by Janet Dailey
“I did see him a couple of times that my father doesn’t know about,” Cat admitted, underplaying the number of times she’d slipped away to meet Repp. “He thought I shouldn’t date until I was sixteen, and I didn’t want to wait that long.”
“That’s typical of young love, I understand.” There was a very faint curve to his mouth. “Secret meeting places. All very romantic—that sort of thing.”
“I guess so,” she agreed, able to look back on that time with a somewhat amused eye at the high drama she had given to those stolen moments. Of course, she was sixteen now and able to date Repp openly.
“Did you have secret meeting places?” he queried.
“Now, that would be telling,” Cat chided, reluctant to reveal that their special place had been the office shed at the hangar. It was a private thing between her and Repp, not to be shared.
“I’m sorry. I was prying, wasn’t I? Naturally you wouldn’t want to divulge the location.” A smoothness seemed to overlay his voice, so little feeling ever expressed in it. “Did you ever get caught?”
“No, or it wouldn’t still be a secret.” But she remembered the time Repp had thought he’d heard someone outside. It had turned out to be the wind blowing the access door to an airplane engine that had been left unlatched.
Somewhere close by, a horse snorted. Cat turned toward the sound, then caught the almost muffled thud of hooves softly swishing through thick grass. Her sudden alertness to something in the night attracted Stricklin’s attention. It was difficult to make out anything in the immediate darkness of the land surrounding them. Saddle leather creaked.
“Who’s out there?” Cat demanded. For a long minute, there was nothing but the rustle of the breeze in the tail stand of grass. Suddenly a dark shape loomed, and Stricklin stiffened at the man’s silent approach. “Uncle Culley.” She laughed softly at the start he had given her. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“You okay?” he asked while his dark gaze flicked suspiciously to Stricklin.
“Sure. We were just walking off a big dinner,” Cat explained. “You’ve met my uncle before, haven’t you, Mr. Stricklin?”
“Of course. How are you, Mr. O’Rourke?” His mouth curved into a smile, but there was no more than that to it.
“Fine.” Culley nodded his head, but his gaze never wavered from the man for a second.
Cat sensed an awkwardness in the air, a kind of tension that made her uneasy. “Are you going to be home tomorrow, Uncle Culley?” She spoke to ease the strain of the brittle air. “I was thinking about riding over to the Shamrock.”
“If you’re coming, I’ll meet you by the river and ride with you,” he said.
“I’ll leave you two to make your plans,” Stricklin said, taking a step to move away toward The Homestead. “I enjoyed the walk, Cathleen.”
“Good night, Mr. Stricklin,” she said and absently turned to watch him retrace his steps to the house.
“How come you were alone with him?” her uncle questioned.
“Alone?” She hadn’t even considered that she had been alone with the man, not in the kind of context he seemed to be indicating. “We just went for a walk after dinner. That’s hardly being ‘alone’ with someone.”
“Maybe not,” he gave in grudgingly. “But you’d best stay away from him. I don’t trust him.”
“Stricklin? I’ve never seen him take a second look at a woman in all the times I’ve seen him.” Cat scoffed the idea that he might get amorous ideas about her. “Besides, he’s too old. And I’m dating Repp anyway.”
“Just keep in mind what I said,” Culley insisted. “Are you really coming tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you at ten o’clock by the river.”
27
It was one of those hot, lazy summer afternoons that didn’t encourage much physical activity. It was a time for slow moving and slow talking. When Jessy climbed out of the pickup she’d parked in front of the ranch commissary, there was a raucous group paying no heed to the warning of the broiling sun overhead. The noise of shrieking laughter and mirthful shouts echoed from the river that wound through the headquarters. It came from the current group of houseguests frolicking in the clear-running water.
The sun had baked the metal of the pickup door. It burned her hand as Jessy pushed it shut and walked around the truck to the screened entrance to the commissary. The opening swing of the screen disturbed the flies crawling on the dark mesh. They buzzed noisily as she slipped inside the building.
“Hello, Sid,” she greeted the cowboy leaning on the counter, hip-locked with all his weight on one leg.
“ ’Lo, Jessy.” He threw her a look, then resumed his pose, appearing hot and tired and thoroughly disgruntled with life. A large fan sat on the floor, whirring noisily and chasing the air around the rows of canned goods, food supplies, and varying assortment of stock.
“Where’s Bill?” Jessy glanced down the length of the long ranch store for the wheelchaired Bill Vernon who ran the commissary with the help of his wife.
“In the back,” Ramsey replied, his head jerking in the direction of the rear storeroom. “He’s lookin’ to see if he can’t find me some chewing tobacco. Those damned dudes in here from New York came in and bought him out. Now I’m probably gonna have to drive all the way into Blue Moon for tobacco.”
“That’s rough,” Jessy sympathized and reached into her shirt pocket for the list of supplies she needed to restock her shelves at the cabin.
“This place is supposed to be for us” the cowboy complained. “But it’s been turned into a damned tourist store for those dudes she keeps bringing in.” There was no need to explain that “she” was Ty’s wife. “They come in here so they can buy the ‘gen-u-ine’ article. Bill swears he’s sold more pairs of jeans, shirts, and hats in one month than he usually sells all year. ’They want to wear what the cowboys wear.’” He pitched his voice higher, speaking with sarcastic mimicry. “I told Bill he oughta set up a souvenir stand and we’ll bring him in some cow chips. Those fools’d probably pay five dollars apiece for ’em. Hell, we could make a fortune.”
Jessy laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Do you know what she’s having Bill do?” There was that “she” again as angry disapproval showed in Sid’s eyes. “She told him to charge double the price on anything he sold to her friends—more if he thought he could get it.”
“Maybe she figures they can afford it,” she offered with a small shrug, not wanting to join the criticism of Tara. She was hardly impartial. “Besides, everything here is sold practically at cost. Even at double, it would still be a fair price.”
“Maybe so.” Ramsey pushed off the counter, straightening to hitch up his pants, but his expression still had a disgruntled look to it. “I just don’t like what’s happening to this ranch. It ain’t the same anymore.”
It wasn’t the first muttering of this sort she’d heard, and it worried her. The discontent seemed to be growing. “What do you mean?” She feigned a casualness.
“This is supposed to be a cattle ranch. Do you know what I’m doing?” he challenged and pressed a finger against his chest. “She’s got me taking her ‘guests’ on trail rides! Half of ’em have never been on a horse in their life and hang on to the saddle like it was gonna sprout wings. And the other half think they’re riders and wanta go galloping hell-bent-for-Mary across the plains in the heat of the day! And all of ’em oohin’ and aahin’ about how ‘buu-te-ful’ it is!” It was a biting mockery. “It’s enough to make a fella sick.” He turned back to the counter. “You’re lucky, Jessy, that you’re working up at the north camp an don’t have to put up with all this.”
“I guess I am.” She hadn’t come in contact with any of the guests, but the ranch grapevine kept her apprised of the continuous arrivals and departures of each group.
“You know what I’m supposed to do now?” Ramsey didn’t wait for Jessy to ask. “None of those dudes can get up early enough to see the sunrise. So I
got orders to arrange a late trail ride so they can watch a sunset out on the range. And they wanta sit around a campfire. A campfire!” he repeated with a snort of disgust. “Can you imagine that, with the grass as dry as it is! They’d have a fire, all right. If there was any wind at all, they’d have a whole damned range fire!”
“You explained that, didn’t you?” Jessy frowned.
“Yeah. That part of it has been nixed,” he grumbled. “This batch of guests must be real dandies.”
“Why?” Her question seemed to make him uncomfortable for a minute.
“From what I’ve heard, a couple of the guys must be fairies,” he muttered.
“What?” Jessy tried not to laugh.
“Yeah. Bud Jebsen, the guy who mostly works on the windmill crew, is a carpenter. She’s got him buildin’ a zebo down by the river.”
“A zebo?” She frowned bewilderedly. “What’s that?”
“I dunno. Bud showed me a picture of what it looks like. It reminded me of a round bandstand with a roof on it. He didn’t quite get the right of it, but said it sounded like a zebo is a place where gays sit.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” she declared in a murmur of confusion.
“Neither did I.” There was a grim shake of his head. “I tell ya, I just don’t know. I always liked Ty, but I don’t much cotton to the way he’s running things, cutting good men off the payroll while his wife hires some highfalutin cook and a maid. Do you know he even quit fightin’ to get that land title?”
“I’d heard that,” Jessy admitted.
“I just can’t understand.” Ramsey pulled in a deep breath and let it rush out. The storeroom door opened and Bill Vernon maneuvered his wheelchair through the opening. “Didya find any, Bill?”
“Sure did.” He picked up the small round box on his lap and tossed it to Ramsey.
“Maybe the day ain’t gonna turn out so rotten after all,” the cowboy declared and dug into his pocket to slap some change on the counter. “Thanks, Bill.” He angled for the door with a springing step. “See ya later, Jess.”
“What d’ya need, Jessy?” Bill inquired.
“Just about everything. Coffee, eggs ...” The list went on.
“It’s a damned shame the security man didn’t get a good look at the guy.” Dyson rubbed his chin in irritation, his arm resting on the car’s window frame. “He couldn’t even get a good description of him—just a slim cowboy on a dark horse.”
“It isn’t much to go on,” Stricklin agreed and slowed the car as they entered the ranch yard of the Triple C.
“Maybe nearly getting caught will keep the guy from trying it again,” Dyson offered hopefully. “He’s caused enough trouble already.” His mouth was pressed tightly shut, a furrow of concentration creasing his forehead. “Damn, but I just can’t think why he’s doing it. Why does he keep coming back time after time? Do you have any ideas?”
“None.” He turned the wheel to drive up the knoll to The Homestead.
“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this under wraps,” he said grimly. “Ty mentioned to me when we were here a couple weeks ago that he’d heard we had some trouble on the site. I downplayed it, treating it as malicious vandalism. But I can’t have him thinking he’s going to inherit trouble if he agrees to the deal I made him.”
“Has he indicated which way he’s leaning on the deal?” Stricklin asked as the car rolled to a stop by the front steps.
“No, but I have a feeling it’s going to depend on how financially strapped he is.” Dyson climbed out of the car and halted, looking across the roof of the vehicle, his attention caught by the laughing group approaching The Homestead. “Here comes Tara Lee.”
Stricklin paused by the driver’s side of the car and watched the swimsuited and toweled figures, singling out the green-eyed girl with wet black hair.
The man walking with Cat paused at the base of the knoll and glanced at the slope with weary assessment. Just past thirty, he was plainly out of condition. His thickening waistline was beginning to develop into a paunch which he had ceased attempting to hold in, muscles and energy flagging. When Cat realized he wasn’t keeping up with her, she turned back.
“Are you coming, Mr. Macklin?”
“Do I have a choice?” he countered wryly, puffing slightly from the walk from the river. “I’m going to have to talk to your brother. Either he needs to move the house closer to the river or the river closer to the house. Nobody should have to walk up a hill like that after swimming all afternoon.”
She laughed at his joking complaint and came back to his side. “Maybe I’d better help you,” she declared, treating the situation in the same light vein, and he draped his arm around her shoulders in a mocking show of dependence.
Laughing, they started up the hill as a trio of riders entered the ranch yard. The instant Repp Taylor recognized Cat and failed to recognize the half-naked man in swimming trunks with his arm curved so familiarly around her shoulders, he spurred his horse away from the other two and aimed it at the slope. The drumming sound of approaching hooves quickly made itself heard and slowed the steps of the returning party as they glanced around with mild curiosity.
When Repp reined his horse to a stop a few feet short of Cat, his lean and rugged features wore a displeased look that had nothing to do with his hot and dusty appearance. “I want a word with you, Cat,” he declared in an ominously flat voice and swung out of the saddle.
A little bewildered, Cat stepped away from the houseguest, whose arm had already slid off her shoulders. But her smile showed no confusion. “I’ll be along directly.” She assured the onlooking party that they needn’t wait for her and went to meet Repp.
They started up the knoll again with Tara in the lead. “He’s Cat’s boyfriend,” she murmured in explanation to her guests, showing an amused tolerance for the intensity of young love.
“What did you want, Repp?” Cat asked. Instead of looking at her, he was watching the party ascending the slope to the parked car. “Is something wrong?” She glanced hesitantly over her shoulder in the same direction.
He waited until the group was out of earshot before saying anything; then it was a low, rough demand. “What was the idea of letting that stranger hang all over you?”
“Mr. Macklin?” Her stunned reaction was quickly followed by an urge to laugh aloud at the realization Repp had been jealous. “That was a bit of harmless fun. He was joking that he couldn’t make it up the hill, and I pretended to help him. That’s all.”
“Don’t be so damned naive. That was just an excuse to get his hands on you.” Impatience rippled through him like an angry wind. “You have no business being with a man twice your age to begin with.”
“I wasn’t ‘with’ him.” She didn’t like the way he was attempting to dictate to her. “All of us had spent the afternoon at the river swimming.”
“That’s the worst of it—you parading around half naked for a bunch of strange men to leer at you.”
“I’m not going to listen to that kind of talk.” Her lips were pressed firmly together as Cat turned stiffly to leave, infuriated by his attitude. But Repp grabbed her arm and swung her back.
“You stay away from them,” he ordered.
“They’re our guests,” she insisted.
“Did you invite them?” Repp challenged.
“No, but—”
“Then it’s not up to you to entertain them,” he snapped.
With an angry jerk of her arm, she broke free of his grip. “Don’t try to tell me what I can do, Repp Taylor,” she warned.
“It’s time somebody did.” His voice lifted.
“Well, it isn’t going to be you!”
“I’m telling you to stay away from them,” Repp ordered again.
“No!” It was an angry refusal as she pivoted on her heel to stride away.
“You haven’t proved anything! If you go on, all you’re going to do is get yourself into trouble!” Angered by her stubborn disregard for his w
arnings, Repp refused to trail after her.
Cat paused long enough to hurl a salvo back at him. “Then that’s my problem, isn’t it? I don’t need any help from you!”
Snatches of their argument were carried on the lazy stillness of the afternoon air, but only one person was listening closely to the content. Dyson came around the car to stand beside Stricklin, both watching as Cathleen hurried to catch up with the others just cresting the knoll to the driveway.
“A lovers’ spat,” Dyson murmured in an amused aside to his partner.
“So it would seem,” Stricklin agreed. No more was said on the matter as the party reached them and the talk became taken up with greetings and social banalities. In a loose collection, they moved toward The Homestead. Stricklin lagged behind to follow Cat into the house. “I hope the quarrel with your boyfriend wasn’t a serious one,” he murmured.
She paused, briefly surveying him with a cool and assessing eye. “I wouldn’t let it concern you, Mr. Stricklin,” she replied coldly, disliking his probing into her private affairs. Instead of joining the others for the refreshments awaiting their return, Cat went straight upstairs to her room, nursing her hurt and wounded outrage at Repp’s criticism of her behavior.
The silence of the house pressed into the room. A pitch blackness outside made mirrors of the windowpanes in the study. Ty laid down his pen and wearily rested his elbows on the desktop to try to rub the tiredness out of his face and eyes. Then he paused, a hand covering his mouth and mustache, to stare at the summer-cold hearth of the stone fireplace. A fatigue that was both mental and physical pulled at him. Too many pressures from too many sides were crowding in on him, making him long for the contentment of other times. In his mind, Ty could see the leap of yellow flames on fireplace logs, and Jessy—the strong beauty of her features and that waiting look in her eyes. He ached to feel again that powerful, gentle emotion she aroused in him. It was no hot, fevered aching. It ran deeper than that.