Mason held the telephone receiver away from his ear as John Cawthorne, swearing and yelling, told him seven ways to go to hell for buying out Brynnie’s portion of the land. Though it had been days since the old man had found out, he was still furious and had, apparently, had another fight with his bride-to-be over the situation.

“I don’t like anyone sneaking around my back, dealing with a woman, playing on her emotions. You’re a snake, Lafferty, and I’ll see your sorry backside in court, let me tell you.”

“Fine.”

“If you think I’m going to sell my part of the ranch, you’d better think again! And stay away from my daughter. You’re not going to use Bliss to get to me!”

A quiet anger stole through Mason’s blood. “I wouldn’t.”

“Sure. Like you wouldn’t use Brynnie! Hell, Lafferty, you’d sell your own mother if you thought it would bring you a little profit in the future!”

Mason’s jaw tightened and his knuckles showed white on the receiver at the mention of his mother’s name.

“You’re not going to pull a fast one on me, y’know,” Cawthorne was yammering.

“Just think about the deal, Cawthorne,” he said, managing to keep his voice calm though images of his mother, sad and old beyond her years, cut through his mind like razors. “That’s all that matters.”

“Like hell.” Cawthorne slammed down the receiver.

“Great. Just great.” Mason hung up and stood, stretching the tension out of the tight muscles of his back. Why the old man could get to him was a mystery.

Years ago, with Cawthorne standing in the rain, looming over him, offering him a deal for getting out of Bliss’s life, Mason had been blinded by pain and had silently sworn he’d get even one day. Now the day was at hand, but the sweet taste of revenge eluded him.

He glanced at his watch. Not quite five, and he’d had a hell of a day even without John Cawthorne’s verbal attack. Five cattle—three cows and two calves—had died of black leg on his ranch in Montana. The rest of the herd was quarantined, but there would still be losses—too many of them.

A foreman at the same ranch had fallen from the haymow, cracked three ribs and broken his ankle, and some neighboring rancher was screaming bloody murder about water rights. The neighbor had hired himself a local lawyer who had taken the case with a vengeance and was now threatening a lawsuit.

Then there was the matter of Patty. What had happened to her? It was strange that she’d quit calling him about the same time Isaac Wells had disappeared.