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Upon entering the kitchen of the old ranch house, Dallas immediately busied herself with the task of ladling soup into bowls while Quint washed up at the sink. He dried his hands on a towel and followed when she carried the bowls to the table where Empty was already seated.
Quint pulled out a chair and sat down, conscious that his awareness of her had doubled, adding its own brand of tension to the scene. And that awareness made it impossible for him not to notice the way she seemed to avoid looking at him. He wanted to blame it on the threats Boone Rutledge must have issued, but he had a feeling his rough kiss might have had just as much to do with it.
The instant she set the bowls down, Dallas moved away from the table, crossing to the counter where she poured herself a cup of coffee. She brought it back to the table with her and sat down opposite her grandfather.
Empty glanced at the cup. “Aren’t you going to eat any soup?”
“I’m not hungry. And I couldn’t eat and talk at the same time anyway.” Dallas wrapped both hands around the cup as if fighting off a chill.
“Well, we can listen and eat at the same time, so you might as well tell us what he had to say.” Empty crumbled a handful of saltine crackers into his bowl of vegetable beef soup.
After a short nod of agreement, Dallas paused to collect her thoughts, then began, “Like I said, Boone came by the feed store this morning. He used the pretext of picking up a salt block, but the minute he asked me to have lunch with him, I knew he was there to talk to me.” Her glance skipped to Quint. “Right away I assumed it was because we had a drink together at Tillie’s on Saturday night.”
“You’ve been out with him?” Empty stared at her in surprise.
“He bought me a beer. I don’t think that’s quite the same as going out with someone,” Dallas was quick to add, obviously uncomfortable with the phrase.
“You never mentioned anything about it to me.” The rancher’s statement bordered on an accusation.
“You were asleep when I got home.”
“Wait a minute.” Empty lost all interest in his soup and pointed a gnarled finger at Quint. “Saturday night is when those guys roughed you up.” His gaze snapped back to Dallas. “Were you there then?”
“I never saw the fight itself,” she replied while admitting, with some reluctance, her knowledge of it. “I went looking for him, saw a couple of men running off, and found him in the parking lot.”
“And you never said one word about it to me,” he said in sharp rebuke.
“If I had, you would have gotten yourself all worked up over Rutledge and the things he gets away with,” Dallas said in her own defense. “There just didn’t seem to be any point in telling you about it.”
“It didn’t do you much good. I got upset anyway when I saw his face.” Empty flung up a hand, gesturing to indicate Quint and the faint bruises still visible along his cheekbone.
Seeking to end their somewhat heated exchange, Quint remarked, “I’ve wondered several times if you’d had any repercussions from Saturday.”
“On Monday morning, Sykes was quick to tell me that I’d better stay clear of you if I knew what was good for me. Which was exactly what I expected,” Dallas replied, then paused a beat. “That’s why I was a little confused when Boone showed up. I couldn’t understand why he wanted to take me out to lunch just to repeat what Holly Sykes had already told me. I decided that there was something going on that made Rutledge believe it was necessary to emphasize it.”
While she recounted her conversation with Boone Rutledge, Quint went through the motions of eating his soup, but he tasted little of what he put in his mouth. All of his attention was concentrated on Dallas. He had participated in too many interrogations not to know that a person’s delivery, tone of voice, and body language often said more than the words.
Control was the strongest impression he had. He saw it in the stiff way she held herself, the care she took in choosing her words, and the tight restraint she kept on her emotions, allowing only hints of bitterness and anger to creep into her voice.
There were places where she hesitated, and each time she slid a quick glance at her grandfather. By the time she finished her story, Quint had the feeling that Dallas was holding something back. Something that she didn’t want her grandfather to know. He suspected she was afraid for him, and seeking to hide that fear from her grandfather.
Empty Garner leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans. “So all of Boone’s talk boils down to one thing—if I don’t quit working here, Rutledge is going to see that you lose your job and likely put our truck out of commission, probably by using that old trick of pouring sugar into the gas tank. Then, just to sweeten the pot, he tells you that if you talk me into quitting, his pa might be predisposed to paying for your college.”
“It seems to me,” Quint began, “the only thing missing is a veiled suggestion that some harm might come to Empty if he refused. Or did you just omit that part, Dallas?” He never altered the idle tone of his voice, letting all the challenge be in his words.
She shot him a look of sharp reproach, unaware of the glimmer of pain in her eyes. “He hinted that something might happen to him,” Dallas admitted curtly, “then covered it by reminding me that my grandfather was an old man, well up in years.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Empty declared with thick scorn. “Just let them try something and they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
Quint ignored the old man’s boastful words. “What do you think your chances are of getting Boone to repeat the things he told you?”
Dallas eyed him warily. “Why?”
“Because it’s extortion. I can arrange to have you miked and get it all on tape—with your agreement, of course,” he added.
Her response was a wryly amused smile and a glance at her grandfather.
“Fat lot of good that’ll do you.” Empty snorted. “Even if you’re lucky enough to get him arrested, the old man’s got just about every judge in the state in his back pocket. You’ll just get one delay on top of another until one day, lo and behold, the tape comes up missing and you’ve got nothing but your word against his. In the meantime, he’s coming at you from a half dozen other directions.”
