The fan blades of windmill eleven stood against the sky, motionless and forgotten amid the hustle of activity nearby. Another time Ty would have taken time to study the low-slung dwelling that sprawled near the base of the butte. But at that moment, he had no interest in it.
Scanning the construction site, he spotted an office trailer parked off to the side, and drove straight to it. A score or more of men moved about the site but Buck Haskell wasn’t among them.
Parking the pickup near the trailer steps, he switched off the ignition and climbed out of the cab. As he approached the trailer, its door opened and Tara stepped out.
“Ty.” Her greeting echoed the surprise and pleasure that claimed her expression. “I heard the truck and couldn’t imagine who had driven out here. I thought you would be on your way home from the hospital with Jessy.” Tara paused, a look of quick concern leaping into her eyes. “They did release her, didn’t they?”
“Yes, she’s home,” Ty confirmed, half-impatiently.
“Thank goodness.” Tara pressed a hand to her throat in an exaggerated gesture of relief then let it fall away. “You had me worried for a minute.”
“Sorry,” Ty began.
But she had already closed the distance between them and possessively claimed his arm, sliding him one of her patented provocative glances. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to be able to give you a tour of my beautiful home, considering all the times you have postponed it.”
“And I’ll have to do it again.” He firmly removed her hand from his arm. “This isn’t a social call.”
She drew back. A storminess briefly darkened her eyes since her wishes had been thwarted again. But Tara detected something in his expression, a kind of cold fury held tightly in check. She instantly sought its cause.
“What is it, Ty? What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Haskell?”
“Buck,” Tara repeated, his question taking her by surprise. “He’s around here somewhere. Why?”
“I need to have a talk with him. Where can I find him?” Turning his head, Ty again swept his gaze over the area.
“He mentioned something earlier about changing the bit on one of the bridles. I imagine he’s at the tack shed by the corral. I’ll take you there.”
When Tara started forward, angling away from the building site, Ty noticed the pole corral that had been erected some distance away, close to the butte. A pair of horses lazed within it. Beyond them, he made out the roof of a small storage shed.
“No need,” he told Tara. “I see it.” When she continued walking, he caught her arm, drawing her to a halt. “I said I will find him myself.”
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, Ty Calder,” Tara chided, but for all the lightness of her voice, there was a determined set to her chin. “I don’t know what you want with Buck, but I intend to find out.”
“It’s a private matter, between Buck and myself.”
“Buck works for me,” Tara stated. “Since you don’t choose to tell me why you want to speak to him, I can only assume you think he has done something wrong. If that is the case, I have every right to know about it.”
In answer, Ty challenged, “Where was Buck yesterday afternoon?”
“Yesterday?” Tara stared at him for a blank second before comprehension dawned. “You surely don’t think he had anything to do with your accident,” she protested in disbelief.
“Somebody deliberately shot out the tires. I don’t call that an accident,” Ty retorted sharply. Tara recoiled in shock. Recognizing that her guard was down, Ty took advantage of it to demand, “Where was he?”
“Repairing one of the windmills,” she answered without thinking, then rushed an explanation, “I might buy some yearling steers and fatten them over the summer—”
“Was he alone?” Ty challenged.
Tara frowned, as if trying to recall. “He must have been. He rode the gra
y. That’s why he decided to change the bridle bit.” She looked up, her dark eyes frantically searching his face. “But that doesn’t prove anything, Ty.”
“It proves he had opportunity,” he fired back.
“But the windmill is fixed,” Tara argued.
“Assuming it was ever broken.”