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Max cut across his words. “You wouldn’t admit it if you had, and we both know it. It’s irrelevant anyway. I don’t particularly care how the girl pumps the information from Echohawk, whether it’s in bed or out of it, just so long as she isn’t fool enough to start caring about him and double-cross us.”
“She knows what would happen if she did. Besides, I’ve already warned her about thinking she’d ever be any more to Echohawk than a piece of ass.”
“Let’s hope she remembers that,” Max replied absently.
“She will,” Boone asserted, then paused a beat. “So what do you want me to do? It would be a waste of time to call any local haulers or sale barns to put them on notice to get a hold of us if they hear from Echohawk. He’ll probably get someone from out of state like he did with the hay.”
“Don’t do anything. Just leave it to me.” There was a smug curve to Max’s smile. “I think I can guarantee Echohawk won’t be shipping cattle any time soon.”
“What have you got up your sleeve?” Boone knew his father had a plan, and it grated him that he wasn’t being informed of it.
“Publicity. With the Cee Bar at the center of it—just like you were so ready to do the other night. With a different story line, though.” On that enigmatic note, Max sent the wheelchair gliding to the meeting room’s connecting door.
Boone waited, certain that any second Max would swing his chair around and announce his intentions—like a word coming from on high. Instead Max hit the remote and the door opened, allowing his wheelchair to pass through without pause.
For a stunned instant Boone was too furious at being kept in the dark to do more than glare at the closed door. Then he spun on his heel and strode from the office, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
Thunder rumbled in the distance, an accompaniment to the soft patter of rain on the roof. Quint sat at the old desk in the kitchen, his feet propped on a corner of it, the telephone to his ear, and his body angled toward the window that looked onto the front porch. In the living room, a sitcom’s laugh track competed with the loud, sawing breaths of a snoozing Empty.
Quint paid little attention to any of it, not even the sound of his mother’s voice in his ear, catching him up on all the current happenings at the Triple C. He was too distracted by the vague shape of Dallas, standing outside by the porch rail.
Occasional lightning flashes would show her silhouette, sometimes with both hands braced against the railing, or one resting on an upright post. A heavy sweatshirt gave the illusion of bulk to her slim figure, yet it seemed to emphasize the downward slope of her shoulders, a posture that gave the impression she was in a pensive, almost melancholy mood. It was a sight that aroused all of his protective male instincts, filling him with a need to make the world right for her.
“Quint, are you listening to me?” The rather strong hint of reproach in his mother’s voice commanded his attention.
“Sorry, Mom. I’m afraid my mind wandered,” Quint admitted. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve had a bunch of them in a row.”
And it had been rare that he’d spent more than a few minutes alone with Dallas. It seemed that whenever he wasn’t occupied with something, she was.
“Tell me again, what did you say?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cat replied. “It wasn’t important anyway. You probably have a dozen things you need to do tonight, so I won’t keep you from them. Try to get some rest, though. You need your sleep, too.”
“I will.” Quint swung his feet off the desk and sat forward, the chair squeaking at the shifting of his weight.
r /> “Be careful, dear. And remember I love you.”
“Love you back, Mom.” With those parting words, Quint slipped the receiver back on its cradle and rose to his feet.
In the living room a car salesman bragged about the savings available at his lot, but his voice marked the only change of sound coming from the room. After an idle glance in its direction, Quint crossed to the back door, lifted his windbreaker off the wall hook, and slipped it on as he opened the door and stepped onto the porch.
Light from the kitchen penetrated the shadows, brushing over the smoothness of her cheek when Dallas glanced over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back from her face, the dim light glinting on the gold clasp at her nape. His glimpse of her face was a brief one as she turned to gaze again into the night and the soft falling rain.
Quint eased the screen door closed and crossed to the railing to stand next to her. He pushed his hands into the side pockets of his windbreaker and surveyed the view that seemed to absorb her interest.
A faraway flash of lightning briefly lit the undersides of the low clouds and reflected off the surface of the gathering puddles of water scattered around the ranch yard. Then all was still again, marked by the whisper of the falling rain and the trickling of water in the downsprouts.
“Nice night,” Quint remarked, finding the moisture-laden air not as cool as he had expected it to be. But the only response from Dallas was a nod of agreement. “A steady, soaking rain like this makes me wish that we already had seeded that burned ground.”
“I like gentle rains like this,” Dallas remarked in a musing voice. “There’s something soothing about them.”
“Are you in particular need of soothing tonight?” Quint made a sideways study of her profile—the smooth sweep of her forehead, the straight line of her nose, and the strong jut of her chin.
“Doesn’t everybody need to unwind at the end of a busy day?” Dallas challenged lightly in return, but Quint detected something self-conscious in the glance she darted at him.
“I suppose.” The desire was there to curve an arm around her, establish contact, yet there was something in her manner that made Quint hesitate.
