Lone Calder Star (26 page)

Clothespins in hand, she matched together two corners of one sheet, welcoming the mindless task that required little of her attention. It left her time to wonder how long it would take before she became used to this tension and the sense of duplicity that nagged her. Never once had she thought it would be easy or without some feeling of guilt. At the same time she'd never expected to have any type of close relationship with Quint.

The screen door slammed. Dallas cast an idle glance over her shoulder, but the front of the house was beyond her view. Quint came around the corner, heading in her direction.

Self-conscious and uneasy, Dallas briskly resumed the task of pinning the wet sheet to the line.

"What happened?" Quint stopped beside her, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "Did the
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dryer quit on you?"

"No, it's working fine." She scooped up a trailing corner of the sheet before it could touch the ground. "It would have been quicker to throw the sheets in the dryer, but there's nothing like the smell of sheets that have dried in the sun."

A naughty gleam sprang into his eyes. "I could think of one or two things that might be better."

Her pulse skittered with her own awareness of those things, but the need to protect herself from them was stronger.

"Spoken just like a man," she chided to keep him at arm's length. "Was that Jessy on the phone just now? I thought I heard you say her name."

"It was." The frank admission only increased her unease. When she reached to pick up the next sheet, Quint bent down to the basket. "I'll help you with that. It's easier with two people."

"So what's the decision?" Dallas worked to inject a casual note to the question. "Did she find out where you can buy more hay?"

"She never tried." He gathered up one end of the sheet and deftly fitted the corners together.

"Jessy agreed with me. Buying more hay would only play into Rutledge's hands. There's no way we can maintain a twenty-four-seven watch over the hay and prevent him from burning it again.

At the same time, it would too costly to install a sophisticated securtiy system around it."

"But what's the alternative?" Dallas frowned. "You need hay to feed the cattle. They won't make it through the winter without it."

"They could if we cut down the size of the herd and keep only what the remaining land can support."

It was a logical solution, yet it raised more questions for Dallas. Questions that required answers.

"So what will you do? Send the cattle to market? Or run them through one of the local auction barns?"

"Probably not." Holding the wet sheet by its opposite corners, Quint kept it off the ground while Dallas pinned it to the line. "It would be too easy for Rutledge to get wind of it. The same would be true with hiring a local hauler."

"What, then? Will you hire someone from out of state like you did with the hay?"

"You're just full of questions this morning."

Her heart leaped into her throat as she threw him a startled look. His expression was one of amusement with no trace of suspicion, but it did little to ease the guilt she felt. Dallas looked away.

"I can't help it," she said with a stiff little shrug. "By nature I'm a detail person. Any time I hear a decision, my mind automatically jumps to the steps that have to be taken to carry it out."

"Spoken like a true bean counter." Quint grinned and passed her the ends of the sheet he held.

"In this case, before any steps can be taken, other questions have to be answered first. And a hard look needs to be taken at the grazing land that's left. From that we can make a determination of the number it can support. That number will tell us-"

"How many have to be sold," Dallas inserted, quick to follow his line of thinking. "Which tells us how many have to be shipped to market, and the number of trucks to haul them."

"Now you've got the idea." Quint smiled in approval.

But Dallas found little pleasure to be taken from that. For the first time she wished she wasn't intelligent enough to ask the right questions.

Boone Rutledge stared out the window of the granite and glass skinned building, headquarters for the conglomerate known as Maresco, but his gaze failed to take in the view of Fort Worth that the executive office suite provided. His expression had a look oI brooding impatience to it.

It was echoed by the agitated and intermittent jangling of the keys in his right hand.

In a surge of restlessness Boone swung away from the window and threw an irritated glance at the connecting door to the meeting room. The impulse was there to walk over and fling it open.

He dragged his gaze from it before he could succumb to the urge. Instead he crossed to the
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sleekly contemporary desk. Reaching across it, he punched the phone's intercom button.

"Yes, Mr. Rutledge?" Despite its slight drawl, the female voice that answered projected a note of businesslike efficiency.

Boone had no trouble picturing the brunette on the other end. The onetime Miss Texas runner-up was little more than a glorified waitress/receptionist, hired to provide his father's cronies something to ogle when they stopped by. Some months ago Boone had discovered that her sole ambition was to land herself a wealthy husband; young or old, she didn't particularly care which. Failing to snare him, she had moved on to richer pastures.

"You did inform my father I needed to see him right away, didn't you, Miss Bridges?" he demanded curtly.

Her voice turned cool. "I passed your message to Mr. Edwards," she replied, referring to Max's chief secretary and personal assistant. "He assured me that Mr. Rutledge would be informed that you were waiting in his office. But I did warn you that Mr. Rutledge doesn't like to be disturbed when he's in a board meeting."

"Disturb him anyway. I've cooled my heels long enough." Boone broke off the connection and stalked back to the window, muttering, "Bitch."

Behind him there was the snick of a latch releasing. Boone swung from the window as Max maneuvered his wheelchair through the doorway.

He fastend a stony look on Boone. "This better be important."

" Yeah like I'd drive all the way here just to find out how your day has been" Boonc jeered, then pulled in his anger. "No, Echohawk's thrown us a Curve."

" You heard from the Garner woman," Max surmised instantly.

Boone nodded. "An hour or more ago. She said Echohawk isn't planning to buy more hay. He plans to sell off some of the stock instead."

"When? Where?"

" She doesn't know. According to her, those decisions haven't been made yet," Boone replied.

"Supposedly he isn't even sure when he's going to get rid of them."

"Good. That gives us time," Max murmured, his attention turning inward.

Boone had already considered that. "I can't see how it would give us much more than three days.

Four at the outside. And he could be ready to ship that soon. It depends on who he hires to haul them and whether they have trucks available right away. It's unlikely he'll run them through any of the local sale rings." He paused and grinned. "She claims he's leery of using them for fear we'll catch wind of his plans. Imagine that."

"I told you having a set of eyes and ears on that ranch would come in handy." Max idly tossed out the reminder that the suggestion had come from him.

"But Dallas can find out more than any of our men ever could." Boone was quick to claim credit for choosing her. "There's nothing like a redhead to get a man to say more than he should."

"I'm sure you know that from your own experience." Max's sidelong glance was riddled with disgust.

Boone bristled in ready denial. "Damn it, I never-"

Max cut across his words. "You wouldn't admit it if you had, and we both know it. It's irrelevant anyway. I don't particularly care how the girl pumps the information from Echohawk, whether it's in bed or out of it, just so long as she isn't fool enough to start caring about him and double-cross us."

"She knows what would happen if she did did. Besides i've aleady warned her about thinking she'd ever be any more to Echohawk than a piece of ass."

"Let's hope she remembers that," Max replied absently.

"She will," Boone asserted, then paused a beat "So what do you want me to do? It would be a waste of time to call any of the haulers or sale barns to put them on notice to get a hold of us if they hear from Echohawk. He'll probably get someone from out of state like he did with the hay."

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"Don't do anything. Just leave it to me." There was a smug curve to Max's smile. "I think I can guarantee Echohawk won't be shipping cattle any time soon."

"What have you got up your sleeve?" Boone knew his father had a plan, and it grated him that he wasn't being informed of it.

"Publicity. With the Cee Bar at the center of it , just like you were so ready to do the other night.

With a different story line, though." On that enigmatic note, Max sent the wheelchair gliding to the meeting room's connecting door.

Boone waited, certain that any second Max would swing his chair around and announce his intentions-like a word coming from on high. Instead Max hit the remote and the door opened, allowing his wheelchair to pass through without pause.

For a stunned instant Boone was too furious at being kept in the dark to do more than glare at the closed door. Then he spun on his heel and strode from the office, slamming the door behind him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, an accompaniment to the soft patter of rain on the roof. Quint sat at the old desk in the kitchen, his feet propped on a corner of it, the telephone to his ear, with his body angled toward the window that looked onto the front porch. In the living room, a sitcom's laugh track competed with the loud, sawing breaths of a snoozing Empty.

Quint paid little attention to any of it, not even the sound of his mother's voice in his ear, catching him up on all the current happenings at the Triple C. He was too distracted by the vague shape of Dallas, standing outside by the porch rail.

Occasional lightning flashes would show her silhouette, sometimes with both hands braced against the railing, or one resting on an upright post. A heavy sweatshirt gave the illusion of bulk to her slim figure, yet it seemed to emphasize the downward slope of her shoulders, a posture that gave the impression she was in a pensive, almost melancholy mood. It was a sight that aroused all of his protective male instincts, filling him with a need to make the world right for her.

"Quint, are you listening to me?" The rather strong hint of reproach in his mother's voice commanded his attention.

"Sorry, Mom. I'm afraid my mind wondered," quint admitted "It's been a long day, and I've had a bunch of them in a row."

And it had been rare that he'd spent more than a few minutes alone with Dallas. It seemed that whenever he wasn't occupied with something, she was.

"Tell me again, what did you say?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Cat replied. "It wasn't important anyway. You probably have a dozen things you need to do tonight, so I won't keep you from them. Try to get some rest, though. You need your sleep, too."

"I will." Quint swung his feet off the desk and sat forward, the chair squeaking at the shifting of his weight.

"Be careful, dear. And remember I love you."

"Love you back, Mom." With those parting words, Quint slipped the receiver back on its cradle and rose to his feet.

In the living room a car salesman bragged about the savings available at his lot, but his voice marked the only change of sound coming from the room. After an idle glance in its direction, Quint crossed to the back door, lifted his windbreaker off the wall hook, and slipped it on as he opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

Light from the kitchen penetrated the shadows, brushing over the smoothness of her cheek when Dallas glanced over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back from her face, the dim light glinting on the gold clasp at her nape. His glimpse of her face was a brief one as she turned to gaze again
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into the night and the soft falling rain.

Quint eased the screen door closed and crossed to the railing to stand next to her. He pushed his hands into the side pockets of his windbreaker and surveyed the view that seemed to absorb her interest.

A faraway flash of lightning briefly lit the undersides of the low clouds and reflected off the surface of the gathering puddles of water scattered around the ranch yard. Then all was still again,

marked by the whisper of the lilting rain and the trickling of water

" Nice night." Quint remarked, finding the moisture-laden air not as cool as he had expected it to be. But the only response from Dalls was a nod of agreement. "A steady, soaking rain like this makes me wish that we already had seeded that burned ground."

"I like gentle rains like this," Dallas remarked in a musing voice " There's something soothing about them."

" Are you in particular need of soothing tonight?" Quint made a sideways study of her profile-the smooth sweep of her forehead, the straight line of her nose, and the strong jut of her chin.

" Dosen't everybody need to unwind at the end of a busy day?" DaIlas challenged lightly in return, but Quint detected something self conscious in the glance she darted at him.

"I suppose." The desire was there to curve an arm around her, establish contact, yet there was something in her manner that made Quint hesitate.

"Was that your mom on the phone just now?" The question had all the earmarks of an idle one, but there was an interested lilt in her voice that seemed to genuinely seek verification of the asumption.

"It was," he confirmed, wondering why it mattered to Dallas.

"I thought so."

"I noticed you out here on the porch. You looked a little blue."

"Really?" She turned at right angles to the railing and leaned her back against a wooden post, a smile curving her lips. "Is that why you came out? To cheer me up?"

The movement created more space between them, which was the last thing Quint wanted.