Lone Calder Star (30 page)

"It doesn't matter to them that there's no record of any healthy animal from a ranch that's had anthrax, carrying it with him to another. But some buyers are just spooky that way."

"What's worse," Dallas inserted in a tight, angry voice, "Rutledge wants to make anthrax synonymous with all Calder cattle, not just the ones here on the Cee Bar. It's another one of his plots to force a sale-get rid of the Cee Bar and the Calders lose the taint of anthrax. It's an obscenely brilliant strategy."

Quint pushed off the sofa. "I'd better call Jessy and let her know what's being said. She'll be getting calls about it tomorrow if she hasn't already."

"Isn't there something we can do?" Dallas demanded, rising from her chair in agitation.

Quint took one look at her battle-bright eyes and smiled.

"Those sound like fighting words," he said, recalling all the times when she had advocated otherwise.

"They are." Her chin lifted a notch.

"Keep that attitude," he said, still smiling. "But right now, the best thing to do is go to bed and get as much rest as you can. You're going to need every bit you can get these next couple of days."

Early the next morning the media swarmed onto the Cee Bar, television crews in vans and satellite trucks as well as reporters and photographers from local newspapers or stringers for national publications. Anticipating their arrival, Quint had made sure that Empty and Dallas had ridden out at first light, before any reporters were on the scene.

Promptly at eight-thirty, Quint stepped before the phalanx of microphones, cameras, and reporters gathered at the porch steps, and issued a brief statement that admitted little, other than that they were awaiting lab results on the deaths of two animals and cooperating fully with the authorities.

A barrage of questions followed, but Quint answered only one that exaggerated the health risk to the ranch employees and implied a lack of concern by the Calders.

"Anthrax is an occupational hazard for everyone who works with livestock," he stated. "All proper precautions are being taken."

Ignoring a fresh onslaught of questions, Quint stepped off the porch and moved through the throng of camera lenses and microphones pointed his way, responding to any and all with a shake of his head and a firm "No comment."

Undeterred, they followed him to the barn and waited as he saddled his horse.

One asked to be shown where the dead cattle had been found. Quint informed him that permission to do that would have to come from state authorities.

By the time he swung into the saddle, the throng had begun divide into smaller groups. Soon they would disperse to track down the veterinarian, state officials, and neighboring ranches for comments.

Quint rode out of the ranch yard, confident that he had gotten rid of the media, at least-temporarily. About midmorning he learned how wrong he was when a helicopter swooped low, scattering the cattle they had gathered.

The camera lens pointed from the side of the helicopter captured the scramble of the three riders to gather the cattle back into a bunch-as well as the discovery of a third dead cow, this time along the west fence line. The helicopter it subsequently hovered above the scene to record the arrival of the vet and the eventual burial of the carcass.

News of the third dead cow spread quickly, along with a bulletin from the lab confirming anthrax as the cause of death. The media returned to the ranch yard in force.

Their presence complicated the work of driving cattle, already spooked by the helicopter, into the makeshift holding pen. Shortly after the gate closed behind them, the vet arrived to examine each cow, as the state required, providing more fodder for the cameras.

Any hope Quint had that the state officials would insist that the media keep their distance was soon proved wrong. In fact, they appeared to welcome the opportunity to show the public the extent of their diligence. It was after sundown before any of them called it a day, forcing evening chores to be done in the dark.

Come morning, Quint, Dallas, and Empty were back in the saddle again, this time to round up the rest of the cattle from unaffected areas and bring them in for the vet to examine and inoculate for anthrax.

Streakd of coral ranged across the western sky when Quint led hid horse in to the barn. The clop of its hooves on the alleyways cement floor echoed through the barn. Empty was there ahead of him, dragging the saddle off his horse. He set it on the flour and draped the damp saddle blanket over a stall partition, then spared a glance for Quint.

"I sure was glad to see the last of those nosy reporters pull out a minute ago." The gruffness in his voice made his opinion of them clear. "I'd already made up my mind that if that helicopter showed up again today, I was getting my shotgun and shooting it out of the sky."

"I think that might have been a bit drastic," Quint suggested dryly and hooked a stirrup on the saddle horn before reaching down to loosen the cinch strap.

"Maybe so, but we would have been done with this work in half the time if it wasn't for those nosey parkers," he grumbled. "Darned near every time I'd get a cow headed into the chute, some
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fool would climb on the rail. There was many a time today when I wished I still chewed, just so I could have the satisfaction of spitting on the lens of one of their cameras."

Rustling noises, accompanied by the grating slide of a metal lid settling into place, were heard from the combination tack and feed room. A hen clucked and strutted away from its door as Dallas shouldered it open, lugging a five-gallon bucket of grain for the horses. Quint's bay gelding swung its head toward her, ears pricking, nickering softly.

Quint's glance tracked her progress across the alleyway to the stalls while he removed the saddle and used the blanket to wipe the gelding's sweaty back. His expression softened when he noticed the smudge on her cheek and the wisps of hair that had escaped from the French braid.

She stopped at the first stall and scooped a portion of grain into its feed bunk. Chickens pecked in the straw near her feet, then scattered when Empty gave his horse a slap on the rump, sending it into the stall.

The instant Quint stripped the bridle of the bay, the gelding trotted eagerly into its stall. Out of the corner of his eye, Quint saw Empty stoop to pick up his saddle, his movements slow and stiff.

"I'll put your gear away for you, Empty," Quint told him.

"You go make sure there's plenty of water in the horse trough."

"You won't get any argument from me," the old man replied and trekked out of the barn.

When Quint hefted one saddle onto his shoulder and picked up the other, Dallas threw him a brief glance. "Grab some scratch for the chickens while you're in there."

"Sure," Quint agreed, his stride never slackening as he crossed to the tack room.

Once the saddles were placed on their individual racks, the bridles hung on a wall peg, and the blankets and pads set out to dry, Quint scooped some scratch into a can and scattered it along the alleyway to lure the rest of the chickens into the barn. After the last chicken darted into the barn, he slid the wide door closed to shut them in for the night.

He turned as Dallas tossed hay squares into the last manger, then stepped to one side, leaning a shoulder against a stall post in a vague gesture of weariness. Drawn by the sight of her, he moved closer.

With her face bare of makeup, there was nothing to distract his gaze from its strong, pure lines.

Rust-colored lashes outlined the unusual tan of her eyes and the rounded ridges of her cheekbones stood out cleanly. Her wide lips lay comfortably together, warmly curved and generous.

Her glance lifted to his face. "This is one day I'm glad to see end."

"Tired?" Quint guessed.

"Tired and sore." The admission brought the ghost of a smile to her lips. "Nothing that a long, hot shower won't cure, though."

"A shower had definite appeal right now." But it was the vision of her under its spray that lived in his mind. He leaned closer and braced a gloved hand on the rough post near her head. "It doesn't seem like we've had a moment to call our own these last couple of days."

A smile deepened the corners of her mouth. "Or if there was, we were too tired to care."

Quint chuckled softly. "That, too. The worst should be over after today, though. With any luck, things will start getting back to normal."

Dallas shook her head in mild skepticism and declared with amusement, "There hasn't been anything normal about my life since that night you walked into the cafe." And there was very little about it that she would have changed if she could; in fact, there was only one thing she would have done differently. The thought of it pushed at her. "Quint," she began on a serious note.

The side door to the barn swung open and sunset's rosy light flooded in. Then Empty's bandy-legged frame was silhouetted. "The horse trough's full," he announced. "Did you get the chickens fed? "

Straightening up from the post, Quint turned, angling toward Empty. "All done."

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"Then what are we standing around here for?" Empty wanted to know, frowning. "Let's head to the house. What are we having for supper anyway?" He addressed the question to Dallas.

"I don't know." She released a heavy breath. "Spaghetti would be the quickest, I guess."

"Tell you what," Quint said, falling in step with her as she moved toward the door, "I'll fix the spaghetti tonight and you can go take that long, hot shower you were talking about."

"You've got a deal."

But the plan went quickly awry. Within seconds after entering the house, the phone rang. The garage in Fort Worth called to inform Quint that the repairs were complete on the ranch pickup.

Arrangements were made for Quint to go in the following afternoon, return the leased truck, and collect the repaired one.

The minute he hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Jessy, and the conversation gave every indication of being a lengthy one. At which point, Dallas gave in to the inevitable and fixed the evening meal.

By the time the table was cleared, the dishes washed and put away, it was after nine o'clock when she finally found time for a shower. In no hurry, she stood beneath the spray letting the steam and pulsating jets loosen stiff, sore muscles and wash away the day's tension.

When she emerged from the bathroom, clad in a terry robe, and absently toweling her wet hair, she felt refreshed and relaxed. She glanced in surprise at the darkened living room and the silent television.

The only light still on in the house came from the kitchen. Assuming Quint and her grandfather were in their rooms, Dallas went to turn off the kitchen lights.

When she came through the doorway, she saw Quint sitting at the desk. "I thought you and Empty had both gone to bed." She crossed to the desk and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Her touch, as much as her comment, roused him. There was something distracted in the way Quint looked up, taking in the rumpled wetness of her hair and the robe she wore.

"How was the shower?" That slightly absent air remained when he caught hold of her hand and drew her down to sit crossways on his lap.

Dallas settled comfortably against him, liking the casual intimacy that came so easily between them. "The shower was wonderful." She took advantage of the closeness to toy with the hair along the back of his neck. "I almost feel like a new person."

"That's good."

Again Dallas sensed she didn't have the whole of his attention even as his hand idly rubbed over her hip.

"What have yuu been working on?"

"Nothing really. just going over some things." His glance flicked to the papers on his desk, a troubled light entering his eyes.

But Dallas could tell that those "things" continued to claim the whole of his attention. "Is something wrong?"

A hint of a frown flickered over his features. "I don't know about wrong, but definitely curious."

Quint nodded to the papers ni the desk. "According to that, the number of cattle the vet examined these last two days is the same number Empty and I came up with in the tally we made close to three weeks ago. Yet ... we have three dead cows."

It took a second for the significance of his statement to register.

"You're saying that counting those dead cows, you would have three more head than you thought you had?"

"Curious, isn't it?" But there was no amusement in his crooked smile.

"But all three of the dead cows carried Cee Bar brands and ear tags," Dallas reminded him.

"That's what bothers me." Quint continued to stare at the papers. "It's possible we could have missed one cow when we made our tally. Even two. But I find it very hard to believe that we could have overlooked three."

Dallas had to agree. The ranch wasn't that large and the number of places where a cow might
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escape detection were very few.

"How could it happen?" she wondered aloud.

"A better question might be-where were those three cows when we made our count?" Quint countered. "We came up twenty-seven head short of the number the ranch was carrying on its books. I assumed they'd been stolen. But it does make me wonder if those three dead cows were part of the stolen twenty-seven. And it also makes me wonder who stole them-and why they didn't get rid of them right away."

"Surely you don't think Rutledge is behind this." The minute the words were out of her mouth, the possibility didn't seem as far-fetched as Dallas first thought. "He might have kept them if he was planning to infect them with anthrax and run them back on Cee Bar land to die. All of it-the quarantine, the vet hill., the publicity-fits right into his plans," she said. "He could have orchestrated this whole thing."

"Proving it is another matter."

In a sudden surge of restlessness, Dallas moved off his lap and paced away from the desk, then swung back.

"The Slash R land borders the west pasture where all the dead cows were found. It wouldn't surprise me if he had kept the stolen cattle there. That way he could have claimed they simply strayed onto his land if anyone noticed them."