Shifting Calder Wind

by Janet Dailey

  In the hush that followed, the portly Reverend Pattersby stepped forward, his voice lifting to intone, “Let us bow our heads in prayer.”

  There was a stirring of movement throughout the crowd as the men removed their hats and ran quick, combing fingers through their hair. Jessy threw a fast look at the stranger, catching a glimpse of sun-streaked brown hair, before she, too, bowed her head in an attitude of prayer.

  After the service, food and refreshments were served at the huge timbered barn located not far from the cemetery. Laredo joined the throng inside where a lavish spread awaited them, a series of strategically placed buffet tables groaning with food.

  Laredo sampled a few items and drifted among the guests, eavesdropping on conversations as people swapped stories about Chase Calder. He deliberately steered clear of the family, although he was careful to keep track of their whereabouts, especially the son’s widow.

  He hadn’t figured out what to make of this tall, slender woman. He covertly studied her again from a distance, taking in the classic purity of her strong, clean jawline and the prominent ridging of her cheekbones. Her long hair, the color of spun-dark caramel, was pulled back from her face, secured at the nape with a tortoiseshell clasp. She exuded a calm confidence and quiet strength that seemed a match for the job before her.

  But Laredo remained a little wary. With control of the ranch passing to her, she was the obvious one who stood to gain the most from Chase’s death. Yet from the snippets of information he had managed to glean, Chase had been grooming her for the position ever since his son’s death. Which would seem to indicate she had his full trust.

  Someone jostled him from behind. Laredo glanced back as a man said, “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  The man’s distinctly British accent briefly caught Laredo’s interest, out of place as it was among the western drawls around him. He encountered the dismissing flick of the man’s glance before he continued past him, providing Laredo with no more than a glimpse of a finely sculpted aquiline profile.

  Laredo nudged a cowboy in a black armband standing next to him. “Who’s the Englishman?” he asked curiously.

  The cowboy threw a glance at the man’s back. “That’s Markham. He bought the old Gilmore ranch last spring. His brother’s a baron or duke or something over in England.”

  Laredo nodded his thanks for the information and filed it away, not sure what it meant, if anything.

  Tired of the crush of people and convinced there would be little to gain by hanging around longer, Laredo slowly made his way to a rear exit.

  Emerging from the barn, he automatically glanced in the direction of the cemetery. Something white moved among the headstones not far from the blue canopy. He focused on the small dark-haired boy dressed in a white shirt and black dress pants, and recognized him at once as Chase’s grandson.

  A scan of the area revealed no adult in the vicinity. Unsure if the boy’s ultimate destination was the cemetery or the river just beyond it, Laredo hesitated only a split second before striking out for the cemetery. As he approached the grave site, he slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll.

  The boy stood beside the granite stone that marked the adjoining grave, the one inscribed MAGGIE—BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. Below that her full name was listed: MARY FRANCES ELIZABETH O’ROURKE CALDER followed by the dates of her birth and death.

  “Hello there.” Laredo pretended to just notice the boy. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

  The boy looked at him with suspicion. “Who are you?”

  He was a gangling kid, a little tall for his age. Despite the babyish softness of his face, he had the beginnings of Chase’s hard, square jaw and the snapping darkness of his eyes.

  “My friends call me Laredo.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head and crouched down to the boy’s level.

  “ ’Redo is a funny name.”

  “I suppose it is,” he conceded. “What’s your name?”

  “Trey.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Trey.” Laredo reached out to shake hands with him, adult to adult. The boy accepted the gesture with suitable gravity. “Trey is a good name.”

  “My grampa gave it to me.”

  Laredo slid a glance at the gleaming coffin. “I imagine you miss him a lot.”

  Anger flared in his eyes. “My grampa’s not dead. He’s in Texas.”

  “How do you know that?” Laredo asked, curious as to the source of this knowledge.

  “I just know.” It was an emphatic statement, but one made without any clear basis in fact.

  “I see.” Laredo nodded, careful not to inadvertently start an argument.

  Satisfied that his statement wasn’t being challenged, Trey pointed to the casket. “Quint says they’re gonna put that in the hole and cover it with dirt.”

  “Yes, but not for a while yet. Who’s Quint?” Laredo wondered idly.

  Trey frowned over the question. “He’s Quint.” Which clearly settled the matter in his mind.

  Dipping his head, Laredo hid a smile and nodded again. “Of course he is.”

  “When my birthday comes, I’m gonna get a horse of my own just like Quint.”

  “Quint has a horse, does he?”

  Trey bobbed his head in affirmation. “Her name’s Molly. Quint lets me ride her sometimes. She’s kinda slow though.”

  “What color is Molly?”

  “Brown,” he replied then cocked his head to the side. “Are brown horses always slow?”

  “Not always. What color horse do you want?”

  Trey lifted his shoulders high to his neck in an uncaring shrug. “Red—or maybe yellow like Dandy. My grampa said he’d find me a good one.”

  “Is that why he went to Texas?”

  Brightening visibly at the question, Trey gave him a wide-eyed look of new anticipation. “Maybe.”

  A searching call came from the barn area, the wind carrying it away from them. Laredo looked up and saw the widow poised in a stance of alertness. “Does your mom know where you are?”

  “No,” Trey replied with a glimmer of defiance.

  “I think she’s looking for you.” Straightening, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “He’s over here!” He waved his hat over his head until she started toward the cemetery. When he glanced at the boy, he noticed the glumness that pulled down the corners of his mouth. “Mothers worry a lot, don’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Trey agreed without enthusiasm.

  “I guess that’s their job.”

  “I guess,” Trey sighed the words and threw a glance over his shoulder to observe his mother’s approach.

  Laredo pretended not to notice the sharp study of her gaze when she joined them. At the last minute she glanced down to Trey. “I wondered where you went.”

  “I’m okay,” he muttered in response.

  “I didn’t know that, though.” She lifted her gaze to Laredo, a look of unspoken demand in her eyes. “I don’t believe we have met,” she challenged.

  “His name’s ’Redo,” Trey inserted, puffing up a little that he knew something she didn’t.

  “Laredo Smith.” Supplying the rest of it, Laredo touched a finger to his hat brim. “I guess I have the advantage because I know you’re Jessy Calder.”

  She didn’t respond in kind to his lazy smile. Neither was she cold or hostile, but rather regarded him with a steady calm. “How do you do.” She extended a hand with a forthrightness that had a hint of masculine ease in it.

  Her grip was firm and sure and brief, but the warm sensation of it lingered in his palm. “Trey was just telling me about the horse his grampa is going to buy for him.”

  An indulgent smile touched her wide lips when she glanced at her son. “Yes, he’s crazy about horses.”

  “I’m gonna be a cowboy,” Trey asserted importantly. “I got a lasso and everything. And I’m real good at catchin’ stuff with it. Aren’t I, Mom?”

  “You are definitely getting better.”

  “Can I go get m
y rope?” he asked hopefully, then made a slight face. “I don’t want’a go back in the barn.”

  “You can if you want, but you have to stay close to the barn,” she said and he took off at a run. “And don’t try to rope any of the horses in the corral,” she called in warning.

  “I imagine boys can be a handful at that age,” Laredo remarked when she turned back to him.

  “He’s easily bored,” she admitted.

  “I saw him down here by himself. With the river being so close by, I thought someone should keep an eye on him.”

  She seemed to appreciate the gesture. “That was kind of you, but O’Rourke is somewhere among the cottonwoods. He would have made sure Trey didn’t fall in the river.”

  Startled, Laredo made a quick scan of the tree-lined bank, observing the silhouette of a horse and rider that he had previously overlooked. “Who’s O’Rourke? One of your ranch hands?” His first thought was that she had someone standing guard.

  “No. He’s Maggie’s brother.” She tipped her head toward the gravestone of Chase’s late wife. “Whenever Cat is out and about, you can count on O’Rourke being somewhere close by—Laredo, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you from Texas?”

  “I’ve spent some time there,” he replied, deliberately noncommittal. “This is my first time in Montana. It’s a big, wide country. It reminds me a bit of Texas the way it rolls into forever. I can understand why everybody says the Triple C is prime cattle country.”

  “It is good land.” Automatically she let her glance sweep over the vast expanse of grass that stretched away from the river. Her expression softened with a mixture of pride and deep affection.

  “You love this land, don’t you,” Laredo observed.

  “It’s been my home my whole life. There isn’t an inch of it I haven’t ridden.”

  He found himself admiring this woman with her unusual combination of strength and easy calm. “I understand you are in charge of the Triple C now. A place this size, that has to be a bit daunting.”

  She looked him in the eye with a man’s directness. “You simply take each day as it comes and keep an eye on tomorrow. As long as you take care of the land, it will take care of you.”

  The statement had a profound ring to it. “Did Chase teach you that?” Laredo wondered.

  “That has always been the Calder way of doing things,” she replied, her gaze turning to a quiet probing. “Where did you meet Chase?”

  “In Texas.”

  “I don’t recall him ever mentioning your name,” she replied.

  Laredo smiled easily. “I don’t imagine there was ever a reason why he should.” Something in her body language warned him that she was about to bring the conversation to an end. With every instinct telling him to trust her, he took a calculated risk. “Are you absolutely certain Chase is dead?”

  “Why would you ask that?” she said, clearly surprised by his question.

  “What if I told you he wants to talk to you?”

  A cold anger flared in her eyes. Abruptly she swung away from him and struck out for the barn. In two strides, Laredo caught her arm and turned her back to face him.

  “Hear me out.”

  “Why should I?” she challenged hotly, showing a temper held under tight control. “If Chase Calder was alive, he would be here himself.”

  “Believe me, he has his reasons for staying away.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The muscles in her arm tensed as she made to pull away from him.

  “Did you see his body? Did anybody?” Laredo demanded.

  “No, it was . . .” She hesitated, the first flicker of doubt showing in her expression.

  “Burned beyond recognition,” he completed the sentence for her. “You, the police, everybody assumed the dead man was Chase.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her gaze narrowed on him, turning hard and cold. “What’s your game?”

  “It’s no game. Chase needs to talk to you. Alone. You pick the time and location, but it can’t be a place where he might be seen.”

  A corner of her mouth quirked in cold contempt. “You are a total stranger. You don’t really believe I would be foolish enough to meet you—alone—in some out-of-the-way spot, do you?”

  Laredo smiled in approval and let his hand fall away from her arm. “You’re wise to be cautious. Which tells me you’ll also be wise enough to pick a place that will be secure for both you and Chase.”

  “Is this a setup for a ransom demand? Have you kidnapped Chase?” Jessy demanded.

  “At least you are willing to concede Chase is alive.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Not yet, I haven’t,” she stated firmly. “I’m just trying to figure out your game.”

  “It’s no game. And to answer your question, if I had kidnapped Chase, I would have sent a ransom note or called. I wouldn’t show my face around here.”

  “Maybe not, but people have done stupid things before, Mr. Smith—if that’s really your name.”

  “It’s a little too common to be believable, isn’t it,” he agreed.

  “Tell me why I should trust you,” she challenged.

  “You shouldn’t. You should trust Chase. This is the way he wants it.”

  She studied him with a long, unwavering look while she mentally reviewed her options.

  “What kind of vehicle are you driving?”

  Jessy observed the sudden leap of wariness in his eyes. “A blue Ford pickup with Texas plates.”

  “I hope that’s the truth,” she said, “because tomorrow morning at exactly nine o’clock, I want to see a blue Ford pickup with Texas plates drive slowly past the east gate on the main highway. If I see Chase in the truck, ten minutes later I will leave a note on the gate telling you when and where I will meet you.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded in agreement. “We’ll be there at nine o’clock sharp. Just one more thing: Chase is trusting that you will not mention this conversation to anyone. And he means anyone.”

  “Why?” Jessy asked, unable to make sense of any of this.

  “I’ll let Chase explain it himself when he sees you. Till tomorrow.” Nodding, he touched his hat to her and moved away at an unhurried pace.

  Still troubled and doubtful, Jessy watched him a moment, noting that he seemed to be headed toward the rows of parked vehicles that crowded the ranch yard. Briefly she toyed with the idea of having one of the men follow this Laredo Smith when he left, but she suspected he would be watching for that.

  Approaching footsteps crunched across a section of gravel. Turning toward the sound, Jessy saw Monte coming toward her, a look of concern furrowing his forehead.

  “Where is Trey? Haven’t you found him yet?”

  “Yes. He went up to the house to fetch his rope.”

  His expression cleared. “I am relieved to hear he is no longer among the missing. You appeared to be in such deep conversation with that cowboy, I thought perhaps you were about to organize a search for Trey.”

  “Fortunately, no. He just wanted to talk to me about Chase,” she answered truthfully. “I’d better go talk to the governor before he has to leave.”

  As she started for the barn, Jessy threw a last glance after the mysterious Laredo Smith. He had the look of a cowboy and the rolling gait of one, but she remembered the grip of his hand. It hadn’t possessed the distinctive ridging of callus that went along with rope work. In her mind, a cowboy who couldn’t handle a rope wasn’t a cowboy.

  Laredo Smith raised more questions than he answered. Chief among them was why would he insist Chase was alive if he wasn’t?

  Chapter Five

  The two-lane highway was the only sign of civilization for miles in any direction. A lone pickup traveled over it while its shadow raced alongside. The morning sun’s strong rays poured into the truck’s passenger window, heating Chase’s shoulder and arm.

  But he was only distantly aware of the sun’s building warmth as he gazed out the window a
t the surrounding plains. There was deception in the land’s appearance of flatness, making it easy to overlook the lone buttes and wandering coulees. He waited to feel some tug of home, but other than experiencing an urge to ride across it, he felt no sense of belonging.

  Vaguely disgruntled, he glanced at Laredo. “How much farther is it?”

  “The gate is coming up on our left,” Laredo replied then checked his watch. “It’s five minutes till. We’ll go a couple more miles and turn around. It should put us there right on time.”

  Chase spotted a pair of tall posts with a sign suspended between them, marking the entrance. He was struck by the plainness of it.

  “Not very pretentious, is it,” Laredo remarked, as if reading his thoughts. “Nobody can accuse the Calders of being full of themselves.”

  “If the ranch is as big as you say, why shout about it? Everybody already knows it.”

  A wry smile tugged at Laredo’s mouth. “Judging from some of the tales I heard about you at the funeral yesterday, that sounds like something Chase Calder would say.”

  As they drove by the gate, Chase craned his head to look out the rear window and scan the dirt road leading up to the entrance gate. “It doesn’t look like anyone is there yet.”

  “Jessy Calder struck me as a cautious woman. My guess is she’ll pick a vantage point and watch from there. I don’t think she will show herself.”

  “The question is, how much can she be trusted? She could be on one of those hillocks looking through a rifle scope.” His tone was dryly grim.

  “If she is, that will make you literally a sitting target,” Laredo replied with a touch of black humor. “But you are going to need somebody on the inside, and the list of choices was slim.” He went over them again: “Your daughter is strong and a scrapper, but she tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve and, according to some, tends to be impulsive and hot-tempered. Her husband is the local sheriff and ex-treasury agent. As far as I’m concerned that is reason enough to eliminate him. He would want to turn it all into a legal investigation. From what I could gather, virtually all of your ranch hands were born on the place and are supposedly loyal to the core. But it seems you ran the ranch with a lone hand until your son died and you took Jessy into your confidence and began grooming her to take over. I think you made a good choice.” The road ahead of them was empty of traffic. Laredo slowed the truck and made a U-turn in the middle of the highway. “She’s savvy and cool-headed, able to think on her feet. She doesn’t rattle easy, that’s for sure. She definitely impressed me.”