Lassiter Adams just bought himself a piece of the pie. A piece of the Adams pie, er, land, that is. He says he has every right to pay the back taxes that are due on the land and call it his own. He says that because he says he's an Adams and he isn't lying about that either. He really is an Adams, but is he an Adams of the were variety? Emerson Palmer is an environmental activist, trying to stop Lassiter Adams from building condos with snazzy hot tubs on the Adams' vast acreage. With the help of all the Adams clan, she'll fight tooth and nail to keep him from doing it, no matter how much she wants to sink her teeth into his hot body and nail him. Yet Lassiter digs and digs, but not a single condo has appeared since his hot booty arrived. What Emerson can't figure out is this—if Lassiter has no qualms about killing off the wildlife and his heart is as cold as he portrays it to be—why does he have a parakeet that he treats like a confidant and why on earth does he feed scraps to a dog he's sadly fooled into believing is a stray? Ruff, ruff...