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“What did you find out?” she asked in an afterthought.
“Nothing yet. But if there’s anything to learn, we should know in a few days.” Quint paused at the doorway to flip off the kitchen light.
Darkness closed around them, save for a sliver of light peeking from beneath the door to her bedroom. Using it as his beacon, Quint crossed the living room to the short hall, disregarding the creaking floorboards beneath him.
She sighed, a slender hand fitting itself to the ridge of his shoulder. “We probably won’t be lucky enough to prove Rutledge is behind it.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Truthfully Quint thought their chances were slim. He certainly hadn’t heard anything tonight that encouraged him to think that they would uncover the equivalent of a smoking gun. But small mistakes could occur in even the most careful plans.
He gave her bedroom door a push with his foot. It swung open soundlessly to reveal a pool of light spreading from a lamp on the nightstand, exposing bedcovers turned back in readiness. He carried her to the bed and lowered her onto it. Her arms immediately tightened their hold on him to keep him there.
“Wait, Quint.”
But it was the loose softness of her lips that pulled him down, that and the need to tunnel into them. They were quick to answer the exploring pressure of his kiss. The contact was long and languid, slow to build to an earthy hunger.
Before it did, Quint drew back scant inches. “It’s late. You’d better get some sleep.”
Regret flickered briefly in her eyes. Then a tiny frown puckered her forehead. “I thought of something. Now I can’t remember what it was.”
“That’s because you’re tired. It’ll come to you in the morning,” he said and braced a hand on the bed to push himself away from it.
“You don’t have to go, Quint.” It was a statement, issued softly, not an appeal.
More than tempted, Quint studied the heavy lidding of her eyes and smiled. “If I stayed, neither one of us would get much sleep. And you’re halfway there right now.”
“I know.” Her smile was lazy with sleepiness even as she snuggled a little deeper into her bed, settling herself in for the night.
“See you in the morning.” He dropped a light kiss on her nose and turned off the lamp as he straightened up from the bed.
“Good night.” Her voice floated after him when he crossed to the door.
Only a handful of reporters showed up at the ranch the next morning. They looked with regret at the healthy cattle standing in the pen and halfheartedly recorded the scene when Quint distributed hay to the animals. They lingered for a while until it became apparent no new story would be coming from the ranch. The last one pulled out a little before noon.
During lunch, Jessy called, alerting them to expect a delivery of hay that afternoon. There would be only six of the smaller-sized round bales. Considering that only ten square bales remained in the barn, the news was welcome.
Armed with a grocery list, Dallas headed to the store after lunch. She waved to Quint when she pulled out of the ranch yard. His own trip to the city to switch pickups had been delayed by the arrival of a state inspector.
In less than an hour, Dallas paid for her purchases at the checkout counter and wheeled the cart out of the store into the bright sunlight. The air had a hint of sharpness to it, but the sun blazed a hot counterpoint, the heat of its rays warm on her face.
Dallas rolled the cart to the rear of the white pickup and lowered the tailgate. Turning back to the sacks in the cart, she paid no attention to the tan and white truck that pulled into the empty slot next to hers. She lifted a sack from the cart and pivoted to set it in the pickup just as the driver’s door of the other vehicle swung open and Boone Rutledge’s muscular frame emerged from it. The bright glitter in his dark eyes and the cocky smile on his face told Dallas that he had known where to find her.
A cold loathing welled up inside her. “Did your spies tell you I was here?” Dallas challenged and reached for another sack, a tightly controlled anger stiffening her movements.
“What do you think?” Boone mocked and strolled over to the tailgate. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”
“Why?” She flashed him a chilling look and shoved another sack into the truck.
“Echohawk’s bound to be sweating—three cows dead from anthrax, his cattle quarantined, and his hay running low.”
Dallas longed to slap that smug look from his face. She settled for taunting. “You seem to know everything already. Obviously there isn’t anything I need to tell you.”
But it was the phrase “know everything” that clicked in her mind, and Dallas remembered the thought she had wanted to tell Quint last night. With a rare sense of anticipation, she turned to face Boone, tilting her head at a provocative and faintly challenging angle, a small smile curving her mouth. The essentially male side of Boone looked at her with quickening interest.
“You aren’t really going to try to convince me that the Rutledges didn’t have anything to do with those cows dying of anthrax, are you?” Dallas murmured.
Shock brought a flicker of panic to his eyes, and a telling pause that was heavy with guilt. “What makes you think we did?” He smiled, as if amused by such a ridiculous suggestion, but his gaze was a bit too sharp and searching in its intent study of her.
