by Janet Dailey
“Speaking of Christmas,” Cat began and split her glance between Jessy and Trey, “if you can spare a couple of the hands on Monday, I want to haul the decorations out of the attic and get started hanging the outside ones.”
“No problem,” Trey assured her.
“Unless it snows,” Laredo inserted. “It’s in the forecast for this weekend.”
“As long as it isn’t coming down on Monday, it won’t be a problem,” Cat told him. “In fact, it will add to the holiday atmosphere.”
“That reminds me,” Chase said. “Set an extra place for lunch on Monday. The son of an old friend will be dropping by.”
The phrase struck a familiar chord, sparking her immediate interest. “That son wouldn’t be Wade Rogers, would it?”
Chase gave her a questioning look. “How did you know his name?”
“I answered the phone when he called and asked for you,” Cat reminded him, struggling to sound matter-of-fact and conscious that she felt on the verge of blushing.
“Just the same, I’m surprised you remembered.”
That voice wasn’t one she was likely to forget, but Cat kept that bit of information to herself and asked instead, “Will he be staying long?”
“I doubt it. More than likely he’ll leave early afternoon,” Chase replied then cocked his head. “Why?”
“I merely wondered whether I need to make sure there was a room ready for him.” She felt oddly disappointed that Wade Rogers’s stay would be such a short one. Which was silly because she hadn’t even met the man. For all she knew he could be fat and bald with hair growing out of his ears. Rather than dwell on that image, Cat pushed any further thoughts of Wade Rogers out of her head.
Come Monday morning seven inches of fresh snow covered the vast reaches of the Triple C ranch. No clouds remained, leaving the sun the sole occupant of the vivid blue sky. The air was brisk and the wind was still—a scene straight out of a Currier and Ives print. It was the ideal setting for holiday decorating—except for one thing.
Cat clamped gloved hands over her ears in a futile attempt to block out the deafening roar of the snowplow at work clearing the area in front of the Homestead. She wanted to scream at the driver to go somewhere else, then sighed in frustration, knowing she’d never make herself heard above the plow’s diesel engine.
With teeth clenched, Cat lowered her hands and attacked the flaps of the cardboard storage box in front of her, one of several strewn across the pillared veranda, some empty and some waiting to be opened. Inside this particular box was a three-foot tall artificial tree, one of two that would occupy the decorative urns flanking the front door.
As she struggled to lift it out, first one flap then another got in her way. Try as she might, Cat couldn’t muscle it out.
Just as she was about to give up and start over, a pair of gloved hands reached in and gave the tree the final tug, lifting it free of the box. At almost the same instant, a shrill whistle pierced the plow’s loud din. Cat looked up and saw Laredo halfway up a stepladder holding a small wreath up to one of the front windows. He gestured to summon her.
Surrendering the tree to her helper, Cat pointed to the nearest urn, indicating it belonged there, then crossed to Laredo. With the snowplow’s noise making conversation impossible, Laredo first held the wreath high on the window, then low, pantomiming his question of where it should hang. Cat responded in kind, using hand gestures until he had the wreath centered in the window.
After securing it in place, Laredo stepped off the ladder and tilted his head close to her, his glance flicking to a point beyond. “Who’s the silver fox?”
Surprised that she could hear him, Cat first looked to confirm the snowplow was already some distance from the house and moving away; then Laredo’s question registered. Suddenly she was conscious of an unfamiliar SUV visible in her side vision, but it was the tall gentleman standing at the front door who claimed her attention.
Everything about him screamed city—from his charcoal-colored topcoat and plaid muffler to his black-lace shoes, spattered with bits of snow. Not a hair on his bare head was out of place. And its color made Laredo’s description “silver fox” singularly appropriate; it was a rich shade of pewter burnished with silver highlights.
“He must be Wade Rogers,” she realized. “Dad said he would be coming by today.”
Without waiting for a response, Cat hurried to greet their guest. When she reached him, he was about to knock on the door, an action that definitely marked him as a first-time visitor. Only strangers knocked; everybody else simply walked in.
“Mr. Rogers? You are Wade Rogers, aren’t you?” Cat sought confirmation when he turned toward her.
“Yes, I am.” The instant he spoke, his voice provided further proof of his identity.
One look at his strong, masculine features, the attractive grooves making a parenthesis of his mouth, and the compelling brightness of his dark, nearly black eyes, and Cat wanted to laugh that she had ever thought he might be bald and fat. This was a man as handsome as his voice.
“Welcome to the Triple C. I’m Chase’s daughter, Cat Echohawk.” She extended a hand to him.
“I believe we spoke on the phone.”
“We did.” She was secretly pleased that he recognized her voice even as she absorbed the sensation of his pleasantly firm handshake. The memory of it lingered after she released his hand and reached for the doorknob. “Please come in. I know my father is expecting you.”
He stepped back, allowing her to precede him into the house. Once inside, he paused on the rug and gave the bottom of his shoes a wipe on it. Cat first pulled off her gloves, then her stocking cap, and shoved them into the pockets of her parka before reaching up to fluff the ends of her hair, suddenly self-conscious about her appearance.
“Let me take your coat for you,” she offered.
“Thanks.” He shrugged out of the topcoat and passed both coat and scarf to Cat after tucking his gloves in a pocket. Underneath, he wore a dark sports jacket over an ivory-colored sweater. The bulk didn’t at all detract from his trim build, Cat noticed.
“I imagine we’ll find my father in the den,” she told him and started in that direction. “I hope you had a good trip here,” she added, feeling a need to fill the silence. “The roads weren’t too nasty, were they?”
“For the most part, they were clear. I had no problems at all.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” As usual, the double doors to the den stood open. Cat walked in to find Chase seated behind the desk, as she expected. “Dad, Mr. Rogers has arrived.”
“So I see.” With some effort, he pushed out of his chair to stand upright with the aid of his cane.
Cat was pleased to see how quickly Wade Rogers moved to the side of the desk, without any appearance of haste, eliminating the need for the older man to come around to greet him.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Calder.”
“Same here,” he replied, shaking hands with him. “And the name’s Chase to you. We don’t stand on formality here at the Triple C.”
“Chase it is,” he said with a nod of understanding.
“Have a seat.” Chase motioned to the chairs in front of the desk and shifted to resume his own seat. “Cat, bring us some coffee. You’d like a cup, wouldn’t you, Wade?”
“Black. No cream. No sugar. If it isn’t too much trouble,” he added, directing a smiling glance at Cat.
“It’s no trouble at all,” she assured him. “We always have a pot brewed.”
On her way to the kitchen, Cat paused in the entryway to hang up his coat and remove her own. As she lifted his coat onto the wall hook, she happened to glance at one of its sleeves. The texture and color of it brought another image flashing into her mind’s eye. She turned with a start and stared toward the den, suddenly realizing that Wade Rogers had been the one who’d helped get the tree out of its box. A smile formed as she considered the thoughtfulness of the gesture, aware that he couldn’t
have possibly known who she was.
One more mark in his favor. She almost laughed aloud at the thought. Tallying up pluses and minuses on an attractive stranger—that was a schoolgirl’s trait—and she was anything but a schoolgirl, or interested in a man’s attention.
Yet even as the latter thought registered, Cat felt a little “And yet” sigh slip from her. Shaking it off, she hung up her parka and resumed her path to the kitchen.
Five minutes later she re-entered the den, carrying a tray with an insulated carafe of coffee and two cups. After she set it on the desk, she reached for the carafe, only to be stopped by Chase.
“Don’t bother, Cat. We’ll pour our own,” he told her. “And would you mind closing the doors on your way out? Jake’s bound to come barreling in soon and I don’t want my chat with Wade interrupted.”
“Of course.” Cat smiled in understanding, splitting it between her father and the man in the wingbacked chair that faced the desk. As her glance lingered on him for a moment, she was quick to note the way Wade Rogers casually lounged in the chair, much as a frequent visitor would. “We’re almost finished with the decorations outside. Then I’ll be in to start lunch.”
“Sounds like a teenager, accounting to me for her whereabouts, doesn’t she?” Chase said to Wade, a twinkle in his eyes.
A little flustered and self-conscious, Cat was quick to justify her comment. “I just wanted you to know where I’d be in case you needed something.” With that she exited the room with as much dignity as possible.
As she paused to close the doors, she heard Wade remark, “That’s the original map of the ranch on the wall back there, isn’t it? My father described it to me many times.”
Her father’s reply was lost to her when the double doors clicked together.
The yeasty aroma of freshly baked rolls filled the kitchen when Cat opened the oven door to remove the pan. Little Jake appeared at her side almost instantly and shadowed her when she carried them over to the counter and the cooling rack that awaited them.
“They smell good, Aunt Cat,” Jake declared with feeling. “Can I have one now? I’m hungry.”
“May I,” she countered, automatically correcting his grammar.
He gave her a puzzled look. “Don’t you know if you can?”
It took an instant for his response to register. When it did, Cat laughed. “I think they’re too hot right now.”
As he sighed his regret, Sloan came up and rumpled his hair. “You don’t need one anyway. It’ll spoil your lunch.”
“No, it won’t. My tummy’s real, real empty.” He pressed a hand against his stomach in emphasis.
“We’ll eat as soon as your grandma and Laredo get here,” Sloan promised and moved toward the oven. “Is the warming stone for the rolls still in here, Cat?”
“Upper rack,” was the answer.
“And we gotta wait for Dad, too, I s’pose,” Jake said with clear dismay as he lingered by the rolls, eyeing them with obvious longing.
“Your dad’s not going to be here for lunch.” Using an oven mitt, Sloan removed the stone and placed it in the bottom of the roll basket.
“How come?”
“He’s at South Camp, helping haul hay out to the cattle. I imagine he and your other great-grandpa will have lunch together.” Sloan laid a large, sturdy dishtowel over the warming stone and draped the ends over the basket’s edge.
“And Grandma, too,” Jake surmised.
“No, she won’t be there,” Sloan told him. “Don’t you remember? You saw her with the other ladies at the commissary boxing up the toys.” In an aside to Cat, she said, “They scored some incredible bargains shopping on black Friday.”
“Good. That means all the money that was donated will spread further.” Cat checked the large pot of beef and noodles and turned the burner to its lowest heat setting.
Boredom claimed Jake. With typical abruptness, he turned away from the tantalizing rolls and broke for the doorway to the dining room.
“Where do you think you’re going, Jake?” Sloan demanded, a mother’s natural suspicion surfacing.
Brought up short, Jake swung back in exasperation. “To see if Greypa opened the door yet?”
“Don’t you worry about that door. Just stay here with us,” Sloan ordered.
“But, Mom,” he protested with great drama. “I want to tell Greypa about the snow fort me an’ Luke an’ Danny built.”
“Luke, Danny, and I built,” Cat corrected without thinking.
“You weren’t there, Aunt Cat,” Jake declared.
Before Cat could explain about his misuse of pronouns, Sloan inserted, “There will be plenty of time for you to tell Greypa about your fort at lunch.”
He opened his mouth to argue the point, then correctly interpreted his mother’s stern-eyed look of warning that this point wasn’t open to debate. So he settled for simply asking, “How long before lunch?”
“Everything’s ready. We can start dishing up as soon as your grandma and Laredo get here.” Quick to see the next question forming in Jake’s eyes, Sloan added, “And—no, I don’t know how long that will be.”
With a great show of reluctance, he dragged himself back to the kitchen table and, more or less, flung himself onto one of the chairs. Disgruntled and out of sorts, he demanded, “How come Greypa’s got the doors shut anyway?”
“So he could visit with his friend in private.”
“But Greypa’d want to see me if he knew I was here,” Jake reasoned.
Sloan just smiled. “Nice try.”
The corners of his mouth turned down in defeat as he slumped even lower in the chair. From the entryway came the sound of the front door opening, footsteps entering, and a man’s muted voice. Jake immediately brightened.
“That’s ’Redo.”
Cat smiled her amusement with his reaction. “So it is. I tell you what—why don’t you go knock on Greypa’s door and tell him lunch is ready.”
“Oh, boy.” He was off the chair in a flash and racing out of the kitchen.
“Just knock,” Sloan called after him. “Don’t open the door.”
“’kay, Mom.” His answer floated back from the dining room.
“That boy,” Sloan murmured, but with obvious and genuine affection as Jessy and Laredo made their way into the kitchen.
“I swear Jake only has two speeds. Stop and go,” Laredo declared, rubbing his hands together to warm them.
“Trey was just like that at his age,” Jessy recalled, then made an assessing sweep of the lunch preparations in progress. “Need some help?”
“Everything’s ready. Just needs to be dished up,” Cat replied.
With so many hands to help, the task was accomplished in short order, leaving only Cat in the kitchen. She cast a glance around the counter and stove top to make sure nothing had been forgotten, then caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the oven door’s glass front. She bent down slightly to check her appearance, touching fingers to her dark hair.
Lips curving in amusement, she sent a glance heavenward. “I’ll bet you’re up there smiling at me, Logan, for being so female I want that handsome Wade Rogers to think I look attractive.” She turned a little serious. “It’s good to feel this alive again, though. You don’t mind, do you?” The minute the soft question slipped from her, an easy peace settled over her. “Of course, you don’t.”
She entered the dining room at the same moment that Wade Rogers strolled in alongside the much slower moving Chase. There was instant eye contact between them, and it was a heady thing. They exchanged small nods of greeting.
The moment Chase paused in the doorway, Jake was at his side. “Greypa, I’ve been waitin’ an’ waitin’ for you to come out. Me an’ Danny an’ Luke built us a snow fort. Aunt Cat thinks she helped ’em, but it was me. And—”
“Whoa there, son.” Chase held up a shushing hand. “You need to remember your manners. The first thing you do is greet our guest. Wade, this whirlwind is my great-grandson, Jake Ca
lder. Jake, meet Mr. Rogers.”
With shoulders squared and his expression solemn, if a little impatient, Jake thrust out a hand. “How do you do, sir?”
Adopting Jake’s man-to-man attitude, Wade bent slightly to shake his hand. “How do you do, sir. I’ll be interested to hear about that snow fort of yours later.”
Jake’s eyes got big with excitement. “Really?”
“Really,” Wade assured him.
“He said later,” Chase reminded him and continued with the introductions, skipping over Cat with a simple—“Of course you’ve already met my daughter”—and finishing with Laredo. “Last, but far from least, Laredo Smith, who’s a member of the family in all but name.”
“A pleasure,” Wade said as he gripped Laredo’s hand. “Laredo. That’s an unusual name.”
“Definitely colorful,” Laredo agreed. “I guess some parents do that when they’ve got a last name as common as Smith.”
“Good point,” Wade conceded, matching Laredo’s easy smile.
Jessy smiled to herself at the deft way Laredo had deflected the comment without revealing anything. He was a master at it, just like that air of friendliness he projected, all the while sizing the man up, assessing and weighing everything from the nuances of his speech pattern to his body language. All the ranch hands were convinced Laredo simply had a nose for trouble. If he did, Jessy believed it was based in his ability to read people.
Privately Jessy was curious to know what conclusion Laredo had drawn about their guest as everyone took their seats around the table. Her own first impression was favorable, but as always she reserved judgment until she heard Laredo’s opinion, having learned over the years to trust his instincts.
After the blessing was given, the serving dishes were passed around the table, and any talk was mainly centered on the food. As everyone dug into their meal, there was a momentary lull in the conversation.
Cat filled it. “Dad told us that this is your first visit to the Triple C.”
“That’s right, although my father has talked about it so much that it all seems very familiar to me.” Wade paused a beat and smiled a moment to himself. “After I turned off that highway and drove through the gate, then drove and drove the forty miles to here, I got a clear understanding of what Father was talking about when he said, ‘It takes a big chunk of ground to fit under a Calder sky.’”
