by Janet Dailey
“That’s a pack of lies,” Ty snapped.
“A judge will have to decide that.” He smiled. “Now, are you going to come along with me peacefully, or do I have to add resisting an officer to the list?”
“No!” Cat rushed forward, angrily charging between them. “You aren’t taking him anywhere!”
“Cat.” Ty caught her arm and pulled her out of the way. “They can’t hold me. I’ll be out on bail within a couple of hours.” He pushed her gently into their uncle’s waiting hands, then turned to the long, slim woman standing just to the side. “Jessy, call Silverton for me and let him know about this easement and these phony charges.”
“I will.”
“Ty, you don’t understand!” Cat strained to break free of O’Rourke’s hands. “Culley, explain to him,” she demanded angrily.
“Hush, girl,” Culley warned her in a low voice. “Or the sherif’ll end up carting the three of us away. Then what help would you be to your brother?”
She stopped fighting his grip and stood rigid, watching as Ty walked to the police car. The sheriff ordered him to turn around and handcuffed his wrists together behind his back.
“This isn’t necessary, Sheriff,” Ty muttered at the grate of metal being tightened on his wrists.
“I handcuff all my prisoners. That’s the lawful procedure,” he chided and pushed Ty’s head down as he slid awkwardly into the rear passenger seat.
As the police car pulled away with its prisoner, Cat spun around to glare at the ranch hands. “Why didn’t you do something? Why did you let them take him?” Few of them would look at her.
A mobile-home trailer in Blue Moon had been converted into a payroll and accounting office for the mine. Dyson had commandeered the manager’s front office as his base of operations, from which he directed his legal and tactical maneuverings against the Triple C Ranch.
At the end of his phone conversation, he rocked back in the swivel desk chair and eyed the room’s other two occupants with a self-satisfied look. “Ty is safely locked away in his jail cell. And the sheriff can hold him for twenty-four hours, actually”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty hours before he has to release him or officially file charges and let him post bail. How opportune that tomorrow is Saturday.” The gleam in his eye revealed the timing had been deliberately calculated. “Now, as long as the judge plays his part and sets bail at some outrageously high figure, it will be Monday before Calder can either get it reduced or make arrangements to meet it.”
“You don’t have to worry about the judge.” The calm assurance came from Stricklin, his head slightly bent while he buffed his nails.
Tara broke her statuelike vigil at the small trailer window and swung toward the desk, her eyes dark with appeal. “Is it really necessary for Ty to be in jail?”
“The quickest way to win a battle is to separate a general from his troops. Loyal as they may be, without guidance they aren’t going to know what to do,” her father explained tolerantly. “I have a little over three days, more than enough time, to force the easement rights to be honored. By Monday, we’ll have machinery on the land and it’ll all be over but the shouting.” There was a slight pause as his expression took on a sternly irritated look. “That impudent husband of yours will be wiser for the experience.”
Stricklin rose from his chair, announcing casually, “I’m going to stop by the sheriffs office and make sure everything is going smoothly.”
“Suit yourself.” Dyson shrugged his indifference, but his eyes narrowed shrewdly on the man as he left the room. “I don’t know what’s got into him lately,” he murmured. “He’s constantly checking and rechecking every detail.”
“He’s always been particular about everything.” Tara saw nothing different in him, her impatience showing for a subject so far removed from her interest.
“Not like this.”
“Daddy, what if I went to see Ty?” she suggested somewhat eagerly. “I could talk to him—reason with him.”
“Let me explain something to you, Tara Lee.” Dyson got up from his chair and walked around the desk to affectionately place his hands on her shoulders. “Right now he’s going to be upset and frustrated over being locked up. He wouldn’t listen to anything you have to say. But he’s going to have three days to do nothing but sit and think. Afterwards, he’ll be more than willing to admit the mistake he’s made.”
“Why did he have to do this?” Tara protested to no one, impatient with Ty’s actions and worried, too. There was no doubt in her mind that her father would ultimately triumph, but she didn’t want Ty’s position to be completely ruined in the process. If they were ever to achieve anything, he had to come out of this with something.
A fly walked across the stubble of his beard as Ty lay on the bare mattress of the jail-cell cot, his hands pillowed under his head and his hat cocked low on his forehead. He shifted, withdrawing one hand to chase the tickling fly from his face. It made a circling buzz over him to pick out its next landing site.
Judging by the vulgar poetry scratched on the wall, the new jail had been suitably christened by former occupants of the cells. Ty had read them all at least twice. The isolation and confinement tore at his nerves. He swung up restlessly to sit on the edge of the cot, rubbing his hands on his thighs.
A door opened in the offices beyond the lockup door, and Ty rose to his feet, moving to the bars. It was hell not knowing what was happening at the ranch or how soon he was going to be released.
“Where’s my brother? What have you done with him?” Cat’s voice filtered clearly into the cell area. “Why haven’t you let him go?” He didn’t hear the murmured answer. He strained, listening for another voice to learn who had come with his sister to obtain his release, but it soon became apparent she was alone. “I want to see him,” she demanded, her voice closer to the locked door between the cells and the office.
“I can’t allow you to see the prisoner just now—not till we get all the forms processed and the charges filed. Jails aren’t a place for young girls anyway,” the sheriff insisted. Ty agreed. He didn’t want Cat in here.
“How do I know he’s all right? How do I know you haven’t beat him up?” Cat persisted belligerently.
Stubborn little minx, Ty thought to himself and wondered who had let her come into town by herself . . . not that his little sister was ever very concerned about obtaining permission to do something she wanted.
“Cat! I’m all right!” Ty shouted to make sure she heard him. “Now go on home!”
“No! I’m staying here until they let you go!”
Releasing a long breath of exasperation, Ty shook his head at her stubbornness. He didn’t want her hanging around the jail. “I’m out of cigarettes. Go buy me a pack.” For a minute, Ty thought she was going to refuse his request.
“I’ll be right back.” She called the promise to him. Then he heard a door open and shut, and the noises from the outer office became the usual sounds of telephones ringing, and the squawk of the dispatcher’s radio, and the pecking of typewriter keys. With an impatient turn of his long body, he walked back to the cot to wait some more.
The powerless feeling had Cat trapped halfway between anger and fear. Everyone knew the sheriff was in Dyson’s pocket, and she was afraid for Ty. No matter how wildly she searched, she couldn’t come up with an answer.
She charged blindly out of the sheriff’s office and onto the new concrete sidewalk. At first, she was too preoccupied to notice the man coming toward her. But her headlong pace slowed the instant she recognized Stricklin. All the bottled-up frustration came to a seething boil when he paused, his glance running past her to the building.
“Have you been to see your brother?” His question was sharp with interest as his eyes, opaque behind the glasses, studied her.
“They wouldn’t let me see him.” Cat was all taut and glaring, recklessly abandoning any sense of caution. “Ty isn’t the one who belongs behind bars. You are! I can’t prove that you murdered my mother
yet, but I will!” She hurled the threat at him, then angrily brushed past him to continue toward the pickup truck she had borrowed from one of the ranch hands.
The open accusation had briefly stunned him. He glanced around in alarm, but no one had heard or seen the encounter. A truck door slammed. With the calculating swiftness of a computer, Stricklin weighed his chances. It was unlikely he’d be presented with another opportunity like this, nor could he count on her keeping silent.
As Cat was easing the truck onto the street, the passenger door was jerked open. She jerked around with startled alarm as Stricklin clambered into the cab and shut the door. She started to lift her foot off the accelerator to step on the brake, but his foot came down hard on her boot, pushing the accelerator pedal down. The truck leaped forward with the sudden surge of power. In the first second, her concentration centered on keeping the pickup on a straight course up the street.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She shot the panicked and angry questions at Stricklin, then realized who she was talking to and the implications of his actions.
“Just drive where I say,” he ordered.
Cat had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Her first thought was to put the truck in the ditch, but his hand grabbed the wheel before she could whip it to the side and kept it heading straight. Even though the pickup was traveling at a good clip, she tried to open the door so she could jump out and get away from him, but Stricklin easily thwarted that attempt, too, and twisted her arm behind her back. The pain was so intense Cat felt any minute her bones would snap.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she warned him on a moaning sob of breath, but even she was afraid he could.
He had crowded close to her to have better control of the vehicle as he turned it onto the highway. Out the side window, Cat noticed the cars and trucks parked in front of Sally’s Place and the small grocery store and service station. With her free hand, she tried to slap at the horn and attract somebody’s attention, but she missed and the pressure on her arm increased until she cried out.
Too quickly, they were out of town and any chance of someone seeing them was gone. She was frightened, finally realizing how much danger she was in. Except for Ty, nobody even knew she had come to town.
Five miles from town, Stricklin left the two-lane to follow a dirt road, studded with weeds and grass that marked its lack of use. It led to some abandoned buildings, not visible from the highway. The barns and sheds had collapsed in a rubble of wood, but the house was still standing, grayed and weathered, its roof sagging dejectedly.
After he’d stopped the truck, he pushed Cat out the driver’s side ahead of him, never relaxing his grip on her arm. A checking jerk stopped her from walking as he paused to look around in a considering manner.
“I remember flying over this place and thinking how utterly forgotten it looked—so far from the highway,” he murmured, somewhat pleased with himself for recalling its existence, since it was so ideally suited to his present needs. He changed the pressure on her arm, twisted high on her back, and forced her to back up to the pickup. “Ranch vehicles always seem to be stocked with nearly any item a man might need.” A coiled rope was jammed behind the seat. He took it out, then shoved Cat ahead of him toward the ramshackle house.
All the windows were boarded over, although some daylight sifted in through the many cracks. The air was stale and hot inside, rank with old, musty odors and dust. Cobwebs snatched at her face and hair, trying to catch her in their many silken threads. She waved at them with frantic, impatient little gestures of her free arm.
After they had wandered through three rooms of the house, picking their way across the rotten floorboards, Stricklin stopped in the fourth and released her arm with a shove that pushed her into the middle of the room. It appeared to be a bedroom, and the only way out was through the door where Stricklin was standing. Cat eyed him warily and rubbed at the agonizing ache in her arm.
“Who else knows about the plane crash?” he asked with ominous softness.
Her chin lifted defiantly. “No one.”
“Liar.” It was calmly spoken as his mouth curved faintly in one of those fake smiles that chilled her blood. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s quite simple to figure it out.” He reached inside his suit jacket and took out a pen and a leather-bound note pad. “You’re going to write me a note to your boyfriend.”
“Repp?” Cat breathed his name in shocked dismay, realizing Stricklin believed she had confided in him. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“That’s very noble of you. Here.” He held out the paper and pen.
“No.” She took a step backwards. “I’m not writing any note for you.”
“I think you will,” he murmured.
When the locked door between the twin jail cells and the front offices swung open, Ty rolled to his feet and crossed swiftly to the door of his cell. The tautness ran from him when he recognized the suited man being admitted by the sheriff.
“I wondered when you’d get here,” he said.
Silverton flashed him an understanding look, then glanced pointedly at the sheriff, lingering by the door. “I’d like to speak to my client privately.” Blackmore shrugged his shoulders and moved away reluctantly. The lawyer faced Ty, a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “It’s lucky your local police weren’t out patrolling the highway for speeders, or I’d be in there with you.”
“How soon can you get me out of here?”
“There isn’t much I can do until they officially file charges, and they’re going to drag their feet right up to the deadline, I’m afraid,” he replied, cautioning him against expecting to be released any time soon. “I can’t do much about arranging bail until I find out what the judge is going to want. You can bet it’s not going to be reasonable. They’re going to try to keep you in here as long as they can.”
“What about the injunction? Any luck?”
“Not so far,” Silverton admitted, his mouth tightening in grim sympathy as Ty swore under his breath. “I don’t have to tell you what small-town law can be like.”
“No.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I want you to get hold of Potter. If the judge or any official around here has got old skeletons in their closet, Potter can tell you everything you’d want to know about them and how long since they’ve been dusted. He’s old and sick now, but his mind hasn’t gone yet. Let him rattle some bones for us.”
31
Long afternoon light laid its angle on the land, stretching out the shadows cast by the mob of pickup trucks that blocked the road from the east gate. Cowboys lounged in the shaded areas, seeking relief from the daylong heat that had baked metal surfaces until they were too hot to touch. The seeming lethargy of the group was a pose, a means of conserving energy. To a man, they were alert, eyes always moving, watching, waiting.
When a dark-colored Chrysler, covered with a film of travel dust, slowed on the highway and turned into the lane, those seated on the ground rolled to their feet and advanced to meet the car before it had clattered across the cattle guard. Their looks of hard suspicion gave way to dawning smiles when Ty Calder climbed out of the passenger side. As the car reversed onto the road, they pressed around him with a hearty, backslapping welcome.
“What’s the word, boss?”
“Yeah, what’s the word?” another voice echoed. “Are we gonna have to let them through?”
“Silverton”—Ty gestured to indicate the driver of the car just pulling onto the highway—“will have an injunction by morning. So, nothing crosses this range between now and then—no matter what law-enforcement official orders it.” More talk followed, gradually dying as their curiosity was satisfied. They began to scatter again, seeking the shade. Ty poured himself a cup of coffee from the large urn in the back of a truck, then patted his empty shirt pocket. Repp Taylor was leaning against the tailgate. “Grot a cigarette?” Ty asked, then lit the one Repp finally offered him after a blank minute. “I sent Cat to buy me a pack
, but she must have forgotten.”
“I think something’s wrong, Ty.” The cowboy’s lean-bitten features looked troubled as he fingered the slip of paper in his hand. “Some kid came riding up a while ago and said a girl had asked him to deliver this note to me. It’s from Cat.” He unfolded it to look at it again, not reading it verbatim. “She says she’s running away and wants me to meet her tonight.”
“Running away?” Furrows ran deep in his brow as Ty reached for the note.
“Yeah. That’s what I couldn’t figure out either,” Repp admitted with a gathering frown of concern. “She says she’s tired of the arguing and fighting—and she’s upset ’cause you won’t listen to her about the plane crash.”
“The plane crash.” Ty came to that part in the note and was equally confused. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Neither do I. I know she’s still upset over losing her mother, but—” Repp shrugged, unable to make anything other than the obvious connection between the two.
“The note also asks you not to tell anyone of her plans.”
“I know, but something’s not right about this note,” Repp insisted grimly.
“When’s the last time anyone on the ranch saw her?”
“I asked around after this note came. Someone thought they saw her take one of the trucks around noontime.” Repp eyed him with piercing interest. “What do you think?”
“If she’s really intending to run away, she’s picked a helluva time for it.”
It was difficult not to be irritated with his spoiled sister. With all the trouble he had on his hands now, the last thing he needed was for her to pull a disappearing act just to gain his attention. But he also saw it was a sign of insecurity, a silent cry for someone to let her know they cared about her. At sixteen, all the feelings were so intense—pain, pride, love, hate. With their mother’s death and now Nanna Ruth’s, their father in the hospital for God only knew how much longer, Tara walking out on them, and he, admittedly, too busy lately to give her much of his time, she probably felt completely alone, unwanted and unneeded.