"That's what we are trying to figure out. You see, there appears to be a slight problem." Farnsworth slid a brief glance at the investigator.

"What's the problem?" Ty directed his question to Talbot.

At a nod from Farnsworth, Talbot replied, "It seems the government no longer holds title to the land."

Chapter Ten.

Stunned, Ty came to his feet as Chase shot forward in his chair. "Seemed?" Chase pounced on the word. "Either they own it or they don't. Which way is it?"

"They don't," Talbot confirmed with obvious regret.

"Who does?" Ty watched the man with narrowed eyes.

"It's Dy-Corp, isn't it?" Chase guessed, then glared at the lawyer. "Environmentalists, my eye. It's not the grass. It's the coal they're after. I warned you to watch out for them."

"I know you did." Farnsworth's glance fell under the weight of Chase's hard look. "But we can't say for certain that Dy-Corp is behind this. You explain, Talbot."

Once again the investigator was the cynosure of all eyes. "I can tell you that title to the land is held by a Delaware corporation called Montana, Inc. Its sole stockholder is another corporation. Its name is unimportant since it is also owned by another company. So far, I have followed the ownership trail through five corporations. The last one is an offshore company by the name of Arateel. And I haven't been able to bribe, steal, or strong-arm a single piece of information from anyone." He paused and cast a considering glance over both Ty and Chase. "It has been like trying to find your way through an elaborate maze. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to conceal his identity."

"It has to be Dy-Corp," Chase concluded grimly.

"It could be," Talbot conceded. "But why? What would be the point? I can't tell you that Dy-Corp isn't at the bottom of this, but my gut says they aren't."

Ty studied the man, convinced his opinion was based on more than just instinct. "Who do you suspect is behind this? And why is Farnsworth so certain it's an environmental group?"

"To answer that, let me tell you what we do know," Talbot began. "One of the companies in the corporate trail appears to be a philanthropic organization with a past history of purchasing other property for preservation purposes. According to a secretary for one of the more influential environmental lobbyists in Washington, a representative from that particular company met with her boss. After the representative left, her boss asked for a detailed map of Montana and told her to gather all the information they had on virgin prairies. A few days later, a hefty check arrived in the mail. That set in motion a bunch of high-level meetings. Shortly after that, you received official notice of the government's decision not to renew your grazing permit." His mouth twisted in a smile without humor. "This is one of those cases where, if it looks like a rat, walks like a rat, and smells like a rat, it has to be a rat. Can I prove the connection? No. But I can see it as clearly as I see my own hand."

Farnsworth shifted in his chair, the movement drawing focus to him. "In my mind, the information Ed uncovered explains how and why your particular acreage was singled out. I grant you other ranchers have recently had difficulties obtaining permits for land they have grazed their stock on for years. Invariably, however, it has been in areas already set aside as national forest land or something similar. Your land has never been given any such designation."

"But it isn't my land anymore, is it?" Chase leaned back in his chair, his gaze hard with challenge.

"Regrettably no." Farnsworth dipped his head in acknowledgment.

"And you can't tell me who owns it other than some corporation called-" Unable to come up with the name, Chase looked to Talbot.

The investigator supplied it. "Arateel."

"Whoever the hell that is," Chase grumbled in disgust.

"In our opinion, Chase," the lawyer began, both elbows propped on their respective armrests, his fingers steepled in front of him, "given the connection to the environmentalists, it seems highly likely that the new owner or owners intend to leave the land untouched. What else can they do?" He opened his hands, palms up. "The property is completely landlocked by yours. Assuming you are correct and Dy-Corp is somehow behind this, what good would the land be to them? I don't care how rich the coal deposit might be. They have no way to get their machinery in or the coal out. And you are under no legal obligation to grant access to it."

"That is all well and good, but it doesn't change the fact that we don't own the land," Ty stated and glanced to the window as a diesel truck, stock trailer in tow, rolled toward the lane, the muffled rumble of its cranking motor penetrating into the house. "Do you see that semi out there? It's loaded with three-, four-, and five-year-old cows, each capable of producing a calf every spring for the next ten years and more. Do you have any idea how much money that represents in lost revenue? We need that land. We need its water and its hay as well as its grass. Without it, we will probably have to cut back our operation even more."

"It has been a critical loss, I know, even for a ranch this size," the lawyer began.

"That's a major understatement, Farnsworth," Chase declared.

"Of course. But as crippling as this loss may be right now, I believe it can ultimately work to your benefit." Farnsworth leaned forward, determined to put a positive spin on the situation. "You know the hell we have been through these last few years trying to deal with the government. Now the property is in private hands. As soon as we can identify the new owner, we can begin negotiations-preferably for the purchase of it, or at the very least, a lease."

"How long will that take?" Ty wanted to know.

"It is difficult to say. Talbot has three of his associates working on it right now. We may not get the answer tomorrow or next week, but hopefully it will come soon. Isn't that right, Ed?"

"Nothing stays a secret forever," Talbot replied. "Sooner or later we will ask the right person or grease the right palm, and we will learn who is behind the corporation. Once we have a name, tracking that individual down will be a snap."

The minute Talbot finished, Farnsworth spoke up again. "Obviously, we would have preferred to come here armed with that information. But when it became apparent that it wasn't likely to be forthcoming in the next few days, we realized that we needed to apprise you about the turn of events. Given the unexpectedness of them, we felt we should tell you in person rather than over the telephone, even though we couldn't fill in all the blanks."

Talbot raised his cup. "Is there any coffee left?" His question signaled an end to any further information. The conversation reverted to a rehash of facts and supposition, and exploration of their options.

Tara sailed into the house, the denim collar of her silver-studded jacket turned up about her neck. As she passed the door to the den, she caught the hum of male voices coming from within. Her mouth curved in a feline smile of satisfaction. She continued without pause through the living room, heading toward the sound of banging pots.

The smile was still in place when she walked into the kitchen and paused at the sight of the twins. Armed with a wooden spoon, Trey pounded on an aluminum pot with relish while Laura scowled furiously at him. Jessy was at the sink, washing up some baking dishes, and Sally was bent over the oven's open door, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies emanated.

"Who is making all this racket?" Tara chided in a playful voice.

Laura let out a squeal of delight and made a beeline straight for her, toddling as fast as her young legs could carry her. "Tatie, Tatie, Tatie," she cried, which was the closest she could come to saying Tara's name, and stretched her arms out to Tara.

Laughing, Tara scooped her up. "How's my favorite little girl?"

Laura flashed her a big smile and immediately transferred her attention to the shiny silver studs that adorned Tara's jacket. After a short pause, Trey resumed his drumming practice.

Still holding Laura, Tara crossed to the sink. "How on earth do you two hear yourselves think?" she asked, raising her voice to make herself heard above the banging.

An absent smile played across Jessy's mouth. "You learn to tune it out." She rinsed a mixing bowl under the tap water and set it on the rack to drain. "Have the photographers left?"

"They are loading the last of their equipment now. Do you mind if I borrow one of your vehicles? I have a couple of errands I need to run in town, and the ranchhands talked so much about Blue Moon that the photographer wants to see it. I told them they could follow me into town."

"Sure. The keys to the Blazer are on the hook by the back door." Jessy nodded toward them, her hands once more immersed in dishwater.

"Thanks." Tara set Laura on the floor. Immediately the toddler scrunched her face and opened her mouth to hiccough out the first sob. Tara patted her blond curls. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll be back in a couple hours," she told her, then turned to Sally. "I'll grab a bite in town, so don't bother to set a place for me at lunch. Is there anything you need from Fedderson's while I'm there?"

Sally frowned thoughtfully, then shook her head. "I can't think of anything," she said then reconsidered. "Although you might see if they have any fresh strawberries. Shortcake for dessert tonight would be a nice change."

"Will two quarts be enough?" Tara plucked the set of keys off its hook.

"Plenty," Sally assured her.

With a wave, Tara went out the back door. Young Trey didn't bother to look up as Laura wailed a protest and toddled to the back door.

A steady stream of dump trucks, loaded with coal, rolled past the mine office. A fine black dust sooted the building's windows and metal siding. More of it darkened the vehicles parked in the lot next to it. Buck Haskell parked his truck in a slot marked for visitors. He wasn't sure that he exactly qualified as a visitor, but it was the closest to the front door.

Conscious of the nervous churning in his stomach, Buck climbed out of the pickup, tucked his shirttail a little deeper inside his jeans, and made the long walk to the door. As he opened it, another truck rumbled past, kicking up a fresh swirl of road dust and soot.

The receptionist looked up when he entered. Like nearly everybody in Blue Moon, she was a stranger to him. But that didn't ease his tension any.

"May I help you?"

Buck opened his mouth to answer, but his throat locked up. After all the years he had spent in prison, it angered him that a mere slip of a woman could scare him into silence.

Buck tried again. "I'm here to see a Mr. . . . uh-" For a split second, he blanked on the name. Then it came to him. "Mr. Daigle."

"And this is in regard to what?"

"A job interview." His palms felt sweaty. Buck buried them in the pockets of his tan windbreaker.

"And you want to see Mr. Daigle?" She eyed him in surprise.

He faltered a second then insisted gruffly, "That's the name he gave me when he called for me to come in."

Clearly skeptical, she picked up the phone. "Let me check," she said, then paused, her fingers above the buttons. "And your name is?"

"Haskell. Buck Haskell."

"Just a moment." She punched in a number, waited, then slid a look at Buck and said into the mouthpiece, "There is a Mr. Haskell here. He says he has an appointment with you." She shot Buck another look and nodded. "Of course. I'll send him right in. He's expecting you," she said to Buck as she hung up the phone. "Down that hall, the second door on your right."

Nodding his thanks, Buck moved away from the desk and started down the hall. As he approached the door, he felt his throat tightening up again and swallowed nervously.

The door opened before he reached it. A burly man in shirtsleeves and a tie stepped out, his mouth curved in a polite smile of inquiry. "Mr. Haskell?"

"Yes, sir." Buck halted, automatically squaring his shoulders in reaction to the authority the man exuded.

"We have been expecting you." The man stepped to the side and motioned for Buck to precede him into the room.

He hesitated a split second, then moved past the man and through the doorway. It was one of those grand offices with lots of gleaming wood, bookshelves, and an oversized desk with a pair of facing chairs. But it was the petite, dark-haired woman, dressed in a flashy denim outfit, who claimed his attention. She stood by the window, her back to the door.

She made a slow, regal turn to face him. The beauty of her face was not one that a man of any age would forget. Even as it made its impact on him, Buck remembered exactly where he had seen her before. It stiffened him. At the same time, the anxiety he had felt toward the coming interview vanished completely.

Her glance bounced off Buck and centered on the man behind him. "That will be all, Daigle. Thank you."

Swiveling at the hips, Buck looked back as the burly mine manager made a slight bow and withdrew from the office, closing the door behind him. When Buck turned around, she had moved away from the window to approach him. Every step of the way, he was conscious of the measuring inspection of her eyes on him.

"We haven't been formally introduced, Mr. Haskell." There was a musical quality to her voice, with just a touch of Texas in it. "I am Tara Calder."

She extended a hand to him. It took Buck a full second to react to it. "Sorry. I'm not used to shaking hands with people. We didn't do much of it in prison." A fact he wanted out and on the table from the start, without apology or explanation. Buck smiled, thinking of how hard it would have been for him to say that to the plant manager.

Her hand gripped his only briefly. Her skin felt as soft as a baby's to him. He caught a whiff of perfume and knew it was probably the expensive kind.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Haskell." She gestured to the chairs with a graceful sweep of her arm.

He looked at the chairs, but didn't move, his hands tucked back in the pockets of his windbreaker. "I was told to come here for a job interview."

"That's what this is," she assured him, then paused, a sudden knowing gleam lighting her dark eyes. "Perhaps I should have explained-I was Ty's first wife. For reasons of my own, I chose to keep the Calder name after we broke up."

Buck nodded in remembrance. "My father wrote a while back that Ty had gotten a divorce. I never thought I would see the day when a Calder would get a divorce. A Calder believes when you give your word, you keep it, come heaven or hell." This time he was the one to measure her with a look. "You two seemed friendly enough when I saw you together a month ago at headquarters."

"Ty and I have an unusual relationship that suits us both. Do sit down, Mr. Haskell." She took a seat in one of the chairs, moving with the fluid grace of a model. Women with her beauty and poise, Buck had only seen in films. He had never met one face to face. She glanced up at him, that knowing look in her eyes somehow mocking him. "You are interested in going to work, aren't you?"

"I'm interested." He lowered himself into the other chair and ran his gaze around the office. "Your daddy used to own this before he died, didn't he?"

"Among other things."

"I expect you're in charge now."

"Not really." She sat back in the chair, openly studying him. "I went over your application. I knew sooner or later you would come here seeking employment, but quite frankly, I was surprised to learn you had applied for the custodian job."

"At my age, fresh out of prison, jobs of any kind are hard to come by. It's not like I can pick and choose what I want to do."

"Then you should be pleased to learn that I have a position that should suit you perfectly." Her manner was one of absolute confidence that he would accept it.

But Buck was too canny, and too wary. There was something here that didn't smell right. "I get the feeling that the job you're offering me isn't here with Dy-Corp."

"I was told you were intelligent. I'm glad to see that's true." She smiled, and there was something catlike about it, a little too smooth and a little too secretive. It reinforced the feeling that there was a lot more behind this than she had told him thus far. "As a matter of fact, you will be working directly for me."

"Maybe I'm just naturally suspicious," Buck said. "But I can't help wondering what kind of job a woman like you would have in mind for an ex-convict."

"Nothing illegal, if that's what you are thinking."

"It crossed my mind," he admitted. "I've got my father living with me now. And if I got into any kind of trouble that would send me back to prison, Calder isn't about to let him come back to the Triple C to live out whatever time he has left."

"I understand your concern. Having recently lost my own father, I find it very admirable. But to be quite frank, Mr. Haskell, if you go back to prison, it will be for something you did of your own volition, not at any direction from me."

Buck nodded, taking her statement at face value for the time being. "All right, but you still haven't told me what kind of work you want me to do?"

"You would be a caretaker of sorts," she replied smoothly. "I have recently acquired some property in the area. Obviously I won't be living on it all the time, so I will need someone to look after it for me. You see, the work won't be strenuous at all, and should provide you ample time to see to your father's daily needs."

"Now, that's interesting." He thoughtfully dipped his chin and gazed at the intricate pattern of the Oriental rug on the floor, disconnected bits of information beginning to click together in his mind. "There's been some talk that Calder had to yank all his cattle off the Wolf Meadow range. Title to that ten thousand acres has been a problem to him. He's been fighting with the government over it for years. Now he just lost the grazing rights to it." Smiling, Buck cocked his head and regarded her with amusement. "That wouldn't be because you just bought it, would it?"

"I never said that, Mr. Haskell." But the gleam of approval and amusement in her eyes was all the confirmation Buck needed.

"You aren't as friendly with the Calders as you lead people to believe, are you? Why else would you be wanting to hire me?" It was a rhetorical question. He had his answers about her motives; she was out for revenge. "Do you know how mad Calder is going to be when he finds out?" Buck wondered. "That land is almost sacred to him."

Unmoved, she replied, "I'll make them like it. You'll see."

"And what am I? The final tweak of the man's nose?" He grinned crookedly.

"Does that bother you?"

"Nope." He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, and laughed under his breath. "But it sure as hell will bother Chase."

"And that pleases you, doesn't it?"

"I didn't say that, ma'am." The wide smile remained etched on his face.