Chapter
Eight
The plane’s shadow raced across the limitless
expanse of grass that marked the plains of eastern Montana. From
the cabin’s porthole window, Laura looked down on the landscape
below, devoid of any signs of human habitation. The plane’s
altitude increased the land’s appearance of flatness. But Laura
knew the way it rolled and dipped, sometimes smoothly like a calm
grass sea and at other times roughly like an angry
one.
She hadn’t needed a visible boundary to
know the minute the private jet had entered the skies above the
Calder range. She had known it instinctively, without the need for
an obvious landmark. Laura decided it was something that came from
being born a Calder.
It was that same instinct that caused
her to scan the stretch of land to the southwest. Her search was
rewarded with the sighting of a large collection of buildings that
seemed to spring out of nowhere. A stranger would have mistaken it
for a town, but Laura knew she was looking at the headquarters of
the Triple C Ranch
In many respects the headquarters
resembled a small town, complete with housing for the hired help
and their families; a commissary stocked with food staples,
hardware, work clothes, video rentals, and other sundry items; a
central mail pick-up and drop-off; a gas station; a fire station;
and a fully equipped first-aid station. There was even a cook-shack
that could be loosely considered a restaurant.
The Triple C was more than forty miles
from the nearest town and nearly two hundred miles from anything
that resembled a city. Which made it essential for the ranch to be
as self-sufficient as possible. It had become such a part of her
life that Laura took it for granted, even as she identified each
individual building.
But her gaze fastened on the massive,
two-story house that towered over all the others, the white of its
exterior walls making it stand out against the spring green of the
grass. It had long ago been dubbed The Homestead, a name that
conjured up images of something rustic and old. The Homestead might
be old, but there was nothing rustic about it. It stood tall and
proud, a gleaming white jewel atop the knoll.
The door to the cockpit opened, pulling
Laura’s attention away from the window. The copilot stepped into
the opening, flicked a glance at the dozing, jet-legged Tara and
directed his gaze at Laura.
“Let Mrs. Calder know that we’ll be
landing shortly.”
“Of course,” Laura
replied.
When he disappeared back inside the
cockpit, Laura reached across the aisle of the private jet and
nudged Tara’s arm. She stirred, then sent a slightly groggy look at
Laura. “Are we there?”
“Almost.”
Tara sat up and gently pressed her
fingers to her eyes as if to force the sleep from them. But she
didn’t do anything so indelicate as to rub them and risk smearing
her makeup. Lowering her hands, she lifted her head and
automatically gave her seat belt a tightening tug.
“What a shame we didn’t spend a few
days in New York to break up this long flight,” Tara declared on a
sigh.
“If we had, I wouldn’t have made it
back in time for Quint’s party,” Laura reminded her as she listened
with half an ear to the grinding whirr of the landing gear being
lowered.
“Quint’s party is the reason you cut our trip short, isn’t it?” Tara’s
questioning look held concern and uncertainty.
“Of course.” There was the thud of the
landing gear locking into position.
“I wondered,” Tara admitted. “I thought
your sudden decision might have had something to do with the
information Max found out about Sebastian.”
Looking amused, Laura eyed her askance.
“You aren’t really suggesting that I ran from the scene with a
broken heart, are you? Honestly, Tara, can you imagine me doing
that?”
“Not really, but you did seem quite
fond of him.”
“I was. He was easily the sexiest guy
I’ve ever met, and, truthfully, I was looking forward to seeing
more of him. But finding out he is a fortune hunter was more a blow
to my ego than to my heart,” Laura insisted
“Naturally,” Tara agreed. “And you’re
much better off with Boone. The man has it all—money, power,
position, and good looks.”
“True.” Through the cabin window, Laura
watched the land rushing up to meet them, each blade of grass
becoming discernible. “I imagine Boone’s in Texas by
now.”
“If Max has anything to say about
it—and he will—you’ll hear from Boone again. And fairly soon, I
suspect.”
The jolting thud of the wheels making
contact with the runway stopped further conversation. Which was
just as well. Laura’s thoughts were on Sebastian, not
Boone.
She couldn’t help wondering if the day
might come when she would run into him again. The possibility was
enough to resurrect that familiar flutter of excitement. Instead of
being upset that the mere thought of him could arouse her, Laura
accepted it.
Distance was what she had needed to
acquire the proper perspective on the situation. Just as she
accepted that nothing permanent could ever come of the attraction
she felt for the man, that didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge that
attraction, in the event of some future chance encounter. It was an
attitude that seemed both worldly and wise, and one Laura felt
comfortable wearing. In a way it was like an armor to protect her
from further hurt.
The plane taxied to a halt on the
hangar apron. As Laura unbuckled her seat belt, Tara relapsed an
attention-getting sigh. “Laura, darling, if you don’t mind, I’ll
say my good-byes now. There’s really no reason for me to get off
here, since we’ll be flying on to my private airstrip at Wolf
Meadow as soon as your luggage is unloaded. Give my regards to your
mother and Chase, will you?”
“Of course.” Laura crossed the aisle to
Tara’s seat and bent down to air-kiss her cheek. “Thank you for an
absolutely glorious trip.” She straightened. “Talk to you
soon.”
When Laura stepped from the plane into
the bright afternoon sunlight, there waiting on the tarmac was her
boy-slim mother, Jessy Calder, dressed as usual in boots, Levis,
and a cowboy hat. The crisp white blouse she wore was the only
thing that set her apart from a working ranch hand. Chase Calder,
Laura’s grandfather and the family patriarch, stood next to Jessy,
gray-haired and stooped, without the rock-hard muscles that once
covered his big frame—as evidenced by how heavily he leaned on his
cane.
Jessy welcomed Laura with open arms and
a deep-shining look of love. Even though they had little else in
common, the love of a mother for her child and a child for her
mother linked them together.
After an exchange of hugs, Jessy
stepped back to take a good look at this grown daughter of hers.
“We’ve missed you.” In a purely motherly gesture, she brushed the
loose blond hair from Laura’s face. “You’ve been gone a long
time.”
“No longer than when I was off at
college.” Laura chided affectionately and turned to give her
grandfather a big hug.
“It’s about time you came back.” His
wide smile negated the gruff reproach in his voice. “Maybe now I
can stop worrying about you.”
“You know you don’t have to worry about
me, Gramps.” She planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a smear of
lipstick behind. “I’m a Calder.”
“Don’t you forget it, either,” Chase
Calder admonished, his eyes atwinkle with pride.
A movement in her side vision caught
Laura’s attention. Laredo Smith was standing next to the Suburban’s
rear fender, his boyish features belying his fifty-odd years. For
almost as long as Laura could remember, the long, lanky cowboy had
been a fixture at the Triple C. There was a story that Laredo had
saved her grandfather’s life when Laura was a small child, but that
was something people rarely talked about, making it another part of
the Calder legend.
But Laredo had always been something of
a mystery. Nobody seemed to know for sure where he was from,
whether he had family somewhere, or even if Laredo Smith was his
real name. Laura had asked often enough but never received adequate
answers, certainly not from Laredo. Yet there was never any doubt
about the absolute and unqualified trust placed in him by both her
mother and grandfather.
“I should have known you would be
somewhere close by, Laredo,” Laura said, his presence reminding her
that even though he lived in an old line shack in the far western
corner of the ranch, he was always at the Triple C headquarters, in
the vicinity of either her mother or grandfather. She had long
suspected, ever since her early teens, that her mother and Laredo
were secretly lovers, mostly from the tender way they sometimes
looked at each other. But if they were, they were unfailingly
discreet.
“I see the world traveler has finally
come home,” Laredo remarked, leisurely moving to join the
threesome.
“I don’t think Europe exactly qualifies
as the world,” Laura chided.
“Maybe not,” Laredo
conceded.
“Where’s Trey?” Laura made a quick scan
of the hangar area, but saw no one other than the two men who
manned the private airstrip, serving as mechanics, ground crew,
and, at the moment, baggage handlers as they unloaded her luggage
from the plane’s hold. “I thought he’d be here.”
“He would have,” Jessy assured her.
“But some truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and plowed up a
large stretch of the boundary fence along the highway early this
morning. You know how cattle are. The minute they discovered the
downed fence, they had to find out what the grass tasted like on
the other side. When Logan called to alert us we had cattle out, he
said it looked like there might be close to fifty head scattered up
and down the highway. I sent Trey and a bunch of the boys to round
’em up and get the fence back up. They haven’t returned yet, so
they must be still at it.”
If Laura had needed a reminder that the
Triple C, for all its immense size, was essentially a working
ranch, with cattle representing its livelihood, she had just gotten
it. On a priority list, her return hardly held the importance of
nearly fifty head of cattle straying off the range.
She put aside her disappointment at
Trey’s absence and asked instead, “Was the driver all
right?”
“He was pretty shook up but otherwise
okay,” Laredo answered. “The same can’t be said for his truck. The
tractor got banged up good.”
Scowling, Chase peered at something
beyond her. “Is all that your luggage, or is some of it
Tara’s?”
Laura threw a glance over her shoulder.
“It’s mine.”
Laredo looked at her sideways,
amusement lurking in his eyes. “Am I mistaken, or are you coming
home with more bags than you took?”
“One or two. After all, I had to buy
presents for everyone.” Laura didn’t bother to mention the new
wardrobe that filled two of the suitcases. Her mother, who had no
interest in clothes, high-fashion or otherwise, never would have
understood why Laura thought she needed so many. And Laura had long
ago given up trying to explain.
“It might take two trips to get all of
that down to The Homestead,” Laredo murmured, more to himself than
to them.
“By the way, Tara asked me to give you
her regards.” The minute she mentioned Tara’s name, Laura could
almost feel the temperature dip. It was a reaction that confirmed
what she already knew—that her family had no liking for the woman.
Her presence in their lives was something they tolerated, mostly
for Laura’s sake.
“Is she staying here in Montana or
flying home to Fort Worth?” Chase asked, with no great interest in
the answer.
“She’ll be staying here at Dunshill.”
Dunshill was the name Tara had long ago given to her summer home,
but Laura found she couldn’t say it without thinking of
Sebastian.
The arrival of the men with her luggage
briefly sidetracked the conversation. With Laredo’s help, the two
men were busy trying to figure out how to fit it all in the back of
the Suburban while the others looked on.
After a moment, Jessy glanced at Laura
and asked, almost as an afterthought. “So how was your trip? Did
you have a good time?”
“I had a marvelous time,” Laura stated
without reservation. “I could bore you endlessly with stories about
the places we went and the things we did. But right now I want to
hear all about the welcome-home party you’re throwing for
Quint.”
Fluffy white seed-tufts from the
cottonwoods growing along the river’s edge drifted in the air like
so much confetti as Mother Nature added her own touch to the
festive atmosphere. Pennants streamed from the freshly painted
gazebo, along with a banner celebrating Quint’s return
home.
It was a party attended by all the
ranch hands and their families as well as a few neighbors. The
large turnout showed the high regard they had for this Calder-born
son whom they had dubbed “Little Man” as a boy.
As always, there was more food than
could be eaten, though an effort had been made to do just that. A
few people were still grazing at the dessert table. But for the
most part, the eating was done and the socializing had begun,
filling the air with the sound of talk and laughter, the strumming
of instruments from those musically inclined, and the shrieks of
children at play or splashing in the shallow water at river’s
edge.
Chase was comfortably settled in a lawn
chair, letting the sun warm his bones, his cane hooked over the
armrest and a cup of cold beer from one of the kegs in his hand. At
the moment his attention was on his daughter Cathleen, better known
as Cat. With her petite frame, green eyes, and black hair that had
yet to show any streaks of gray, Cat was the spitting image of his
first and much loved wife, Maggie. Chase had never been able to
look at Cat without seeing the resemblance. But today it wasn’t the
remnants of past grief that brought shadows to his
eyes.
When he noticed his son-in-law, Logan
Echohawk, wandering by, Chase called him over and motioned for him
to pull up an empty chair. Logan dragged the chair closer and sat
down, giving his hat a push to the back of his head and showing
Chase a profile marked by high, hard cheekbones and a strong,
straight nose that spoke of his Sioux ancestry.
“Heck of a party,” Logan remarked and
hooked one leg across the knee of the other, idly giving the hem of
his jeans, which he wore in place of his sheriff’s uniform, a
tug.
Chase chose not to comment and demanded
instead, “Cat’s lost weight, hasn’t she?”
Logan’s gray eyes flicked a glance in
his wife’s direction, a shadow of worry briefly darkening them.
“She’s taken this hard. It doesn’t seem to matter that Quint’s
wound was never life-threatening.”
Chase nodded in understanding. “Cat’s
always had a tremendous capacity for emotion, the kind that runs to
the extreme, seldom settling for anything in between.”
“I always knew she was against Quint
going into law enforcement, but I thought it was mostly because she
didn’t want him to live somewhere far away.”
“There was more to it than
that.”
“Yeah.” Logan didn’t need it spelled
out, either. “I’ve decided not to seek reelection when my term as
sheriff is up. There’s enough work on the ranch to keep me
busy.”
“That’s probably a good idea. At least
she won’t have to worry about something happening to
you.”
“That’s what I thought.” With Cat being
the subject of discussion, it was automatic that Logan would watch
her. He saw the idle glance she sent in the direction of the
gazebo, and the second look she took before she began to scan the
crowd in a slightly frantic way.
In seconds she was hurrying over to
him. “Have you seen Quint around?” She attempted to inject a
curious interest in her question without completely succeeding. “I
don’t see him anywhere.”
“I just saw him a couple minutes ago
with Trey,” Chase answered. “They were headed toward the barn—I
imagine to use the facilities.”
“He didn’t walk all that way on his
crutches, did he?” Cat protested, throwing a look in the direction
of the century-old, big-timbered barn, as if Quint might still be
in sight. “He should have said something to me. I could have driven
him up there.”
“The walk won’t hurt him,” Logan
assured her.
Temper snapped in her green eyes. “I
don’t think you realize how weak he is. He’s only been out of the
hospital two days.”
“Actually, it’s been three,” Logan
corrected.
“Two, three, it doesn’t matter,” Cat
declared impatiently. “He’s still weak. You can sit there if you
want, but I’m going to see if he needs any help.”
She had that angry, determined look
that Chase recognized well. “No, you’re not,” he barked, startling
her to a stop. “Quint’s a grown man—too old for you to be barging
into the men’s room to wipe whatever needs wiping.”
“Just the same,” Cat began in
protest.
Logan spoke up, “I’ll go check on him,
just to be on the safe side.”
As Logan got up to leave, Chase locked
his gaze on his daughter. “You can stay here with me.” Cat glared
at him for a rebellious moment, then sat down on the very edge of
the lawn chair, her body straining forward in its desire to go with
Logan. “You do know, Cat, that there is a difference between mother
love and smother love,” Chase said in warning.
She flashed him an impatient look. “I
can’t help it, Dad—”
“You’d better.” His voice had the ring
of command and the experience of his eighty-odd years.
As Logan drew level with an end corner
of the barn, he noticed a dark green Suburban coming toward him. He
was quick to recognize the vehicle as the one Jessy usually drove.
The sun glare on the windshield made it impossible for him to see
the driver until the vehicle made a right turn toward the front of
the barn. That’s when he saw it was Laura behind the
wheel.
Logan didn’t think much about it other
than to absently recall the sundress and flimsy sandals he’d
noticed her wearing earlier—reason enough for her to drive back and
forth to the picnic area rather than walking.
When he rounded the front corner of the
barn, he saw the Suburban parked in front of it, both doors on the
driver’s side standing open. Even though Trey had his back to him,
Logan had no difficulty recognizing the husky-shouldered,
narrow-hipped frame of Jessy’s tall son. Laura stood just beyond
him, partially obscured by Trey, who was busy stowing something in
the backseat.
That was when Logan caught a glimpse of
a bulky white cast. It didn’t require any great deductive powers to
realize that it was his son the two were helping into the backseat.
The thought of Cat’s reaction to this had Logan frowning when he
walked up. “What’s going on here?”
Laura gave him a laughing look.
“Really, Logan,” she said in mock reproach, “You’re a lawman. I
should think it would be obvious to you that Trey and I are
kidnapping the guest of honor.”
From his crosswise position in the
backseat, Quint looked at him, his eyes the same shade of gray as
Logan’s. “I just want a break from all the commotion and hoo-ha,
Dad. We’re gonna go somewhere quiet, grab a beer, and talk. Make it
right with Mom, will you?”
As a boy, Quint had never sought to be
the center of attention, and manhood hadn’t changed that about him.
Logan smiled in understanding and nodded. “It won’t be easy, but I
will.”
“Tell Aunt Cat that we’ll take good
care of him,” Laura said as she climbed into the driver’s
seat.
“You’d better, or she’ll have your
hide,” Logan countered.
Laura just laughed and turned the
ignition key. As the engine rumbled to life, Trey laid Quint’s
crutches on the floor of the backseat and closed the
door.
“We’ll have him home before dark,” Trey
promised, his voice had the same deep, commanding tone as his
grandfather’s. One look at those rugged, rawboned features and it
was impossible to mistake him for anyone other than a Calder. Those
features were like a tribal stamp.
Logan watched the three of them drive
off, just as he had done so often during their growing-up years.
There was a rightness to it.