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“That’s right. I forgot I took them off in there,” he murmured. “I would’ve remembered if I hadn’t got so mad at how righteous that Boone was acting. Hell, he just came over here to look at the damage and gloat.”
He all but stomped out of the kitchen. Dallas glanced after him. There was a light touch on her shoulder, and she turned with a jerk, finding herself the subject of Quint’s probing gaze.
“What’s wrong?”
After a quick, stiff shake of her head, she sighed in frustration. “Boone. The Rutledges.” Her voice was tight with bitterness and anger. “Somehow, in some dirty underhanded way, they always get what they want.”
“Not this time.” The calm certainty in his voice brought a twist to the line of her mouth.
“I know you think it will be different this time, but it won’t,” Dallas said. “They don’t care how long it takes. That’s the advantage they have. And during all that time, it will be just one hassle on top of another. Machinery sabotaged, hay burned, hired men scared off, cattle auctions rigged, credit refused. And that’s just a small part of the trouble they’ll cause. How long do you think it will take before the Calders decide this ranch isn’t worth all the trouble and grief it’s given them and throw in the towel? One year? Two? Five?” she challenged, pain and anger mixing together. “I had a front-row seat when they broke my grandfather—broke his heart and his spirit. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“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.
