by Janet Dailey
After a galvanizing sip of it, Boone glared across the room at his father and challenged, “What about the hay?”
“What about it?” Max countered with annoyance.
“Since you’re changing tactics,” Boone began, his lip curling, “I thought that might go for the hay as well.”
“As usual, you’re wrong.”
“I thought I’d better make sure. After all, the last I heard, you had issued standing orders that no one was to be allowed to work at Cee Bar for long. Since that’s changed, I thought the one about the hay might have, too.”
“It hasn’t.” Max removed some papers from the briefcase that Harold Barnett had placed on the desk, then issued a curt nod of dismissal to the man.
“Then what’s different?” Boone demanded, unable to tolerate being kept in the dark.
“Echohawk. I don’t like it that we’re blind and deaf to what’s going on over there.” The troubled scowl Max wore gave credence to his statement. “The hay is a good example. If we had known who he was getting it from, there was a good chance we could have blocked the purchase. As it is, we’re forced to react. We need somebody on the inside who can let us know Echohawk’s intentions in advance. And there’s only one way to do that—plant one of our own men. But we don’t stand a chance of tricking Echohawk into hiring someone as long as Garner’s in the picture.”
“All you have to do is set back and wait for the old man to work himself to death,” Boone said with a shrug.
“I have no intention of waiting that long,” Max snapped in reply.
“Why not? You said yourself that Echohawk was suspicious,” Boone reminded him. “If we lie low for a while, sooner or later the Calders will pull him out and send in someone else. We’ve waited this long to get that ranch. What’s a few more months?”
“That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?” Max jeered. “You find yourself in a fight and you want to back off and wait until the going gets easier. This is when you have to get tough and clamp down hard.”
“I just thought—”
“You thought,” Max repeated in a voice thick with contempt. “That was your first mistake—thinking.” He closed the briefcase with a snap and sank back in his wheelchair, propping an elbow on the armrest and rubbing a spot just above his eyebrow with three fingers. “Now shut up for a while so I can figure out what to do about Garner.”
Smarting from the stream of insults, Boone retaliated, “As smart as you are I’m surprised you haven’t already figured it out.”
When his taunt failed to draw a response, he bolted down half of his drink and swung around to replenish it, his insides churning and his nerves raw. Needing to blame someone, Boone chose the first one that came to mind—the one who had sparked the heated exchange, that tough old bird Empty Garner.
Boone was certain that if he ever got his hands on that old man, he’d soon show his father that Garner wasn’t so tough. There would be fear in the old rancher’s eyes when he was done—enough that he would be too scared to tell anyone. Not even his granddaughter.
Boone lifted his head, letting his mind wrap around the thought that had just sprung into it. He turned, confidence once more surging through him as he again faced his father.
“There is a way.” But his statement drew no response. Boone raised his voice in a demand to be heard. “I said there’s a way to get to the old man.”
“Really?” Max flicked him a jaundiced look.
“It’s one you’ll like.”
Max released an exasperated sigh and demanded, “And what would that be?”
“Have you forgotten the old man has a granddaughter?”
Chapter Eight
The sun was directly overhead, shrinking the shadows around the feed store to mere dark slits. Aided by the sun’s warming influence, the thermometer mounted on the outside of the building registered a temperature in the low seventies.
An hour ago, Holly Sykes had taken advantage of the balmy weather and propped the front door open. Dallas welcomed the stimulating freshness of the air and ignored the dust that occasionally swirled in with it. The boost to her lagging energy had come at just the right time. She dragged in another deep breath of it and let it out in a weary sigh.
With only one more final exam to take, Dallas reminded herself that after tomorrow night, the stress and long hours would all be over. There would be no more classes until after the first of the year. Dallas suspected it might take that long to catch up on all her missed sleep.
With the printer chattering away in the background, Dallas continued the mindless task of paper-clipping the appropriate receipts to their invoice, ready for the check to be attached. This was one time when she was grateful for the tedious side of getting the payables done.
“I don’t see how you can hear yourself think with that racket going on.” The deep, male voice came from a point somewhere near her right shoulder.
Startled, Dallas jerked her head around and felt a jolt of shock when she saw Boone Rutledge looming tall next to her desk. Her gaze swept hastily up the muscled expanse of his chest and shoulders to the hard and manly angles of his face and halted when it encountered the steady regard of his dark eyes. For a split second, she felt oddly trapped.
“Sorry.” Dallas hastily rolled her chair back from the desk and stood. “I guess I didn’t hear you come in.”
“How could you, as noisy as that thing is?” He nodded in the direction of the printer, busily spitting out checks.
“It is loud,” she agreed and glanced at the empty chair in front of her boss’s desk. “Were you looking for Holly? He was here just a minute ago. I’ll—”
“I saw him outside,” Boone interrupted. “I stopped in for a salt block, and he went to get it, said you’d write me a ticket to sign.”
“Be happy to.” Dallas immediately headed for the front counter, privately doubting that it was his sole purpose for coming in.
Ever since she had come to work at the feed store, whenever the Slash R wanted something it was either delivered or collected by a ranch hand. To her knowledge, Boone Rutledge had never picked up anything.
“You need to have Holly get you a new printer, one that’s quieter.” Boone sauntered up to the counter and leaned a hip against it inches from her, watching while she began filling out the ticket.
“I’ll tell him—and mention that you said so,” Dallas added, openly acknowledging the power of the Rutledge name but with a trace of reckless defiance in the look she gave him.
Boone smiled in response, but with a satisfaction that made Dallas uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the way his gaze traveled over her, taking note of the upswell of her breasts and the full curve of her lips.
“It’s not often that beauty and brains are wrapped in the same package,” he murmured. “But you seem to have both.”
Dallas held her tongue with an effort and pushed the completed ticket over to him. “Sign anywhere.”
He glanced at the ticket, then back at her. “Got a pen?”
With tension licking along her nerve ends, Dallas silently offered her ballpoint pen to him. He took it while seeming to make sure his fingers brushed hers. Dallas tried to convince herself that she only imagined the contact was deliberate. Yet it didn’t diminish the urge to wash her hands.
As Boone scratched his name across the ticket, Holly Sykes walked through the door, mopping his forehead with a blue bandanna. “Dallas got you all fixed up, did she?” he observed.
“She certainly did.” Boone laid the pen aside and waited while Dallas separated his copy of the ticket from the rest. “I thought I’d swing by the Corner Café for lunch. Why don’t you join me?”
She thought he was talking to Holly until she glanced up and discovered he was looking straight at her. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Did you say something to me?” she asked, to stall for time.
“I asked you to have lunch with me.” But his tone was more of a command than a request.
Dallas took a cha
nce just the same. “Thanks, but I brought mine.”
He never blinked. “Save it for tomorrow.”
Even as she searched for a plausible excuse to refuse, Dallas didn’t fool herself into thinking his interest was personal—or, at least, not the man-woman kind.
“Now, you aren’t still holding a grudge because your grandfather lost his ranch, are you?” Boone chided lightly.
“Of course not,” she replied, unable to classify the strong distrust she felt as a grudge.
“Then quit your hemming and hawing around,” Holly Sykes inserted, “and get going. I can handle the store while you’re gone.”
Seeing no way out, Dallas gave in to the inevitable. “It will take me a couple minutes to log off the computer and straighten my desk,” she told Boone. “Why don’t I meet you there?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
His words seemed to carry a warning that if she didn’t show up, he’d be back. Dallas had already figured that out for herself.
By the time Dallas parked her pickup in front of the Corner Café, she had reached the conclusion she had been wrong to think the warning from Sykes on Monday was the only one she would receive. Obviously Max Rutledge felt another one should be given to underscore the first, and he had sent Boone to deliver it. Although why Boone hadn’t issued it at the feed store she didn’t know.
“And the condemned ate a hearty meal,” Dallas murmured under her breath as she walked into the café.
She faltered ever so slightly when she saw Boone seated at the table Quint always occupied. Had he known that? she wondered, then reminded herself that nothing happened in this town that the Rutledges didn’t know about.
Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch as Dallas mentally steeled herself to get through this meeting without saying or doing something she would ultimately regret.
At her approach, Boone rose and pulled out the chair to his right. Dallas smiled a little stiffly and sat down, belatedly noticing that the nearest tables were empty of customers, providing an island of privacy in a public place. Something Boone had no doubt arranged.
The isolation added to the tension she already felt. Needing something to occupy her hands, she reached for the menu.
“You mean you don’t have it memorized?” Boone remarked with amusement.
“Just checking to see what today’s lunch special is,” she replied.
Tension had robbed Dallas of her appetite, but when the waitress arrived, she ordered a bowl of homemade beef stew and coffee. Coffee probably wasn’t the best choice of drink, she realized afterward, considering how tightly strung her nerves already were.
“A bowl of stew—that isn’t much of a meal,” Boone remarked.
“Too much food makes me sleepy, and I have a full afternoon’s work ahead of me.” Dallas propped the menu back against the napkin holder, aware that his gaze hadn’t strayed from her.
“I’m sure Holly will appreciate that. He says you’re good at your job.”
“I try to be.” Dallas was certain this small talk was simply a means to kill time until the waitress returned with their drink orders. She was impatient with it just the same.
“According to Holly, you succeeded.” He stretched out one long leg and hooked an arm over a corner of the chair’s backrest. “As warm as it is today, it’s hard to believe Christmas is just around the corner. Do you have all your shopping done?”
“All the presents are bought, wrapped, and under the tree.”
“I wish I could say the same.” He rocked his chair onto its rear legs, making room for the returning waitress when she reached across him and set his mug of coffee on the table.
She placed another cup in front of Dallas and beamed a smile at Boone, promising, “Your order should be up shortly.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Boone told her.
Dallas could have disputed that, but she reached for her coffee instead. Steam rose in curling wisps from the hot coffee. She blew lightly on its surface before taking a sip.
“Holly tells me you’re taking night classes at Texas Christian,” Boone said over the lip of his own coffee mug.
“That’s right.” Dallas was brief with her answer, eager to cut to the chase and get this ordeal over with.
“You’re carrying quite a load on your shoulders—commuting to school, holding down a full-time job, and working here at the café on your free nights.”
“I’m used to it.” If he was attempting to remind her of all she stood to lose, Dallas could have told him it was unnecessary.
“It doesn’t leave you much time for fun,” Boone observed and flashed her a smile. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“I have all the free time I want. Isn’t that the reason you wanted to see me?” Dallas challenged, tired of all this dancing around the issue. “Because I had a drink with Quint Echohawk Saturday night?”
His eyes narrowed, but the amused smile remained. “What gave you that idea?”
“I wonder.” There was a wealth of mockery in her dry response. “It couldn’t be because Holly has already warned me about seeing him again.”
“It’s probably good advice, considering there wouldn’t be much future in a relationship with him. Sooner or later he’ll be on his way back to Montana.”
It was a likelihood that hadn’t occurred to Dallas before now. It left her feeling flat, even though she had already decided against seeing him again, aware that she had too much to lose.
For the first time, though, Dallas was confused. “If you didn’t invite me to lunch to warn me about Quint, just why am I here?”
“Maybe I just wanted the pleasure of your company.”
Again she felt the slow rake of his glance. “Everyone knows you want the pleasure of any woman’s company, Boone.” She was careful to keep any emotion out of her voice.
“Most men do,” he countered smoothly and unhooked his arm off the backrest to lean forward and curve both hands around the mug. “But you’re right. As much as I am enjoying your company, it wasn’t the sole reason I asked you here.”
“And that is?” Dallas prompted, both curious and wary.
“First, I think you should know how impressed my father is with the way you’ve dug in and started carving out a new life for yourself. There aren’t many people willing to hold down two jobs, carry nearly a full load of college courses at night, and maintain a better than three-point-oh grade average. He feels such intelligence and determination should be rewarded.”
“Really?” Dallas instantly doubled her guard.
“He’s interested in providing you with a full ride. Tuition, books, a house in Fort Worth, all utilities paid, and a monthly allowance so you won’t have to work, not to mention a vehicle to get you around. That old truck of yours can’t have many more miles on it before it breaks down. In short, he’s prepared to be very generous.”
“Forgive me,” Dallas began in a tightly controlled voice, an anger simmering, its origin unknown, “but everyone knows that your father is only generous when he’s getting something in return. So what’s the catch?”
Boone’s smile widened a little. “Your grandfather.”
“What about him?” She felt a lick of fear along her spine.
“Where is he now?”
“At home, of course.” But Dallas was suddenly uncertain about that.
Boone took a cell phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “Call him.”
Hesitating, she searched his face. He looked a little too smug and a lot too certain of himself for her peace of mind. Dallas didn’t like jumping through the hoop he held, but there seemed to be few other choices. She punched in the phone number and pushed the Send button, then lifted the cell phone to her ear.
It rang once, twice, three times with still no answer. Dallas stole a glance at Boone while he calmly sipped his coffee. Four, five, six, seven times it rang. After the eighth, the answering machine clicked on and Dallas broke the connectio
n.
“As nice as it is today, he’s probably puttering outside,” she said, more to convince herself than Boone.
“He’s probably outside, all right,” Boone agreed. “But you can bet he isn’t anywhere near that old trailer you’re living in.”
What had been only a vague suspicion now became a full-blown certainty. “You knew he wasn’t there, didn’t you?” Dallas accused in a cold fury. “Where is he? What have you done with him? So help me, if you have laid one hand on Empty—”
“We have nothing to do with your grandfather being gone,” Boone cut in, all cool and composed. “You’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Then where is he?” she demanded.
“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.
