Lone Calder Star. Janet Dailey

spread up in Montana, covering over a million acres,” he added thoughtfully. “Could be Rutledge is trying to take a bite out of an outfit that’s too big for him.”

      “But it’s up there. Down here, Rutledge calls the shots—or have you forgotten?” The instant the acerbic comment left her mouth, Dallas regretted opening old wounds. Still, the truth was the truth. “And how much is a big outfit like that going to care about a measly little spread a thousand miles away? Every rancher with any business sense at all knows that sometimes you have to cut your losses and sell.”

      Empty chose to ignore her latter remark. “The Cee Bar isn’t as measly as it once was. It takes in close to five thousand acres now. And it’s got this big creek that curls right through it. It’s never been known to run dry either. It’s the water; I’ll bet that’s what Rutledge is coveting.”

      “You’re full of information, aren’t you?” Dallas turned a suspicious look on him. “And you got all this from one brief meeting with this Echohawk?”

      “It wasn’t all that brief.” He deliberately avoided her eyes. “I pitched in and helped him unload the grain and catch up his horses. I knew nobody else would be making any neighborly gestures. Lord knows I didn’t have any other demands on my day except to sit in that trailer and go stir-crazy.”

      But Dallas refused to be diverted by his attempt to change the subject. “Just how long were you there, Empty?”

      “How should I know? I didn’t keep track of the time.” He puffed up, all stern-looking and indignant. Not for anything would he admit that he had left the Cee Bar barely twenty minutes ago. “I don’t see what difference it makes anyhow. All I did was lend him a hand with a few things. From the way the place looks, Evans let a lot of things go slack these last few months. Course, that ranch is too big for one man to handle by himself. That Quint Echohawk will need a hired hand. There’s no two ways about it.”

      “We both know he hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of finding one,” she stated flatly, yet inwardly struggled with the heavy feeling of regret that washed over her.

      “Watch your language, there, little gal. Why, your grandma would be rolling over in her grave if she heard you cussing like that.” There was sharp reproach in the look he slanted in her direction. “You were raised better.”

      “I know.”

      Empty caught the note of defiance in her voice. “You’ve gotten hard, Dallas.” It hurt him to see that in her. “It comes from carrying too much on those young shoulders of yours. Guess that’s my fault.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said in annoyance. “It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just life.”

      “Maybe so,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch you working two, sometimes three jobs and going to school nights to better yourself, while I sit around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my Social Security check to arrive. Lord knows why, ’cause it’s hardly enough to pay the rent on that run-down old trailer.”

      Dallas knew it was his pride talking. “Anyone who has worked as hard and as long as you have is entitled to a life of leisure,” she reasoned. “And I’m not working any harder than you did at my age.”

      “I suppose you think I’m like an old horse who’s supposed to be happy about getting turned out to pasture. Well, for your information, little gal, I’m not on my last legs yet.”

      Dallas sensed some hidden message in his statement that instantly made her wary. “What do you mean?” A frisson of alarm shot through her. “Wait a minute, Empty. You aren’t thinking of taking that job at the Cee Bar?” She checked the impulse to tell him he was too old. “You can’t do it,” she protested instead. “We don’t need any more trouble.”

      “Rutledge has you buffaloed, doesn’t he? I thought I raised you to have more backbone than that.”

      Stung by his words, Dallas reacted with heat. “I only know that we have to live here while your Mr. Echohawk can go back to Montana any time he chooses.”

      “In the first place, he isn’t my Mr. Echohawk,” Empty retorted. “And in the second, Rutledge has already got my ranch. There isn’t a whole lot more he can do to hurt me.”

      But there was, and Dallas knew it. Several months ago, while filing some papers, she had stumbled upon a sale document transferring ownership of the feed store to Max Rutledge. Sykes continued to front for him, but Rutledge owned it. She had never mentioned anything about it to her grandfather, fully aware he’d be furious if he knew she was working—even indirectly—for Max Rutledge.

      One word from Rutledge and she would be out of work. The chances of finding another full-time job in the area were virtually nil. And her chances of convincing her grandfather to move to the city were just about the same.

      All those thoughts ran through her mind, but Dallas didn’t voice any of them, saying instead, “Personally, I don’t want to find out what kind of trouble he might cause us. I just want to forget he exists. And I want you to forget about that job at the Cee Bar.”

      Empty made the swing into the driveway a little too fast. Gravel flew when he slammed on the brakes. The pickup screeched to a stop short of the steps.

      “I never said a word about taking the job. You’re the one who got the idea in your head. And you haven’t quit harping about it ever since.” He climbed out of the pickup and slammed the door shut behind him.

      “Fine,” Dallas snapped, slamming her own door. “Then let’s both stop thinking about it.”

      “Suits me.” He grabbed hold of the handrail and pulled himself up the steps ahead of her. “You got school tonight?”

      “Yes.” Her thoughts made the lightning leap to more mundane matters. “I thought I’d add some rice to that leftover chili and fix that for supper tonight. Is that all right with you?” she asked, thinking that she should have enough time to hop in the shower while the chili was heating.

      “Bowl of that’ll be good enough for me. Don’t have much of an appetite anyway.” He walked through the door straight over to the recliner and plopped himself in it.

      Both were careful to avoid any further reference to the Cee Bar Ranch. But the thought of it was never out of Empty’s mind. He did experience a twinge of guilt when Dallas stopped by his chair on her way out the door and brushed his cheek with a kiss.

      “I’m sorry for arguing with you earlier.” Her lips curved in a rueful smile even as her eyes teased him. “But you’re such an old war-horse that I could easily imagine you letting yourself get talked into something.”

      “Nobody can talk me into anything,” he insisted gruffly. “I make up my own mind about things.”

      “Always,” Dallas agreed and crossed to the door, her book bag in hand. She swung back, smiling at him. “I don’t know what I was so worried about anyway. It isn’t likely your Quint Echohawk would even consider hiring you.”

      His head came up. “Why not?”

      “Because men his age never think that someone as old as you are would still be capable of doing that kind of hard work.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, with no undertone of anything else. She opened the door. “I’ll be late coming home—as usual. I’ve got my key, so be sure to lock the door before you go to bed.”

      He waved a hand in answer. After the door closed behind her, Empty gathered up their supper dishes and carried them to the sink.

      The pickup’s headlight beams arced across the window behind it. He peered out to make certain she had pulled onto the road. The instant he caught the red flash of taillights, he crossed to the end of the counter and dug around until he located the telephone book among the clutter. He flipped through the pages and kept his finger on the number for the Cee Bar while he dialed it.

      “Echohawk? It’s Empty Garner,”