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“I didn’t have much choice.” Buck continued to smile. “They don’t let you take those prison uniforms with you when they turn you loose.”
“But a hat and a pair of boots like that don’t come cheap. You must be working somewhere.”
“Not yet. But I’ve got me a job lined up. Looks like I’ll be startin’ soon.”
“Where?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Buck replied and took a swig of beer.
“Don’t worry. We will.” Ty spotted Quint standing quietly by the wall, watching the pool game in progress.
As he started to move toward the boy, Buck said, “I’d tell you to give my regards to your pa, but I don’t think he cares to hear from me. You’ll be seein’ me, though. You can count on that.”
Ty had the uneasy feeling the man spoke the truth. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Trey suddenly spied Quint. He kicked at Ty with his legs as if to hurry him along.
The restaurant and bar had filled up. Some of the families with younger children were leaving while the local cowboys and mine workers filed into the café in twos and threes. Most of them knew Ty by sight if not by name. They hailed him with greetings. He acknowledged them with a wave or a lift of his head.
Ty sidestepped a cue stick, drawn back by its shooter, and jostled a towheaded boy of eighteen, his freckled face sunburned except for a white band across the top of his forehead.
“Sorry, Taylor.” Ty apologized to the son from a family that ranched some land that adjoined the south boundary of the Triple C. There was a passel of kids in the family, and Ty never could keep their names straight.
“It’s okay.” The lanky boy shifted, giving Ty a glimpse of the girl with him.
“Hey, Emily.” Ty was surprised to see her in Taylor’s company. “I thought you were here with Ballard.”
“No. I just danced with him. That’s all,” she replied, then leaned closer, cupping a hand next to her mouth to whisper in a secretive manner. “Rick says Dy-Corp doesn’t have a helicopter. He says they don’t need one.”
“Really.” Ty straightened, absorbing the information. “He works at the mine.”
“Yeah. It’s a job,” she said, as if in defense of his choice.
Ty nodded absently in understanding, and filed the information away.
As he worked his way through the crowded bar to reach Quint, Ty skirted a group of onlookers that had gathered by the pool table to watch the game in progress. Ty was quick to notice that Dick Ballard was among them, one hand hooked on the opposite shoulder of the shapely brunette beside him. The woman was no one Ty recognized, but she definitely wasn’t Emily Trumbo.
Leaning closer, Ballard whispered something in the woman’s ear then bent his head to catch her answer. He responded with a quick smile that might appear sexy to a woman, but to Ty, it had the distinctive wheedling quality of a man on the make. It reinforced his opinion that Ballard was little more than Casanova in cowboy boots. Why Jessy thought of him as a friend Ty would never understand, which made him all the more irritated by the man.
At the table, the cue ball ricocheted off the black eight ball and sent it spinning into a side pocket. Amid the accompanying cheers of victory, there were a few hoots of derision and an exchange of money.
The balls were already being racked up to start a new game by the time Ty reached Quint’s side. The gray-eyed boy scooted to one side, making room for Ty to stand next to him along the wall.
“I didn’t know you were coming, too,” Quint said.
“Trey wanted to see what was going on.” Ty noticed how quickly Quint’s attention reverted to the table when it appeared another game was about to start. “Like pool, do you?”
Quint responded with an emphatic nod. “When I get bigger, my dad’s going to teach me how to play.”
&n
bsp; “That’s good.”
A heavyset cowboy bent over the table, sighted down his cue stick, drew it back, and sent it shooting forward. Trey’s eyes widened at the explosive crack and clatter of the break. He stared in wonder at the brightly colored balls careening off each other in every direction.
He pointed to them, then looked at Ty. “Baw.”
“That’s right. Those are balls, but they aren’t the kind little boys can play with.”
“Only big boys, Trey,” Quint chimed in.
