Authors: Janet Dailey

Shifting Calder Wind (3 page)

BOOK: Shifting Calder Wind

4.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

“No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I can’t help wondering why you want to involve yourself in my problem.”

“Curiosity, pure and simple,” Laredo replied. “I can’t help wondering who you are. Besides,” he added in jest, “I saved your life. The way I figure it that makes me responsible for you.”

Hattie walked into the bedroom, saw Laredo sitting on the bed, and made a sharp pivot toward Duke. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Drinking coffee.”

“You can finish that in bed.” She plucked the mug from his hand and set it on the dresser top before he could raise an objection.

“I’ve laid in it long enough,” he protested.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hattie informed him. “And I say this afternoon you rest. Tonight you can have supper at the table with us.”

“Not me, Hattie,” Laredo inserted. “I won’t be here for supper.”

“You’re leaving, then?” Her expression became shuttered to conceal her disappointment at the news.

“Not permanently,” Laredo replied. “I’m going into Fort Worth and see if I can find anybody who remembers Duke.”

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she asked in all seriousness.

“I always am.” He matched her tone and look.

Chapter Two

L
ightning raced in jagged streaks from the black clouds. On the heels of it, thunder boomed and rolled across the plains of eastern Montana as the rain fell in sheets, driven by a whipping wind.

The patrol car’s windshield wipers worked at high speed, their rapid rhythm adding to the tension. Acting Sheriff Logan Echohawk gripped the steering wheel with both hands as the headlight beams struggled to penetrate the curtain of rain and the premature darkness beyond it. The high, hard slash of his cheekbones and the pitch-black color of his hair spoke to his Sioux ancestry, but it was the gray of his eyes and the expression in them that always drew a second look, usually a wary one.

Just in time he spotted the intersecting side road and slowed the patrol car to make the turn into the east entrance of the Calder ranch. A brilliant flash of lightning briefly illuminated the sign that hung over the road. Logan had only a glimpse of the letters that spelled out the name
CALDER CATTLE COMPANY
before he passed under it. It was an unprepossessing entrance for a ranch that encompassed nearly six hundred square miles within its boundaries, making it roughly the size of Rhode Island. From the east-gate entrance, it was a forty-mile drive to the ranch headquarters.

And Logan knew the drive would never seem longer than tonight. He wasn’t eager to get there, not with the news he had to bring them. It was a close-knit group that inhabited the Triple C Ranch, as it was better known. Most of the hands were descendants of cowboys who had worked for the ranch’s founder, Chase Benteen Calder, who had staked a claim to the land well over a hundred years ago.

The history of the ranch was long and legendary. Although relatively new to the area, Logan knew much of it. Over three years ago he had married Cat Calder, daughter to Chase Calder, a grandson and namesake of the ranch’s founder.

This last year had been a rough one for everyone on the ranch, but especially the family, who were still mourning the loss of the son and heir, Ty Calder. His death had been tragic and violent, and the motive for it was one that still made no sense to Logan. But the twisted logic of a killer rarely stood up to scrutiny.

Ty’s death had been a crushing blow to Chase; no man ever expected to outlive his children. But the heavier burden had fallen to Ty’s widow, Jessy. Not only did she have the difficult task of raising their three-year-old twins, Trey and Laura, by herself, but also the responsibility of running the Triple C would ultimately pass to her. No one doubted, however, that Jessy had the makings of an able leader. Born and raised on the Triple C, she could ride and rope with the best of them. Under Chase’s tutelage, she was rapidly learning to handle men as easily as she did cattle.

Lightning forked from the clouds in blinding tongues of light, briefly illuminating the vast expanse of treeless plains. A crash of thunder shook the air. Logan kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead of him. As violent as the storm was, he knew it was nothing like the one that was about to break over the Triple C. The news he was bringing was likely to shake the ranch to its very foundation.

At the Triple C headquarters, light blazed from the windows of the barns, sheds, commissary, and cottages that housed the hired help. More light pooled around the towering yard lights, its brightness dimmed by the slanted sheets of rain. In the darkness of the storm, the gleam from the multitude of ranch buildings gave the headquarters the appearance of a small town.

Dominating it all was The Homestead, an imposing two-story house, fronted by towering columns, that stood on a high knoll. Built on the site of the ranch’s original homestead, resulting in its name, the Calder family home had long been the heart of the ranch. From it, the ranch business was conducted just as it had been for over one hundred years.

Guests were few and far between in this empty corner of Montana where the nearest city was hundreds of miles away. But those who did drop by were always welcomed. Tonight was no exception.

Another booming clap of thunder rattled the windows in the den. Steeped in the ranch’s storied history, the room had become the traditional place to entertain guests.

John Montgomery Markham, brother to the Earl of Stanfield, stood at a front window, watching the jagged lightning bolts that streaked out of the dark clouds. Idly he took a sip of the iceless bourbon and water in his glass. Tall and athletically trim, he turned from the window with an easy grace.

His smile reached across the room to Jessy, who stood near the massive stone fireplace. “A fascinating display. I have heard a great deal about the ferocity of your summer thunderstorms. It far exceeds anything we get in England.”

“You’ll get used to them now that you have taken up residence in our part of the country,” Jessy replied, referring to his purchase of the Gilmore ranch four months ago, which made him the Triple C’s newest neighbor.

“I expect I will,” he conceded. “Still, it’s lucky I arrived when I did. I should hate to be driving in that.”

“It can definitely be dangerous, but these storms tend to be fast travelers. Fortunately the worst should be over soon.”

John Montgomery Markham, who preferred to be called Monte, was quick to catch her choice of adverbs. “Why ‘fortunately’?”

“Because we lose more cattle to lightning strikes than any other cause. In flat country like this, they stand out like lightning rods.”

“I hadn’t considered that possibility,” he admitted with typical frankness. “It seems each time I visit the Triple C I learn something new about raising cattle in the American West.”

His openness to new methods or ideas was just one of the many things Jessy had come to admire about their new neighbor. Another was his failure to adopt western attire since moving to Montana. No blue jeans, cowboy boots, or Stetson hat for him. Instead he opted for English riding boots, jodhpurs, and an Aussie hat. Monte Markham was English through and through, and proud of it.

Jessy ran her glance over his aquiline features, thinking, not for the first time, that they reminded her of a poet or a scholar. His brown hair had a touch of red in it, and his hazel eyes occasionally held the glint of his dry British wit. Like herself he was barely forty and single, in his case the result of a divorce several years ago.

It had been almost two years since Ty was killed, and the pain of that was just as strong. Ty had been her first love. There were times, especially at night, when she ached to feel the touch of his hand and the strength of his arms around her. She also knew it was natural that she would. She was a woman with the needs of a woman. What with the ranch to run and two children to raise, most of the time she successfully pushed them aside. Yet at odd moments they surfaced.

“There is always something to learn in the cattle business,” Jessy said.

“Indeed.” Monte lifted his drink in acknowledgement of the fact as another sharp clap of thunder shook the glass in the window frames.

“Mommy, tell the storm to be quiet. It’s being too noisy.” Three-year-old Laura sat with her legs folded under her in the big leather desk chair as she worked diligently at coloring the picture in her activity book, red crayon in hand.

“I’m afraid it won’t listen to me.” Jessy smiled at the little girl behind the desk, fair like her mother, but with more golden lights in her hair than were held by Jessy’s tawny shade.

Laura paused long enough in her coloring to release a dramatic sigh. “I wish Grampa was here. He’d tell those cowboys to chase the cattle away.”

“What cattle is that?” Monte switched his indulgent smile from Laura to Jessy. “I believe I missed something.”

“Chase told them that the cattle up in heaven stampeded and they were hearing the thunder of their hooves,” Jessy explained.

“And the lightning is their hooves on rocks,” Laura was quick to insert, then cocked her head to one side, gazing at him with her deep brown eyes. “Didn’t you know that?”

“I confess I was totally ignorant of the cause,” Monte declared in mock regret.

Laura’s eyebrows furrowed together in a perplexed frown. “What does ig’rant mean?”

“The word is ignorant,” Jessy corrected, enunciating it carefully. “And it means he doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Satisfied, she bent her head over the coloring book. “Grampa can tell you about it when he gets back.”

“I shall make a point to ask him,” Monte replied with a slight bow in the child’s direction. A series of whoops, clumps, and vocalized
bang-bangs
came from the living room. Monte arched an eyebrow. “I do believe a shootout is in progress.”

Jessy paused to listen. Long ago she had learned a mother’s trick of blocking out sounds of boisterous play, allowing only cries of pain or panic to filter through. “Trey and Quint,” she said, needlessly identifying her son and nephew. “I think the posse finally caught up with the outlaws.”

His mouth curved in an amused smile. “And who is the outlaw?”

“Trey, of course. Being a sheriff would be much too tame for him.”

Monte laughed as he was meant to do, ending with a mild shake of his head. “I don’t think you quite realize how very much I enjoy spending time here. I suspect I miss my own family. My brother and his wife have three very rowdy youngsters—older than yours, of course, and all boys, full of pranks and rough-and-tumble play. I find myself looking for an excuse to come here. I fear that I will ultimately wear my welcome thin.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Jessy said, dismissing the suggestion. “You will always be welcome at the Triple C.”

“And I promise that I will do my best not to take your hospitality for granted.”

His air of formality had a tongue-in-cheek quality to it that made it easier for Jessy to tolerate. She had always been a down-to-earth person, frequently speaking with a man’s bluntness.

She did so now. “To be honest, when I first met you, I assumed that if there was anyone in Montana you would want to spend time with it would be Tara.”

He feigned a shudder of distaste. “Please,” he dragged out the word in emphasis, “don’t tell me I made that poor of a first impression.”

It was so dryly said, with so many undertones of criticism of Tara that Jessy laughed warmly and richly. If nothing else, the fact that Monte shared her dislike of her late husband’s first wife was enough to endear him to her.

“It wasn’t anything you said or did,” Jessy assured him. “It was merely an assumption on my part.”

“Frankly, I don’t know if Tara is fascinated by my brother’s title or hopeful that I might introduce her to the current Earl of Stanfield.”

Laura sat back on her heels, bright-eyed with excitement. “Is Aunt Tara coming tonight?”

“No. She’s off on a trip somewhere.”
Thankfully,
Jessy added to herself.

“Is she in Texas with Grampa?”

“I don’t know where she went this time, honey,” Jessy replied, despairing that her daughter would ever get over her idolization of Ty’s first wife.

The corners of Laura’s mouth turned downward. “I want a red dress like this one.” She referred to the picture she was coloring. “If Aunt Tara was here, she’d get me one.”

“I don’t want to hear you asking Tara for one, Laura,” Jessy warned, mollified that maybe it was only the presents Tara showered on the twins that attracted Laura to the woman.

Suppressing a smile, Monte inquired, “How old did you say she is?”

“She will be four.”

“Ah, that explains it. She is nearly a woman grown.”

“And very particular about what she wears. Everything has to match.” Even worse, she loved dresses. Jessy blamed Tara for that. As a child, Jessy had been too much of a tomboy to ever want to wear a dress. Her daughter’s desire for anything and everything feminine was totally alien to her.

“Good news.” Cat sailed into the den, carrying a serving plate crowded with appetizers. “Sally says dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. With any luck, Logan will be here by then, but with this storm I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets called away to an accident scene.”

She offered the assortment of appetizers first to Monte, then to Jessy. Standing side by side, the two women were a study in contrasts. Cat, with her glistening black hair and green eyes, was petite and strikingly beautiful, gifted with a tremendous capacity for emotion, which she rarely concealed. On the other hand, the fair-haired and hazel-eyed Jessy was tall and boy-slim, projecting a steady calm and innate strength. It was rare that she ever revealed what was going on inside her head, whereas Cat was an open book.

“The two of you do understand that I am accepting this dinner invitation only on the condition that you come to my ranch on Sunday.” After a scant pause, Monte added, “Chase will be back by then, won’t he?”

Jessy nodded. “When I spoke to him yesterday, he said he planned to fly home on Friday.”

“Good.” He nodded decisively. “I am eager for him to see my new arrivals.”

“What new arrivals?” Cat asked.

“Your cattle arrived, then?” Jessy used the lift of her voice to turn the statement into a question.

BOOK: Shifting Calder Wind

4.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads