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“You’re kidding.” But Empty could see that he wasn’t. “Just what do you think that’s going to accomplish?”
“You never know.” His smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Since it seems the Slash R has bought every available bale of hay around here, maybe I can talk them into selling me some.”
“You’ve got as much chance of that as a fly getting loose from a spider’s web.” But Empty relented just the same and gave him directions.
“Thanks. See you in the morning.”
“Sure thing.” Empty gave the door a push and stepped away from the truck.
As it reversed away from the trailer, Empty headed for the steps. He caught a flash of white out of the corner of his eye and turned. There was Dallas coming down the road in their old truck. And he knew she couldn’t help but see the black pickup pulling out of the drive. It didn’t matter that they wouldn’t be passing each other. A strange pickup in their driveway was bound to spark his granddaughter’s curiosity.
Empty realized he would have to step quickly around this. Which wouldn’t be easy. Dallas was about as sharp as his wife had been at spotting a lie.
He resumed his path to the steps and managed to get halfway up them before Dallas drove in. She hopped out of the truck, her gaze locked on the departing pickup halfway up the road.
“Who was just here?” She wore a puzzled look when she came around the white pickup to join him.
“The guy from the Cee Bar, Quint Echohawk.” Empty knew he had to keep to the truth—as much as possible.
“What did he want?” The question had all the earmarks of simple curiosity, which suited Empty just fine.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He climbed the rest of the steps to the trailer door.
“Wait a minute.” Dallas caught up with him before he could step inside, her gaze sharp with suspicion. “He didn’t ask you to go to work there, did he?”
“Nothing of the sort,” he declared as if the possibility were completely out of the question. “He wanted directions to the Slash R.”
“But he could have gotten them from anyone. Why did he come here? For that matter, how did he know where we live?”
“Somebody must have told him.”
“But that same somebody could also have told him how to get to the Slash R.”
“True. But it’s likely they would have got on the phone the minute he left and reported it to Rutledge. And I got the impression Echohawk wanted to arrive unannounced. I expect Echohawk knew I’d sooner jump off a cliff than give Rutledge the time of day.”
His explanation appeared to satisfy her, but Empty could see she was still chewing on what he’d told her. “I can’t imagine why he would want to see Rutledge.” The wheels continued to turn in her mind as she tried to figure it out.
“He said he was going to try to buy some hay off him.”
“Hay?” An abrupt laugh slipped from her. Then she shook her head in dismissal. “The man is clearly a fool.”
Empty wasn’t sure, but he thought Dallas sounded a little bit sorry.
“You can’t miss it,” Empty had insisted after he’d given Quint directions to the Rutledge ranch. The minute Quint encountered the pristine white fencing that ran for nearly a mile, he knew the old man was right.
The entrance itself was recessed from the road and flanked by high white wings. Arching across to connect them, tall enough to allow a semitrailer rig to pass beneath it, was a span of wrought iron. Scro
lled in its center and gilded in gold was the Slash R brand.
The gleaming black iron gates stood open. Quint wouldn’t have been surprised to find them shut. He turned onto the paved driveway, bordered by more white fence. Sun-seared grass covered the pastures on either side of the manicured lane, with no scrub brush or mesquite thicket to be seen.
A good half mile back from the road, the arrow-straight driveway opened into the ranch yard with its assorted sheds, stables, and barns all painted a pure white. The white paint accented the ranch’s immaculate look, all scrubbed and ready for inspection. Quint found it hard to believe the Slash R was a working ranch. It was more like something Hollywood would come up with.
Off to his left, he noticed a paved road that branched away from the ranch and curved into some trees. He followed it. Within seconds he spotted the sprawling ranch house on the hilltop, hidden from the ranch yard by a screening of trees.
Rock columns supported a low, wide portico that marked the home’s front entrance. Quint parked beneath it and climbed out of the truck. On impulse he hit the remote, locking the pickup’s doors and activating its alarm system, then slipped the keys in his jacket pocket.
A burly man with a crew cut answered the door when he knocked. Blue eyes made a swift, assessing sweep of Quint.
