by Janet Dailey
“There certainly isn’t,” Quint muttered grimly, then challenged, “Just what do you propose to do next?”
Dallas had a ready and decisive answer for that. “You and I both know that the best thing would be for me to work here at the Cee Bar. Empty can tell you that I’m as good as any man at ranch work. And it’s obvious you need somebody to keep house and fix your meals,” she added, casting a disparaging glance at the empty soup bowls on the table. “You can’t keep opening soup cans or slapping a piece of meat between two slices of bread and calling it lunch.”
But Quint noticed that Dallas made no mention of wanting to keep an eye on her grandfather, something he suspected was the true motivation behind her proposal. In her shoes, he’d feel the same.
“You’re right. There would be safety in numbers,” he conceded.
“I’m glad you see that.” She relaxed a little, satisfaction easing some of her tension.
“Divide and conquer, that’s always been one of Rutledge’s favorite methods.” The old man leaned back in his chair and grinned. “It sure isn’t going to work this time.”
But Quint wasn’t so easily convinced that this particular problem was solved. “Just how far do you think Rutledge is prepared to go to carry out his threat, Empty?” he asked, recalling his own run-in with the three men in the parking lot.
The rancher was quick to follow his train of thought. “You’re thinking that Rutledge might try something to get back at Dallas and me for going against him?”
“Would he?” On this, Quint had to rely to a certain extent on Empty’s judgment and experiences with the Rutledges.
“He’d almost have to try something just to make sure nobody else around here got out of line.” His expression turned thoughtful as he ran through the possibilities in his mind. “I suppose he could trash our trailer or catch us on some lonely stretch of road and try to run us off. He might even have some of his boys pay us a late-night visit. I can’t see him doing anything more violent than that, though.”
Quint hoped he was right. At the same time he didn’t really want to take the chance that Empty was wrong.
“Then let’s make it harder for Rutledge to get to you,” he said.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” Dallas wondered.
“This house has three bedrooms. The two of you can stay here.” He was quick to note the way her lips parted in surprise, but no objection came from them. “At least that way you wouldn’t have to worry about leaving your grandfather alone when you go to class at night.”
“No. No, I wouldn’t,” Dallas agreed on a slightly self-conscious note.
“You have to admit, Dallas,” Empty inserted, “as old as this house is, it’s bound to be better than that drafty excuse for a trailer we’re living in. And it’ll be good to wake up in the morning and hear the lowing of the cattle again.”
Her expression visibly softened, a warm and tender light shining in her eyes as she gazed at her grandfather. Quint felt a trace of envy for the depth of feeling visible in her look.
“Is that your decision then?” he asked, subconsciously seeking to reclaim her attention. “You’re moving in?”
“There doesn’t seem to be any doubt about that.” A wryly indulgent smile curved her mouth. “There isn’t any place he’d rather live than on a ranch.”
“In that case, let’s not waste any more time,” Quint stated. “Between your truck and mine, we should be able to get you packed and moved before nightfall.”
“We still got that section of fence to finish,” Empty reminded him.
“It’s waited this long. It can wait till tomorrow when Dallas can give us a hand with it.” Deep down inside, Quint knew he was looking forward to having her around all the time, but he wasn’t ready to examine the reason behind it. “As soon as I get my truck unloaded, I’ll be ready to go.”
The move required two trips. The first load was mainly the few pieces of personal furniture contained in the small trailer. All but the gun cabinet and Empty’s favorite recliner were stored in a corner of the barn and covered with a protective tarp.
By the time Quint and Empty returned for the second load, Dallas had all their clothing and personal items from both the bedrooms packed in a mix of suitcases and boxes and had started emptying the kitchen cabinets. Leaving Empty to help her, Quint carried the boxes and suitcases out to the truck, then joined them when the last was loaded.
As usual, the old rancher kept up a steady run of chatter, but Quint noticed that Dallas had little to say. Any remark from her was either an instruction or an answer to a direct question. Her entire manner was one of brisk efficiency.
Yet Quint couldn’t help noticing that she rarely made eye contact with him. He had the impression that, while she might agree with the practicality of the move, she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of living in such close quarters with him.
The more he thought about it, he realized uncomfortable wasn’t the right word. She was wary. Quint had only to remember how rough and angrily he’d kissed her to know that he had given her cause to be leery.
Twilight was purpling the hills when Quint carried the last of the boxes into the Cee Bar ranch house. Catching the sounds of boxes being moved around in the living room, he shoved his grocery-laden container onto the kitchen counter and headed for the living room.
Dallas stood among the stacks of boxes, busily sorting and separating. The old man had already collapsed in his recliner, the gray of exhaustion in his face.
“Which bedrooms do you want us to have?” Dallas asked as she picked up a box and kneed it higher in her arms.
“I’ve been using the one at the end of the hall,” Quint told her. “There’s one bedroom next to the bath and another across the hall from it. Both are about the same size.”
“I’ll take the one on the left and you can have the one on the right,” she said to her grandfather.
“That’s fine,” he declared. “It doesn’t matter much to me where I sleep.”
She glanced at Quint and nodded at a suitcase lying atop a trio of boxes pushed together. “Those are Empty’s things. Would you mind carrying them into his room?”
“Be glad to.”
As she started for the stack, Dallas turned toward the bedrooms. “Better watch your step in the hall,” Quint warned. “The floor’s uneven. It can throw you off balance if you don’t expect it.”
“It can’t be any worse than the trailer,” Dallas replied in unconcern.
“How long before we eat?” Empty called after her. “My belly’s so empty, I swear it’s rubbing against my backbone.”
“As soon as I get this stuff cleared out of the living room, I’ll tackle supper,” Dallas promised and headed down the hallway.
Quint hauled Empty’s things into the bedroom he would occupy, crossing paths with Dallas only once. He paused in the doorway long enough to tell her where the clean sheets were stored, then went outside to do the evening chores.
When he returned to the house, Dallas was in the kitchen, stocking the shelves with the grocery items from their trailer. Two pots simmered on the stove, filling the room with a spicy aroma, and the table was set for three.
Without pausing in her task, she informed him, “Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”
“It smells good.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, then slipped his hat onto the shelf above it.
“Spaghetti and meat sauce. It was the fastest thing to make,” she explained in an offhand way.
“Fast is good. I think we’re all hungry tonight.” He went to the sink to wash up, conscious that she never paused in her task. “Are you finding where everything goes all right?”
“Right now I’m just putting things wherever there’s room. I can organize it later.” She shoved a sack of sugar onto a shelf and pushed a container of cornmeal beside it. “I think Empty’s snoozing in his chair. When you get through, would you go wake him up and tell him it’s time to eat?�
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“Sure.” But Quint couldn’t shake the feeling she was subtly pushing him away.
It persisted throughout the evening meal. Dallas was never cold or rude, but the studied indifference in her voice and attitude had its own way of holding him at arm’s length. Justified or not, it annoyed Quint.
His plate slicked clean, Empty Garner leaned back in his chair and patted his full stomach. “That was a tasty meal, Dallas. You done good.”
“Thanks.” Rising, she reached for his plate. “Want some coffee?”
“Naw. My chair’s calling me. I think I’ll go in and watch some television,” he replied and laid both hands on the tabletop to push himself upright.
As he hobbled toward the living room, Dallas glanced briefly at Quint. “How about you? Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Quint gathered up his own plate and silverware and carried them to the sink where he tightened the drain plug and turned on the hot water.
As he squeezed some dish soap into the water, Dallas arrived with the rest of the dirty dishes from the table. “Go watch TV with Empty. I can do these.”
“So can I.” Quint turned on the other faucet, adding cold water to the mix of steaming, billowing bubbles.
For an instant Dallas seemed on the verge of arguing the point, then shrugged. “Have it your way.” She slid the dishes into the soapy water and went back to clear the rest of the items from the table.
By the time she finished, Quint was rinsing the silverware and adding them to the drain rack that already held the glasses and plates. Without a word, Dallas took a clean dish towel from the drawer and started drying the glasses.
“You aren’t very comfortable with this arrangement, are you?” Quint remarked.
“Don’t be silly. I don’t care if you wash dishes,” Dallas countered.
“That isn’t what I meant. I was talking about you and your grandfather moving out here.”
This time Dallas wasn’t as quick with an answer. When she did offer one, Quint sensed again that she had chosen her words with care.
“It’s the safest place right now.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” he countered in a firm but gentle voice.
There was the smallest flare of defiance in the look she gave him. “With Rutledge’s threats hanging over us, I wouldn’t be comfortable anywhere.”
“And maybe even less living under the same roof with me?” Quint suggested.
“It’s nothing personal,” Dallas insisted. “I just don’t want you to get the idea that I’m interested in becoming romantically involved. That’s all.”
“I had a feeling you were concerned about that,” Quint admitted. “But you can set your mind at ease on that score. I’m not going to force myself on you, and I apologize if my behavior earlier today gave you the wrong impression.”
“Apology accepted.” Yet she appeared far from reassured by it. If anything her tension had increased.
“Dallas—” he began.
She cut in quickly. “Let’s just drop it, okay?” Her eyes were cool with challenge, a look that was more in keeping with the woman he remembered from past encounters.
“If that’s the way you want it, then as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”
“That’s the way it has to be,” Dallas stated firmly and abruptly laid the towel aside. “I’ll take care of the rest of these dishes in the morning. My last test is tomorrow, and I need to do some studying for it.”
Quint didn’t try to stop her. There wasn’t any reason to try. Everything had already been said. Yet he sensed that nothing had changed.
How could it when he hadn’t forgotten the feel of her warm lips against his or the sensation of her body pressed tightly to him?
That line had been crossed, and the memory of it would always be there to remind them of it every time they were in each other’s company.
Chapter Ten
Quint awoke to the smell of bacon frying. It took him a second to remember he was no longer the only one in the house. A check of the clock on the bedside table showed it would be another five minutes before the alarm would sound. Reaching over, he switched it off and rolled out of bed.
Realizing that the days of padding to the bathroom in his underwear were gone, Quint tugged on a pair of jeans before heading down the hall. The dampness of the two towels hanging on the bathroom rack indicated he was far from the first one in there, and the tepid temperature of the water coming from the shower nozzle confirmed it. In record time, he showered, shaved, and changed into a clean set of clothes.
When he entered the kitchen, Empty was already seated at the table, digging into a plate of bacon and eggs. Dallas stood by the stove, a spatula in hand and something sizzling in the skillet before her.
“You two are early risers,” Quint remarked and walked straight to the coffeepot.
“Habit,” Empty said just before he shoveled in another mouthful of fried egg.
“How do you like your eggs?” Dallas asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had them this early in the morning,” Quint told her. “I don’t usually sit down to breakfast until after the morning chores are done.”
“I have two here that are over easy,” she told him, nodding to the skillet.
“You eat them,” he said. “I’ll fix my own after I’ve had this cup of coffee.”
Taking him at his word, Dallas used the spatula to lift the eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate, then carried it to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. As she reached for the salt and pepper shakers, she glanced at her grandfather.
“You know we still have to drop the trailer key off and cancel the telephone and utilities,” she said. “If I leave here no later than three-thirty, I should be able to get all of it done before I have to go to my class tonight.”
“Might as well,” Empty agreed and scooped strawberry jam onto his slice of toast. “No sense paying for a service we aren’t using.”
When Quint wandered over to the table, she glanced up, a sudden uncertainty flickering in her expression. “Sorry. I should have asked if it was all right with you if I left early.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” Quint replied.
“Right after breakfast, I’ll put a roast in the slow cooker, along with some carrots and potatoes. You two can have that for supper tonight.”
Quint wasn’t ready to face the thought of breakfast and she was adding supper into the mix. Rather than comment on that, he asked instead, “How late will you be tonight?”
“I probably won’t be back until around eleven or so. Just leave the door unlocked.” Dallas snapped a slice of crisp bacon in two and sent a sharp glance at Empty. “Don’t wait up for me. I don’t want to walk in and find you sitting in the recliner with a shotgun on your lap.”
“Those times you found me that way I had cause,” Empty insisted.
The good-natured squabbling between the two reminded Quint of his own grandfather and his occasionally irascible ways. It made him smile.
“The shotgun’s locked in the gun cabinet,” Quint told her. “I’ll see that it stays there, so you won’t have any worries on that score.”
With a loud harrumph Empty expressed his opinion of that. “You’ll change your tune real fast the first time somebody comes snooping around here.”
Privately Quint couldn’t argue with that and responded with a noncommittal smile. But he knew his troubles with the Rutledges had only started.
A thin cloud drifted in front of the waning moon, dimming its light and intensifying the star-twinkle in the night sky. But Dallas took no notice of it, her senses dulled by a fatigue that was both physical and mental. At the moment all of her attention was focused on locating the Cee Bar’s entrance gate.
But the truck’s headlight beams were slow to separate the gate’s tall posts from the roadside shadows. It suddenly loomed on the right, forcing Dallas to slam on the brakes. As the truck fishtailed nearly to a stop, Dallas swung the wheel and drov
e through the gate, sending up a silent prayer of gratitude that no one had been behind her.
With the rutted lane twisting before her, Dallas sagged against the seat and allowed her mind to wander back over the chaos of the last nearly forty-eight hours. When she threw in the pressure of final exams, she could easily see why she felt so dull and drained. She also knew the worst wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
She doubted, though, that Quint really believed that.
Quint. There was a big, hollow ache in her chest at the mere thought of him. Unconsciously she touched a fingertip to her lips, recalling the crush of his mouth on them, the anger that had been in it, along with the heat and the need. The memory of it stirred through her, livening her own desires.
Dallas sternly reminded herself that she could not become emotionally involved with Quint. Nothing could come from it but heartache. And her life was complicated enough right now, thanks to the threat Boone had made against her grandfather.
“Dear God,” she murmured, a tightness gripping her throat, “I can’t help it. I hate the Rutledges. I hate them.”
Light bloomed in the darkness, spilling from the tall security light in the ranch yard, as Dallas rounded the last curve. The yellow gleam of the porch light beckoned her from the ranch house. With a deepening weariness of body and spirit, Dallas automatically set her sights on it.
Seconds after the truck rolled into the ranch yard, a muffled boom shattered the stillness. Certain it was made by a shotgun, she slammed on the brakes, alarm shooting through her as she jerked her head toward the barn that had almost simultaneously erupted with the panicked squawking of chickens.
In a flash, Dallas whipped the pickup toward the barn and tromped on the accelerator, the truck’s fast-spinning tires spitting gravel. She barely gave it time to come to a full stop near the door before she charged out of it, leaving the lights on and the engine running.
“Empty, is that you?” Dallas yelled as two chickens fought to get through the partially opened barn door, wings flapping. “Are you all right?”
