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“Did you get caught in that downpour?” He smiled at the sodden state of her clothes. It would take them a long time to dry even in the warm sun.
“How did you guess?” she shot back with a snap of sarcasm, wet and miserable.
“Tie your horse to the tailgate and I’ll give you a ride.”
Cat wasted no time accepting his offer as she reined her horse to the rear of the truck and dismounted to knot the reins to the bumper. Then she hurried to the front and climbed into the passenger side of the cab, her feet squishing in her wet boots.
“Cold?” Ty flicked a glance at her.
“No. Just wet.” Everything stuck to her as she tried to settle back in the seat. “I was just crossing that open stretch between Culley’s gate and the river when the sky opened up. I tried to make the trees, but I was soaked to the gills by the time I got under them.”
“You were at Culley’s again?” Ty drove slowly, glancing frequently into the rearview mirror at the reflection of the paint horse. “You’ve been going there nearly every day this week.”
She nervously licked her lips. No one had commented on it, so she didn’t think anyone had noticed the frequency of her visits. “He . . . hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Ty frowned at her.
“It was just a mild case of the flu,” she said quickly. “He was up and around today. I think he liked me coming over and fussing with him, which is probably why it took him so long to get well.”
“More than likely,” he agreed, smiling vaguely as his thoughts began to wander to other, more pressing matters.
The minute Dyson got off the telephone, he summoned Stricklin into his office. He had a drink poured and ready to put in his hands when he walked in.
“What’s this?” Stricklin looked blankly at the drink he’d been given.
“You’ve heard the old superstition that bad news travels in threes. Well, so does good news,” Dyson declared and clinked his glass against his partner’s. “First, it’s been nearly two weeks since we’ve had any trouble at the plant. Second, we were granted the mineral rights to that parcel of land on the Calder ranch. And third—” He paused for effect. “I just talked to Ty on the phone. He’s been considering my proposal for a joint venture on this strip-mining operation and wants us to come so we can discuss it in more detail.”
“He said that?” Stricklin was slow to join Dyson’s celebrative mood.
“We’ve got ourselves a deal.” He
saluted Stricklin with his glass and downed a swallow, smiling broadly. “And you were so worried a week ago,” he chided. “So certain there had to be some reason why Ty was holding out. I told you there was no cause to be suspicious. We have a kingdom of coal and all the water we need now that he’s joining forces with us.”
“Maybe there’s another reason why he wants us to come to Montana. Maybe he’s just using the deal as an excuse,” Stricklin suggested, his mind cautiously turning over the possibilities.
“No.” Dyson shook his head in a very positive fashion. “He’s buying the deal. With Chase out of the picture, it’s happening just the way I knew it would.”
“Yes.” It was a somewhat absent agreement from Stricklin as he took a contemplative sip of his drink, then a second with more confidence in his manner. “I’ll begin rearranging our schedule so we can leave for Montana first thing in the morning.”
Cat watched the car pull away from The Homestead with her brother at the wheel, again accompanied by E. J. Dyson and his partner, George Stricklin. The trio had been practically inseparable since Dyson’s plane landed at the Triple C’s private airstrip the day before.
It was becoming more difficult for her to believe the pair had perpetrated the deed her uncle suggested. She had known E. J. Dyson all her life, Stricklin, too, for that matter. Even before Ty had married Tara, Dyson had been a friend of the family. Her father had strongly differed with him over the issue of strip-mining, but he had continued to show respect for him.
None of her uncle’s suspicions seemed plausible. She knew how much Culley had loved her mother—worshiped her almost. Cat was nearly convinced he was trying to blame someone for her death because it was the only way he could reconcile her passing in his mind.
“Cat, what’s the matter with you?” Repp’s impatient voice cut into her thoughts.
She half turned, looking at him blankly for an instant. “I’m sorry. I was just . . . thinking.” His dark gaze tried to peel away the layers of her preoccupation to find the source of it. She wanted to tell him the awful secret Culley had given her to carry, but it had begun sounding too incredible.
Her troubled eyes bothered him. A week ago she had assured him their jealous argument was forgotten. But something was still gnawing on her mind and she wouldn’t tell him about it.
“Thinking about what?” Repp probed. “Your father? When you visited him Sunday, you said he was doing much better.”
“He is. There’s a numbness in his legs, and the doctor said that was a very good sign because it means he’s getting some feeling back.” There was still the need for more operations, more therapy. Recovery was still in the future.
Even if she had wanted to sound out her father on a few of the things that were troubling her, she hadn’t been given the opportunity. Ty had taken up most of their visiting time bringing him up to date on the situation at the ranch.
“Then what is it?” he persisted.
