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“If that’s how you feel, dude, my advice is to push on to someplace like Montana. My fiancée is a real estate guru. According to surveys she’s seen, the U.S. population will double in the next century. Raw land’s where real money’s gonna be made. You can climb on the bandwagon or go down under its wheels.” As he gazed over Colt’s shoulder, Frank’s tense lips split into a big grin.
Colt turned to see several men dressed in blue jeans and plaid work shirts troop through the swinging doors. He was trying to recall whether he’d ever seen them at White’s before, when he realized Frank had slid off his stool and was hailing the newcomers. Marsh’s parting shot to Colt made no sense.
“Like I said, stranger, if a man’s after money, he better be holding a fifth ace. Then all he’s gotta do is sit back and rake in the proceeds. You know what I mean? Everything in the pot.”
Colt watched Frank join the others—four men in all. They chatted briefly, then disappeared through a door at the back of the bar. Colt hadn’t noticed it before. But the bartender prepared a tray with a bottle of whiskey and five glasses, which he carried through the same door. Colt supposed Marsh had been referring to poker. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover the man gambled in addition to his other vices.
While an interesting sidebar, Frank’s vices didn’t have much relevance to Colt or SOS. Merely rubbing elbows with Marsh had soured his taste for beer, Colt discovered. He dug a few bucks out of his pocket, tossed them on the bar, then collected his things and walked out.
On the way to his room, he castigated himself for not pumping Frank more. However, while eavesdropping earlier on Summer, he’d verified the dollar figure Adams intended to fork over for the Marsh land. As well, he’d learned SOS had up to six months to top the Adams bid.
Colt had been told his boss, Marley Jones, possessed a phenomenal ability to raise large amounts of cash in short periods of time. SOS should be able to muscle in on this deal with no sweat. Soon, a closer would arrive in Callanton, freeing Colt for the consortium’s next project. And he could move on and put Summer Marsh completely out of his mind.
The first thing Colt did after entering his room was phone Marc and relay everything he’d unearthed that evening.
“Bless that judge. He did us a real favor. Six months will buy SOS the time we need.”
“So my job here is just about finished, right?”
“Not so fast. A lot could still go wrong. Marley won’t want to lose touch with either principal,” Marc said, speaking of their boss in Washington D.C., who’d organized the network. Marley Jones was a smart man, proud of his African-American heritage. He wielded considerably power in the Washington beltway and with governors around the States. He was born in rural Georgia during the depression, but his perseverance had achieved him a status enviable to any man. What made him stand out was the fact that he’d never, in his climb up the political ladder, lost sight of his family’s history, which was tied to the soil. Now his dedication in the private sector—saving endangered land and endangered species—extended to people as well.
Colt would be forever grateful to Jones, who’d seen something worthwhile inside a bitter, thirty-five-year-old ex-Marine. Even as Colt had stood before Marley, skin still jumpy from a scant two days off booze, Marley hired him on the spot and extended a welcoming hand. From that day forward, Marley Jones had Colt’s undying respect.
“If Marley thinks I should stay in Callanton, I will.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it. Marley has a good reason, though. We’ve got deals coming to a head in Utah, Colorado, northern California and southern Arizona. They represent a lot of cash, and the coffers are low. Marley needs time to put the arm on some of his backers. Even the ones with deep pockets aren’t as free with contributions as they were a few years back.”
“This is awesome country, Marc. There’s no danger we’ll lose it, is there?”
“Of course not.”
Colt heard concern in his old friend’s declaration. “Tell Marley this property has everything. Sweet grassland. Pine forests fed by an uncontaminated river. Its source is a snow-capped peak that sets the ranch apart from city encroachment to the north and west. A granite gorge serves as a buffer to the south. You wouldn’t believe the wildlife I’ve come across when I’ve gone out riding. Plus, there’s the clearest blue sky I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll pass on the information. That rangeland won’t be lost for lack of trying on Marley’s part.”
“I know.” Colt recognized the frustration in Marc’s voice.
“You handled the initial investigation on the last deal without a qualm. What makes you antsy about this one?”
Colt knew exactly what had made him hesitate—a glimpse of the pride in Summer Marsh’s eyes when she told the waitress how long she’d run her ranch, together with her admitted desire to pass the job to her son. It hadn’t been his imagination that her pride turned to vulnerability when she’d glanced at Rory.
“Coltrane? We still connected?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why this deal is different, Marc. Maybe because the ranch reminds me of my old place in Idaho. It’s probably that simple. I guess I can’t stand the thought of one of Ed Adams’s supernova resorts ruining this great ranch. There are so few of them left.”
“Amen. Hang on and keep tabs on anything out of the ordinary. The judge’s decision is the reprieve we need. But as Marley pointed out in our meeting on Monday, it’s not in Adams’s nature to wait contentedly for something he wants. How about if you and I touch base again at the end of this week? Unless anything drastic comes up and you need us sooner.”
“Okay. Spirit pulled a tendon, so I haven’t checked out as much of the ranch as I would’ve liked. His leg’s healing. Maybe by the weekend I’ll have had a chance to survey the rest of the Forked Lightning.” Colt couldn’t say why he withheld the information that he planned to visit there in the morning.
“Talk to you then, Colt.” Marc clicked off.
COLT LEFT HIS MOTEL ROOM before daylight. In fact, a three-quarter moon shed a cold light over the sleeping town of Callanton. Since he got underway before the Green Willow opened, he had no choice but to forgo breakfast.
His first stop was the farm at the edge of town where he stabled Spirit. When Colt loaded the gelding into his trailer, he noticed that Spirit still favored his leg. Was that a sign he should let Mrs. Marsh rescue her eaglets alone? he wondered wryly.
Thing was, Colt felt honor bound once he’d given his word. And maybe the outing would do Spirit more good than standing in a corral.
Six or so miles out of Callanton, Colt dropped in behind a school bus he assumed was the one scheduled to pick up Rory Marsh. Colt was sure of it when the bus turned down a graveled stretch of road that led to the Forked Lightning.
The sun had barely peeked over Blue Mountain by the time the big yellow bus swung off on a shoulder and stopped beneath a wrought-iron arch bearing the image of a divided lightning bolt. The ranch brand was an exact replica.
Colt stopped the prescribed distance behind the bus, which sat with red lights flashing. The lights had no sooner come on than a pickup—the one Colt had seen Summer driving yesterday—roared up to the arch from the distant house. A sullen-looking Rory Marsh slid out of the passenger seat. Head down, he trudged toward the bus, kicking up dust with his boots.
Colt opened his pickup door and stepped out on his running board. “Hey, kid,” he called. “Have a good day at school.”
Rory lifted his head, face brightening. “Hi! Wow, you did come to rescue the baby eagles. Mom said you probably had better things to do.” Rory galloped around the front of the bus. The driver honked, and the noise started him, making him drop his lunch box.
Summer saw her son dash in front of the bus rather than ascend the steps. What was he doing? Surely not running away! Yet he might just try that following the set-to they’d had at breakfast.
Heart pounding, she yanked on her emergency brake and fought to open the stubborn door that tended to stick. It popped ajar in time for her to hear a man’s baritone voice cautioning her son to get on the bus. The blood drained from her head and left her feeling dizzy because she thought Frank had finally decided to visit his son. Then she saw Rory wave and meekly retreat. He’d never do that if it was his dad standing outside the fence.
“Go on,” the man was saying. “Board the bus. I’ll see you when you get home.”
Summer realized the voice was deeper than Frank’s. By then, she’d reached the fence. Prior to that, the bus had blocked her view of the road. Identifying a pickup with horse trailer, and a man’s lanky outline, she expelled her breath in a whoosh.
Coltrane Quinn. He’d come, just the way he’d promised.
Summer recognized that he was the source of her son’s changed demeanor. Oddly enough, her own heart hammered significantly faster.
“Colt’s here, Mom,” Rory shouted. “The baby eagles will be okay now, and you don’t hafta worry ’bout Virgil killing himself helping you.”
“That’s good,” Summer admitted, clearing her throat. “I know you wanted to greet Mr. Quinn, Rory, but you shouldn’t keep Mrs. Reilly waiting. She has other children to pick up. Go on now, or you’ll make everyone late for school.”
“’kay,” the boy mumbled, although he continued to peer around the bus door while waving nonstop at Colt.
Rory had barely found a seat on the bus before the driver shut the door and began a wide turn back onto the road.
For some reason it touched Colt to see Rory press his smiling face to the window, his bright eyes following Colt until the bus rumbled out of sight. The warm feeling lasted until he turned and saw Summer Marsh glaring at him. Her arms were crossed, her spine taut. A frown hardened her pretty face.
He noted that she was dressed for work, wearing a wrangler’s wool plaid jacket buttoned atop worn blue jeans. Her scarred, low-heeled boots and leather gloves were far from new. A red scarf added a feminine touch to her outfit, and yet Colt himself wore a similar neckerchief, which he considered a standard ranch necessity. Riding the range, you never knew when a dust storm might blow up out of nowhere.
“What?” he demanded. “You said seven o’clock. According to my watch—” Colt made a show of digging it out from under his jacket sleeve “—it’s only 7:03.”
“Please be careful about the promises you make my son,” she said sharply. “Rory didn’t want to leave the house this morning because you hadn’t arrived yet.” Spinning abruptly, she stalked back to her vehicle.
Angrier over her attitude than was warranted, Colt removed his hat and slapped it against the hood of his pickup. “Just a damn minute! You’ve got no call to take a strip off me. I said I’d lend a hand to recover the eaglets. And I’m here. Excuse me, but exactly what promise have I broken?”
Summer’s shoulders bowed. This time she faced him wearing a guilty expression. “N-nothing, of course. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve become very defensive on Rory’s behalf since his father…since Frank…” She gave a sigh so loud Colt could hear it yards away.
He gripped his own truck door tight to keep from going to console her. “I understand from what you said last night that Rory’s going through a rough patch. His world’s been turned upside down. The last thing I want to do is make the situation worse. Let’s go after the eaglets. That way, I’ll be gone from here long before Rory returns from school.”
“Good,” she managed to say in a voice that was higher than normal. She slid behind the wheel and released her parking brake, leading the way to the house. Summer couldn’t help wishing, for her son’s sake, that Frank could change and be a little more like Coltrane Quinn. She gasped at such a thought and braked too hard outside the barn. Dust enveloped her as she climbed from the cab.
An old man hobbled up. He watched while Colt backed his pickup and trailer between the house and barn. The elderly man’s presence buffered the tension that had sprung up between Summer and Colt.
“Virgil, this is Coltrane Quinn. Quinn, Virgil Olsen. He’s held this place together with baling wire since before I was born.” She hugged the man’s bent frame, honest feeling reflected in her eyes. “It’s your lucky day, Virg. Mr. Quinn has volunteered to give me a hand catching the eaglets. How’s their mother doing?” she asked as the two men exchanged a handshake.
“Feistier than when you brought her home, Summer. The old girl nipped me good when I put food in her cage. She’ll be better if you can bring in the little ones. She’s crying out and beating her good wing against the cage. Without her babies, I’m afraid she’ll die just trying to escape. I’d rather you two go after ’em than me,” he remarked, gazing at Colt from faded brown eyes. “I’d never’ve let Summer tackle the job alone. Doesn’t mean I looked forward to hauling these old bones up those cliffs.”
Colt rubbed his chin. “I’ve done a bit of rock climbing. I travel with all my gear, so I have rudimentary ropes, pitons and carabiners in my truck. What I think we’ll need is some type of basket with a tie-down lid to put the eaglets in. Depending on how many and how large the birds are, we may need more than one container,” he mused aloud.
“Jiminy, I’d have never thought of a lid.” The old man took off his battered hat and raked his fingers through sparse gray hair. “I spread some hay in an open box, thinking we’d transport the birds that way.”
“I think we’ll need a cover of some kind to make it work.”
“Don’t have one.” The old man shook his head. “Can’t think what we—”
“Virgil, what about Audrey’s knitting basket?” Summer broke into the men’s conversation. She nudged him and winked. “I realize if the birds poop in it I’ll owe her a new one.”
“Why, that’s just the thing. You go ask her, Summer-girl. She’d never refuse you. If I unload that woman’s knitting, she’s liable to smack me upside the head with a frying pan.”
Summer chuckled. “You old fibber. Audrey loves you to pieces. But I’ll go do it. I want to fill a thermos with coffee and toss a couple of apples in a saddlebag. I figure this trip will take a lot of energy.”
“Do you mind bringing an extra apple?” Colt put in.
“For the horses, you mean?”
“Well, that’d be nice, too. No, I’m being purely selfish. The café hadn’t opened yet when I left town.” He rubbed his stomach, which chose that moment to growl.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Heavens, you’re probably starved. Come inside. I’ll ask Audrey to whip you up some eggs and toast.”
“No. Don’t go to any trouble. An apple will do me. We should get underway. This is going on day two for those birds. Once the sun rises, they’ll be increasingly exposed to predators.”
“Exactly.” Summer turned to Virgil. “Will you saddle Starlight for me, please? She’s surefooted enough for the gorge.”
As Summer loped toward the house, Colt backed Spirit out of his trailer.
“Your horse favors his foreleg, son,” Virgil said.
“He landed sideways on a rock the other day. I’m lucky all he did was strain a muscle.” Colt bent over his horse and ran a hand down the leg, checking for swelling.
“My wife makes a herb ointment to help with my arthritis. The stuff works wonders on animals. Why don’t you leave the gelding for me to treat? You can ride one of Summer’s horses.”
“I’d appreciate it. I thought a workout might help him, but I don’t want to push him if he’s not a hundred percent.”
“Then it’s settled. You assemble your climbing gear and I’ll swap your mount for one of ours. It’ll only take me a few minutes to saddle two horses.”
“Use my saddle. It has extra ties for attaching mountaineering gear.”
“Sure. Here, cut the wrap off Spirit’s leg. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Virgil produced a rusty pocket knife that had seen better days. Colt finally found one blade that literally chewed through the medicated wrap he’d put on his horse yesterday.
Summer beat Virgil back to the place where Colt was readying his equipment. A dog, a mixed breed with some spaniel and terrier—or that was Colt’s best guess—bounded up to him, barking, and sniffing the items he’d laid out on the ground.
“Don’t mind Lancelot.” Summer rushed to catch hold of the dog. “His bark is fierce, but he’s really friendly. The best cow dog that ever lived,” she said with a high degree of immodesty.
“Best ever, huh? Tall praise, boy.” Colt let the dog sniff his hand before trying to pet him. He’d owned a cutting dog named Vic. Monica had given him away. At least it was to a family with kids. Vic loved kids. Colt hadn’t had the heart to demand him back and disappoint little children.
“Oh, shoot. You’ll want to wash before you eat this biscuit sandwich I brought out. Lancelot, no,” she commanded as the dog sailed through the air, attempting to steal the napkin-wrapped biscuit she handed Colt.
“I’ll use the napkin to guard against dog germs.” Colt hopped up on the running board of his pickup in order to keep his food out of the dog’s reach. Lancelot was quite a jumper. “You didn’t have to do this, Summer, but my stomach thanks you.” As if on cue, Colt’s stomach growled again. Louder this time. The dog gave a funny yip, dropped to his belly and slithered back to Summer. Both she and Colt laughed.
“Well,” she said. “I’ve never seen him do that before. You’d better wolf that down fast before he gets brave again.”
“I take it he’s your pet and not Rory’s,” Colt remarked as he began to devour the egg, ham and biscuit sandwich.
“Interesting you should think that. I saved him after he’d been hit by a car. The month before Rory was born. When the baby came, the dog appointed himself guardian extraordinaire. Last year, Rory started school, and I had a terrible time keeping Lancelot off the bus. Which is why you didn’t see him earlier. We’ve learned to lock him inside the house until after Rory leaves. Otherwise, he’ll park himself next to the gate all day.”
“That’s a great trait. I had a loyal dog…once….” His sentence trailed off as Colt wadded the napkin, shoved it into his pocket, then jumped to the ground. “There’s Virgil,” he exclaimed, starting off to meet the man.
Summer wasn’t so quick to follow. Obviously something had happened to his pet, she decided, based on the abrupt way Colt dropped the subject. Men! He probably regretted letting her see an emotional side. The Callan men and Frank, too, had all been miserly with any show of softness. Rory would be different if she had any influence. Yet his bouts of tears, no matter how infrequent, were a bone of contention with Frank. He insisted to any and all who’d listen that she’d turned their son into a sissy. But she knew it wasn’t sissified to want Rory to express honest feelings.
Summer gave a start when Colt took the knitting basket out of her hands and replaced it with the reins to her horse.
“Sorry to break your train of thought, but the sun’s climbing fast. Hadn’t we better go?”
“Yes. Virgil,” she said, swinging into the saddle. “Hang on to Lancelot, please. I don’t want him scaring those eaglets to death. Oh, and Phil Eubanks might deliver our roundup supplies this morning. I left his check with Audrey.”
“Anything else?”
“One other thing. Bozo Bear’s off his feed. Check to see if you think he’s sick. From what I’ve read on bears since we got him, I would’ve expected his appetite to pick up around this time, since he’ll be heading into hibernation soon.”
Virgil nodded and grabbed the dog’s collar.
“You have a bear?” Colt shifted in his saddle to eye her as they rode out.
“An orphan I ran across after a summer forest fire. I’m surprised Myron didn’t fill you in on what people around here call Summer’s Wildlife Sanctuary. As a kid, I was forever dragging home injured squirrels, birds and motherless calves. Now, anytime anyone within driving distance comes across an animal in need, they drop it on my doorstep. My goal is to return them to their natural habitat as quickly as possible. At the moment we’re boarding the bear, two fawns, a disagreeable badger, a snow goose, a family of sage grouse, a great horned owl and…you’ve met the eagle. Those are the wild creatures. Any number of cats and dogs show up in any given year, too. Fortunately, the vet who served Callanton before Myron set up an endowment to cover my costs. Otherwise, I couldn’t afford the menagerie.” She paused, then said softly, “I’ll always be grateful to Dr. Ross. He died the same year my father did, and I miss them both.”
“You don’t sound as if you mind the time your… menagerie must take.”
She smiled. “Not really. I can’t stand to think they’d be left to suffer and die. Although sometimes—for instance, in the case of the eagle—care becomes a challenge.”
Colt pondered the pain evident in her voice when she talked about what might happen to the animals except for her. He was struck by how different she was from his ex-wife. Monica had once refused to help him bottle-feed twin fillies delivered by a mare that didn’t make it through the night. Why hadn’t he seen Monica’s self-centeredness before they got married? Colt strove to remember. Had Monica changed, or had he? Probably both. He hadn’t known her long; theirs had been a whirlwind courtship. And he had to admit that prior to his struggle to stay alive day after day in that rebel prison, he’d been shallow enough to derive importance from how attractive Monica looked on his arm.
“Now who’s miles away?” Summer scolded, calling his attention to a narrow track where they’d have to ride single file.
Colt let her take the lead. “I, uh, was thinking what a genuinely nice person you are to rescue so many injured animals.”
She said nothing, only urged her mare up the trail.
“What happens to your menagerie when Adams buys you out?”
Summer whirled in her saddle. “What do you know about that?”
“Just what I heard you tell Helen last night at the café.” Damn, he’d have to watch himself. If he aroused her suspicion, he’d jeopardize the deal Marley was trying to cobble together.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sure the situation between Frank and me is great fodder for town gossips. I hate that more than I do the actual split. At the risk of sullying your rosy picture of me, I have to admit I was the last to learn that Frank cheated on me. Most days since, I wake up wishing him in hell. So, you see how terrible I really am.”
Unexpectedly, Colt found himself confiding a fact he rarely spoke of, other than to his best friends. “We have a lot in common. I regularly consign my ex to the same place.”
“Really? Then I’m not coming unhinged? Thank God!”
She sounded so truly relieved, Colt burst out laughing.
In reality, Summer was dying to ask more about his divorce. None of her family or close friends had experienced a breakup. But she didn’t know Coltrane Quinn well enough to trade confidences. Except for maybe in one area. “If I remember correctly, you said you were childless.” She turned in the saddle to see him better.
“That’s right. So, there’s something to be grateful for at least. Monica and I haven’t hurt a kid by fighting over him or her. Not that you’ve hurt your son,” he hastened to add.
Summer shook her head. “Rory idolizes Frank. What’s clearer now is that he probably only played at being a dad for show. Since Frank took up residence with his mistre—uh, with Jill, he can’t be bothered to even phone our son. Some people in town have decided I’m keeping Rory from visiting Frank. Well, you saw how Rory blames me, too.”
“So tell him the truth. The kid appears to have above-average intelligence.”
“I’ve talked till I’m blue in the face. I’m not getting through.”
Colt shifted awkwardly. Unless he missed his guess, Summer was just one step from shedding tears. Considering the fact that he’d handled Monica’s deceit by trying to pickle himself in alcohol, he wasn’t the best person to offer advice.