Lone Calder Star. Janet Dailey

back door.

      He wasted thirty minutes trying to get the truck to start before he gave up and climbed behind the wheel of the rental car.

      Located well off the more heavily traveled routes, the town of Loury attracted mainly local traffic. Downtown had a deserted feel to it when Quint drove through that morning. The breakfast crowd at the Corner Café had already come and gone, and it was too early for the town’s old-timers to gather there for coffee and their morning bull session.

      The grocery store had seven cars in its lot. Quint bypassed it for the time being and drove straight to the feed store on the east end of town. He pulled into the graveled lot and parked next to two pickups that stood in front of the metal building. When he climbed out of the sedan, his glance flicked to the passenger door panel of the truck beside him, and the sign painted on it that read SYKES FEED & GRAIN. The words were an echo of the board sign above the door.

      A chalky white dust coated the front windowpanes, obscuring Quint’s view of the interior. But an ingrained caution had him scanning the dim interior for any sign of movement. Upon entering the feed store, he automatically stepped to one side, well clear of the glass door.

      Dust motes danced in the few shafts of sunlight that penetrated the windows, and the air had that familiar, musty smell of grain. A grumbling murmur of male voices came from the open doorway that connected the store with its warehouse area.

      Quint glanced in their direction just as a female voice called out a somewhat absent “Be right with you.”

      Quint was quick to locate the woman. She was seated at a desk well to the rear of the front counter, facing a computer screen, her back to the door. At almost the same instant, he caught the faint, tinny tap of fingers moving rapidly over a keyboard.

      He crossed to the counter and idly leaned a hip against it to wait until she was through. After another thirty seconds, she swung her chair around and stood up. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that stopped at midhip. A cap, emblazoned with the name Sykes Feed & Grain, covered her head, its bill casting a shadow on her face.

      As she approached the counter, something about the way she walked nagged at Quint. Not until his curious glance encountered her pale brown eyes did recognition strike. It was Dallas, the waitress from the Corner Café. Pleasure kicked through him, warm and unexpected. He smiled when she faltered in mid-stride, revealing her own surprise at seeing him again.

      “I thought you would have been long gone.” Her mouth curved in a small smile that seemed to say that she was glad he wasn’t.

      “And I thought you’d be in school.”

      “School!” There was a note of incredulity in her short, amused laugh. Then understanding dawned in her expression. “You must have seen me studying. I go to college three nights a week. Second year.” Despite her attempt to sound matter-of-fact, a faint note of pride crept into her voice.

      “You’re in college?” His initial assessment of her underwent a rapid revision as he added a few more years to her age.

      “That’s right,” Dallas replied, then hesitated, a flicker of regret shadowing her eyes. “If you’re here about a job, I can tell you now—they aren’t hiring.”

      “No problem. I’m here to get some grain.”

      She shot him a quick, curious look, then masked it with an air of easy efficiency. “You came to the right place. What do you need?”

      “One hundred and fifty pounds each of corn and oats, and a hundred pounds of top dress—whatever you carry in the way of a vitamin and mineral pack,” Quint replied, as two men filed into the store from the warehouse.

      The taller of the two had a round beer belly and sharp eyes that sized Quint up as a stranger. He threw him a curt nod and mumbled, “Mornin’.”

      Quint nodded back.

      “Cash or charge?” Dallas asked him.

      “Put it on the Cee Bar account,” Quint told her.

      Her head snapped up, her look one of disbelief. Before she could say a word, the big man snapped gruffly, “The Cee Bar doesn’t have an account here.”

      “Since when?” Quint asked in cool challenge.

      The big man hitched his pants higher around his fat belly and swaggered over to the counter, his bulk forcing Dallas to the side. “Since it got closed,” the man replied, matching Quint’s tone.

      Quint didn’t hesitate. “In that case, I’ll pay cash.” He pulled a wallet from of his hip pocket. “You do take cash, don’t you?”

      Clearly annoyed, the man shifted his glare to Dallas. “What’s he wanting?”

      She seemed to deliberately avoid any eye contact with Quint as she read off his request.

      When she finished the man grunted and turned his narrowed eyes on Quint. “There’s nobody here to load it for you. Come back in an hour or so, and we’ll see if we can’t get you fixed up.”

      “No problem. I’ll load it myself.” Retaining an outward calm, Quint flipped open his wallet and said to Dallas, “How much do I owe you?”

      For a long tick of seconds, his question was met with a heavy silence. Never once did Quint acknowledge the hard stare the man directed at him. Instead he kept his attention centered on the sheaf of bills in his wallet.

      Finally the man swung a cold look at Dallas and snapped, “Take his money an’ show him where it’s at.” Off he stalked to the desk area.

      Her face was an expressionless mask as she punched the sale into the computerized register, took his money, and handed him back the correct change and a printed receipt. Not once during the entire transaction did she meet his steady gaze.

      “This way.” Dallas seemed to push the two words through clenched teeth as she pivoted sharply toward the warehouse door.

      She crossed the intervening space with quick, stiff strides. Quint followed at a seemingly leisurely pace, conscious of the anger that emanated from her in waves.

      “Corn there. Oats here.” She pointed to two separate rows of fifty-pound bags stacked on wooden pallets.

      “Thanks.” He continued past her, dragged the first sack partway off the stack, and hoisted it onto one shoulder. As he turned to carry it out to the car, he saw Dallas manhandling a fifty-pound sack of vitamin and mineral pack onto her shoulder. “I can get that,” he said.

      “So can I,” she retorted.

      Quint smiled crookedly. “You sound like my aunt,” he said, knowing it was exactly the sort of thing Jessy would say.

      “I hope she’s brighter than you are,” Dallas stated, without so much as a glance in his direction as she headed for the wide door that led outside.

      But only a deaf person would have missed the caustic sarcasm in her voice. And Quint was far from deaf. He stiffened with a sudden surge of anger and followed her out of the warehouse all the way to his car. He held his tongue long enough to pop the trunk open and dump the sack of corn into it.

      “Would you care to repeat that?” he challenged cooly as he hauled the bag off her shoulder and tossed it on top of the other.

      She squared around to face him, her glance raking him with a look of disgust mixed with contempt. “You are an utter fool,” she declared. “John Earl warned you about going to work at the Cee Bar, but you were too stupid to listen. Obviously you don’t have the brains God gave a goose.”

      A fury, hotter than anything Quint had ever known, swept through him. Before he had a chance to unleash any of it, she spun away and struck out for the warehouse, shoulders straight and head high. Quint was slow to follow as he struggled to rein in his temper, unable to recall a time when he had come this close to losing it—simply because some woman with light brown eyes thought he was a fool.

      Mouth