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“If it’s work you’re wanting, you’ll need to go to the ranch office and fill out an application,” the man said.
“No, I’m here to see Mr. Rutledge if he’s available. Mr. Max Rutledge,” Quint added in clarification.
The man’s impassive expression never changed. “Is Mr. Rutledge expecting you?”
“No. But he’ll see me,” Quint stated, one corner of his mouth lifting in the smallest suggestion of a smile.
“Your name?” the man requested, unfazed by Quint’s claim.
“Quint Echohawk with the Cee Bar Ranch.”
After a small hesitation, the man stepped back to allow admittance. “Wait here, I will inform Mr. Rutledge that you’re here. But I can’t say whether he will see you.”
“I understand.” Privately, Quint had no doubts at all that Max Rutledge would agree to see him.
He stepped through the doorway and moved to one side, allowing the man to close the door behind him.
“Wait here,” the man repeated the instruction and withdrew.
Out of habit, Quint removed his hat and made a visual inspection of his surroundings. The spacious entrance hall provided glimpses of its adjoining rooms, but not enough to encourage exploration. Like all the rest of the ranch, the house seemed designed to impress the visitor, both with its scale and its artful appointments.
The whisper-soft tread of the man’s footsteps faded into another part of the house. With typical patience, Quint waited as the seconds ticked by.
The snicking click of a latch drew Quint’s glance to the front door an instant before it swung open and Boone Rutledge walked in. He flicked a disinterested look at Quint, then came to a dead stop when recognition set in. He stared at him in bald-faced shock.
“Hello, Boone.” Quint nodded, aware that he was likely the very last person Boone expected to see.
As expected, Boone didn’t bother to extend a hand in greeting, honest not to pretend a civility he didn’t feel. A dark displeasure was in the narrowed look he aimed at Quint.
“What are you doing here?” But there was a ring of falseness in the question that revealed Boone had already guessed the answer.
Before Quint could reply, the servant reappeared in the entry hall. “Mr. Rutledge will see you now.”
Boone made a quick dismissal of the man. “I’ll show him to the den, Harold.” With a slight nod, the man moved away. “Follow me.” Boone struck out, taking the lead, then cast a questioning look at Quint. “I guess I should have asked if this was an official visit.”
“No.” Quint smiled, knowing it was the first question he should have asked, but Boone didn’t appear to be very adept at thinking on his feet. “In fact, I quit the ATF shortly after my father’s funeral.”
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason why you should.”
Crossing to a set of double doors, Boone pushed them wide as he walked through the opening into the spacious den. A wheelchair-bound Max Rutledge glided silently from behind a gleaming wood desk and rolled forward to meet Quint when he entered.
Boone rushed quickly to make the introductions. “I don’t believe you’ve met Quint Echohawk, Max. He’s the grandson of Chase Calder.”
“I’ve heard of you, of course. Welcome to the Slash R, Quint.” After a slight pause, he added, “Although I can’t help wondering what brings you here.”
The unabashed curiosity in Max Rutledge’s expression seemed utterly genuine. Quint took it as a warning of the man’s canny shrewdness.
“He didn’t come on official business.” Boone crossed to the bar. “Quint’s already told me he quit the ATF.”
“I didn’t think for one moment he was here in any official capacity,” Max said easily.
“I suppose you could call it official,” Quint said with a smile and added the qualification, “at least in the sense that Jessy asked me to come down and take charge of the Cee Bar.”
“Really?” Max said with a startled widening of his eyes. “I guess I assumed you would be looking after your mother’s ranch. Although I seem to recall it adjoins the Triple C. I suppose it would be a simple matter for the Calders to assume management of it.”
“That’s right.” From the bar area came the clatter of ice dropped in a glass.
