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listening,” Zane said, after suppressing a sigh that seemed deeper than the well outside, the one rumbling up sluggish but clean supplies of water, now that the electricity was turned on and the pump actually worked.
    “Dad just dropped him off here,” Landry said, in an exaggerated whisper that led Zane to believe the boy was within earshot and, therefore, might overhear. “I can’t take care of a kid, Zane. I’ve got a business meeting in Berlin tomorrow—get that? tomorrow —and Susan and I are on the outs. In fact, she’s leaving.” A pause. “Not that she’d be willing to help out, anyhow.”
    Landry’s love life was only slightly less of a train wreck than Zane’s own had been, an uncomfortable indication that they’d inherited more from their old daddy than good teeth, fast reflexes and a passion for risk-taking. “Again?” he asked, letting a note of sarcasm slip into his voice. Susan and Landry had been married—and divorced—twice, at last count. Their marriage reminded Zane of a dizzying carnival ride; somebody was always getting on, or off.
    Landry drew in a breath and let it out in a huff. Even though he was the younger of the two, he regarded himself as the responsible, reliable brother, considered Zane a loose cannon with more luck than sense. “I didn’t call so we could discuss my personal life,” Landry bit out. “The kid—Nash—needs somewhere to stay. Pronto. I was about to put him on the next flight to L.A. when it occurred to me that you might be on location someplace, pulling down ludicrous amounts of money for doing nothing special. Where are you?”
    “I’m not in L.A.,” Zane said evenly. “I’m on the ranch in Montana—you know, the one we bought together a few years back, pretty much just for the hell of it?”
    “What the devil are you doing there? ” Landry demanded. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was pushing the envelope, given that he obviously planned on asking a favor.
    A greenhorn through and through, Landry wore custom-made three-piece suits, lived in a massive penthouse condo in Chicago, employed a chauffeur and even a butler, which was just plain embarrassing, if you asked Zane, which, of course, nobody had. A complete stranger to horses and every other aspect of country life, Landry ponied up the money to pay for his half of the ranch as some kind of tax maneuver.
    “I got tired of, well, just about everything,” Zane admitted, suddenly weary. The inflatable bed hadn’t held out much appeal earlier, especially since it was womanless, but by then, he’d started to think he could sleep for days, if not decades. “So I left.”
    “Whatever.” Landry sighed. Dealing with Zane was an ordeal for him, what with his blatant superiority and all. “You have to take Nash,” he said. “Dad dumped him on me—evidently our dear father has to lay low for a few months until his poker buddies calm down enough to change their minds about having his knees broken. It’s you or foster care, and I think the poor kid’s had his fill of that already.”
    “What about Barbara?” Zane asked moderately. “You remember her? Nash’s mother?”
    “She’s out of the picture,” Landry said. His tone was flat, matter-of-fact.
    Their own mother, an early casualty of Jess Sutton’s incomprehensible charm, had died a few years before of a lingering illness. Disagreements about how to care for Maddie Rose at the end remained a major sore spot between the two brothers.
    “How so? Is Barbara sick? Dead?”
    “She’s somewhere in India or Pakistan—one of those third-world countries—on some kind of spiritual quest, ” Landry replied with disdain. “That’s Dad’s story, anyway. Suffice it to say, Barbara isn’t exactly a contender for Mother of the Year.”
    “And this is my problem because...?” Zane asked, stalling. He couldn’t turn his back on his own flesh and blood and Landry knew that, damn him. Still, it was an imposition, a responsibility he