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. Quint straightened from his chair and went to wash up before his food arrived.
Chapter Two
A stocky cowboy at the back table tracked Quint’s progress across the café and waited until he had pushed open the door to the men’s room, then got up and ambled over to the end of the counter where the waitress sat. He gave his hat a push to the back of his head, revealing a shock of wheat-colored hair, and propped an arm on the counter.
“Just about every time I see you, you got your nose stuck in a book. Your eyes are gonna wear out, Dallas.” He waited, but she gave no sign of having heard him. “Heard you and your granddaddy rented the old, run-down house trailer from Andy Farrell. I figured you’d head to the city.”
“You figured wrong, as usual, John Earl,” Dallas replied with no visible break in her concentration.
“What did that stranger bend your ear about?”
“Nothing.” She scribbled something on a page of the spiral notebook lying next to the book.
“Sure looked like he was asking you a lot of questions. He was coming on to you, wasn’t he?” The accusation had a possessive ring to it, enough that Dallas threw him a quelling look.
“No, he wasn’t. He was asking about work around here.”
“What kind of work?”
“Cowboying.”
John Earl Tandy released a short derisive breath. “It’s the wrong time of year for any of the outfits around here to be taking on extra hands.”
Rankled by his smug, know-it-all certainty, Dallas couldn’t resist taking a jab at it. “Is that right?” Her chin came up in challenge. “I wonder where he got the idea the Cee Bar was hiring.”
Her response only brought a big grin to the cowboy’s face. “He can forget about working there.”
“Why?” There was a hard heat in her voice. “Does Rutledge have his eyes on that ranch, too?”
He ducked his head, briefly breaking eye contact with her. “I figured you’d still be sore. But you gotta know there was nothin’ I could do about it.”
“Just about everybody in town has told us that.” Dallas stared at the book’s printed page, but her thoughts were on the gray-eyed stranger and the trouble he’d be letting himself in for if he took that job at the Cee Bar. She reminded herself that was his problem, and not hers.
“You’ve had a rough time of it lately, that’s for sure. But things’ll get better,” John Earl declared with his typical cocksure confidence. “Why don’t you let me take you out Saturday night?”
“Is that your idea of things getting better?” Dallas scoffed.
Stung by her caustic retort, John Earl stood up straight, rigid with anger. “I figured you might not think so much of yourself after your granddaddy lost his ranch, but you still act like you’re too good for anybody around here.”
The accusation was so ridiculous Dallas wanted to hit him, but she attacked with sarcasm instead. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m living in an old, run-down house trailer.”
John Earl faltered, certain he’d been insulted, but not sure how. “You can’t blame me for that. Your granddaddy was a fool to think he could stop Rutledge from getting what he wants. Nobody can go against him and win.”
Dallas caught a movement in her side vision and turned as the stranger emerged from the rear hallway and headed back to his table. “You’d better tell the new guy,” she suggested.
“No need to,” John Earl replied. “He’ll find out for himself soon enough.”
Dallas was quick to detect a tone that hinted at inside information. “What do you mean?” she demanded and fought to contain the sudden sense of rage that swept through her.
“Nothin’ really.” But John Earl’s smug smile was back. “Just that he won’t find anybody there to hire him.”
“You mean”—it took her a second to remember the name of the man in charge of the Cee Bar—“Evans left? I hadn’t heard that.”
“You didn’t expect him to put a notice in the paper, did you?” John Earl grinned.
“But why did he leave? No, let me guess. It had to do with his health, didn’t it?” Anger seethed just below the surface of her words.
“His health,” John Earl repeated in amusement. “Guess you could say that.”
Dallas had no doubts that the threats had been subtle, yet very clear. It was almost enough to make her sick. Worse,
