“He claimed you forced your attentions on his daughter,” Webb replied. “Do you deny it?”
“No.” He continued to face the bar, stirring his coffee.
Webb liked the bluntness of the answer, its absence of an excuse and lack of any disrespectful reference to the girl. It showed breeding and the assumption of full responsibility for what transpired.
“Did you make any promises that I should know about?”
Again, it was a straightforward “No.” The immobility was broken by a surge of rippling energy that turned Chase around in tight-lipped anger. “O’Rourke had no right to bring you into this. He should have talked to me.”
“It’s been settled.”
“Settled? How?” Chase shot the questions at his father, a sharp ring of demand within them.
“I gave him a bill of sale for fifty head of cattle.”
“Fifty head. And he accepted that?”
“Yes.”
Chase half-turned his head away, his mouth curling in disgust. “I would have had more respect for the man if he’d tied me to a pole and whipped me. Why didn’t he come over here and beat the hell out of me?”
“It’s what I would have done in his place. I’m not so sure I shouldn’t do it, anyway,” Webb stated grimly. “It’s natural for a man to sow his wild oats, but he shouldn’t do it in young, virgin fields.”
“That’s occurred to me more than once these last few days,” Chase agreed on a breath of self-derision. He set the untouched cup of brandy-laced coffee on a side table. “I’m going for a walk and get some air.”
Chapter VII
The closest town to the Triple C headquarters was a wide spot in the road called Blue Moon. It was a standing joke that the town was so named because something exciting happened there only once in a blue moon. The gas station was also the grocery store and post office. There was a café next to what was once a roadside inn with rooms for travelers, but the inn was now a saloon-bar, called “Jake’s Place,” complete with a private gaming room in the back. The upstairs rooms were where Jake’s “nieces” did their business. The café next door did a good trade, mostly because the owner, Bob Tucker, was reputed to be the best damned cook in the state of Montana.
In addition to those commercial buildings, there was a combination dry-goods-and-hardware store, an abandoned grain elevator, and a house that had been converted into a clinic where Doc Barlow came twice a week to see his patients. Beyond that, there were half a dozen houses for the thirty-odd residents of Blue Moon.
A pickup truck marked with the Triple C brand rumbled off the highway and bounced over the rutted ground, churning up a cloud of dust as it was braked to a stop in the parking area between the gasoline-grocery store and the saloon. Buck Haskell swung out of the passenger’s side of the cab, his boots hitting the ground before Chase opened the driver’s door.
“Tucker better have some blueberry pie left!” Buck declared. “I’ve been tasting it for the last ten miles.”
“You’ve been telling me that for the last ten miles, too,” Chase said, dryness rustling his voice.
“Hey, Chase, you got any cigarettes on you?” Buck slapped the empty breast pocket of his shirt. “I’m out.”
“All I have is a pack of cheroots.”
“Wait for me. I’m going to run in the store and get some.” Buck started toward the grocery store while he forced his hand inside the pocket of his snug-fitting Levi’s for the money.
Chase leaned against the tailgate of the pickup to wait for him, tipping his hat to the back of his head, a faint smile showing in his expression. The door to the grocery slammed twice—once when Buck went in, and immediately afterward, when someone came out. Chase glanced around with idle interest.
The sight of Maggie O’Rourke was like a clean, wild wind rushing through him. In these last two weeks, he had managed to push her from his mind, but seeing her again erased those two weeks of forgetting. Her flowing black hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a faded blue scarf. She was wearing blue jeans and boots and a white blouse of sorts. He couldn’t see much of it because of the two large grocery sacks she held in her arms. A slight frown marred the smoothness of her forehead as she looked into the sun. Chase realized she hadn’t noticed him yet. He straightened from the tailgate, readjusting his hat to sit squarely on his head, and stepped forward.
“Hello, Maggie,” he said quietly.
She stopped, her gaze running to him. Some emotion flickered in her eyes before her expression became blank. “Hello, Chase.” She didn’t falter over his name or appear self-conscious at seeing him again. “How have you been?” It was a polite question and he noticed how her lips lay together, full in the center.
“Busy.” He dragged his gaze from her mouth. “Let me carry one of those sacks for you.”
She hesitated an instant before surrendering one into his hands. The white blouse she wore was too small. The fullness of her young breasts made the front gape between the buttons. She shifted the other sack in front of her to hide it.
“We’ve been busy, too.” She started walking again and Chase shortened his stride to walk with her, carrying the sack in the crook of his arm. “You’d be surprised how much extra work there is when you acquire an additional fifty head of cattle.” Her voice was stiffly proud, like the way she was carrying herself.
“What is that remark supposed to mean?” A faint irritation ran through him at her tone.