in the inflection of her voice that told Quint she didn’t totally believe that. “You think that would be out of character for him, don’t you?” he guessed.
Jessy’s innate sense of practicality surfaced. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The fact remains he’s gone—bag and baggage, according to the sheriff,” she added. “We need you to fly down there and take charge of the ranch until we can hire someone else.”
“If that’s what you want, I can be packed and ready in an hour,” Quint stated, then cocked his head at a puzzled and inquiring angle. “But why me? We all know there are any number of men here at the Triple C who have more ranching experience than I do.”
The question was directed at Jessy, but it was Chase who answered, “Back in June, Max Rutledge offered to buy the Cee Bar. I turned him down flat. Shortly after that, Evans started having trouble keeping help. It could be just a coincidence. But my gut tells me it isn’t.”
Max Rutledge. Quint knew the name well. He had met Max’s son and heir, Boone Rutledge, during Boone’s very brief engagement to Quint’s cousin Laura, but he knew Max mostly by reputation. And it was a ruthless one.
The Texan was reportedly worth millions, thanks to his vast petroleum and banking investments. And numbered among his many holdings was the Rutledge family ranch, which just happened to border the Cee Bar.
Quint understood that it was a troubleshooter they wanted more than someone with ranching skills. In that he was uniquely qualified, considering that until a few months ago, he’d been an ATF agent for the Treasury Department. And it was that background in law enforcement they wanted.
“I’ll have the twin-engine fueled and waiting for you,” Jessy said and reached for the phone.
Winter pressed an early darkness over the Texas landscape. The cold front had passed on through the area, taking the clouds with it and leaving a bright glitter of stars in the evening sky.
The headlight beams on Quint’s rental car illuminated the two-lane highway in front of him. At this hour there was little traffic on it, and nearly all of it headed in the opposite direction. As he rounded a bend in the road, Quint noticed a cluster of lights in the near distance that looked to be a mixture of streetlamps and partially lit buildings. According to the directions Jessy had given him, he was to pass through the small town of Loury, Texas, before he reached the Cee Bar.
Within minutes, the city limit sign loomed along the shoulder and Quint reduced the car’s speed to match the posted number. The two-lane road cut straight through the center of town. Block buildings, some with brick facades and others with modern awnings, marked the town’s business district. Most of the buildings stood empty, a few of them with optimistic FOR LEASE signs displayed in their dusty storefront windows.
In all there weren’t more than a half dozen vehicles parked along the street, and a majority of those were in front of a well-lit building on the corner. A large sign above its long windows aptly identified the place as the Corner Café. In big, bold letters painted on the glass, it advertised HOME-COOKED MEALS.
Knowing that it was unlikely there would be anything edible at the ranch, Quint decided to grab something to eat now and save himself a trip back to town. He found an empty parking slot in front of an adjacent building and pulled into it.
There were only five other customers in the restaurant when Quint walked in. Out of habit born of his previous training, he let his glance touch each of them, automatically committing their faces to memory. An elderly couple sat in a side booth, sharing a sandwich, while a rear table was occupied by three men dressed in cowboy hats, pearl-snapped shirts, and faded jeans. Two of them were hunched over their coffee both noting his arrival with idle glances, while the third was busy making short work of a cream pie.
All the stools along the short counter were empty except for the one on the far end. A girl in a waitress’ apron was perched on it, an opened textbook on the counter in front of her along with a spiral notebook.
Quint opted for one of the tables closer to the front of the café, pulling out a chair that gave him a view of both the door and his fellow customers. As Quint took his seat, the waitress threw him a distracted glance, reluctantly pushed the book back a notch, and slid sideways off the stool, giving Quint a glimpse of her long hair, fastened together at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp. Under the glow of the fluorescent lights, it was the same shiny color of a new penny. He didn’t see anything to change his opinion when she approached his table, an attractive girl, on the young side, not over seventeen.
She placed a glass of water on the table and looked him in the eye, studying him with the idle curiosity of a local toward a stranger in town. For the first time Quint noticed the unusual light brown color of her eyes, neither hazel nor golden, but a startling tan.
“Would you like some coffee while you’re looking over the menu?” There was an automatic quality to the question that came from frequent usage.
“I’ll take coffee and tonight’s special.”
“You mean the meat loaf?” She gave him a look that clearly questioned his judgment. “Bad choice. You can’t pour enough ketchup on Tub’s meat loaf to make it taste good.” There wasn’t a trace of malice or derision in her statement. On the contrary, it came across as a good-natured warning.
Quint couldn’t help smiling. “What would you suggest then?”
She responded with a wide-lipped smile of her own. “The safest thing is a hamburger and fries.”
“Sold.”
“I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she said, and moved away from the table.
When she returned, Quint used the opportunity to ask some questions and pick up any information he could about the Cee Bar. “Are there any job openings around here?”
“Guy Chalmers is looking for somebody to pump gas on the weekends.” Even as she answered, her gaze was making an assessing study of him, exhibiting a maturity that went beyond seventeen. “But I don’t imagine you’d be interested in that kind of work.”
“Not really. What about the Cee Bar? Somebody mentioned they were hiring.”
“You’re a cowboy then.” Something flickered in her expression that resembled disappointment.
“Is that bad?” Quint countered, amused and curious at her reaction.
“No. You just didn’t strike me as one,” the girl admitted while a skimming glance took new note of the hat, jeans, and cowboy boots he wore. “After all, half the people in Texas wear boots and hats, but they aren’t all cowboys.”
Before Quint had a chance to respond, one of the men in back lifted his cup in the air and called, “Hey, Dallas, how about some more coffee?”
“Be right there,” she promised, and let her glance ricochet off Quint as she retreated to the counter area.
Coffeepot in hand, she crossed to the table and refilled all three cups. One of them asked her something that produced a shrug before she went to check on the couple in the booth. To Quint’s regret she didn’t return to his table when she finished. Instead she climbed back on the counter stool and began reading her book again.
Quint wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk to this Dallas girl some more. She certainly hadn’t given him any useful information. None, in fact. He couldn’t tell whether that had been calculated or completely ingenuous on her part. Considering her age, Quint suspected the latter.
Just the same, something about her intrigued him. He couldn’t remember the last time a female had aroused more than his sexual interest. It was ironic that it should turn out to be a teenager.
Any other time such a thought would have drawn a smile from him. Tonight, it left Quint feeling dissatisfied and oddly restless.
His glance strayed to a restroom sign with an arrow pointing to a rear hall. The sight of it offered him the ideal excuse to stretch his legs.