by Janet Dailey
“My thought exactly,” Monte agreed.
The two men moved to the fence and stepped onto the lower rail for a better view of the animals in the lot. Dressed as they were—the banker in cowboy duds and Monte in khaki-colored jodhpurs, a white polo shirt, and an Aussie hat straight out of the Outback—the two men looked as out of place as a pair of pelicans in the desert. Jessy joined them.
“Starting them a bit young, aren’t you, Mrs. Calder?” Smiling, the banker nodded in the direction of the small boy proudly reining the horse toward them with no assistance from the adult rider seated behind him.
“You can never start them too young, Mr. Weatherford.” Her smile took nothing away from the sincerity of her words.
“That’s Trey, isn’t it?” Monte said.
“Yes. He insisted on coming with me this morning.” And Jessy had spent too little time with the children lately to refuse him.
“Is that your son?” the banker asked with more than passing interest.
“It is indeed,” Monte answered for her and climbed to the top of the fence to greet the boy. “Hello there, young Trey.”
“Hi.” Trey waved back.
Laredo took over the reins and maneuvered the horse close to the fence where the three waited. “Sorry, buddy. This is where you get off and I go back to work.”
“I have him.” Monte lifted Trey off the saddle and onto the fence as the first steer scrambled out of the next trailer. “Adam, I would like you to meet Master Chase Benteen Calder the Third, better known as Trey. Trey, this is Mr. Weatherford from Denver.”
“How’d ya do.” Unprompted, Trey stuck out his hand.
“How do you do, Trey.” Hiding a smile, the banker gravely shook hands with him. “I see you had a good, close look at the cattle. What do you think of them?”
“They ain’t the ropin’ kind,” Trey replied. “’Redo says they’re the stand-around-and-get-fat kind.”
Monte threw back his head, releasing a rich laugh. “Well, he is absolutely correct.”
“I know.” Trey turned to Jessy, once again all bright-eyed with excitement. “Did you see me, Mom?”
“I certainly did.”
“I did good, huh?” He worked his way down the fence to her.
“Very good.”
He heaved a big sigh. “Ridin’ is real thirsty work, Mom.”
“Why don’t you go get yourself a drink,” Jessy suggested. “There’s a jug of water in the truck.”
“Okay.” Trey wasted little time scrambling off the fence and racing for the pickup.
From his watching post by the trailers, Culley observed the Calder kid’s dash to the ranch pickup, but he was more interested in how cozy the boy had been with that Laredo character. Ever since Jessy mentioned she was going to let the Englishman run fat cattle in the lot and planned to hire the cowboy to help tend them, Culley had been making a regular swing past the feedlot. Two days ago he had spotted a cowboy making repairs to the fencing. This morning he had heard the rumble of the arriving cattle trucks long before they came into view.
Until he saw them with his own eyes, Culley had been having a hard time believing Jessy intended to let somebody else’s cattle on the place. It made no more sense to him than fixing up that old line shack had. And it made him wonder if that cowboy and his ma had something on her. It seemed possible when Culley remembered how rigidly furious Jessy had looked when she talked to the cowboy after the funeral. Somehow or other the cowboy had persuaded her to meet him the next morning at the old cemetery. Culley was willing to bet that it was after that meeting that Jessy decided to stash the pair at the old line shack.
He shifted his attention to the Englishman. Maybe it was just coincidence that shortly after the cowboy showed up, the Englishman began hauling cattle into the Triple C. Or maybe the cowboy and the Englishman were in cahoots. Whatever the case, something about this whole business smelled funny to Culley.
The brown horse snorted and turned a wary eye on the semi that pulled into the unloading area with another batch of cattle. Swinging his leg back over the saddle, Culley tucked his foot in the stirrup and gathered up the reins to ride over to get a closer look at them.
Just like the previous loads, the cattle were a mixed lot, mostly young and mostly all crossbreds. And, same as all the others, they were slick, a cowboy term for an animal without a brand, sporting only ear tags.
As Culley approached the semi’s tractor, the driver climbed down from the cab. He shot a look at Culley. “How long a wait am I gonna have before I can unload?”
“Not long.” Culley fastened his black eyes on the man. “Markham buy all these cattle?”
“Got me.” The driver shrugged his ignorance. “The manifest says they belong to the High Plains Corporation. That’s all I know.”
The name wasn’t a familiar one. Making no comment, Culley simply nodded and rode closer to the chute area where there was a bit of commotion going on.
The culprit was a big black calf that had decided it preferred the trailer over the feedlot. Its attempt to reverse directions had jammed up the ones behind it, much to the exasperation of the cursing cowboys attempting to prod the animal in the opposite direction. Personally Culley admired the animal for bucking the flow. In the end, the young steer lost its battle and trotted into the feedlot with the rest.
Even though the outcome was a foregone conclusion, Culley felt oddly saddened by it. He reined his horse away from the feedlot and threw a last glance, catching a glimpse of Jessy and the Englishman, but not the other man.
“Something’s not right,” he murmured to his horse. The trouble was he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.
Ordinarily he wouldn’t have given a damn about what Jessy did or why. But he couldn’t help wondering what Cat knew about this. With Calder in his grave, the Triple C now belonged to her as much, if not more, than it did to Jessy.
Monte leaned both arms on the top rail and surveyed the livestock in the yard with something of a proprietary air, then glanced at the banker standing some distance from them verifying the health certificates on the delivered cattle. He switched his attention to Jessy, flashing her an appreciative smile.
“It was very kind of you to invite Weatherford to lunch before he flies back to Denver. Thank you.”
Jessy shrugged off his thanks. “It would have been rude to let him leave on an empty stomach. That isn’t the way we do things on the Triple C.”
“And the ranch is, without question, famous for its hospitality,” Monte agreed and once again faced the feedlot. “The man on the chestnut, is he new? I don’t recall seeing him before.”
Her pulse skittered, making it obvious to Jessy that she would never get comfortable with this lying business. “You mean Laredo,” she said with forced evenness. “He’s going to be working here at the lot. You probably should meet him.”
When she issued a shrill, two-fingered whistle, heads turned in her direction, but she motioned to Laredo, summoning him to the fence. Only after he had turned his horse toward her did Jessy notice the way Monte stared at her in a marveling fashion.
“Astonishing,” he declared. “One day you must teach me how to whistle like that.”
“It isn’t all that difficult.” She shrugged off his comment, a little surprised that he would be impressed by something so insignificant.
Trey raced back to her side and scrambled to the top rail in time to greet Laredo when he rode up. “Hi, ’Redo. Can I ride your horse again?”
“Sorry, not this time,” Laredo replied. Although disappointed, Trey accepted his answer without protest. “What did you need?” he asked Jessy, a boyish openness to his expression.
“Laredo Smith, Monte Markham.” Jessy made the introduction without ceremony. “I thought the two of you should meet since the feedlot is your assignment,” she explained to Laredo.
“I guess that makes you the owner of this bunch.” Laredo flashed Monte a totally artless smile.
“Tec
hnically speaking, I only represent the owners,” Monte corrected.
“Brokered the deal for ’em, did ya?” Laredo observed and cast an assessing glance over the stock in the lot. He pushed the brim of his hat off his forehead, and said, “You’ll be turning a quick profit on this lot. They’re in good shape. I reckon they’ll fatten up easy.”
“There will be a profit as long as grain prices don’t rise.” But Monte showed no concern that they would. “Your name is Laredo. I expect you are from Texas?”
“Nope. I was born in New Mexico. Laredo is a handle I got stuck with a long time ago. I always figured it brightened up the Smith end of my name. It beats being called Smitty like my dad was, that’s for sure.” He paused a beat, then asked, “You ever been to Texas?”
“Texas, Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming—I have even been to your state of New Mexico to sample a bit of Santa Fe. Then I came to Montana and knew this big land under a big sky was the place for me.”
“Yup, it’s the kind of place that can give a man big ideas.” There was nothing in Laredo’s voice to suggest his observation was any more than an idle comment.
“I expect the first Calder would agree with you,” Monte replied.
“I’ll bet he would.” Laredo grinned. “I guess I’d better get back to my work.” He lifted his hat and set it back square on his head before gathering up the reins. “If you got any questions about these fellas, just look me up, Mr. Markham.”
“Thank you, I will,” Monte replied and watched him ride away. “Talkative chap, isn’t he?” he remarked to Jessy.
“No one has ever called Laredo a Silent Sam.” It seemed the safest reply to make considering that Jessy knew Laredo would be doing a lot more nosing around.
Morning’s dawn found Culley camped next to a rocky outcropping that provided both concealment and an unobstructed view of the Circle Six ranch yard. The kitchen light had come on about ten minutes ago. Culley figured it was likely Logan in there, making a pot of coffee.
Some mornings Logan had a cup first, and on others he went straight out to do the morning chores. Sometimes he left by the front door, and sometimes by the back. In Echohawk’s profession, routines could be a dangerous habit, and he was careful not to follow any.
Knowing this about the man, Culley settled back to wait. Within minutes the big draft horses in the corral nickered a greeting and trotted to the barn door. Cully hadn’t seen Logan cross the yard, which meant that he must have exited the house through the back door.
Most mornings Culley would have ridden down and given Logan a hand with the chores, but this wasn’t one of them. This morning he didn’t budge from his spot until Logan drove off in his patrol car nearly an hour later. Even then Culley didn’t ride directly to the house, but circled around to the rear, left his horse among some trees, and slipped quietly through the back door.
Cat was busy clearing the breakfast dishes from the table. Not at all surprised by his sudden appearance, she threw him a quick smile. “You just missed Logan. He left less than five minutes ago.”
“I heard him.” Culley lingered by the door, making a searching scan of the living room. “Isn’t Quint up yet?”
“He stayed up late last night so I decided to let him sleep in this morning.” She placed the dirty dishes in the sink and took a clean cup out of the cupboard. “Want some coffee?”
After a small hesitation, he nodded. “Sure.” He crossed to the counter and took the filled cup of coffee from her.
“I’ll bet you haven’t eaten this morning. How about some bacon and eggs?” Without waiting for an answer, Cat collected the items from the refrigerator and set about preparing them. Hovering close by, Culley watched in silence. “I haven’t seen much of you these last couple days.” Her sideways glance swept over him in idle curiosity. “What have you been up to?”
“Not much.”
But Cat noticed the way he avoided meeting her eyes. She turned the bacon in the skillet and stole another glance at him. Her uncle was a man who was never entirely comfortable within the confines of four walls, yet she had the impression that he was more on edge than usual.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked in a deliberately idle tone.
“Nope.”
Cat felt certain there was something on his mind, but she didn’t press the issue. He was a secretive man by nature, but she was the one person he trusted. Sooner or later he would tell her, but his approach to the subject was likely to be indirect.
“You been over to the Triple C lately?” he asked.
“No.” Everything inside her tightened up at the mere mention of the ranch. It was impossible for Cat to think of the ranch without thinking of her father. Everything about it reminded her of him.
“I didn’t figure you had,” Culley replied. “I guess it still hurts too much.”
“Every time I drive up to The Homestead, there is a part of me that still believes I’ll find Dad in the den sitting behind his desk. But here, I’m not reminded every single minute that he’s gone, not like Sally is.” Just talking about it brought all the pain back.
For a long minute, Culley said nothing, then he remarked, “Do you remember anything about a rancher from Texas by the name of Smith?”
“I don’t think so. Why?” She darted him a quick smile, grateful for the change of subject.
“No reason in particular.” His slim shoulders lifted in an indifferent shrug. “I heard Calder was supposed to be a friend of the family.”
“He could have been. But I don’t recall them.” She cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet and emptied it into the hot grease, then picked up the second egg. “That doesn’t mean anything, though. Dad knew a lot of people that I didn’t.”
“Jessy knows ’em.”
“Then the Smiths were probably somebody Dad met at a cattleman’s function. Ty and Jessy went to a lot of them with Dad.”
“I saw Jessy talkin’ to ’im at the funeral.”
“Did you?” Cat replied without any real interest.
“The next day she slipped off an’ met ’im at the old cemetery.”
“The old cemetery?” Cat frowned in confusion. “You mean where your parents are buried?”
“That one.” He nodded.
“Why would she meet him there?” She used the spatula to baste his eggs.
“Don’t know,” Culley replied.
“How curious,” Cat murmured and removed the bacon strips from the skillet, laying them on a paper towel to drain.
“They moved here.”
“Really.” A quick check confirmed that his eggs were done. She dished them up, retrieved the toast from the toaster, added the drained bacon and carried his plate to the table. “I guess they sold their place in Texas.”
“I reckon.” Culley pulled out a chair and sat down. “The old man must’a died. It’s just the mother and the son. He’s a man grown, though, about Jessy’s age.”
Cat poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat down at the table with him. “Where are they living? In Blue Moon?” It was only Culley’s interest in them that made Cat curious about a family she didn’t know.
“Nope. They’ve set up house in that old line shack up in the foothills.”
“You’re kidding,” she said in disbelief. “That old cabin has been empty for years.”
“Jessy paid ’im to fix it up,” Culley replied between bites of food.
“The family must have fallen on hard times,” Cat concluded, before her thoughts jumped to another track. “But if they needed a place to live, why would Jessy stick them way out there? The old Stanton place is empty, and so is the house at East camp. Good heavens, there isn’t even a road to that old shack. Although, I suppose she could have hired them to fix it up so it wouldn’t look like charity. They might have been too proud to accept otherwise. And goodness knows, the ranch doesn’t need extra hands at this time of year.”
“Well, the son’s on the Triple C payroll.”
“Naturally. You said Je
ssy hired him to fix the cabin.” Cat raised her cup to take a sip.
“Oh, he finished that.” Culley scooped the last bite of egg onto his fork. “Now he’s workin’ at the feedlot.”
“The feedlot?” Cat lowered her cup. “What is there for him to do at the lot? We haven’t fed cattle since—why, since Ty and Tara were still married.”
“He’s lookin’ after that English fella’s cows.”
“You mean Monte Markham? You must be mistaken.” Cat shook her head, convinced that Culley’s age was beginning to show.
“Nope. Saw the semis unloadin ’em with my own eyes two days ago. An’ it was Jessy herself who tole me she was leasin’ the lot to that Monte character, an’ he was going to pay her to look after ’em. It seemed peculiar to me. I can’t remember a time when a cow that didn’t carry the Triple C brand was allowed on the place. Now there’s a whole lot full of ’em. If Calder knew about it, he’d turn over in his grave.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Mighty good breakfast, Cat. But you always did know how to fix my eggs just the way I like ’em.”
Cat was too stunned by his previous statements for the compliment to register. She looked at him with dawning knowledge. “This is what you came here to tell me, isn’t it?”
Culley didn’t deny it. “That ranch is yours, too. Figured you ought’a know what’s goin’ on over there.”
“You’re right. Dad would never have agreed to it.” The longer she thought about it the more convinced Cat became.
“I figure somebody talked her into it.” He stood up and moved away from the table.
“Who?” The instant she asked the question, she guessed the answer. “The Smiths.”
“Could be,” he replied with a small restless movement of his narrow shoulders.
“Why, I wonder?” she murmured.
“Could be they got somethin’ to gain outa it.”
“But what?”
“I ain’t figured that out yet,” Culley admitted. “But it smells funny, don’t it?”
