Free Lone Calder Star by Janet Dailey Page B

he should have asked, but Boone didn't appear to be very adept at thinking on his feet. "In fact, I quit the ATF shortly after my father's funeral."
    "I didn't know."
    "There's no reason why you should."
    Crossing to a set of double doors, Boone pushed them wide as he walked through the opening into the spacious den. A wheelchair-bound Max Rutledge glided silently from behind a gleaming wood desk and rolled forward to meet Quint when he entered.
    Boone rushed quickly to make the introductions. "I don't believe you've met Quint Echohawk, Max. He's the grandson of Chase Calder."
    "I've heard of you, of course. Welcome to the Slash R, Quint." After a slight pause, he added,
    "Although I can't help wondering what brings you here."
    The unabashed curiosity in Max Rutledge's expression seemed utterly genuine. Quint took it as a warning of the man's canny shrewdness.
    "He didn't come on official business." Boone crossed to the bar. "Quint's already told me he quit the ATE"
    "I didn't think for one moment he was here in any official capacity," Max said easily.
    "I suppose you could call it official," Quint said with a smile and added the qualification, "at least in the sense that Jessy asked me to come down and take charge of the Cee Bar."
    "Really?" Max said with a startled widening of his eyes. "I guess I assumed you would be looking after your mother's ranch. Although I seem to recall it adjoins the Triple C. I suppose it would be a simple matter for the Calders to assume management of it.
    "That's right." From the bar area came the clatter of ice dropped in a glass.
    "Do you have time to join us for a drink?" Max asked. Quint's hesitation was only slight, but deliberately calculated. "Sure," he agreed. "Whiskey Seven."
    "Pour Quint a whiskey Seven, Boone," Max ordered. "And I'll have my usual bourbon and branch." He swung his wheelchair toward a conversational grouping of chairs and swept out his hand in an inviting gesture. "Have a seat."
    "Thanks." Quint crossed to a cowhide-upholstered chair and laid his hat on its wide armrest as he folded his tall frame onto the seat.
    "How's Chase these days?" Max positioned his wheelchair in the open space within the grouping.
    "Doing remarkably well, considering his age."
    "Your grandfather is a remarkable man in many ways."
    "I agree," Quint said and smiled. "Although naturally I am prejudiced."
    "As you should be." A smile grooved deep lines in Max's gaunt cheeks. Then a small line furrowed his brow in a faint show of puzzlement. "You said earlier something about taking over the Cee Bar. What happened to the ranch manager you had running it? What was his name?" He turned a frowning look to Boone for the answer when he arrived with their drinks.
    "Evans, I think it was."
    "He's gone now." Quint took his drink from Boone's outstretched hand.
    "Help is always a problem, isn't it?" Max remarked in a commiserating fashion. "The good ones are too often lured away by better offers. And the bad ones-well, you don't want to keep them anyway."
    "Very true." Quint raised his glass in a toast. "To finding good help and keeping them."
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    Boone and Max acknowledged the toast with a slight lift of glasses. The gesture was followed by the muted clink of ice against the glass sides as each took a sip. Boone drifted off to the side and hooked a long leg over the high armrest of a leather sofa, but Quint was conscious of the heavy bore of his gaze. If, as he believed, the Rutledges were orchestrating the current spate of trouble at the Cee Bar, the son was likely the muscle behind it, and the lather, the brains. And it was on the latter Quint centered his attentlon.
    "It just occurred to me," Max began, "did your mother come with you?"
    "No," Quint replied with a slight, negative movement of his head.
    "I thought she might have welcomed a change of scenery, not to mention the warmth of a southern winter. And with Tara in Fort Worth, it seemed likely. I know they are former sisters-in-law, but it's