“Ah.” Stella started, falling backward and landing on her butt in the grass. She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart protested the shock, and pain shot through her hip where she’d landed on a rock.

Mac extended a hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

“Are you OK?” Concern—and humor—lit his eyes. He was pressing his lips together, as if trying not to laugh.

She rubbed her throbbing hip.

Carson’s smile dimmed, his gaze dropped to the ground, and he deflated. “I’m sorry, Uncle Mac. I didn’t know she was scared of snakes. Aunt Hannah isn’t.”

“It’s OK, buddy.” Mac squatted. “You didn’t know.”

“I’m fine,” Stella reassured him. “I’m not scared at all,” she lied. “Just surprised.”

“Let’s see that snake.” Mac reached out and took the creature. It was about two feet long, with a slender body decorated in orange and white stripes.

Instead of hissing at Mac, the snake wrapped its body around his tanned hand and forearm.

Smart snake.

“What a beauty,” Mac said.

Carson stroked the snake’s head. “He likes you.”

“He likes my body heat.” Mac held the snake toward Stella. “Want to pet him?”

She didn’t. Not. One. Bit. But the pride on Carson’s face made her feel like a slug for frightening him. This little boy had lost both his parents the year before. The least she could do was make him happy. And Mac’s grin was challenge enough.

“He’s not venomous,” Carson encouraged. “We only have three kinds of venomous snakes in New York: timber rattlers, copperheads, and the . . . What’s the other one, Uncle Mac?”

“Massasauga.”

“Right.” Carson repeated the name one syllable at a time. “This is a milk snake. He won’t bite.”

Stella plastered a smile on her face, clamped her teeth together, and lifted her hand. Where to touch it? Venomous or not, she wasn’t going anywhere near its mouth. She settled on the tail and touched it with just the tips of her fingers. The skin felt like bumpy plastic. It didn’t move, but she thought three strokes were enough to satisfy Carson. The snake hadn’t been moist or dirty, but she wiped her hand on her slacks anyway.

Mac grinned, then cleared his throat and worked hard to straighten his face.

“Can I keep him?” Carson gently unwound the animal from Mac’s hand. It immediately curled around his arm. “My friend Bobby’s dad has a python he keeps in a fish tank.”

“Do you really think he’d be happy in a fish tank when he’s used to living out here?” Mac gestured to the woods behind the house.