Chapter 12
Jack called for Scout, who’d run ahead of him on the path up the ridgetop chasing a squirrel.
“Dang dog.” As Jack trudged through the brush, the scent of wild, rambling rosemary crushed underfoot rose in the air. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled—the piercing whistle he used at baseball games.
That did it. Scout stopped and spun around with a funny little backward jump. Fixated on a spot obscured by brush from Jack’s vision, the dog whimpered. He paced back and forth as if he had a critter cornered.
“Come on, boy.” Jack huffed as he climbed higher through the underbrush. He was determined to restore his lung capacity as much as he could.
A voice cracked the quietness. “He’s got a rattlesnake.” A woman’s voice, calm and steady. “Don’t move.”
Jack whirled around
