Even after identifying him, Culley didn't venture a reply. He remained motionless, fully alert and fully aware of the rifle casually cradled in Buck's arm.

"You know you're trespassin', Culley," Buck remarked idly and strolled into the open.

"What're ya' gonna do about it?" Culley watched him with care.

"I guess it depends on whether you came to make mischief or not."

"I saw the glow."

Nodding, Buck glanced toward the light. "It's kinda hard to miss."

"You can see it for miles." Culley didn't take his eyes off Buck. "What's makin' it?"

"Giant floodlights," Buck replied easily. "Come on. We'll take a look."

Veering to the side, Buck started up the low rise. Culley let Buck take the lead then followed, keeping a little distance to one side of him.

Culley didn't bother to climb all the way to the top, just far enough to have an unobstructed view of the other side. A half-dozen huge floodlights, mounted atop towering poles, surrounded a work site. The blinding brilliance of them made the entire area bright as daylight. Culley stared at the men and machinery in constant but unhurried motion. Accustomed as he was to the softness of night sounds, the racket of revving engines and droning generators was loud to his ears, even at this distance.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Buck remarked.

"How come they're workin' so late?" That's what puzzled Culley.

"The duchess decided she wants the house done by fall, so she put the construction on a fast track. Work goes on twenty-four hours a day. And not just here either," he added. "Instead of ferryin' all the lumber here by chopper, crews in Blue Moon are buildin' the framework there so it can be flown out in sections and set in place. In a couple weeks, they figure to be puttin' the finishin' touches on the outside and goin' full bore on the inside."

Culley frowned. "The duchess?"

Buck smiled crookedly. "That's what I call Tara. She's definitely the queen bee around here."

"I heard you were workin' for her."

"To tell you the truth, O'Rourke, I've never had an easier job or better pay."

Culley continued to scan the area before him, not content until he finally spotted the windmill's black skeleton silhouetted against the night just beyond the reach of the lights. His curiosity satisfied, he turned and headed down the slope toward his horse.

"You aren't leavin' already, are you?" Buck chided.

"Already seen what I came for." In Culley's thinking, there was no more reason to stay.

"I guess you gotta rush off and report this to Calder." Buck's voice sounded closer, an indication he had trailed him down the slope.

"No need. He'll find out soon enough on his own."

"I reckon he will. Don't you know he'll be mad when he does. He figured to slow her down by not letting her cross Calder land. But it just kicked the duchess into high gear." After a slight break, Buck said, "Still hate him, do you?"

"I let him be, and Calder lets me be," Culley replied without emotion.

"That's what happens when a body gets older, I guess. But I noticed age hasn't stopped you from ghostin' around this country at night. I've been sittin' out here for two nights, waitin' for you to show up. The ground was gettin' a little hard for these old bones of mine. Say, I still have some coffee left in my thermos over here. Want a cup?"

"No thanks." Culley gathered up the trailing reins to his horse.

"You never were very sociable," Buck recalled.

"And you were never my friend." Culley stepped to the saddle, a hand on the horn.

"That's true," Buck agreed. "All we ever shared was a mutual hatred for Calder."

"Maybe." Culley shot him a hard, accusing glance. "But I ain't forgetting you once tried to kill my sister."

"You and I both know it was the boy I was after. Maggie got in the way. But I didn't hurt her," Buck reminded him, then shrugged. "That was all a long time ago. And I did my time for it." He watched as Culley hauled himself into the saddle, not as effortlessly as he once had. "We're both older now, O'Rourke. And a little wiser."

The saddle creaked as Culley settled himself into the seat. "Leave me be, Buck."

"There's trouble brewin'." Buck's voice had the ring of a warning.

Culley responded with a curt nod of agreement. "I can smell it in the wind."

Buck grinned. "You and I are alike that way."

"I'm giving you fair warning, Buck." He stared him in the eye. "Stay away from the girl."

"I saw her in town a week or so ago. She's the spittin' image of Maggie, isn't she?"

"You hurt a hair on her head, and I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Buck knew the difference between a threat and a promise. In O'Rourke's case, the statement belonged in the latter category.

"Whatever's coming, I don't think she'll be part of it." Buck based that purely on a gut feeling.

"See that she isn't." He backed his horse deeper into the shadows behind him before reining it into a half-circle and slipping into the night.

Buck stared after him, his head cocked at a listening angle to catch the faint scuff of iron shoes on the hard ground. But there were few sounds to betray the exact route of O'Rourke's retreat from the area. Smiling, Buck realized the night horse Culley rode was almost as soft-footed as its rider.

On the other side of the rise, a piece of heavy machinery revved its diesel motor a couple times, then roared forward, belching black smoke from its exhaust. Distracted by the sudden increase in the noise level, Buck glanced toward the work site, but he made no move toward it. He preferred the relative quiet of the high plains over the racket of the construction site, the smell of greening grass over diesel fumes, the feel of a fresh wind on his face over the grit of churned-up dust. In that he was like O'Rourke.

His gaze drifted over the ranchland, land he had been born and raised on. Despite all the years he had spent away from it, locked in a prison cell, this Calder land was still in his blood. Standing here, in the middle of it, Buck felt as if he had finally come home.

Under a high sun, Tara stood at the rear of the Range Rover and watched while two ranch hands unloaded the boxes from the back of the vehicle. When the last box was carried away, Ty closed the door.

"That should do it," he said with finality and glanced her way. "Thanks for dropping off the catalogs."

"No problem at all," Tara assured him. "I know I could have easily had the printer ship them to you, but it didn't make sense when I was going to be so close. This way you don't have to worry about them getting lost en route."

"I guess not." He could feel her gaze on him, bright with interest, probing to gauge his mood.

"To be honest, I was half afraid you might not want me to ever set foot on the ranch again, despite all your talk about us being neighbors."

"Really?" Ty knew she was angling for something, but he didn't know what. It made him wary.

"Did your people let you know that I stopped the helicopters from flying so low on their way to the construction site?"

"As a matter of fact, I spoke to Jasper shortly before you arrived. He said everything was relatively quiet so far," Ty admitted.

"And it will be from now on. You have my word on that," Tara promised and turned slightly, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare as she glanced toward the old barn. "Have they finished the work on the barn yet?"

"Almost."

She tilted her head in his direction, a persuasively hopeful gleam in her dark eyes. "Would it be terribly much to ask if I might have a tour of it? Since the idea to remodel it was mine to begin with, it feels like the project is my baby. I can't help wanting to know how it's coming along."

Ty weighed her request, trying to guess at her ulterior motive for it. But he couldn't come up with any obvious one, other than a desire to wiggle back into his good graces. And that wasn't likely to happen.

"I have enough time to give you a quick tour of it," he consented.

"Great." Tara set off toward it, clearly anticipating him to fall in step with her. "It's hard not to be a part of this, involved on a daily basis planning all the details for the auction, especially after living with it constantly for over a year. I can't help feeling shut out."

"I would have thought you would be too busy with your own project these days to give much thought to the auction," Ty said in a dry but pointed reference to the construction in progress at Wolf Meadow.

Her smile was quick and warm. "Not so busy that I don't have time to think about this." Then her smile took on a rueful quality. "I know you don't believe me, but I really do miss working with you on this."

Ty wasn't about to let the conversation become personal. "How is the house coming along?"

"Quickly." If she was irritated by his change of subject, Tara didn't let it show. "I have crews working on it night and day. If you have time one of these days, why don't you come over and I'll show you around. And I promise-I won't object in the slightest if you cross my land to get to the site," she teased.

His sole acknowledgment of the latter remark was a slight smile. "It's a bit busy around here right now. But I'll see what I can arrange in the next few days."

"I hope you can come. I would like to show you the plans. It truly suits its environs, all rustic and open, very earthy and warm. I'm excited about it, as if you hadn't guessed that already." Tara was at her vivacious and vibrant best, aglow with enthusiasm for the subject. "Do you realize that this will be the first home that I designed, built, and decorated myself? Everything will be just the way I want it, not someone else. It's a good feeling to put your stamp on something. I know at my home in Fort Worth, I can see Daddy's mark in every room. Which is probably why I am reluctant to change anything there. Sometimes the past shouldn't be abolished."

"Perhaps not." Ty stepped ahead of her to open the barn's Dutch door.

Light bathed much of the barn's cavernous interior, most of it coming from indirect sources mounted among the rafters of massive rough-hewn timbers. Tara stepped inside onto the alleyway's new floor, made from salvaged street brick laid in a herringbone pattern. One of the workers had cranked up the volume on the radio, filling the silence with a honky-tonk song.

Tara gazed about her with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "This is clearly the exception, Ty. On occasions, you can take the past and improve on it. The lighting is the only obvious modern item in the whole place. It's stunning. You must be pleased with it."

"I am."

In a far corner of the barn, a telephone rang, its bell amplified to be heard outside. After a second, ear-harsh ring, someone turned down the radio.

"It was impressive the last time I saw it," Tara recalled. "But you have added so many finishing touches since then that it somehow increases the impact. This is a look others will try to duplicate. Wait and see."

Ballard stepped from behind one of the partitions at the far end of the alleyway. "Stumpy's on the phone, Ty. He wants to talk to you."

"Sorry. It's important," Ty said in a brief aside to Tara and moved away, too quickly to catch the flicker of annoyance in her expression. Ballard saw it, though. "While I'm on the phone, show Tara the holding pens, Ballard."

Ballard acknowledged the order with a nod and ambled in her direction, unaffected by the pleasant smile she beamed his way.

"Ty pawned me off on you, didn't he?" Tara guessed. "It really isn't necessary. I don't mind waiting until he's through, and I'm sure you have work to do."

"He said to show you the holding pens, and that's what I aim to do," Ballard replied, deflecting her suggestion with an easy smile that didn't quite match the amused glint in his eyes. "He seems to think you want to see them."

"But I do." The assurance came quickly, reinforced by a turn in their direction.

"Really? I could've sworn your purpose here was to do some fence mending," he drawled.

"Isn't that simple range courtesy?" Tara countered. "When there's a break in the fence, you try to repair it."

"At least you're not denyin' that you set out to get back in Ty's good graces again."

"I have the impression you don't approve. To tell you the truth, I'm not surprised. I am certain nearly everyone on the Triple C regards me as an enemy since I bought Wolf Meadow property. But it was never my intent to keep the property," Tara replied, most persuasively.

"I believe you," Ballard stated, taking her by surprise. "In fact, I think you bought it strictly for insurance."

"I don't know what you mean." She frowned in bewilderment even as her gaze sharpened on him.

"You're out to get Ty back-one way or the other. That's why you're danglin' Wolf Meadow in front of him. I wonder how long it will take him to realize that the only way he'll ever get his hands on it is if he takes you as part of the package. That's your plan, isn't it?" Ballard challenged lightly. "To make him choose between you and Jessy."

Her look was cool and unflinching. "You seem to have forgotten he made that choice a long time ago."

Ballard's eyebrows arched up, his eyes widening in sudden revelation. "You're gettin' back at him for that-by takin' the one thing that means more to a Calder than anything else. The land. He'll never get his hands on it, not even if he leaves Jessy and marries you, will he?"

"What utter nonsense." Tara laughed in derision. "You surely don't believe I'm that devious."

He ignored her response, his thoughts running ahead. "It'll work. Not right away maybe, but over time, it will work, especially if you keep on being all friendly-like and helpful. Eventually he'll talk himself into believin' it's you he wants and that his decision's got nothin' to do with Wolf Meadow."

"You have a very vivid imagination, Mr. Ballard," Tara chided.

"What are you gonna do about Jessy and the kids?" He mulled the question over in his mind, not seeing the answer. "You're gonna have a bit of a problem gettin' them out of the picture."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Tara demanded, her dark eyes ablaze with indignation. "Why don't you go to Ty with all your ludicrous accusations?"

"Simple. He wouldn't believe me, not for long. You'd see to that." Everyone else might underestimate her ability, but Ballard didn't.

He couldn't prove a single thing. At best, he could plant some doubt, delay the inevitable. But he couldn't think of any way that might change the outcome.

Her eyes widened in a look of sudden alarm. "You're insane," she whispered and moved quickly away from him, her shoes click-click-clicking over the brick as she walked hurriedly toward the opposite end of the barn. She saw Ty and almost ran the last few steps to his side. "You're back. That didn't take long."

His frowning glance skipped over her, darting to the cowboy still standing in the middle of the alleyway. "Did Ballard show you the pens?"

"You surely don't think he wouldn't. You practically made it a direct order." Tara slipped a hand under his arm, but he detected something in her voice that was a little too bright, a little too dismissive of the question.

"Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Why on earth would you ask that?" Wearing a fixed smile of unconcern, she tried and failed to meet his eyes.

"You seem upset. Did Ballard say something out of line?"

"It wasn't anything he said. It was the way he looked at me. He frightened me a little." She gave a faint but expressive shudder.

"He puts the make on anything in a skirt. Sometimes he comes close to going too far."