Lone Calder Star (16 page)

"Ask Echohawk," he replied with a shrug.

"Quint?" Dallas frowned in surprise. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Your grandfather works for him."

"That's a lie." Her denial was quick and heated, an instant reaction to the shock of his statement.

"Believe me, it's true," Boone stated.

"He couldn't-he wouldn't-" Dallas felt sick inside, knowing it was exactly the kind of thing her grandfather would do. Yet parts of it made no sense. "I don't understand. I mean, how-" She couldn't finish the question, finding it somehow disloyal.

Boone guessed at the question. "How did he get back and forth to the Cee Bar when you have the truck? Echohawk picks him up around eight o'clock in the morning after you've already left for work and brings him back between four-thirty and five."

Dallas withheld any comment, her thoughts spinning so fast she couldn't separate them into anything coherent. The silence stretched a little longer as Boone waited, clearly expecting her to say something. But there was nothing she could say. And she certainly wasn't going to offer any apologies or excuses for her grandfather's actions, not to a Rutledge.

"Your grandfather is a very foolish old man," Boone said at last.

For all the ease in his voice, there was an unmistakable note of threat in it. Dallas felt cold to the bone. It was fear that gave birth to fury.

A long line of big, round bales stood caterpillar-like along the pasture fence, one hump flowing
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into the next. The length and bulk of them dominated the view from the Cee Bar's ranch yard.

The hay bales were the first thing Quint saw when he emerged from the barn, one arm hooked around the half dozen steel posts balanced on one shoulder. He crossed to the rear of the black pickup, hoisted the posts off his shoulder, and slid them across the lowered tailgate into the truck bed next to the roll of fence wire.

When he stepped back from the truck, the loud clanging of a rod heing struck against an old iron triangle shattered the still- Quint automatically glanced toward the house, knowing it had to be Empty Garner. The minute the old rancher had come across the triangle hanging behind a half-rotted leather harness in the barn, he'd held it up triumphantly.

" I was getting danged tired of wearing myself out hollering for you to come eat," he'd declared.

"You can be a mile away and still hear this."

Quint had yet to be a mile from the ranch yard, but, as loud as the clanging was, he was convinced the sound would carry that far.

IHe spotted the old rancher standing at the end of the porch. before he could raise a hand, acknowledging that he'd heard the signal, Empty Garner cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, "Soup's hot."

Answering with a wave, Quint turned and struck out for the house, absently tugging off his leather work gloves. Empty waited for him at the top of the porch steps, hands on his hips and a serenely pleased expression on his weathered face as he gazed at a point beyond Quint's shoulder.

"Pretty sight, isn't it?" Empty gestured at the hay when Quint wined him on the porch. "And just about as satisfying as watching those cows tear into the one I hauled out to them yesterday afternoon."

Automatically turning to survey the row of bales, Quint idly tucked his gloves in the rear pocket of his Wranglers. "We'll need more before the winter's over, but this gets us on our way."

"It sure enough does that," the rancher declared and grinned. "Don't you know Rutledge is over there in that big house of his gnashing his teeth in frustration?"

"Probably." Quint allowed a small smile of satisifaction curve his mouth.

"Savor this while you can." Experience wiped the grin from the rancher's face. " 'Cause you've got to know Rutledge is over there cooking up something else. And chances are it won't be anything you'll expect."

Quint didn't dispute the truth in Empty's statement, aware that Max Rutledge wouldn't be quick to give up the fight. It would take him a while to realize that he had come up against somebody who wouldn't bow to pressure. It wasn't part of the Calder makeup to back down.

"Whatever it is, we'll handle it when it comes," Quint stated with certainty.

As he started to turn toward the house, he caught the distinctive rumble of a vehicle's engine. It sounded close, too close to be anything traveling on the road. His glance instantly swung to the ranch lane.

"I think we're about to have company," he said to Empty when the rumble grew louder.

"And coming fast, too," Empty added, like Quint, fixing his gaze on the bend in the lane that would offer their first view of their noonday visitor.

Within seconds, a battered white pickup, traveling a little too fast, careened around the curve, straightened itself out, and accelerated again toward the ranch yard, dust pluming behind it.

Quint's eyes narrowed on it in a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

He shot a questioning look at the old rancher. "That looks like your truck, Empty."

Empty hastily ducked his head and pivoted toward the door, muttering, "Better check on that soup 'fore it boils over."

Quint had little time to wonder why Empty was so eager to slip into the house. The white pickup had already reached the ranch yard. It made an initial swing toward the barn before the wheel was jerked, aiming the pickup at the house. As it plowed to a stop, kicking up more dust, Quint came down the steps to meet its occupant.

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He halted in surprise when Dallas piled out of the cab and charged up the walk to him, her copper hair glinting in the sunlight , a crackling, contagious energy in her swift stride. There was a great swelling lift of emotion within him, something powerful and nameless.

"Dallas." He had barely uttered her name when the flat of her hand whacked against his jaw.

All of her weight was behind the swing, the impact of it sufficient to knock Quint off balance.

She was on him in a flash, unIcasking a torrent of abuse. Quint was too busy fending off the forceful blows aimed at his head to make sense of any of it.

His fingers finally closed around a slim wrist. Its capture made the snaring of its twin much easier. But it only intensified her fury as she struggled and kicked.

With his own anger growing, Quint twisted her arms behind hrr hack, bringing her up hard against his body. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded, looking down at pale brown eyes that seemed to glitter with hatred.

"You dirty lying bastard." Her voice vibrated with bitter loathing. "All that talk about not wanting to cause trouble for anyone-it was nothing but a lie."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded again.

"Just let me go!" She struggled wildly, her voice rising. "You're no better than Rutledge. Do you hear? I swear I could kill you."

Hatred poured from her, the harshness of it at odds with the rounded feel of her body pressed so snugly against him. With her lips forming more vicious accusations, Quint had only one thought and that was to silence them.

He clamped his mouth across hers, smothering her gurgle of outrage. There was an anger of his own in the driving pressure of his mouth, an anger that it was her hatred she was heaping on him when it was something else he wanted. And a bitterness, too, that she would believe those things about him.

But the natural pliancy of her lips soon awakened needs of another kind. Quint felt the ache of it in his loins and in his chest. It was a regret that it was never likely to he between them that had him easing up on the pressure.

Only when he lifted his head did he notice that she stood motionless, no longer struggling to break free. In absolute silence, she stared back at him, all wide-eyed and a little stunned.

"That's a fast way of shutting her up when she blows her temper." Empty's marveling voice made Quint aware that they weren't alone.

Breathing a little heavier than normal, Quint released her wrists from his cuffing grip and stepped back from her. The separation seemed to allow his mind to return to its logical thought pattern.

"I take it Dallas is your granddaughter," he said to Empty without letting his gaze stray from her face.

"You didn't know?" she murmured, not at all certain she should believe that.

"How could I?" Quint countered. "I don't even know your last name. In case you've forgotten, we never got around to introductions."

"No, we didn't," she admitted, dropping her glance to a midway point on his chest. It snapped back to his face, with some of its previous fire. "How could you do it? Why on earth did you have to hire him to work here? For heaven's sake, he's an old man! He's been through enough!"

"You hold it right there, young lady," Empty cut in sharply. "Before you throw out any more accusations, you'd better get your facts straight. It was me that approached Quint about working here, not the other way around."

"It doesn't matter whose idea it was," Dallas retorted hotly. "It still ends up the same-you're working here. Didn't either of you think that Rutledge wouldn't find that out?"

"I expected it." But Quint hadn't expected that it would involve Dallas in any way.

Empty dragged in a deep breath and sighed it out, then arched a knowing look at Quint. "Like I said a minute ago, trouble never comes from the place where you think it will." With a certain grimness , he redirected his attention to Dallas. "It's for sure that you didn't accidentally find out
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I've been working here. I don't think you would've worked yourself up into such a lather all on your own.„

" Boone came by the feed store and insisted I have lunch with him," Dallas replied with biting emphasis.

"Obviously there was more to it than that," Quint stated. "We were just about to sit down to lunch ourselves. You might as well come in and tell us what all he had to say."

Dallas hesitated an instant. "I promise you, none of it was good." The heaviness of defeat was in her voice, but she moved past him to the steps.

Upon entering the kitchen of the old ranch house, Dallas immediately busied herself with the task of ladling soup into bowls while Quint washed up at the sink. He dried his hands on a towel and followed when she carried the bowls to the table where Empty was already seated.

Quint pulled out a chair and sat down, conscious that his awareness of her had doubled, adding its own brand of tension to the scene. And that awareness made it impossible for him not to

!iotice the way she seemed to avoid looking at him. He wanted to blame it on the threats Boone Rutledge must have issued, but he had a feeling his rough kiss might have had just as much to do with it.

The instant she set the bowls down, Dallas moved away from the table, crossing to the counter where she poured herself a cup of coffee. She brought it back to the table with her and sat down opposite her grandfather.

Empty glanced at the cup. "Aren't you going to eat any soup?"

"I'm not hungry. And I couldn't eat and talk at the same time anyway." Dallas wrapped both hands around the cup as if fighting off a chill.

"Well, we can listen and eat at the same time, So you might as well tell us what he had to say."

Empty crumbled a handful of saltine crackers into his bowl of vegetable beef soup.

After a short nod of agreement, Dallas paused to collect her thoughts, then began, "Like I said, Boone came by the feed store this morning. He used the pretext of picking up a salt block, but the minute he asked me to have lunch with him, I knew he was there to talk to me." Her glance skipped to Quint. "Right away I assumed it was because we had a drink together at Tillie's on Saturday night."

"You've been out with him?" Empty stared at her in surprise.

"He bought me a beer. I don't think that's quite the same as going out with someone," Dallas was quick to add, obviously uncomfortable with the phrase.

"You never mentioned anything about it to me." The rancher's statement bordered on an accusation.

"You were asleep when I got home."

"Wait a minute." Empty lost all interest in his soup and pointed a gnarled finger at Quint.

"Saturday night is when those guys roughed you up." His gaze snapped back to Dallas. "Were you there then?"

"I never saw the fight itself," she replied while admitting, with some reluctance, her knowledge of it. "I went looking for him, saw a couple of men running off, and found him in the parking lot."

"And you never said one word about it to me," he said in sharp rebuke.

"If I had, you would have gotten yourself all worked up over Rutledge and the things he gets away with," Dallas said in her own defense. "There just didn't seem to be any point in telling you about it."

"It didn't do you much good. I got upset anyway when I saw his face." Empty flung up a hand, gesturing to indicate Quint and the faint bruises still visible along his cheekbone.

Seeking to end their somewhat heated exchange, Quint remarked, "I've wondered several times
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if you'd had any repercussions from saturday."

" Monday morning, Sykes was quick to tell me that I'd better stay clear of you if I knew what was good for me. Which was exactly what I expected," Dallas replied, then paused a beat. " That's why I was a little confused when Boone showed up. I couldn't understand why he wanted to take me out to lunch just to repeat what Holly Sykes had already told me. I decided that there was something going on that made Rutledge believe it was necessary to emphasize it."

While she recounted her conversation with Boone Rutledge, Quint went through the motions of eating his soup, but he tasted little of what he put in his mouth. All of his attention was concentrated on Dallas. He had participated in too many interrogations nor to know that a person's delivery, tone of voice, and body language often said more than the words.

Control was the strongest impression he had. He saw it in the stiff way she held herself, the care she took in choosing her words, and the tight restraint she kept on her emotions, allowing only hints of bitterness and anger to creep into her voice.

There were places where she hesitated, and each time she slid a quick glance at her grandfather.