by Janet Dailey
“It won’t, Dallas,” Quint insisted, smiling in easy assurance.
“You’ll fight to the bitter end, won’t you?” Dallas saw it in his face. That knowledge only added to the turmoil ripping through her. “Why?” she demanded in frustration. “It won’t change anything. I know this is your job, but you’d be better off to convince the Calders to cut their losses and unload the ranch now.”
“That will never happen.” Some of the gentleness went out of his expression, his features setting in resolute lines.
“In time it will. The Calders won’t have any choice.” Her statement was forceful in an attempt to press home the reality of the situation to him.
A coolness entered his gray eyes. “You don’t know the Calders.”
“Neither do you,” Dallas countered with impatience. “You said yourself that you’ve only worked for them a few months.”
Quint never blinked an eye. “I’m a Calder; that’s how I know. My grandfather is Chase Calder,” he stated and moved past her.
For a split second Dallas was too stunned to react. Turning, she reached for his arm, stopping him before he could leave the room.
“I’m sorry.” The phrase came automatically to her lips.
But Quint was unmoved by it. “About what?” he challenged coolly. “That I’m a Calder?”
“I wasn’t referring to that at all,” Dallas denied, annoyed that he would even think she was.
“Then what?” he repeated, but never gave her a chance to respond. “When you threw your lot in with the Cee Bar, you said it was because you didn’t want to see the Rutledges win. And here you are, trying to convince me to give up. I think you need to make up your mind whose side you’re on.”
His point was inarguable, but it stung. “Just because I don’t want them to win, it doesn’t mean that I don’t think they will. And I take back my apology. Whether you like it or not, I’m not sorry for anything I said. For your information, I care what happens to you!”
A sudden smile curved his mouth, and that intimate light was back in his eyes. “You did make that very clear a few minutes ago,” he murmured and cupped a hand to her cheek, stroking his thumb across her lips and igniting a fresh disturbance.
“Quint,” she began, only to hear the solid thud of approaching footsteps signal her grandfather’s return to the kitchen.
Regret flashed in her expression at the inopportune loss of privacy, and she stepped back, away from his hand.
“We always seem to get interrupted,” Quint murmured. A wry smile tugged at a corner of his mouth as he brought his hand down to his side.
Dallas nodded in agreement a second before Empty Garner appeared in the kitchen doorway. He paused at the sight of them and directed a frowning glance at Dallas.
“How come you’re still standing around? I thought you’d be fixing this poor man some breakfast by now.” Empty gestured at Quint. “After working all night, he needs some food in his belly.”
Seizing on his suggestion, Dallas walked directly to the refrigerator. “Over easy on the eggs?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Sounds fine,” Quint replied and started toward the kitchen table.
The action drew a quick frown of disapproval from Empty. “Don’t you think you better put a shirt on first?” To his old-fashioned way of thinking, a man didn’t sit down to eat half clothed.
“You’re right,” Quint agreed with a faint trace of chagrin.
Empty watched him leave the kitchen, then headed for the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. In the true, asbestos-mouthed tradition of a longtime cowman, he downed a healthy swallow of the hot liquid, then turned a curious eye on Dallas when she set a carton of eggs and a package of bacon on the counter next to the range top.
“What’s going on between you two?” Empty wandered over to the stove.
“What do you mean?” She slid him a brief, uncommunicative glance.
“I heard you two arguing just now.”
“We weren’t arguing. Just disagreeing.” Dallas turned on the burner underneath the cast iron skillet. “We worked it out. Everything’s fine now.”
“Good.” He nodded in satisfaction. “The Rutledges are giving him enough grief without you pouring more on him.”
Dallas knew that better than he did, but she chose not to say so. “Did you know Quint is a grandson of the Calders?” she asked instead.
“Is that a fact?” Empty murmured, eyebrows raised. “Says something about the Calders, that they’d send one of their own.”
“How?” Dallas gave him a puzzled look.
“When they’ve got trouble, they don’t send somebody else to deal with it; they handle it themselves. You don’t see that too often nowadays,” he added thoughtfully. “It’s kind of nice to know there are still people like that around.”
A faint smile curved her mouth. His words were an echo of one of the old codes of conduct that decreed a man should fight his own battles. Considering how strongly rooted her grandfather’s beliefs were in the old traditions, Dallas wasn’t surprised that this decision of the Calders to send Quint had found favor in his eyes.
After adding a final strip of bacon to the skillet, Dallas started to reseal the package. Empty peered over her shoulder.
“Don’t be so stingy with the bacon.”
Dallas stared at the six strips in the skillet and frowned. “Six isn’t stingy, unless you plan on having some.”
“I already had my breakfast,” he reminded her. “But Quint’s got a man’s appetite. He’d probably eat the whole package if you fried it.”
She added two more slices to the large skillet. “How’s that?”
“It’ll do,” Empty declared.
The aroma of frying bacon filled the kitchen, banishing the smoke smell, when Quint returned to it, a blue chambray work shirt tucked inside his jeans and a belt fastened around his middle. A smile edged the corners of his mouth at the sight of Dallas standing at the stove, her long coppery blond hair flipped forward to fall over one shoulder, baring the curve of her neck.
The urge was strong to walk up behind her, slide his arms around her waist, and nibble along that curve. It was only Empty’s presence in the room that prevented Quint from taking such a liberty. It was enough that he knew Dallas would have welcomed it if he had. The knowledge brought a deep contentment that warmed and buoyed him. The shine of it was in his eyes when he met her over-the-shoulder glance.
“Excellent timing,” Dallas said. “Your eggs will be ready in a minute.”
“Good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled that bacon.” After pouring a fresh cup of coffee, Quint carried it to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
Empty occupied the chair across the table from him, his gnarled and sun-leathered hands clasped around an empty cup. “Dallas tells me that all the firemen pulled out except for a handful. I gotta admit I’m not looking forward to going out there and surveying the extent of the damage.”
Earlier Quint had been dreading it, too. But the prospect no longer bothered him in the least. Those moments with Dallas had changed that—and the brief taste they’d given him of the glory a man and woman could know, the kind that evoked an emotion older than time. It was something he had unknowingly sought for years.
It wasn’t a man’s way to question that it was too soon or too sudden for such certainty; he simply accepted it as fact.
“The fire accomplished one thing.” Quint took a sip of his coffee. “I planned on doing some winter seeding to improve the graze. And the fire provided a clean slate for that.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” But Empty’s view wasn’t as positive. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think we could have stopped those flames if the fire trucks hadn’t shown up when they did. A hundred years ago we wouldn’t have had a prayer of halting it.”
“There might have been a way,” Quint said. “I remember a story my grandfather told me about a prairie fire that threatened to sweep across hal
f or more of the Triple C range back in the ranch’s early days. To stop it, they killed a couple of steers, skinned them, and used ropes to stretch the carcasses between two riders, then dragged them over the fire until they smothered it.”
“How gruesome,” Dallas said with an expressive little shudder and transferred the fried eggs from the skillet to a plate.
“I never heard of doing such a thing…but I can see how it could work,” Empty declared with a slow, affirming nod of his head.
Dallas crossed to the table and set a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Quint. A smile accompanied his upward glance, the warm light in his eyes conveying more than mere gratitude.
“Thanks.” Quint was aware of the way her gaze clung to him for an instant, then skittered self-consciously to her grandfather before sliding away altogether.
She bypassed the empty chair next to him and headed straight for the coffeepot. “Are you ready for another cup, Empty?”
“Sure.” He pulled one hand away from his cup and sat back to give her room to fill it. “So, what are your plans?” Empty directed the question to Quint. “Do you want to drive out and look around after you finish breakfast or are you going to call the Triple C first and give them a heads-up on the fire?”
Quint shook his head and used his fork to cut off a bite of egg. “I’ll let them know about the fire after I’ve determined the full scope of the damage.”
“It’ll save you making two phone calls,” Empty said in approval. “There’s not much they can do clear up in Montana anyway. I guess you already figured that out.”
“Where do you want the hay stacked?” Dallas asked, returning to the table with the coffeepot.
“In one of the barn stalls. It doesn’t matter which one,” Quint answered between bites.
The sun’s morning rays streamed through the barn’s wide opening, bringing light to its cavernous alleyway and darkening its shadowy corners. A few yards inside the barn, Dallas stood next to one of the stalls, fingertips tucked in the hip pockets of her jeans.
It was a casual pose that disguised the high tension she felt as she watched another Slash R ranch hand walk past her, holding a square bale in front of him by its twine. A fresh swirl of dust motes danced in his wake.
Her gaze followed him to the open stall where the hay was being stored. There, it switched to John Earl Tandy as he emerged to retrace his steps to the stock trailer parked outside the barn doors.
The two men passed each other without speaking. The only sounds to be heard were the rustle of hay, booted footsteps on the barn’s cement floor, and the occasional grunted breath of exertion.
Dallas knew both men, but neither had addressed a single word to her, and merely acknowledged her presence with a slight nod on their arrival. She suspected they held their silence for the same reason she did—the presence of the man beside her, Boone Rutledge.
In her side vision, she could make out the long shape of him, leaning against the stall gate, one leg cocked, a near smirk on his lips. Dallas knew every time his dark glance drifted over her, making a man’s slow, raking study of her. The touch of it was enough to make her skin crawl.
John Earl poked his head inside the stock trailer, then swung back around and looked directly at Boone.
“That was the last of them,” he announced.
Boone made a languid show of straightening himself away from the stall. “I’ll see you and Rivers back at the ranch then.” His dark glance encompassed both men in its dismissal of them.
“Right.” John Earl pulled the trailer gate closed, double-checked to make sure it was securely latched, then sent a glance at his partner to verify he was on his way.
Using their departure as an excuse to move, Dallas crossed the alleyway and paused outside the stall with the hay as if inspecting it. Boone followed while, outside, there was the twin thud of pickup doors being pulled shut, followed by the revving of its engine.
When the pickup pulled away from the barn, the empty stock trailer rattling behind it, Boone rested a hand on the top of her shoulder. “What do you think Echohawk’s going to say when he finds out the hay came this morning instead of this afternoon?” he wondered, sounding almost smug.
“Probably nothing.” She made an abrupt right-angle turn to shrug off the loose weight of his hand.
Boone simply transferred it to the opposite shoulder. But this time he shifted it forward, fingertips sliding under the neckline of her blouse. Dallas immediately seized his hand and attempted to push it away. But she was no match for his strength.
“Keep your hands off me.” Her voice trembled with the depth of her loathing.
“Take it easy.” His grin was wide and taunting. “I’m just making sure there aren’t any bugs on you,” he said, putting a light stress on the word bug.
Dallas knew at once that Boone was referring to a recording device. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not wearing any,” she said curtly.
“Just to be safe, I’d better check—whether you like it or not.” The smiling glitter in his eyes showed a desire that seemed to welcome any attempt to resist a search.
Dallas had no difficulty imagining the pleasure he would get out of a forcible search. Fighting it would prolong the inevitable.
Steeling herself to endure the touch of his hands, she swung to face him. “Then let’s get it over with.”
“That’s a sensible attitude to take.” Boone stepped closer. “But you are a sensible woman, aren’t you?”
Any thought of responding to his comment fled the instant he cupped his hands over her breasts, fingers feeling around as if searching for the telltale ridge of a wire or small microphone, and taking their own sweet time about it.
“Satisfied?” Dallas challenged, fighting the bitter gall in her throat.
“Not quite,” he said as his hands moved to her waist, fingers gliding inside the waistband of her jeans, touching bare skin and following all the way around to her spine.
Dallas maintained a rigid stance, not moving an inch even when his arms virtually encircled her, bringing her face against his shirtfront. Just when she thought she couldn’t tolerate his touch another second, Boone stepped back and crouched down to run his hands down the length of her leg and back up again. Her control lasted right up to the moment when a hand cupped her crotch. At that point she jerked back from him and retreated a step.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” she accused.
“It’s your fault,” Boone countered. “I can’t seem to get it out of my mind—that picture you made when I caught you two together this morning.” His voice was all low and lazy, but not his eyes. They had an avid interest. “You were crawling all over Echohawk, eating his mouth like a starving woman. And all along I thought the only thing hot about you was your temper. I was obviously wrong about that.”
His hand glided onto the side of her neck with insidious ease. Dallas reacted with a swift and hard swing of her arm, knocking his hand away.
“That’s my job, isn’t it?” Dallas challenged, her voice thick with revulsion—for Boone and this whole business. “To win his confidence? Get Quint to tell me his plans?”
“I didn’t know you could do it so well. You’re just full of hidden talents.”
“Stop making it sound like something dirty. It wasn’t like that.” Dallas was stiff with resentment and sickened by his attitude.
“My, aren’t we testy?” Boone mocked in amusement and cocked his head to one side. “Could it be that you’re starting to like him a little?”
Her chin came up high in defiance. “I like him a lot better than I like you.”
“That tongue of yours hasn’t lost its sharpness, has it?” Boone laughed in his throat.
“Not when it comes to you, it hasn’t,” Dallas retorted.
But the gibe never fazed him. “So what have you managed to find out so far?”
“I’ve learned that you have a real fight on your hands.” Dallas took pleasure in telling him
that. “You aren’t going to find it easy to make Quint knuckle under.”
“He will, though.” Boone oozed with confidence. “It’s only a matter of time. But you know that.”
Loath to admit that she knew it was too bitterly true, Dallas said instead, “I suppose you already know he’s a grandson of the Calders.”
“Naturally.”
“You could have told me. I thought he was just another hired man.”
“What difference does it make?” Boone countered in smooth dismissal.
“None, I suppose,” Dallas admitted reluctantly. “It’s just that…his family owns this land. It will make him even more determined to hang on to it.” She paused, then couldn’t resist the dig. “Maybe this time you won’t win.”
His gaze sharpened on her, eyes narrowing. “Now that’s dangerous thinking. It tells me you might have enjoyed kissing him a little too much.” His statement was too accurate for comfort, making it difficult for Dallas to hold his steady regard. “Maybe it’s given you the idea that you could catch yourself a Calder if you play your cards right.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dallas turned away in a show of anger and disgust. “For your information, marriage is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“That’s right. You have your sights set on a college degree,” Boone recalled thoughtfully. “You keep them there because a little Miss Nobody from Texas like you doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting Echohawk to the altar—especially when you consider that his cousin just married an English lord. As the old saying goes, he might bed you, but he’ll never wed you.”
