“More than likely,” Hardy agreed cheerfully. “Just remember, it’s not the end of the world. From what I’ve heard since I started working here, there have been worse stunts over the years. Our boss and Justin were behind a few of them. Harlan Patrick survived to take charge, and Justin turned into a straight-arrow. I’m sure Annie will outlive this as well.”
Being reminded of Harlan Patrick’s and Justin’s legendary exploits was not at all reassuring. “Maybe you’d better just tell me. That way I’ll be prepared for the shock.”
“Not a chance,” Hardy said. “Why should I ruin the opportunity to see your face when you find out what Annie’s been up to.”
Slade scowled. “You are a diabolical man. One of these days one of those ladies you like to flirt with is going to snag you, but good. Personally, I can’t wait to see it.”
The notorious womanizer merely grinned. “Never happen,” he said with the total confidence of a man destined to take a serious fall.
A tight knot formed in Slade’s belly as they headed up the road toward his house. What the devil had Annie done? Had she burned the place down? He sniffed the air, fully expecting to smell smoke. To his relief, none was discernible.
As they rounded a curve in the road and his house appeared, his mouth gaped.
“What the dickens has she done?” he murmured, staring at the fresh coat of bright pink paint that decorated the lower half of the house and most of Annie. She was sitting on the front steps, arms folded protectively across her middle, a stubborn jut to her chin.
“Quite a picture, isn’t it?” Hardy inquired, laughter lacing his voice.
“Where in God’s name did she find paint that color?”
“Mixed it herself, from what I hear. There was a can of white paint and a can of red in the storage shed. I give her credit for ingenuity. Of course, it was indoor paint, but she didn’t know the difference.”
“I’ll call Harlan and Cody right away, make sure they know not to worry,” Slade said, his expression grim. “I’ll have the house painted white again by tomorrow.”
“I’m not worried,” Harlan assured him, picking that precise moment to pay a call. Obviously the news of Annie’s adventure had traveled fast. His eyes glittered with amusement. “You should have seen the multihued shed Jenny created in an act of pure rebellion years back. This is downright sedate by comparison.”
“I don’t suppose you related that story to Annie,” Slade said, beginning to understand where Annie might have gotten the idea to do something so outrageous.
“I suppose it could have come up,” Harlan admitted without the slightest hint of guilt. “I enjoy telling tales about my family.”
Slade got the distinct impression he found the stories highly entertaining in retrospect. Slade wondered if the rancher had taken them in the same spirit when they happened. Probably so. That was the kind of man Harlan Adams was—tolerant to a fault.
“Are you sure you don’t pass along these stories just to put ideas into the heads of your great-grandchildren?” he asked the old man. “Is that your way of getting even for what your children and grandchildren did years ago?”
“It might have crossed my mind that they deserved a little payback for past misdeeds,” he admitted unrepentantly.
“I can’t decide which of you to strangle first,” Slade muttered. “Though I suppose you’re pretty much off-limits.”
“Pretty much,” Harlan agreed. “And my sympathy is with Annie. After all, the girl was just indulging in a little self-expression. In fact, if she hadn’t run out of paint, I might have helped her finish the job.”
“Thank goodness for small favors,” Slade said fervently. He glanced at Hardy, who was observing the exchange with evident fascination. “Thanks for bringing this to my attention. I’ll take it from here.”
Still grinning, Hardy took off for the bunkhouse. Harlan seemed less inclined to go.
“Don’t you be too hard on the girl,” he warned.
“Believe me, she’ll get no more than she deserves,” Slade said tersely.
After Harlan had gone, Slade strode up to the porch and scowled down at his daughter. “Mind explaining what the hell you were thinking of?” he all but shouted.
Annie’s eyes blinked wide. “Daddy, you cussed.”
“This isn’t about my language,” he said. “It’s about this.” He waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed the half-painted house. “Why, Annie?”
Her eyes blazed with self-righteous anger. “Because I needed something to do and I thought it would look pretty.”