“No doctor,” he repeated.
“I’ll speak to Ty, explain everything you’ve told me to him and—”
“He isn’t going to believe you.” He shook his head sadly at the hope she placed in her big brother. “He’s married to Dyson’s daughter. He isn’t going to believe anything against the man without proof.”
“But what are we going to do? We just can’t let them get away with it.”
“They aren’t going to get away with it,” Culley assured her. “I’ll think of something. They gotta be plenty uneasy now ’cause they know somebody knows something. We just gotta keep ’em worried. You work on a man’s nerves long enough and he’ll break. They’re bound to be real jumpy right now, not sure who suspects what they’ve done. That’s why you gotta promise not to tell anyone about this—not your father or brother—not the Taylor boy—no one,” he insisted. “We can’t risk letting anything slip.”
“But—” Cat wanted to protest this secrecy, but she had no adequate argument against his reasoning. Who would believe a story like this, without proof? She had difficulty swallowing it herself, but she was convinced her uncle believed it.
“Do I have your word?” His earnest gaze searched her face.
“Yes,” she agreed after a second’s hesitation. She bit at the inside of her lip, still trying to figure out what she could do about doctoring his wound. “I’ll fix you something to eat,” she said. “Then I’m going to ride back to the ranch and see if I can’t get some sort of medicine from the vet’s office. I’ll come back later tonight.”
“Better not. If somebody sees you with it, they’ll start asking questions and they just might check up on any story you give ’em,” he warned.
“I have to do something.” Her frustration came through in the vehemence of her statement. “If you get infection—” She stopped, unwilling to voice the possible consequences. “I’ll be careful. No one will see me, I promise. I’m just as good at it as you are.” She tried to inject a light note into the conversation. “Look at how many times I slipped out to meet Repp without anyone finding out.”
When she returned to The Homestead, the situation took on a terrible unreality. Twice after dinner, she almost called Ty aside to confide in him so he could tell her it was a lot of foolishness and make it something to laugh about. But her desire to protect her uncle was stronger. Regardless of his reasons, he could be arrested for what he’d done; maybe they’d put him away again. He trusted her, and she couldn’t betray him like that.
With her head whirling with large doubts and small suspicions, she avoided spending any time in Dyson’s or Stricklin’s company, worried that she might unconsciously stare at them. There were plenty of houseguests to occupy their time as well as Ty and Tara’s, so she doubted that her absence was noted when she took the key from the study and left The Homestead to get some medical supplies from the vet’s office.
There were only two means of transportation available to her—a ranch vehicle or a horse. Using one of the ranch pickups might lead to questions about where she was going and the necessity for a nighttime visit to her uncle. Only in theory did she have the run of the ranch and could do just about anything she pleased because she was a Calder. At sixteen, she still faced certain restrictions, and permission might be withheld if her reasons were insufficient. Cat didn’t want to make up any more stories than she had to in order to conceal her reasons. A late-evening horseback ride, supposedly for pleasure, was unlikely to arouse any curiosity, even though it would take a lot more time.
It was well after midnight when she returned to the ranch headquarters. Darkness had forced her to take more time on the way back. She rode straight to the stable, unsaddled her horse, and rubbed it down.
Only a couple of lights showed in the upper-floor windows of The Homestead, indicating the occupants had just recently retired. Guests invariably meant late nights, so Cat wasn’t surprised to discover not everyone was in bed. She slipped into the house and moved through the darkened living room to the lighted staircase. Despite her try for silence, the steps creaked now and then under her weight.
At the top of the stairs, she turned to the hallway leading to her room and walked close to the railing where the flooring was more solid and the boarding was less inclined to grind together under her footsteps. The door to a room opposite from her was opened, and Cat turned with a guilty start. Her heart leaped into her throat when she found herself staring into Stricklin’s opaque eyes. For an instant, panic raced wildly through her.
The lateness of the hour and the silence of the rest of the house made all the things Culley had told her about the man she faced seem very believable. He’d always struck her as being a cold fish; now that impression seemed especially chilling.
“You scared me.” She finally forced out the honest admission. “I’m not supposed to be out past midnight. I thought I’d been caught.” Cat watched him closely while she faked a smile, trying to see if he was going to buy her implication that she had been out with Repp.
The corners of his mouth curved upward, but she wasn’t sure what that meant. “I was just on my way downstairs to see if I could find a book to read.” He spoke as softly as she had, avoiding any comment on her weak explanation.
Cat was afraid to prolong the conversation, wary that the suspicions Culley had imbedded in her mind would not allow her to behave normally with him. Neither did she want to bolt from him like a frightened rabbit. A noise from one of the rooms offered her an excuse.
She glanced toward the sound and whispered a quick “Good night,” then stole softly down the hallway to her room. Once the door was safely shut, Cat nearly laughed aloud with hysterical relief.
Stricklin was slow to descend the stairs, his mind clicking over the small details he’d noticed—the horsehair on her clothes, the length of time she’d been absent from the house, and the fear he’d seen in her eyes, not merely alarm. The vindictive pranks at the strip mine were just the kind of thing a teenager would dream up.
Alone in the study, Stricklin dialed the telephone number at the mine. The security chief answered.
“This is Stricklin. Has it been quiet so far tonight?” he asked.
“Quiet as can be,” the guard assured him. “With all the floodlights we’ve got trained on the equipment, it’s like daylight out here. There’s no way anybody could get within thirty feet before they’re seen.”
“Good.”
For a long time after he’d hung up, Stricklin sat in the chair by the desk and cleaned his fingernails. He wished for Dyson’s intuition on the matter. As in a defensive chess game, he had blocked his opponent’s initial strategy; now he was waiting for the next move, certain it was coming, but he lacked his partner’s ability to anticipate where.
28
It began as a dark bruise on the sky, a gentle rumble of thunder in the distance. Then it spread, churning black clouds rolling to block out the sun with the suddenness and violence that accompanies the spawning of a thunderstorm on the plains. The hot, lank air caught a sudden cool breath, sweet with the smell of rain. The wind died, and absolute stillness settled onto the land.
Darkness rapidly descended under the fast-moving storm, and the air was suddenly split with ragged bolts of lightning, blue-white tongues of fire raining a death dance over the ground. The claps of lightning and booms of thunder came one on top of the other, vibrating the earth, while slanging rain sheeted down in torrents. It was a dramatic and awesome display of nature’s violence. In fifteen minutes, it was over and past.