Shifting Calder Wind

by Janet Dailey

  “That’s impossible,” she retorted. “I have a ranch to run. I can’t hole up like Chase.”

  “You’d better, if you want to stay alive.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Jessy insisted impatiently.

  “Like hell you can. This guy doesn’t work close up, Jessy. He does his killing from long distance—with a rifle and a scope. Unless you have some dumb luck like Chase, you won’t even know what hit you.”

  The near savagery of his expression chilled her. “If you’re trying to scare me, you succeeded. Satisfied?”

  “Yes, I want you scared,” Laredo snapped as lightning lit the sky behind him. “If you’re scared, you might stay alive. If anything happened to you, Jessy—” He clamped off the rest of the sentence and brought his hand up, flattening it against the side of her wet cheek, his thumb sliding to her chin.

  It was the only warning he gave her before his mouth drove against hers. The suddenness, the heat of it was a shock. One moment there was space between them and in the next, she was pressed against the length of him, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, stomach to stomach, while his mouth tunneled against her lips with hungry insistence, awakening a rush of unexpected sensations.

  Struggling to surface from them, Jessy started to turn her face away, but Laredo abruptly broke off the kiss and raised his head scant inches from hers, rain funneling off the brim of his hat onto her head.

  “Don’t give me some damned lecture about me needing a woman,” he growled while his gaze devoured her upturned face. “If any woman would do, that’s where I’d be. But it’s you I need.”

  “You don’t understand.” But Jessy wasn’t sure she did, either. She wanted to tell him it was happening too fast, except she had felt it coming. But she hadn’t decided if it was what she wanted.

  “What! That you loved your husband?” The warmth of his breath fanned her cheek. “I understand that. But he’s gone and I’m here. If that’s wrong, then I don’t know what’s right. I just know God didn’t make flesh and blood to live alone.”

  In that moment Jessy understood the issue wasn’t one of loyalty, but one of life and living. Love always wore many faces in a person’s life. She would never know another Ty Calder, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room in her life for a man who called himself Laredo Smith.

  She gave him an answer that needed no words, pushing his hat off and pulling his head down, giving herself to his kiss—and to him—without reservation. His low, inarticulate moan of need said it all as he claimed her lips.

  In an act that was never new and never old, they made love in the storm and the rain. Their clothes lay in a sodden heap on the grass. Lightning lit up the sky, reflecting off their wet bodies, one slender, one muscled, giving them a silvery sheen. It was difficult for either of them to tell where the rolling thunder ended and the pounding of their hearts began. The storm within built in intensity, the heat and pressure mounting until they both strained for a release. It came in a shuddering, blinding crash of light.

  For a long moment they lay there, washed by the rain, all loose and drained of tension, still caught in the tingling afterglow. Laredo was the first to break the spell, his hand sliding up her cheek to turn her face to him.

  “My God, what have I been missing all this time,” he murmured thickly.

  Moved by the depth of feeling in his look, Jessy felt suddenly and oddly shy. “Clothes, for starters. And a dry towel.”

  He burst out laughing and rolled Jessy onto her back, leaning over her, his wide shoulders shielding her from the rain. “You’re always so damned blunt and practical.”

  His laughter made the difference. That calm confidence returned, warmed by new feelings. “One of us needs to be.” The corners of her mouth deepened with an impish smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”

  “So it is.” Laredo combed the wet hair away from her face. “Do you suppose we should get out of it?”

  “Probably.” She linked her hands behind his neck and admired again the lean, strong lines of his face.

  “This is one of those moments you don’t want to end,” he admitted, “even though you know it must.”

  “It’s called life, I guess.” But inwardly she agreed with him.

  “This is the first time I can recall hoping that mine would be a long one,” Laredo told her.

  “In that case, you’d better start hoping that you don’t catch pneumonia, because you have a long drive ahead of you—in some very wet clothes.” The slickness of his skin made it easy for Jessy to slide out from under him, and Laredo did little to stop her.

  He remained on the ground, lying on his side, propped up by an elbow, watching while she scooped up her wet clothes. “And you only have to go inside to get warm and dry.”

  She held the wet bundle in front of her, but not out of any sense of modesty. “You could come in for a while,” she suggested with a touch of hesitancy. “I could throw your clothes in the dryer.”

  “No, thanks.” He rolled to his feet and gathered up his jeans.

  Jessy watched the struggle he had to pull them up. “Are you sure? It won’t take long to dry them.”

  “I’m positive. If I went in there, I might not come out.” Laredo dragged his shirt on, but didn’t bother to button it. “Besides, it’s late, and Chase will be wondering where I am.” Barefoot with boots in hand, he moved to her side. “I’ll walk you to the door, though.”

  Jessy couldn’t help smiling. “My, but that sounds old-fashioned.”

  “That’s the kind of feeling I have.”

  When he paused at the bottom of the steps, she turned to face him, still holding her clothes. A breath later, his mouth moved onto hers, claiming it with an evocative tenderness that had more power in it than passion could possess. Jessy felt it course through her, filling all the empty places with something warm and enduring.

  Words seemed unnecessary. She went inside without uttering a single one, conscious of Laredo watching every step she took.

  Up at daybreak, Laredo whistled softly while he shaved. He caught himself and smiled, certain he had never been so damned happy in his life.

  It was as if the world had taken on a fresh flavor. Everything seemed to taste better to him, from coffee to the plate of bacon and eggs Hattie set before him. He lingered over a final cup long enough to fill Chase in on the previous day’s happenings—all except the way it ended.

  As serious as those subjects were, it didn’t take the slight bounce from his step when he walked outside. He paused, filling his lungs with a deep draught of invigorating rain-washed air. It was a crystal-clear morning that gave a sharp definition to the sprawling landscape before him. Smiling again, Lared headed for his truck, convinced he had never felt this eager for a new day to begin. There was only one reason for it, and her name was Jessy.

  When he turned onto the dirt ranch road, he unconsciously started whistling again. A shadow drifted across the road in front of him. Leaning over the steering wheel, he peered skyward. His searching gaze finally located the buzzard floating on a morning thermal. An instant later, he noticed a second one, then a third and a fourth, all on a descending spiral, intent on something west of the road. Which likely meant they had spotted breakfast.

  Laredo stopped whistling and slowed the truck, telling himself it could be anything from a dead rabbit or pronghorn to a steer. But with O’Rourke missing, he knew he needed to check it out. He parked the truck on the shoulder and headed off on foot.

  In short order, he was back, piling into the pickup and making a sharp U-turn. He gave the horn two long blasts and drove back to the line shack.

  Chase was outside waiting for him when he arrived. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got trouble,” Laredo stated. “O’Rourke’s down there. He’s dead. A bullet hole in the back.”

  Humming softly to herself, Jessy stood next to Trey’s chair and cut his pancake into bite-sized portions. He sat slumped in his chair and absently rubbed the sleep fr
om his eyes.

  “I need more syrup, Mom,” Laura announced after taking the first bite of pancake.

  “Are you sure? I think you’re sweet enough,” Jessy teased.

  “I know, but the pancakes aren’t,” Laura explained patiently.

  “Sorry.” Jessy bit back a smile and reached for the syrup bottle just as the phone rang. She stopped moving for a second, then went ahead and drizzled more syrup over Laura’s pancake. On the fourth ring, she picked up the receiver. “Calder Ranch.”

  “Hi, Jessy. It’s Cat,” came the reply, issued in a voice riddled with tension.

  Unconsciously Jessy tightened her grip on the phone, concern banishing some of that good mood she had felt. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uncle Culley. That brown horse he always rides—when Logan stopped by the Shamrock this morning, the horse was at the barn. It was still wearing its saddle and bridle.” The disjointed phrasing as much as Cat’s voice indicated the elevated level of her concern. “Logan asked me to call. He wants to start a search.”

  “I’ll call everybody in,” Jessy promised and reached for a pen and notepad. “Just tell me when to meet Logan and where.”

  O’Rourke’s Shamrock Ranch was to be the starting point. The rendezvous time was nine-thirty, nearly two hours away. Logan planned to enlist Tara’s helicopter and pilot in an aerial search and asked that the Triple C plane take part in it as well.

  By the time Jessy concluded her conversation with Cat, she had made a mental list of the contacts she needed to make, and their order. But she had no chance to make the first one as Laredo walked into the kitchen.

  “There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself.” Jessy waved a hand in the direction of the coffeepot, still holding the telephone receiver in the other.

  “Whoever you are talking to, hang up. I have to make a call.”

  Jessy was too distracted to notice the no-nonsense tone Laredo used. “You’ll have to wait. This is important.”

  “Not as important as this.” He took the phone from her and pressed the disconnect button.

  Recovering from her initial shock at his high-handed action, Jessy reached to take the phone back, demanding, “What are you doing?”

  He easily checked her attempt and held her gaze. “It’s O’Rourke, Jess.” The gravity of his tone held a wealth of meaning.

  Jessy drew back, stunned into an instant of silence. “Where? How?”

  Laura’s petulant voice interrupted them. “Mommy, I need more syrup.”

  Laredo threw the young pair at the table a grim look and hung up the phone. “I’ll make the call in the other room. They don’t need to hear this.” He moved off in the direction of the living room.

  Jessy tarried long enough to dump more syrup on Laura’s pancakes and sit Trey up to his plate, admonishing him to eat. Then she joined Laredo in the living room.

  He was already on the phone. “I’m calling from the Triple C. A body’s been found. It’s Culley O’Rourke.” He paused, his glance sliding to Jessy. “It looks like the cause of death will turn out to be a bullet hole. The buzzards have been at him, so it’s hard to say for certain.” After a second longer pause, Laredo replied, “After I determined he was dead, I left everything the way I found it.” More questions followed. “It’s in a remote area northwest of the Triple C headquarters. Have your men meet me here at the main house, and I’ll take them to the site.”

  When he hung up, Jessy had trouble meeting his gaze. She felt sick inside, her muscles knotting up with disbelief and denial.

  The necessity to remove any shred of doubt made her ask, “You are absolutely certain it was Culley. There isn’t any question at all in your mind?”

  “None.”

  “He was always such a tough old coot,” she murmured. “I thought the only way he would ever die was when his heart gave out. I didn’t think anything else could kill him.” She looked up. “You think Markham did it, don’t you?”

  “I think it’s likely, especially if it turns out O’Rourke wasn’t shot at close range.”

  “But why?” Jessy searched for a motive and came up with none. “What could Culley possibly know that would be harmful to Monte?”

  “Maybe something. Maybe nothing. If Markham only suspected O’Rourke knew something, that could be all it took.” Laredo’s hands closed on her upper arms in a demand for her full attention. “Get it through your head, Jessy. This man is as ruthless as they come. Markham doesn’t wait for a threat to surface. The minute he thinks there is one, he eliminates it.”

  The cold-bloodedness of it sparked her anger. “What makes him think he can get away with it?”

  “Why would anyone suspect him?” Laredo countered. “If Chase hadn’t survived, would you?”

  She didn’t have to answer. He already knew no one would have suspected Monte, not in a million years.

  Laredo stood at the head of the hollow, his hand tucked in the hip pockets of his jeans, one leg cocked in a relaxed pose. His back was to the sun, his shadow stretching away from him. On either side of it were two shorter shadows cast by the uniformed deputies who flanked him.

  With the heat of the sun’s rays penetrating his shirt to warm his skin, Laredo watched in silence while Logan Echohawk slowly worked his way to the body that lay facedown in the hollow, carefully studying every inch of the ground as he went. A light breeze curled into the area, whispering through the sparse stalks of grass and ruffling O’Rourke’s wiry gray hair.

  At last, Echohawk crouched next to the body, looking but not touching. “Did you move him at all?”

  “No,” Laredo replied. “The minute I took hold of his wrist to check for a pulse, I could tell rigor had set in.”

  “And you didn’t see any other tracks?”

  “No. If there were any, the rain probably washed them out.”

  Logan straightened, coming erect and leveling a measuring look at Laredo. “So you think the body was here before the storm broke?”

  Hard amusement lifted one corner of Laredo’s mouth. “Don’t you?”

  Echohawk smiled without humor. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He backed away from the body, turned and retraced his route to the head of the hollow. He halted a few feet from Laredo and looked back at the scene. Then he lifted his gaze to the rough and rocky slopes west of them. “You say you live around here.”

  “I fixed up the old line shack up there in the foothills.” Laredo indicated its direction with a nod of his head.

  “What time did you get back last night?”

  This was old ground. They had been over it already during the drive to the site. At Echohawk’s suggestion, Laredo had ridden with him to the spot. But they both knew it hadn’t been a suggestion Laredo could refuse to accept.

  Familiar with the routine, Laredo repeated his previous answer. “It must have been somewhere around ten o’clock.”

  “And before that?”

  “I left the feedlot around five o’clock, drove to headquarters and had supper at the cookshack, waited around for the storm to let up, and left around nine o’clock or thereabouts.”

  “Is that where you usually eat?”

  “No. It was the first time,” Laredo admitted, volunteering information he knew Echohawk would have quickly discovered on his own.

  “Too bad you didn’t come back before the storm hit,” Echo-hawk remarked in a voice that pointed out the convenient change in Laredo’s routine. “You might have found the body before the rain did its work.”

  “That thought has crossed my mind more than once,” Laredo replied.

  “I understand your mother lives up there with you. Did she mention seeing or hearing anything unusual yesterday?”

  “No. But I’ll ask her.”

  “I think I’ll do that,” Echohawk replied, a dry humor in the look that said he knew this was a game they were playing.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “In fact, I think we’ll take a ride up there now while we’re waiting for the coroner to ar
rive,” he announced.

  The deputy on Laredo’s right stirred. “Want me to ride along with you?”

  Echohawk’s pause was slight. During it, Laredo felt the probe of those gray eyes, gauging the degree of threat Laredo represented. “No, you and Garcia stay here. We shouldn’t be long.”

  The walk back to the patrol vehicle was made in silence. Laredo slid into the passenger side and waited while Echohawk fastened his seat belt. Not a word was said until they were heading toward the old fire road.

  “I had an interesting phone call yesterday morning.” The comment by Echohawk was made casually, with no change in the expression on his chiseled features. “It was from a friend of mine at Treasury.” Laredo mentally braced himself for the worst. “It seems the Mexican government is very interested in a man who sometimes uses the name Laredo.”

  “Did they say why?” Laredo asked as if Echohawk hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary.

  “He’s wanted in the murder of a prison guard. As I understand it, this Laredo was part of a small group that broke two Americans out of a Mexican prison, killing a guard in the process.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m not that Laredo,” he stated smoothly. “A Mexican prison is the last place I would want to spend the rest of my life.” Laredo focused his attention on the road ahead of them. “Your turn is just ahead.”

  “You fit his general description—blue eyes, light brown hair, somewhere between six-one and six-two.”

  “So do a lot of other men.”

  “It will be interesting to find out if there are any fingerprints on file.”

  Laredo swore inwardly. “Hopefully there will be,” he lied smoothly. “It’s the quickest way to prove you’re talking about two separate people.”

  “I agree.”

  Laredo’s many trips up and down the slope to the line shack had worn a set of parallel tracks across the rough ground to point the way. Seconds after the patrol vehicle crested the foothill’s shoulder, Hattie stepped out of the cabin, wearing an expression of mild curiosity.