Santa In Montana

by Janet Dailey

  “Who’s there?” Chase called.

  Sloan realized that both she and her son were outside his peripheral vision. “Sorry, Chase. Jake is being obstinate.”

  She moved into the doorway so the old man could both see and hear her well.

  “Jake, obey your mother,” his great-grandfather said. “No harm done,” he added in an aside to Sloan. “We’ve just wrapped things up.”

  “That means the meeting is over,” Jake said knowledgeably, as if he attended them all the time. “I can go in.”

  Sloan shook her head. “You’re going to your room. And I’m going with you. And you are going to study your lines until you have them memorized perfectly.”

  Chase smiled but his visitor tried not to. “Never argue with a woman when she’s right, Jake. Now, quick march.”

  Jake scowled but he seemed resigned to his fate.

  After the pair left, Wade turned to Chase. “I’d better be going. If you don’t mind, I’ll stop in the kitchen and tell Cat good-bye.”

  “Not at all. Keep in touch. And good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Wade exited the den and started toward the rear of the house. As he crossed the living room, Cat emerged from the kitchen and saw him. She paused in mild surprise. “Are you two finished already?”

  “We are. I was on my way to tell you good-bye before I left.”

  “Oh.” Glowing, Cat seized the unexpected chance to have a private moment with him. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  In the entryway Cat grabbed a jacket that wasn’t even hers. It wouldn’t do to stand outside and shiver. By the time she had slipped it on, Wade had donned his coat as well. As if by mutual consent, they both moved toward the door. Again Wade opened it and stepped back to allow Cat to precede him. Cat had always considered herself as liberated as any modern woman, yet she still enjoyed the show of old-fashioned gentlemanly courtesy Wade displayed, finding it something to be savored.

  The crisp winter air of late afternoon seemed to sharpen all her senses when she walked outside. She paused while Wade closed the door behind them and moved to her side, tucking a hand under her elbow to escort her to the steps.

  “I could probably find my car, you know. But I really appreciate the company,” he told her and added with a twinkle, “so walk slow.”

  Sharing the sentiment, Cat readily complied, postponing the moment when he had to leave.

  “You won’t forget about our date, will you?” he said in a light teasing tone as they negotiated the steps.

  Smiling, Cat replied, “I made a mental note to add it to my social calendar the moment I’m back inside.”

  “Anyone else on that calendar besides me?” Pausing by his car, he opened the driver’s door.

  “I don’t think so. But I’ll have to check,” she said impishly.

  He chuckled. “You do that. I’ll be seeing you.” The warmth in his look promised that it would be as soon as he could make it.

  She waved good-bye and stayed in the yard until his car reached the main road, waving once more when he turned onto it, even though she knew he most likely couldn’t see her.

  Cat raced up the front stairs and peeled off the borrowed jacket the instant she was inside. She was filled with such a heady sense of anticipation, she had to resist the urge to hug it tightly to herself. Instead she crossed to the mirror in the front hall and examined her reflection, unaware that Chase had come out of the den. “Don’t worry, girl,” he said in a low voice. “You’re still a beautiful woman.”

  Startled, she half turned to look at him. “You’re prejudiced,” she countered, but was still pleased by his compliment.

  “And you’re all starry-eyed,” he observed thoughtfully.

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” The question was a lighthearted one but Chase recognized that it was her silent way of asking whether he knew something about Wade that she didn’t.

  “None at all.”

  “Good.” She beamed at her father. “Wade asked me to have dinner with him the next time he came. I said yes.”

  “Ah,” he said with a nod of understanding. “That must be why your smile reminds me of a kitten lapping up a saucer of cream. But a touch less innocent.”

  She laughed at his teasing.

  “So.” He leaned his weight on the cane. “What about those cookies? Did they get frosted?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  He raised an eyebrow and looked upstairs. “I was going to see if that scamp Jake wanted to join me in the kitchen for some cookies and milk. Guess he must still be rehearsing his lines.” As if on cue, Sloan started down the stairs, but without Jake.

  “Where’s Jake?” Chase asked her.

  “He came down before I did,” Sloan replied, automatically beginning a visual scan.

  Chase looked around as well. “Not a trace of him. I wonder where Jake is,” he said in a loud voice meant to flush his great-grandson out of hiding.

  Silence.

  “When he turns up, tell him that there are frosted Christmas cookies in the kitchen, Sloan,” Chase said. “There might even be enough for him.”

  “I will,” Sloan promised as Chase and Cat both headed toward the kitchen.

  When she reached the bottom of the steps, Sloan paused, a little annoyed by Jake’s disappearing act. She heard a noise coming from the den and walked down the hall to investigate. As she entered the room, Jake scrambled onto a wingbacked chair he had pushed up to the fireplace, and stood up on it. Balancing precariously, he strained to reach the set of mounted Longhorns above the mantel.

  “Jacob Calder, you get down from there this minute!” She realized the second the words were out of her mouth that she’d startled him.

  Jake wavered dangerously, then righted himself just in time to keep from crashing to the floor. He tumbled into the capacious seat, safe from a fall but not from his mother’s anger.

  “What were you doing?” She rushed to him. “You could have hurt yourself!”

  “I just wanted to touch the horns.”

  He jumped down from the chair and ran behind the desk, knocking off some items onto the floor.

  “Jake—” She sighed with exasperation.

  He kept his distance, watching her with wide eyes that were suspiciously shiny and it occurred to her that he might cry if she yelled at him. Her irritation dissolved.

  “Help me pick up the things on the floor,” was all she said.

  Jake obeyed, handing her Chase’s flipped-open checkbook without closing it, more interested in a bubble-glass paperweight that fortunately hadn’t been broken. He cradled its heavy smoothness in his small hands before he returned it to the desk.

  Sloan wasn’t paying attention. She was looking at the last check entry. Chase’s handwriting on the stub was clear and bold.

  To Wade Rogers. In the amount of ten thousand dollars.

  Taken aback, she stared at the stub to make sure she’d read the amount correctly, wondering if it was for a charitable donation or what. But that space had been left blank.

  Puzzled, she closed the checkbook and returned it to the desktop. “Aunt Cat made some Christmas cookies this afternoon. Your great-grandfather’s in the kitchen. Shall we go join him for some milk and cookies?”

  “Can I take the paperweight?” He cast one last admiring look at it on the desk.

  “No. You don’t want Greypa to know that you went tearing around and messed up the things on his desk, do you?”

  The little boy squared his shoulders. “I’ll tell him. He won’t mind.”

  Sloan absently stroked his hair and smiled. “No, he probably won’t.”

  “Jake’s all tucked in and almost asleep.” Trey walked into the master suite’s sitting room, expecting to see his wife lounging on the couch. But Sloan was at the window, staring into the blackness beyond it, clearly preoccupied. “I thought you’d be watching television,” he said, glancing at the darkened set. “Something wrong?”

  “I was just thinking.” She turned
away from the window, still seeming distracted.

  “About what?” Trey scanned her expression, sensing she was troubled about something.

  Sloan hesitated to reply but she moved toward him. “I’m not sure,” she said at first, then, “I guess I’m worried about Chase.”

  “Why?” Trey looked surprised.

  “This afternoon Jake accidentally knocked some things off Chase’s desk. His checkbook fell open—it’s that old-fashioned kind, with four checks to a page, stubs on the left. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

  “I have. So what about it?”

  “The last stub was for a check he wrote to Wade Rogers. The checkbook was opened to it. I couldn’t help seeing it,” she added half defensively.

  “So?”

  “It was for ten thousand dollars, Trey. That’s a great deal of money.”

  “What are you getting at?” Trey asked slowly, cocking his head to one side.

  “Why would Chase write a check to Wade for such a large amount?” Sloan challenged. “He barely knows him.”

  “I have no idea.” Trey shrugged. “Maybe it was a donation of some sort.”

  Sloan’s mouth took on a grim, worried line. “Don’t you think you should ask him about it?”

  Trey drew his head back in surprise. “Why?”

  Sloan took a few seconds to marshal her argument before she responded. “Look, Trey, we don’t know anything about Wade Rogers. Chase is getting old, and we have to be realistic about what that means.”

  Trey watched her. “I’m listening.”

  “Elderly people get tricked out of their money all the time. Con men specialize in frauds that target senior citizens.”

  “That’s true,” Trey admitted, and smiled his unconcern, “but Chase is way too wise to be taken in by such schemes.”

  “He probably has been in the past, but—”

  Trey held up a silencing hand to stop her. “Look, it’s his money. What he does with it is his business. I am not about to ask him to account for it.”

  Sloan’s eyes darkened, their look matching her troubled frown. But she didn’t shrug off the arm Trey slid around her shoulders. He drew her close, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” she asked softly.

  “No. I respect your concern for Chase. But that check stub you saw doesn’t worry me.”

  She looked up at him, not convinced. “I wish I felt the same way.”

  “Sooner or later, he’ll probably tell us what it was for,” Trey assured her. “Or not. It’s up to him.”

  Sloan sighed and relaxed a little, leaning her head against her husband’s chest, trying to absorb some of his confidence.

  “Come on,” he murmured, “let’s go to bed.”

  Chapter 6

  The winter afternoon was numbingly cold, even though the sun was shining. The crusty snow crunched under the hooves of the horses Jessy and Laredo were riding, revealing isolated patches of winter-brown grass where it had melted a few days before. Deceptively dull in color at this time of year, the native bunch grass was rich in nutrients that put hard weight on cattle, making it one of the ranch’s best assets.

  The riders were taking it slow as they surveyed the endless landscape that surrounded them. There was no sound but the occasional creak of saddle leather, or now and then a snort from one of the horses that made warm, rolling vapor rise in the air.

  “Everything seems to be in good shape. Better than I expected, actually.”

  “You look happy, Jessy.” Laredo ran an assessing glance over her profile, noting how relaxed and at ease she appeared without the stress lines that had been on her face when they set out. “You needed a break from the office.”

  Jessy admitted to that with a nod. “That’s the one thing I don’t like about running the Triple C,” she said with a sigh. “I have to spend so much time inside four walls. I miss being out here on the land.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Laredo said.

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “I think Chase does too. He stays in his den most of the time. I remember when he rode out every day, rain or shine—or snow.”

  Jessy’s expression grew sad. “Me too. It’s a shame that his arthritis makes it impossible for him to sit in a saddle anymore. Seeing this land from inside a pickup cab just isn’t the same as riding across it on a horse.”

  Laredo reined his mount to a stop, rested his gloved hands on the saddle horn and looked around. Jessy followed suit.

  “There is one thing he’s happy about, though,” Jessy added as her horse sidled closer to his. “Cat and Wade Rogers hit it off.”

  “What makes you think that?” A trace of surprise was in his questioning frown.

  “You mean you haven’t heard all the clattering of the range telegraph?” she mocked lightly. “I guess they spent some time together the last time he was here.”

  “So. Is he sending roses? Or did he serenade her with an old guitar?”

  “No serenades,” she said. “He’s a city slicker. They don’t sing under windows in Washington, D.C., as far as I know. And he hasn’t sent roses yet. But I understand they have a dinner date the next time he’s here.”

  “Maybe it’s time you and I went out to dinner,” Laredo suggested after a thoughtful pause. “You haven’t been off this ranch in a long while. Just the two of us, un-chaperoned.”

  “It does sound good,” Jessy conceded.

  “Then what do you say we run into Blue Moon for dinner Friday night?”

  “That’s a date.” Her eyes sparkled. “What time will you pick me up?”

  “Seven o’clock,” Laredo added. “And I’ll be wearing my Sunday hat.”

  “Guess that means I should wear mine.” Jessy reined her horse away and touched a spur to its flank. Laredo was quick to follow, lifting his horse into an easy lope.

  In the dining room, Chase paused to survey the wide array of dishes and platters mounded with food that were spread on the long table.

  “There’s enough here for an army,” Chase remarked. “Why so much?”

  “I’m trying out some new recipes tonight. Not all of them might be to everybody’s taste.” Cat set down another steaming casserole.

  “Looks damn good. And smells better. I might just help myself to extra servings,” he joked. “How about you, Laredo?”

  The lanky cowboy had crossed behind Chase’s chair, but the old man didn’t miss his entrance.

  “I might give it a try. My momma used to say I had a hollow leg.”

  Jake played with the fork at his place setting. “Is your leg still hollow?” He stared at Laredo with new interest.

  “That’s just a figure of speech, Jake,” Chase told him. “And don’t ask me to explain what it means right now.” He scanned the table. “Are we all here?”

  Trey was the last to pull out a chair and take a seat. All bowed their heads while Chase offered a brief grace.

  “Let’s eat,” he added after a heartfelt but quiet Amen.

  Platters were passed and the food was dished onto plates. The eating and talking began. Seconds were offered, but when a platter of marinated roast beef came around to Laredo’s seat for the third time he leaned back in his chair.

  “Thanks, but I’m full. That was a good meal, Cat. Better than any restaurant.”

  “So why do you want to take me to one?” Jessy taunted lightly.

  “Are you two going out somewhere?” Trey wondered.

  “That’s right,” Jessy replied. “Laredo asked me out to dinner on Friday night, so don’t set a place for us.”

  Trey looked over at Sloan. “Maybe we should plan a night out.”

  “Miles City?” she asked.

  “Wherever you want to go.”

  Jake fiddled with a slice of beef on his plate. His mother leaned over to cut it into smaller pieces for him. “It’s delicious,” she told him. “Good Triple C beef, raised on the ranch.”

  He forked up a bite
and nodded in agreement. After swallowing it, he wiped his mouth on his napkin and turned to Chase. “Greypa, how come none of our cattle have horns like the ones in your den?”

  “Because that set came from a Longhorn steer,” he replied. “Old Captain, he was called, born in Texas and led every herd Benteen Calder trailed north to Montana back in the Triple C’s early years.”

  “Before I was born?” Jake asked.

  “Before your great-grandfather was born,” Trey said. “Can you believe that?”

  “I guess so.”

  Chase threw him an admonishing look. “Don’t make me feel any more ancient than I am, Trey.” Redirecting his attention to Jake, Chase explained, “The Triple C raises Herefords and Hereford crosses now, instead of Longhorns.”

  “Oh. So are they astink?”

  “What?” Sloan asked, puzzled.

  “I want to know if the Longhorners are astink,” Jake answered his mother patiently. “Astink like the dinosaurs,” he clarified.

  Chase chuckled. “The word is ‘extinct,’ Jake. And no, they’re not. But you don’t see too many Longhorns these days, especially not in Montana.”

  “Why?”

  “They like the weather in Texas better,” his father answered.

  “Wish we had one. With horns this wide.” Jake extended his arms as far as they could go, then put them down again. “That’d be neat, huh, Greypa? I could show my friends, a real live one instead of just Old Captain’s horns.”

  “They would be impressed,” Chase agreed.

  Jake’s wistful words lingered in Chase’s mind long after the meal was finished and the dining room emptied. A plan took shape, but Chase waited to implement it until Trey scooped up the sleepy-eyed youngster and nestled him against his shoulder.

  “Bedtime for this guy,” he said softly to Chase.

  “I’m half-tempted to turn in myself. But I can’t. You know, ranch business,” he said vaguely. “Gotta make a few calls.”

  As Trey climbed the stairs with Jake, Chase crossed to the den and closed the door behind himself, going to his desk. He sat down and dialed a number he knew by heart.