Lone Calder Star (Calder Saga 9)

Dallas answered it just the same. “Yes.” She made no attempt to defend or justify her actions.

He studied her for a long, assessing second, then turned and gave a short and sharp decisive nod of his head. “It’s time I had a talk with that boy.”

She caught hold of his arm. “Grandpa, don’t.”

Empty turned in surprise, unable to recall the last time she had called him that. He was even more surprised to see that her eyes had the anxious and uncertain look of a little girl.

“What’s wrong, Dallas?” he asked in concern.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s just that…I’d like to get a couple things straight with Quint first. When I do, there may not be any reason for you to talk to him.”

Empty was old-fashioned enough in his ways that there were some things that he plain didn’t want to know. Even though her explanation was far from informative, he didn’t press for specifics.

“I’ll wait,” he said and continued across the hall to his bedroom door.

Chapter Fifteen

The microwave beeped, signaling the end of its timed cycle. A quick check of the pancakes on the griddle confirmed they weren’t ready to flip. Leaving them, Dallas crossed to the microwave and removed a jug of maple syrup, careful not to glance in Quint’s direction.

She already knew he was talking on the phone to Jessy. This was one time when she refused to listen and glean what information she could from his side of the conversation. It was a matter of tuning out the sound of his voice and tuning in the chirp of the birds outside the window and the noisy clumpings coming from the porch, noises that her grandfather made removing boots muddy from morning chores. For the most part she succeeded.

Back at the stove, Dallas turned the pancakes and transferred the sausage patties onto a plate covered with a paper towel to absorb their excess grease. As she carried the plate to the table, her grandfather walked in his stocking feet, toting the egg bucket.

He set the bucket on the floor and sliced a glance at Quint as he paused to shed his hat and coat. “Who’s he talking to?” As usual Empty made no attempt to lower his voice.

“Jessy,” Dallas told him. “Better wash up. Breakfast is ready. Will two pancakes be enough?”

“Should do it,” Empty agreed and went to the sink to wash up.

But the running water failed to drown out the sound of Quint’s voice. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow after the semi pulls out. Let me know if he runs into any delays.”

The response was obviously in the affirmative. After a final parting word, Quint hung up and walked over to the kitchen table, arriving just as Empty did.

“Sounds like you found an outfit to haul the cattle,” Empty surmised, taking a seat. “Who’d you end up hiring?”

As she retrieved the platter of pancakes, kept warm in the oven, Dallas longed to cover her ears to shut out Quint’s answer, then smiled, realizing it no longer mattered if she heard it.

“The same company who ships most of the cattle for the Triple C,” Quint replied.

“A Montana outfit,” Empty said in approval. “Rutledge will have a hard time getting to them. Are you going to sell the cows up there, too?”

Free of inner tension, Dallas brought the pancakes and sausage to the table and set them near her grandfather. Returning the smiling glance Quint directed her way suddenly became easy.

“We won’t be selling them,” Quint announced. “We’ll ship them up to the Triple C instead.”

“That’s bound to get old Rutledge’s goat when he hears about it,” Empty declared. “It’s for dang sure that it won’t sit well with him. If you’d tried selling the cattle, you know he would have been looking for a way to make that sale hurt your pocket.”

Dallas was briefly tempted to relay this information to Boone, just for the pleasure of knowing this was one move they couldn’t use against Quint.

With an utterly free conscience, she asked, “When will the truck arrive?”

“Around midday tomorrow.” Quint forked a stack of pancakes onto his plate. “Which means we’ll make our gather and sort today. That way the ones we’re shipping north will only have to be penned overnight. Thanks to Rutledge we have enough hay to feed them,” he added, his gray eyes twinkling with the irony of that.

Empty grinned. “I never quite looked at it that way, but you know—you’re right.” Empty picked up the jug of syrup and drowned his pancakes in it. “Where are you figuring on starting this gather?”

“We’ll start with the south pasture and sort as we go. Much of that area was burned so we should make short work of it.” He slid a warmly intimate glance at Dallas. “Think you’re up to a long day in the saddle?”

She smiled at his ever so subtle reference to the previous night. “I can handle it as easy as you.”