Lone Calder Star. Janet Dailey

voice. “He’s played it high and wide too long.”

      “Nobody’s stopped him all these years,” Dallas reminded him, stifling her own bitter resentment of the man. “It isn’t logical to think any one will.”

      “You’re probably right,” he grumbled and watched as she flipped through the pages of the textbook. “I suppose you’ll be up half the night studying.”

      “I have to. Finals start next week.”

      “Just remember you need your sleep, too. Studying won’t do you any good if your brain’s too tired to take it in.” With that bit of wisdom delivered, he started to turn away, then swung back, pinning his gaze on her. “Who’s tending the stock out at the Cee Bar?”

      “Nobody, I guess,” Dallas replied absently, already turning her attention to the subject before her.

      “It wouldn’t bother Rutledge if they went hungry,” Empty muttered, unaware that Dallas had already tuned him out. “He’d probably like it if they starved. Then he could report it to the authorities and cause more trouble for the owners.”

      Dallas made an agreeing sound, without having heard a word he’d said.

      “What time you got to be at the feed store in the morning?” he demanded suddenly. “Eight o’clock, isn’t it?”

      “Eight?” She gave him a blank look, then his question belatedly registered, and Dallas nodded. “Yes, eight o’clock.”

      “I’m gonna need to use the truck tomorrow, so I’ll take you to work in the morning.”

      “Fine,” she said and went back to her studies.

      All was dark, shadows lying thick around the buildings, when Quint pulled into the Cee Bar ranch yard. The single-story house stood off by itself, half hidden under the enveloping shade of a live oak. Quint parked the sedan in front of it, retrieved his duffel bag from the trunk, and crossed to the covered porch that ran along the front.

      The door was unlocked, making the spare key in his pocket needless. Quint stepped inside and felt along the wall for the light switch. Finding it, he flipped it on. Light spilled from an overhead fixture, illuminating the center area of the living room while leaving its corners in shadow.

      His gaze traveled to the old stone fireplace along the wall. Soot from countless fires stained the front of it, revealing its age. Quint wandered over to it, ignoring the creak and groan of the uneven floorboards when they took his weight.

      Idly he ran a hand over the wooden mantelpiece and smiled, recalling the winter holidays he’d spent here when he was eleven, and the many stories his grandfather had told him about the ranch. Quint felt the swirl of history around him.

      And it was Calder history. The origins of this ranch and its house dated back to the Civil War era when it had been the home of Seth Calder and his son, Benteen—the same Benteen Calder who had eventually driven a herd of longhorns north to Montana and established the Triple C Ranch.

      Well over a hundred years had passed since a Calder had lived on the Cee Bar. That seemed wrong somehow.

      Pushing that thought aside, Quint turned from the fireplace and the past, focusing once again on the job he had come to do.

      Chapter Three

      Wakened by a rooster’s crow shortly after dawn, Quint rolled out of the strange bed and padded into the hallway. The floorboards creaked companionably under his bare feet as he made his way to the closet-sized bathroom off the hall. He wasted little time relieving himself and washing the sleep from his eyes. Back in the bedroom, he pulled a clean set of clothes out of his duffel bag and put them on.

      Leaving the rear bedroom, he headed for the kitchen where he’d left the coffeepot and dirty dishes soaking in a sink full of sudsy bleach water the night before. There was just enough coffee in the canister to make a pot. He spooned some into the basket filter and made a mental note to add coffee to his grocery list as he thoroughly rinsed out the now mold-free glass pot.

      After plugging in the coffeemaker, he filled its tank with water and listened to it gurgle to life. Just as he poured his first cup, the telephone rang. Quint crossed to the wall-mounted phone and lifted the receiver.

      “Cee Bar Ranch.”

      His mother’s familiar voice responded, “I was hoping I wouldn’t waken you.”

      “You didn’t,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I’m drinking coffee and making a grocery list. The cupboards here are bare.”

      “What are you going to do for breakfast?” she asked with instant concern.

      “I’m looking out the window at a bunch of chickens scratching in the yard. There’s bound to be some eggs somewhere out there waiting to be gathered.”

      There was an element of relief in her soft laughter. “Sometimes I forget how resourceful you’ve always been.”

      “Now you’ve been reminded.” Affection gentled his voice. “I thought you would have left for Laura’s wedding by now.”

      “We’re about to walk out the door, but I wanted to call you first and tell you good-bye.”

      “Let Laura and Sebastian know I’ll be thinking about them.”

      “I will. And you take care of yourself down there.”

      It was his own suspicion of trouble coming that made him admonish, “Don’t start worrying about me, Mom.”

      “I’m not,” she said with ease. “I don’t think you realize how proud I am that Jessy wanted you to put things back in order at the Cee Bar. It shows that she recognizes you can shoulder that kind of responsibility. I hope you can see that so we won’t have to argue anymore about how much of an asset you can be to the Triple C.”

      “We would just argue about something else,” Quint teased.

      That drew the expected protest from her. They talked a few minutes more before exchanging final good-byes. Quint hung up and finished his coffee, then unhooked his denim jacket from the chair back and headed out the door.

      The instant the screen door banged shut behind him, the rusty red chickens in the yard ran to meet him, clucking noisily. Their clamor was echoed by the eager whickering of the horses in the small fenced pasture next to the barn.

      “We all have empty stomachs this morning, don’t we?” Quint remarked as the chickens crowded around him, clucking and flapping their wings.

      They trailed after him, running to keep up with his long strides as he struck out for the barn. The grain barrel was empty of all but the bottom leavings. He dumped that out for the chickens and looked through the rest of the barn. He found a half dozen eggs, but only one square hay bale.

      He used an empty grain bucket for an egg basket and set it outside the barn door. The four horses in the corral broke into eager whickers at the sight of Quint with the bucket. A big bay gelding whinnied a shrill protest when he disappeared back inside the barn.

      A few seconds later Quint emerged from its shadows, carrying the bale by its twine. Short of the fence, he broke the bale apart and, one by one, tossed its squares into the corral. The landing of the first brought a flurry of flying hooves and bared teeth, but the squabbling soon ended as each horse tore eagerly into its own mound of hay. He watched in grim silence, aware there was too little hay to satisfy their empty bellies and that the few patches of grass in the large corral had already been chewed to the roots.

      It was one more thing Quint held against the former ranch manager. Walking off the job without telling anyone was bad enough, but leaving without turning the horses loose was something that Quint couldn’t easily forgive.

      After dragging a hose from the barn and filling the corral’s water tank, Quint carried the egg pail to the house and scrambled some eggs. Breakfast finished and washed down with a second cup