“I’d love to have a cat,” Tad sighed. “But we can’t on account of Clancey’s got asthma.”

“I’m not allergic to all cats. Just certain ones,” she clarified. “It depends on the dander, not the fur.” She laughed involuntarily. “One man suggested that if I rubbed a cat with a dryer sheet, it might help. I asked if he’d be willing to hold the cat while I rubbed it.”

Banks chuckled. “I saw this video once, about how to bathe a cat. It seems to involve rubber boots, a rain slicker, a scuba helmet and thick rubber gloves. Convinced me that Miss Kitty was never going to need a bath, I might add.”

“I’ll bet she’s pretty,” Clancey said. “There was a show about cats a few weeks ago that Tad and I watched. There was a big black-and-brown Maine Coon cat who was taught to play fetch. His owner walked him on a leash.”

“They’re smart,” he agreed. “My housekeeper fusses because she can’t use the sink until I come home and remove the cat.”

“What?” she asked.

“Miss Kitty loves sinks and bathtubs,” he explained. “And water of any kind. She likes to play in it.” He shook his head. “On hot days, she curls up in the kitchen sink and goes to sleep.”

Clancey smiled. “She sounds very sweet.”

“She is, until you want her to do something that she doesn’t want to do,” he replied with a sigh. “Then it’s all teeth and claws and hissing. She weighs sixteen pounds, so she can be formidable.”

“I didn’t know that cats got so big,” Clancey remarked as she put her empty plate on the bedside table.

“Only a few breeds do.” He smiled at the picture she made, sitting up in bed with her wavy hair faintly tousled and those pale gray eyes that reminded him of sterling silver.

He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I have to go. I’m meeting an informant.”

“He won’t hurt you, will he?” Tad worried.

“Mr. Banks has a gun, Tad,” she returned with a wry smile.

“Oh.” Tad studied it in its hand-tooled leather holster. “It’s a big gun.”

“A .45 caliber Colt 1911 ACP,” Banks said. “But I hardly ever have to use it. That’s a good thing.”

“I don’t think I could shoot people,” Tad said worriedly.

“Has somebody asked you to?” Banks asked with an indulgent smile.

“Well, I want to be a Texas Ranger when I grow up, just like you,” Tad explained, while Banks’s high cheekbones took on the faintest ruddy tint.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Colter told him gently. “It’s a few years in the future, right?”

Tad smiled. “I reckon.”

“If you need anything, you call me,” he told both of them.