” she retorted.
    The phone kept ringing. He reached for it and sent a stack of photographs sliding.
    “Damnation,” he said roughly, catching the photos and putting the receiver to his ear at the same time.
    “Is that any way to greet your brother?” Gus Salvador asked.
    “What time is it?”
    “The sun’s up.”
    “So am I. So what?” He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost eleven. He’d slept more than he thought. “Is everything okay?”
    “If by everything you mean my wife, children, and parents, yes.”
    “Then why did you wake me up?”
    “Thought you’d like to know the latest on the Quintrell family.”
    Dan sat up, not noticing the cold air of the room on his skin. “What.” It was a demand, not a question.
    “Winifred has walking pneumonia. Sylvia is going to be moved to a facility in Santa Fe. The Quintrell ranch is for sale.”
    Dan shook his head like he’d been slapped. “You sure?”
    “As sure as I can be without talking to the governor, and I’ll be doing that at two o’clock. He agreed to an interview before he flies back to Santa Fe this afternoon.”
    “How’s Winifred doing?”
    “All I’ve heard is that she’s on antibiotics, fluids, oxygen, and bed rest, but she still gets up and checks on Sylvia every few hours.”
    “When does the ranch go on the block?”
    “The governor is having papers prepared in town right now. That’s how I heard.”
    “Anything else?”
    “I’ll let you know.”
    “What about Mom?” Dan said. “Are you going to tell her or wait for the town gossips to spring it on her?”
    There was a long pause.
    “Gus,” Dan said, sighing. Then, “I’ll take care of it.”
    “Thanks. I don’t want to be on her shit list for mentioning the forbidden name.”
    “But you don’t mind being on mine?” Dan retorted.
    “What are brothers for? Besides, you know you love the kids and they love you. You won’t stay mad at me long.”
    “Blackmail.”
    “Yeah, ain’t it grand?” Laughing, Gus disconnected.
    Dan replaced the receiver and looked at the doorway. Carly was standing there wearing his favorite old sweatshirt, the faded black one with the sleeves ripped off. If she was wearing anything else, it didn’t show.
    “What happened?” Carly asked. “I can’t believe I slept this late.”
    You have really amazing legs, Dan wanted to say. And toes just made for nibbling. Knees and thighs, too. And…
    “Dan?”
    He shook himself out of his sexual fantasy. The problem with getting a sex drive back was keeping it under control. Not since his raging-hormone teen years had he been this quick off the mark.
    And this hard.
    “That was Gus.” Dan pulled a blanket over his lap and hoped it concealed everything it should. “Winifred’s got pneumonia, Sylvia will be transferred to Santa Fe, and the governor is selling the ranch.”
    Carly let out air with a whoosh. “When did all this happen?”
    “Probably this morning. That’s when I heard a helicopter heading toward the ranch.”
    “But…” She spread her hands, feeling sad for no reason except the end of someone else’s family tradition. “The ranch has been in the Castillo-Quintrell families for centuries .”
    “The governor is a city man. He doesn’t have any emotional connection to the ranch.”
    “He was raised there,” she protested.
    Dan shook his head. “When he was seven, he was shipped out to the first in a long string of military schools, the kind that never close for holidays. If he spent two weeks total on the ranch from that day to the present, I’d be surprised. It was his older brother, A. J. IV, who was being groomed for the succession. He was the one who spent time with his father and the people of New Mexico.”
    “What