Lone Calder Star (9 page)

"Yes," Max interposed smoothly. "I recall reading something in the society page about Tara flying over to attend the nuptials."

"I thought she'd already married him." Boone's jaws barely moved as he pushed the words out.

"There was a ceremony in Montana," Quint confirmed. "But it was a small one. And you know Laura-she likes things on a

grand scale."

"That's Laura, all right." There was something wistful about the smile that briefly touched Max Rutledge's mouth. But when he looked at his son, there was something hard and unforgiving in his eyes. "It was a sad day for this family when Boone let her slip through his fingers."

Boone straightened from his perch on the armrest with the swiftness of a scalded man. "The mistake was hers, not mine." He growled the words, his voice low and hot.

"Unfortunately"-Max's lip curled ever so slightly in derision-"the mistake was mine for ever believing she would marry the likes of you. Now go freshen your drink and shut up." Making it clear that he regarded that particular discussion to be closed, Max smoothly swung his attention back to Quint. "I'm surprised you didn't go to England with the rest of your family."

"We couldn't all go." Quint smiled, conscious of the cold fury that emanated from Boone in waves, holding him motionless.

"I suppose not," Max agreed, completely ignoring the looming figure of his son. There was no doubt in Quint's mind whose will was stronger. He wasn't surprised when Boone abruptly turned and carried his drink to the bar. "So when did you arrive in Texas?"

"The first part of the week," Quint replied, certain that Max already knew that. "It took me a couple of days to familiarize myself with the place and get a handle on things or I would have stopped by sooner."

"I understand," Max assured him. "I imagine you had your hands full when you arrived. After you're here awhile, I think you'll find that things in Texas are different from the way you're used to them back in Montana."

"There isn't much doubt about that." Quint knew Max was referring to more than just ranching methods.

"You know" Max clasped his hands together in a thoughtful pose, his elbows resting on the arms of his wheelchair-"it's been a good many years since a Calder set foot on the Cee Bar. It's almost like the ranch has been the Triple C's forgotten stepchild."

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Quint was forced to agree with that assessment. "I suspect it has."

"It's never been a secret that I would like to make the Cee Bar a part of the Slash R." Max declared, his hands separting to grip the ends of the arm rests, rather like a king on his throne. "I offered to buy it from your grandfather, but he wasn't inclined to sell. Businesswise it makes no sense to hang on to it. The Cee Bar's too small to show much of a profit, especially when you have to pay someone to run it."

Quint was slow with his answer. "I have a feeling that he bought the Cee Bar for the same reason that makes him determined to keep it. And that reason had nothing to do with its viability as a working ranch."

"Whatever his reason, let him know my offer stands if he should change his mind."

"I'll tell him."

"Good. And I hope we have you as a neighbor for a while." Another possibility seemed to occur to him. "Or will you be staying only long enough to find a replacement for Evans?"

"It's hard to say how long I'll be here," Quint admitted. "It depends on many other things."

"If you're still here when the holidays roll around, I hope you'll join us for Christmas dinner. My ward called a few minutes ago to say that she was planning to come. She is the daughter of a late business partner of mine, Hamilton Davis."

"I'll keep the invitation in mind," Quint promised and took a small sip of his drink.

"I hope you do," Max said. "In the meantime, if there is anything you need, just give us a call.

We'll be happy to help if we can."

"I'm glad you said that." Quint seized the opening. "There is something I need."

"I hope it isn't a hired man," Max cautioned. "We're too short handed to spare any of ours."

"My biggest need right now is hay. I have a load coming in next week, but I could use some square bales to tide me over until it arrives. I thought I might talk you into selling me some."

"Only a few bales? We can spare that," Max replied without hesitation.

"Consider them sold," Quint stated. "If it isn't too much trouble, I'll throw them in the back of my pickup when I leave."

"No trouble at all," Max assured him. "Boone, ride down to the barn with Quint and give him a hand loading the hay."

Boone responded to the order with a resentful glare, but offered no objection. "I'll take you down whenever you're ready to leave," he said to Quint.

"Let's make it now." Quint set his half-finished drink aside. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"You welcome anytime," Max insisted.

But the minute Quint left the room, his smile turned into a thin angry line, lips tightly compressed. Hunching his shoulders in thought, Max went back over their conversation in his mind, studying each word Quint had said and considering the ones he hadn't. None of it was to his liking.

In fact there was nothing about his meeting with Quint Echohawk that Max did like.

He was still in the same spot, deep in thought, when Boone returned to the den twenty minutes later. Max reared his big head and flipped the control stick to pivot his chair around.

"Echohawk left, did he?"

"He was halfway down the lane when I came in." Boone flicked a cold look in his direction and walked straight to the bar. He took a fresh glass from the shelf and proceeded to pour himself another drink. "I thought the plan was to make sure he didn't get his hands on any hay." He threw an accusing look at Max.

Max returned the look with one of contempt. "You would have been stupid enough to openly declare war over a half dozen bales, wouldn't you? It's a measly amount. Why do you think he asked for it? He knew if we refused, we'd be tipping our hand. Aren't you smart enough to figure anything out?" He whipped his wheelchair around and sent it speeding toward the desk, then stopped and swung it back. "It's that semi load of hay he's got coming in next week that you
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have to make sure he never gets to use."

"And just how the hell am I supposed to do that?" Boone shot back as he roughly shoved the bottle of bourbon back in its rack.

"Hijack the truck?"

"Leave it to you to come up with a harebrained idea like that." Max shook his head in disgust.

"I suppose you have a better one." The attempt at a jeer fell short of its mark, mostly because Boone knew he wasn't as clever as his father. And it was this feeling of inferiority that he hated more than almost anything-except the way his father constantly reminded him of it.

"I can easily come up with a half dozen, but the hay isn't something we have to be concerned about until next week. Right now we have other things to worry about."

"Such as?" Boone resorted to sarcasm and quickly bolted down a swallow of liquor to cover his own ignorance of the answer.

But Max was already aware of it. "Such as why Echohawk is here."

Boone frowned, regarding the answer as obvious. "Just like he said to take over the Cee Bar."

"But why him? Why not one of their veteran hands with years more ranching experience?"

"I don't know," Boone muttered, irritated at how out of his depth he felt. "They were tied up and he was available."

"It's a possibility," Max conceded. "But I'm convinced it's a remote one. Somehow the Calders sensed the Cee Bar wasn't having ordinary problems. That's why they chose Echohawk. He was raised on the Triple C so he's bound to know enough about cattle to handle that end of things.

But it was the training and experience he had working for the government. They know he won't accept things at face value. He'll probe to find out why and how and who."

Understanding registered in Boone's expression. "Then coming here to the Slash R could mean he suspects we're behind it."

Max raised an eyebrow in mock approval. "Well, well, you can add two and two after all."

"That's why you sold him the hay," Boone realized. "To try to throw him off."

"And four and four makes eight. Amazing. And?" Max questioned in a prompting fashion.

But Boone could only frown. "And what?"

Max sighed. "And that's why I insisted you help him load the hay-so he wouldn't have a chance to question any of our ranch hands and maybe get his hands on information that he shouldn't."

"They don't know anything," Boone declared with arrogant unconcern.

"They know enough. Don't kid yourself," Max muttered. "And there's another thing that bothers me he never said anything about needing a hired man. Twice I gave him a chance to bring up the subject, and he ducked it both times. Why?"

"You already told him we were shorthanded, so he already knew you wouldn't be sending anybody his way if they came here looking for work."

"Maybe." Max had considered that. "Or maybe he's already hired someone."

Boone released a scoffing laugh. "Not a chance. People around here know better than to go to work for the Cee Bar."

Max didn't dispute that. "Unless the man isn't from around here."

"Where else would he-" Boone cut off the question. "You think he might have brought one of the Triple C ranch hands with him?"

"You've added two and two again. Maybe there's hope for you yet," Max said dryly.

"But if he does, what then?"

"First let's make sure that's the case. Then we'll decide what to do about it." He wheeled his chair toward the desk.

There is something about Saturday night that has always drawn a cowboy to the lights of town, and Quint was no exception. While drinking and carousing had never been part of his nature, a
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cold beer, a good meal, and a change of surroundings held a definite appeal for him.

Fort Worth with its array of nightspots sat northeast of the Cee Bar with other towns of varying sizes lying in between. Quint left the ranch with no particular destination in mind, but he turned in the direction of Loury. The Corner Cafe hadn't crossed his mind until he saw the fluorescent glare of its lighted windows. The sight summoned up an immediate image of Dallas with her pale copper hair and unusual light brown eyes.

Quint found himself wondering whether she was working tonight. At almost the same moment, he remembered all the times in the past when he had been a stranger in a strange town and experienced the loneliness that could be found in a crowd. A familiar face suddenly had more appeal than a beer and a good meal. In the blink of an eye, the decision was made and he swung the pickup into an empty parking slot in front of the cafe.

Dallas saw him when he walked through the door. One glimpse of his high checkbones, the slight bronze of his skin, and the black gleam of his hair when he slipped off his hat, and she identified him instantly. Oddly, her spirits lifted. The night suddenly didn't seem to be as dull and ordinary to her as it had before he arrived.

The touch of his gaze was almost a tangible thing when he saw her crossing to a booth, a heavily laden serving tray balanced on one arm.

She nodded to the table he had occupied on his previous visit. "You can sit at your old table if you like," she told him. "Thanks." His eyes smiled at her.

There was a warmth in their gray depths that Dallas didn't recall noticing before. Considering some of the things her grandfather had told her about him, she had a feeling she might have been too quick to dismiss him as an ordinary cowboy.

After she finished distributing the food orders on her tray, Dallas collected a glass of ice water and a cup of hot coffee from the counter and carried them to his table.

"1 didn't expect to see you in here tonight." She set the water and coffee before him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You didn't really think I'd leave town just because you told me I should."

"It was good advice." Dallas still believed that. "Or have you found that out? I heard you went to the Slash R."

"News travels fast," he replied, neither confirming nor denying.

Dallas realized that he had seldom given her a direct answer.

"It's a small town. And anything to do with the Rutledges spreads like crazy. And the news that you bought hay from them went through this town like a category-four tornado."

"They were just doing the neighborly thing." He reached for the menu and flipped it open.

Dallas liked the way he played down the purchase. "Maybe, but the Slash R has never been known for making neighborly gestures."

"Maybe no one's given them the chance," he suggested, tongue in cheek.

Dallas reacted with a crooked smile that grooved a dimple in one cheek. "Yeah, right."

His smile widened into something dazzling and warm that snatched at her breath. "For a minute there I thought you were going to accuse me of being a fool again."

The remark was an instant reminder of the futility of one man attempting to stand against the Rutledges. It sobered her. "I don't think you realize how big the odds are against you."

An amused dryness entered his expression. "I imagine the odds were long that I'd get any hay, too." Without giving her a chance to reply, he asked, "Is it safe to order a steak?"

"Yes. It's just the meat loaf you need to avoid," she told him.

"In that case, I'll have a T-bone, medium rare, and a baked potato with all the trimmings."

"What kind of dressing on your salad?" Dallas pulled the order tablet from her apron pocket and flipped to a new sheet. "Blue cheese, if you have it."

"Coming right up," she promised and moved away.

When she left, that lonely feeling closed around Quint again. Looking at the empty chairs pushed up to his table, he realized that it was her company and conversation he wanted. There was a
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glimmer of rare annoyance in the glance he flicked at the scattering of other customers. Their presence forced Quint to put aside any hope he might have entertained of persuading Dallas to join him at the table. The knowledge left him with an edgy, irritated feeling, something that was new to him.