"Ordinary household ammonia will work just as well," Logan told her as he carried Tara into the living room.

Awakened by the commotion, a sleepy-eyed Quint looked on in confusion. "What's wrong, Dad?"

"Nothing, son. Tara fainted, that's all." With Quint on the couch, Logan deposited the unconscious Tara in the overstuffed armchair.

Jessy followed them into the living room and looked at Tara with dispassion. "I don't care what you do with her, but she isn't staying here."

"Don't worry. She won't," Chase stated.

Busy propping Tara in the chair, Logan made no comment. When Cat returned to the living room, Sally was right behind her. Revived by a couple of whiffs of ammonia, Tara coughed and choked into wakefulness. She looked around wildly for a second. Then her eyes focused on Sally.

"He's gone, Sally," she blubbered. "What am I going to do?"

She immediately began to sob and wail hysterically. When Sally took over the job of attempting to console her, Logan left her to it and turned to Chase.

"See if you can raise somebody at Tara's place. Have them fly a doctor there right away. She'll likely need to be sedated." He made a grim study of the distraught woman. "As soon as we can get her to settle down, I'll put her in the back of my squad car and take her there. Maybe Sally can ride along and keep an eye on her tonight. She is in no condition to be left alone, that's for sure."

After twenty minutes, Tara's hysterical sobbing finally subsided to an incessant weeping and moaning. Logan half carried and half walked her to his vehicle and installed Tara in its back seat. Sally crawled in after her and gathered the sobbing woman into her arms.

With The Homestead quiet once more, Cat retrieved their overnight case, took Quint by the hand, and led him upstairs to bed. Jessy watched the pair until they disappeared from view.

"Poor guy," she murmured to Chase, observing, "he is so tired."

"Are you?" His gaze made a thoughtful study of her face.

Jessy reacted with a sharp shake of her head, her glance sliding upward in the direction of the master bedroom. "I can't sleep. Not yet."

"Good. We need to talk." He started toward the den.

But Jessy was quick to reject it. "I'd rather not, Chase."

His glance was full of understanding, yet insistent. "I don't want to any more than you do, but these next few days will be hectic and there are things that need to be said. Right now may be the only time we have."

Jessy didn't renew her objection when he placed a guiding hand on her back and steered her into the den. She sat down in one of the wing-backed chairs, but she didn't relax in it, tension showing in the line of her body. Chase paused at the drink cart, poured some whiskey into two glasses and carried one to her, then reluctantly made his way to the swivel chair behind the desk.

"It doesn't seem real, does it?" he guessed astutely.

Her mouth twisted in a wry grimace of acknowledgment. "A part of me keeps expecting him to walk through the door." Head down, Jessy stared at the glass in her hand. "I have to be honest, Chase. I'm not sure I can stand to live in this house."

"Why?" He rocked back in his chair. "Because it's nothing but a bunch of rooms, filled with familiar things yet empty and lifeless? Because it doesn't feel like a home anymore?"

Jessy lifted her head, stunned that Chase could describe it so accurately. Until that moment it hadn't occurred to her that the house might feel the same way to him. Why should it when he had lived in it all his life while it had been her home for only a few years?

"It's a feeling that won't go away anytime soon, take my word for it," Chase told her, and Jessy immediately thought of Maggie and how difficult it must have been for Chase to live here after she died. "Eventually Trey and Laura will breathe life into it and make it feel like a home again. In the meantime, you have to hang on and wait."

"I suppose." She felt much too empty inside to care.

"You are a strong woman, Jessy. And a smart one, too. I'm counting on that," he stated. "Take a good look at that map on the wall behind me."

Responding to the authority in his voice, Jessy did as she was told even though she had looked at it a thousand times before. Every mark and line on its aged surface was as familiar as her own face in the mirror.

"There is no way any man can know if he will live two more days or twenty years. But we both know it isn't likely that I will live to see Trey take over the reins of the Triple C. That means it will be in your hands."

Jessy stared at the map, the length and breadth of its boundaries making a new impact on her. The possibility that she might one day shoulder the responsibility of its operation was not one she had ever imagined. But the truth in Chase's words couldn't be ignored, however much she might want to deny them.

As if reading her mind, Chase said, "Neither one of us expected this to happen, but it has. Maybe I should have waited a few days before telling you, but it has to be faced. You might as well know the Triple C won't give us time to mourn. There is work to be done, Jessy. And it's up to you and me to do it."

Everything he said rang true. "I have a lot of learning to do," she realized.

A small smile of approval edged the corners of his mouth. "Not as much as you think." He nodded at the glass in her hand. "Drink that whiskey and go to bed. It's going to be a long full day tomorrow."

She bolted down the liquor and shuddered at that searing burn that banished the coldness within. She met Chase's gaze, feeling closer to him than she ever had. Rising, she set the empty glass on his desk and crossed to the door.

Pausing there, Jessy glanced back. "When are you going after Buck?"

He studied her for a long measuring second. "You'll have no part of that, Jessy."

Calm as could be, she replied, "Yes, I will."

Chapter Twenty-One.

By 6 A.M. the following morning, Jessy had a hearty breakfast of steak, eggs, hash browns, toast, and oatmeal on the table, taking over the duty that would normally have been Sally's province. When Chase walked into the dining room, his hair still damp from a shower, she was already seated at the table, spooning homemade strawberry jam onto her toast.

Chase glanced at the empty chairs before crossing to the chafing dishes on the sideboard. "Isn't Cat up yet?"

"She and Quint are getting the twins dressed. They will be down shortly, I imagine."

"Good. I just saw Logan drive in." He lifted the lid on one of the dishes, releasing a fresh wave of steam, scented with the aroma of seasoned beef.

It was a tantalizing aroma, but it failed to stir Jessy's appetite. She ate because the day would be long and she would need the energy food could give her.

"Maybe he'll have some news for us," she said as the front door opened. Seconds later Logan entered the dining room. "There's plenty of food over there. Help yourself," Jessy told him.

"Thanks, but I'll just have coffee. I ate about an hour ago." He poured a cup from the coffee urn and carried it to the table. "Is Cat up?"

"She should be down shortly." Chase sliced into his steak.

"I spoke to Sally this morning. She should be home in a few hours. One of the household staff in Fort Worth is flying up to stay with Tara," Logan said.

"Probably Brownsmith. He's been with the family for years," Chase said, then paused, his gaze searching Logan's face. "Anything new with the investigation?"

"Not yet."

Logan's voice and expression were a bit too bland for Chase's liking. It made him suspicious. "What about Buck? He's been questioned by now, hasn't he?"

"No."

As good as Logan was at his job, Chase could think of only one reason for that. "Buck has disappeared, hasn't he?"

"It looks that way," Logan admitted. "A couple workers remember seeing him yesterday morning, but they aren't sure of the time-early or late. Virgil claims they had lunch together. Obviously I haven't been able to verify that."

"Virgil would swear the sky was green if he thought it would help Buck," Chase scoffed. "Where did he say Buck was going?"

"He said he didn't know, and the helicopter never left the ground at all yesterday. Plus the construction foreman was able to account for all the vehicles."

"What about the horses?"

"According to Garcia," Logan replied, referring to one of the deputies, "the gray was the only horse in the corral when he arrived yesterday afternoon. Around five o'clock, he noticed a chestnut gelding drinking from the tank, grabbed a bucket of oats, and caught it."

"No saddle or bridle?" Chase guessed.

"None," Logan confirmed. "Virgil said it probably jumped the corral fence then wandered back when it got thirsty."

"Possible but not likely." Chase speared the bite of steak with his fork. "The chestnut was too flashy, too easily recognized. Buck probably switched to another horse. Did Garcia check the tack room to see if any saddles were missing?"

Logan nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "None of the saddle racks were empty, but no one seems to know how many saddles were there. Garcia tried to get a number from Tara. Before she answered, she insisted on knowing why he was asking-and you know what happened after that."

"There really is no doubt that Buck did it, is there?" There was a hint of anger in the grim set of Jessy's features. "He wouldn't have taken off before Garcia got there unless he was guilty. He wouldn't have even known about it."

"That's not quite true. He might have," Logan said. "Garcia said there was a police scanner in the trailer. I plan to find out today whether Virgil had it turned on yesterday. If he did, then Buck could have heard something before Garcia arrived."

Cat's arrival with Quint and the twins signaled an end to the subject. The conversation quickly turned general with heavy emphasis on the demands of the twins.

After a second cup of coffee, Logan rose from the table, kissed Cat goodbye, rumpled Quint's hair, and headed for the door. Finished with his breakfast, Chase walked with him.

Trey, as usual, was more interested in playing with Quint than in eating his breakfast. Judging by the amount of cereal smeared on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes, Jessy suspected Trey had more food on him than in him. The bowl had three bites left when Trey began splatting his spoon in it.

"That's enough, young man." She took the sticky spoon from his equally sticky fingers, grabbed the wet washcloth she always kept handy, and wiped his face and hands with it before freeing him from his highchair. "You definitely need a bath before your grandma gets here."

"Gamma come?" Trey cocked his head at an inquiring angle.

"That's right." Jessy noticed a glob of cereal on the sleeve of his T-shirt and picked it off. "The brave woman is going to watch you two today."

"Kint?" He stretched out a hand to him in question.

"She's brave, not foolish." Jessy turned, her attention caught by the sound of the front door opening. "Sounds like Grandpa is headed off to roundup. Let's go say goodbye to him."

With Trey straddling her hip, Jessy reached the front hall in time to see Ballard enter the den. Curiosity drew her forward to within earshot of the conversation inside the room.

"Is there a problem, Ballard?" Chase asked.

"The problem is me," Ballard replied on a grim note. "I would've bet my life Jessy was the target, but we both know I was dead wrong. I feel like it's my fault. If I hadn't opened my mouth, none of us would have been distracted with worrying about Jessy."

"That's something we'll never know."

"I recognize that," Ballard admitted. "I know I wasn't raised on Triple C, but when you go after Haskell, I want to come along."

After a slight pause, Chase said, "I'll remember that."

"I hope you do. It's the only way I'm gonna feel right about any of this. Anyway, that's what I came to say. I know there's a lot you've gotta' do today, so I won't keep you from it."

As his footsteps approached the hall, Jessy quietly backed up a few steps to make it less obvious she had been eavesdropping. Ballard halted when he saw her, his achingly gentle eyes making a quick and thorough study of her face.

"Are you holdin' up all right, Jess?"

Unconsciously she folded both arms around Trey, drawing a measure of comfort from the child Ty had given her. "I am."

"Good." The look of empathy in his eyes managed to convey that he knew the deep pain she felt. " 'Cause them kids are gonna need you, little though they may be. I guess you know if there's anything I can ever do . . ." He let the sentence trail off, unfinished.

"Thanks." The corners of her mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile.

He responded with a nod and a bolstering smile of his own. Then, without another word, he moved past her and out the front door. Jessy lingered in the hall a moment then continued to the den, entering as Chase stood up and reached for his work Stetson, a clear indication he was preparing to leave.

"I guess you're heading to Broken Butte," Jessy observed.

Chase nodded and pushed his hat on. "I'll be there until late."

"I listened in on your conversation with Ballard," Jessy admitted. "Will you take him with you?"

Chase ran his gaze over her face. "Would you?"

In that instant, Jessy knew this was to be her first lesson in leadership. She thought it over for several seconds. "I'm not sure why-I certainly don't question his loyalty, but-I wouldn't."

"You have good instincts," he told her. "Remember that and go with them, regardless of what your head says."

Late that afternoon, Chase took his own advice. With the roundup well in hand at Broken Butte, he left Stumpy in charge, climbed in his pickup, and headed southeast, but not toward The Homestead. The route he traveled took him straight to Wolf Meadow.

Bypassing the house, he drove directly to the mobile home, set back in the shade of the bluff. He climbed out of the cab and made a slow scan of the area, taking special note of the workers moving about, especially the idle ones. He saw what he expected to see, and climbed the metal steps to the trailer door. Chase rapped twice on it and walked in.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the relative dimness of the trailer's interior. He swept his glance over the narrow living room and brought it to a stop on Virgil Haskell, seated in a corner recliner, an afghan bundled around his legs despite the trailer's stuffy warmth. Virgil sat forward, his bony fingers gripping the ends of the chair's armrests, his eyes glaring his hostility.

"I had a feeling you'd show up," Virgil said, a slight smirk to his mouth. "But I didn't figure you'd come alone. You took quite a chance, Calder. What if Buck had been here?"

"Then my search would have been over," Chase replied smoothly. "Where is he, Virgil?"

"I can't say." Virgil leaned back against the recliner and folded his hands on his lap. "For all I know, he could be in Canada by now."

Bowing his head briefly, Chase glanced at the floor then back at the old man. "I imagine that's what you told Logan so he would switch his focus away from here. But I don't buy it. He's still around, isn't he?"

Avoiding any comment on that, Virgil settled a little deeper in the chair, his expression taking on a look of malicious satisfaction. "You're mad clean through, ain't ya? I guess now you know how it feels to have your son taken away from you."

"I always knew there was a bitterness in you, Virgil. But I never realized how deeply it had eaten into you. You even poisoned your own son with it." After throwing the old man a look mixed with pity and disgust, Chase struck out for the kitchen area.