"Maybe that's why Sullivan has been wanting this property all along. He thinks he might find oil." Patience glanced over at the rough wall of rock. "Sullivan's in financial trouble. Maybe someone's putting up the money against a percentage of the profits from the wells he plans to dig."
"That's what I've been thinking," Dallas said. "What do you say we pay a little visit to good ole Sully?"
Patience nodded. "Good idea."
CHAPTER 24.
Dallas thought about returning to the ranch, dropping Patience off, then driving over to the Broken Arrow. But she would probably pitch a fit if he didn't take her along and he didn't want Charlie to know he was going. Besides, they were more than halfway there already. If he took the shortcut down through Sully's north pasture, it wasn't that long a ride.
And he was damned anxious to hear what Sullivan had to say.
Twenty minutes later, they rode up in front of the sprawling main house, a single-story structure built of wood and stone with two big rock chimneys poking through the heavy shake roof, one at each end of the house. The place sat on a gentle slope, and stone steps led from the circular driveway up to wide, carved double doors.
Since the Double Arrow was actually a working ranch, a hitching rail near the barns allowed them to tie up their horses. Walking next to Patience, Dallas climbed the flagstone steps, heading for the impressive front doors.
A firm knock, and a few minutes later, the portal swung open. "Hi, Rosa. Is Sully around?" The short, dark-skinned Hispanic woman who stood in the doorway was the live-in housekeeper who worked for Mal.
"Si, Seor Kingman. I will tell him you are here."
"Thanks."
Rosa disappeared into the depths of the house, then returned and invited them in. The stone floor in the entry gleamed with polish. So did the wide oak planks running down the hall. Rosa ushered them past the formal living room with its comfortable beige sofas and polished walnut tables, into a wood-paneled den where a deep leather couch nestled in front of a big stone hearth.
Mal's heavy oak desk sat in the corner in front of oak bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes.
"Dallas! Come on in. What a nice surprise." Dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt, he walked over and extended a hand, which Dallas shook. "It's good to see you two again."
"Your home is lovely," Patience said.
"Thank you. Would you care for something to drink? A soda or a beer? Something stronger, perhaps?"
"Actually, this isn't a social call, Mal. We just came from that southwest section of property you're planning to buy. Kind of got my curiosity working. I thought maybe you wouldn't mind answering a couple of questions about what's going on up there."
"What do you mean?"
"I was wondering if you might have been doing a little prospecting up there. Black gold, though, not the twenty-four-carat kind. I thought maybe you were using some explosives, doing some seismology work? If you were, you were trespassing."
Mal wandered over to his desk. A fancy silver pen and pencil set rested on a dark green felt blotter in front of a black leather chair. Mal straightened a sheet of paper lying on the blotter, setting it on top of the neat pile on the corner of his desk.
He turned back to Dallas and Patience, gave them an indulgent smile. "All right. The truth is, I've always thought there might be oil in that section. After Charlie agreed to sell, I got eager. Knowing he was a man of his word, I hired a seismology company to do a little preliminary work. I didn't figure Charlie would mind. Are you telling me he does?"
He couldn't say that. Charlie wouldn't give a damn what Sully did. Once he had promised to sell, he would consider that the property belonged to Mal.
"The question is, are you sure you did this after Charlie agreed to sell? You weren't over there before you made your deal?"
Sullivan's features subtly shifted. His friendly smile slid away and a guarded expression appeared. "Of, course, I'm sure. I've offered to buy that land maybe half a dozen times over the years. Charlie always said no. Why would I bother to spend money on land I never really figured to own?"
"You wouldn't," Dallas agreed, the notion in the back of his head growing stronger by the minute. "Not unless you knew that sooner or later Charlie would be forced to sell."
Sullivan straightened. "How could I possibly know that?"
Next to him, Patience's eyes swung to his as she realized where the conversation was headed. He had only just realized it himself, though he should have guessed the instant he suspected that Sully was after the oil. But he had known Mal Sullivan since he was a boy and he had always liked him, considered him a good, decent man.
"You couldn't have known," Dallas said. "Not unless you were the one responsible for the accidents Charlie's been having."
Sullivan's mouth went thin. "What are you talking about? That's insane."
"Is it? Those accidents have forced my uncle to close down his rodeo company, which cost him thousands of dollars in revenue. They managed to get him involved in a very expensive lawsuit. Then there was the wrecked trailer that killed his horses, the terrible fire in the horse barns, the attempts on Patience's life-oh, and of course there was the cattle rustling, which cost him money, worry, and time."
"You're talking crazy. My cattle were stolen, too."
"Damn straight. A stroke of brilliance, that. All in all, Charlie's troubles drove him out of business and nearly broke him. He was in the process of putting a second mortgage on the ranch when you came along-just in the nick of time-with an offer to buy up his land."
"That is ridiculous. I refuse to stand here and let you continue to make these wild accusations. All I did was take advantage of Charlie's unfortunate circumstances. I thought buying that land would be doing both of us a favor."
The edge of Dallas's mouth barely curved. "Well, Sullivan, maybe you were doing him a favor and maybe you weren't." He flicked a glance at Patience, who looked a little pale, and wished he had left her at the ranch. At the time he hadn't realized the danger she had been facing might live just a few miles away.
"In the last couple of days I did a little checking," Dallas said. "You need money, Sully, and you need it bad. The stock market's down. You've got ex-wife troubles and a couple of spoiled kids you're supporting. Desperate men take desperate measures. That's the reason you trespassed on Circle C land and it's the reason you hired someone to cause Charlie all that trouble. And once he knows the truth, he isn't gonna sell you that land."
"What!"
"You heard me. You can forget it, Sullivan. You should have been straight with Charlie from the start. You should have told him the truth, made some kind of business arrangement, but you were too greedy. Now all you're gonna get is nothing at all." Dallas reached for Patience, slid an arm protectively around her waist. "Come on. We're getting out of here."
They started walking away when he heard a noise behind them from a door leading in from the hall.
"You aren't going anywhere, Dallas. You, either, lady."
Dallas knew that voice. He was only mildly surprised when he turned to see Bradford Sullivan step into the study, lean and blond, with a GQ haircut and expensive alligator shoes.
"Dallas, he's got a gun," Patience said, which actually did surprise him, though it probably shouldn't have, and suddenly all of the pieces fell together. As each one clicked into place, a chill slipped down his spine.
"So it was you, not your father."
Brad flicked the older Sullivan a disdainful glance. "He wouldn't have the nerve."
"But he knew what you were doing," Patience said.
"Suspected, maybe. I told him Charlie was having financial trouble. I said there was a good chance he was going to need money. Dad didn't know about Hatch. He didn't want to know. All he wanted was to get his hands on that land."
Patience shifted a little closer to Dallas's side and he cursed himself for bringing her along, for inadvertently putting her in danger.
"Hatch," she said, her eyes fixed on Brad. "That's the man you hired to set the fire? The man who tried to kill me?"
Sully looked stricken, his face gone deathly pale. "My, God, Brad-what have you done?"
"I did what I had to."
"I thought...I worried you might have had something to do with stealing those cows. I figured you needed the money. I heard about that awful fire. Surely you aren't responsible for that?"
"I told you-I did what I had to. Now, you just keep your mouth shut and let me take it from here."
The floor creaked. Dallas turned as another man stepped into the study and quietly closed the door.
"That's good advice, Sullivan," the man said to Mal. "I'd advise you to take it." Square face, solid jaw, features harsh and intense. Dallas knew in an instant it was the man in the composite sketch Patience had drawn.
"You're him," she said. "You're the man who tried to kill me."
He smiled but there was ice in his eyes. He reached over and took the heavy automatic from Brad Sullivan's hand, but his hard gaze remained on Patience. "You were the fly in the ointment. After you went to the cops, I figured I might as well let you go, but it never set well with me. I don't like leaving loose ends. Now we can remedy that."
The knot in Dallas's stomach twisted even tighter. "Don't be a fool, Hatch. You can't just kill us. Charlie knows we were on our way over here. If we don't come back, he'll come looking for us." That was a lie, but the men didn't know it.
"Maybe you were on your way," Brad said. "Unfortunately, you never got here. Cattle rustlers in these parts, you know. They've always been a dangerous bunch."
Patience stiffened. She looked more mad than frightened. "You think you've got this all figured out, don't you? Well, you're not as smart as you think you are. Dallas phoned the sheriff before we left the ranch. He's on his way here right now."
Sully just stood there, looking dazed and disbelieving. Brad's features tightened. He tossed a questioning look at Hatch, who gave Patience a wolfish smile.
"I like your style, lady. Too bad we won't have time to get to know each other a little better." The smile slid away. "She's bluffing," he said to Brad. "Let's get this over with."
Brad just nodded. "We'll take them up to the southwest section, use the truck we used before. The tire marks will match the ones from the cattle rustling. It'll look like they stumbled onto thieves and wound up getting killed."
Dallas's hand balled into a fist. He had never liked Brad Sullivan. Still, he never would have suspected Mal's son was capable of murder. Brad left to get the truck, then Hatch motioned for them to leave a few minutes later and they all filed out, the gunman behind Dallas, the pistol pressing into his ribs.
As they walked down the hall, adrenaline poured through him, his senses on alert for the chance to make his move. Rosa was in the back room, but shouting for her to call the police would likely end up getting all of them killed. Better to wait, bide his time, look for an opening.
He was bigger than Brad and in way better condition, but Hatch was lean and solidly built and about his same height. Brad wouldn't be a problem but Hatch was the man with the gun.
Dallas felt the barrel nudge his ribs as the gunman urged him and Patience out the front door. He took a quick look around, but the ranch hands were all off working or somewhere in the barn out in back. The truck, a big enclosed flatbed with a ramp at the back for loading cattle, sat idling in front of the house.
"Keep your mouth shut or I'll shoot the girl right here," Hatch warned.
Dallas clenched his jaw. Easy, he told himself. Take your time and look for the opening.
As they climbed up into the cab, he bent his head and whispered to Patience, "Keep your eyes open and be ready."
He caught the spark that flashed in her eyes and saw her jaw firm with purpose. "I'll be ready."
"Get in the truck and shut the hell up!" Hatch jammed the gun hard into his ribs, then climbed up beside him, cramming them all together on the front seat, then slamming the door. Brad drove the vehicle away from the house, off down a narrow, little-used dirt road leading up to the portion of the Broken Arrow that bordered the southwest section of the Circle C.
As they drove along the rutted lane, Dallas thought of Patience and how much he loved her. He vowed that no matter what it took, he was going to get her out of there alive.
Patience sat tensely on the seat of the noisy diesel truck, Brad Sullivan's arm brushing against her each time he shifted gears.
On the opposite side, Dallas's heavily muscled shoulder nudged her slimmer one and she could feel the coiled tension vibrating through his body. Perhaps that was the reason she wasn't more frightened. Sullivan and his hired gun meant to kill them. She and Dallas were both determined that wasn't going to happen.
She ran over some of their options as the truck bounced along. If they made any kind of move inside the cab, Hatch would pull the trigger before Dallas could disarm him. Better to wait, look for the best possible moment.
Patience glanced out the window of the truck. The Double Arrow Ranch was more open than the Circle C, with fewer trees and more rolling hills. But it wasn't nearly as arid or as stratified as the southwest section where Sullivan believed he'd find oil.
Perhaps it was there, she thought, but drilling any sort of well was risky and only a handful of wildcatters succeeded. Then again, maybe Brad Sullivan wanted more than money. Maybe he wanted to prove himself, gain independence from a father who had controlled his life far too long.
Whatever his reason, even murder didn't seem to be out of the question.
The truck pulled to a stop in the area where she and Dallas had first found the filled-in holes where the dynamite had been set off. Patience's pulse kicked up, every one of her senses screaming with tension. The clock was running. They had to act soon.
One glance at Dallas and she knew he was thinking the same thing. He reached for her hand as he helped her down from the truck and gave it a purposeful squeeze.
Hatch waved the gun in their direction. "You two start walking. Head over toward that ridge."
Dallas didn't move. "I think maybe we ought to talk this over, see if we can't reach some kind of compromise. Where money's involved, that's always the smart thing to do."
He kept his gaze fixed on the two men and as he spoke, Patience edged away from him, moving a little closer to Brad, who stood beside Hatch. An inch at a time, she eased a little behind him.
Brad shook his head, a smug look on his face. "We don't have anything to talk about, Kingman. You saw to that when you threatened to blow the deal."
Dallas took an unconscious step, one hand fisted, and Hatch raised the pistol, the big black automatic glinting in the hot Texas sun. "I said, start walking."
It was now or never. Flicking Dallas a glance she prayed he would understand, she took a huge leap forward, hurling her body toward Brad, knocking him into the gunman, whose arm flew up as he pulled the trigger. The sound echoed over the valley, followed by the sound of a fist connecting with bone, Dallas throwing a punch that smashed into Hatch's jaw.
Dallas grabbed the wrist gripping the pistol and they started to struggle for control. On the ground beneath her, Brad fought to shove Patience off him, but she drew back and shot her fist into his face. His nose made a cracking sound and blood spurted out of his nostrils.
"You little bitch!" He finally tossed her off him into the dirt, then captured her wrists to avoid the nails she tried to rake down his face. He pressed her into the ground and Patience bucked beneath him, at the same time bringing her knee up sharply between his legs.
"Shit!" Brad's face leached to the color of sand and he rolled off her into the dirt. Bent double, he clutched his privates as he gagged and tried not to vomit.
Trembling all over, terrified for Dallas, Patience bolted to her feet and began to frantically search the ground for some kind of a weapon. A few feet away, the two men wrestled in the dirt, first one on top and then the other, trying to gain control of the gun.
The pistol fired. Once, twice. Lying in the sand a few feet away, Sullivan made a strangled sound and blood erupted on the back of his custom tailored shirt. Dallas punched Hatch in the jaw and the pistol went flying, landing on the ground, then skidding into the dry shrubs and weeds.
Patience ran after it. By the time she picked it up and whirled to aim it at the gunman, Hatch lay unconscious in the dirt. Dallas staggered to his feet, breathing hard, his hat long gone, blood smeared over his western shirt, the snaps ripped open, the tail hanging out of his jeans. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.
Patience ran toward him. "Dallas!" She threw herself into his arms and he crushed her against him. "How...how badly are you hurt? You aren't...aren't shot or anything?" She fought to control the shudders ripping through her body and they finally began to subside.
"I'm fine." Dallas reached down and gently removed the gun from her trembling hand. "How about you? You okay?"
She dragged in a steadying breath. "I'm okay. You're the one who's bleeding." She reached down and caught the tail of his shirt, used it to dab the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Take a look in the truck," Dallas said. "See if there's something we can use to tie these guys up with."
"Hatch shot Brad. I don't know how badly he's hurt."
Dallas turned in that direction, saw Brad lying face-down in the sand and the blood on the back of his shirt. "You get the rope. I'll see what I can do for Brad."