by Janet Dailey
For a moment, Chase simply held the envelope, his gaze fixed on it. Then his chest lifted with a deep breath and he raised his head. “Thank you.” His low voice trembled with a wealth of emotion.
Jessy came striding out of the living room, then halted when she saw the man facing Chase. “Wade. When I heard Chase talking to someone, I thought it was one of the hands, bringing me word of—With a storm like this, it could be anything. Don’t tell me, you drove through it?” she said as Laredo wandered up behind her.
“For about the last fifty miles.” Wade nodded. “Which took me almost two hours to cover.”
“I guess you know how lucky you are without me telling you.” She gave a marveling shake of her head. More footsteps signaled the arrival of Quint and Trey. “There’s a fire going in the living room. You’d better come get warm.”
“Not yet,” Chase asserted, checking any movement toward the living room. He made a slow turn, something in his body language conveying a desire for all to remain. His solemn expression added weight to the moment.
Unconsciously Cat held her breath, sensing he was about to make an important announcement. She was without a clue as to what it might be. Or what Wade’s involvement in all this was. Judging by the attentive way Jessy, Laredo, Trey, and Quint waited for him to speak, they shared her awareness of the moment.
Strangely, when he spoke, all Chase said was—“This is for you, Laredo.” He extended the envelope to him.
Bewilderment flickered across Laredo’s face. He hesitated, then stepped forward to take the envelope. He looked at it, but made no move to open it as he lifted a questioning look to Chase.
Something Cat could only call affection gentled Chase’s hard, lined face, his eyes warm with understanding.
“Maybe I should have said the document inside is for Scott Ludlow, Jr,” Chase said.
Immediately Trey took a backward step and motioned for the others still in the living room to join them. And there was a sharpening of Laredo’s questioning look. “How—”
Chase cut across his words. “Does it matter?” A near smile softened the line of his mouth. His glance flicked briefly to the onlookers, taking note of Sloan’s arrival, followed closely by that of Dallas, Laura, and Sebastian. Then again his attention centered on Laredo.
“In that envelope, you’ll find a full pardon from the Mexican government. Any and all previous charges against you have been wiped from their records.”
An audible gasp came from Sloan. She tried to smother it with her hand as she looked up at Trey, who smiled back. Jessy laid a quick hand on Laredo’s arm, her expression alive with happiness for him.
Laredo wore a stunned look. “How did you manage that?”
“With Wade’s help,” Chase replied.
Cat felt a swelling of pride in her chest. Discreetly she slipped her hand into Wade’s, linking fingers with him, pleased and proud of the role he had played in this.
Deeply moved, Laredo shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“After all you have done for this family, this is the least we can do for you,” Chase replied. “Merry Christmas.”
“Open it,” Jessy urged in a low voice.
Laredo obliged and removed the official looking paper, holding it so Jessy could see it too. “Scott Ludlow,” he murmured. “I don’t even know who that is anymore.”
“There’s nothing to stop you from legally changing your name to Laredo Smith if that’s what you want,” Chase pointed out.
“I guess not.” Laredo nodded and glanced sideways at Jessy. “There’s no reason we can’t get yours legally changed at the same time.”
Her mouth opened in surprise, a telltale shimmer of tears welling in her eyes. When she failed to say anything, Trey spoke up, “That sounds like a proposal to me, Mom.”
“And in front of witnesses, too,” Laura added.
Jessy laughed softly. “It had better be one, because I’m accepting it.”
Holding the document in one hand, Laredo wrapped an arm around Jessy and held her tightly to his side before planting one hard, quick kiss on her mouth. Both looked a little self-conscious when a mix of cheers and clapping erupted around them.
“Glad to see you’re going to make an honest woman of her, Laredo.” Chase nodded his approval.
“Only because you made an honest one of me.” Respect and gratitude was in his look.
Jake ran into the entryway, looking around. “What’s everybody yelling about? Did Santa come?”
“You might say that.” Laredo grinned.
“Where’d he go?” Jake turned and spotted Wade. “Greypa, he was here!” He looked at Chase with open-eyed wonder. “He brought Aunt Cat’s husband for her!”
Chuckling, Chase ruffled the top of his head. “He certainly did.”
Did you enjoy this Janet Dailey book?
Then try the rest of her Calder family
series….
Calder Storm
With his rugged-cowboy looks, Trey Calder could have his pick of women. But he’s been holding out for someone special, and the minute he lays eyes on photographer Sloan Davis, he knows he’s found her, and within weeks the two are married. It’s a dream come true for the orphaned Sloan…until Trey makes a startling discovery about just who Sloan is and what she’s really after.
Passion turns into suspicion and a dangerous game is set in motion, putting everything the Calders have worked for over the generations on the line. A formidable enemy has been lying in wait. Someone who will use whatever means necessary to control their land, their lives, and their legacy forever. Trey Calder has been trained to take over his family’s ranch, to protect what is theirs. Now the time has come for a Calder son to make a stand and hope that his way is the right way.
Lone Calder Star
Quint Echohawk is a lawman, not a rancher, but he’s a Calder through and through. And when someone sets out to undermine the Calders’ Texas outfit, it’s time for him to step in and investigate.
From the moment Quint’s boots touch Texas dirt, it’s clear that everyone in town is running scared from Max Rutledge, the ruthless owner of a competing ranch. Posing as a cowboy looking for work, Quint has no one to trust but “Empty” Garner and his granddaughter, Dallas. In Empty, Quint finds a steadfast ally; in Dallas, Quint finds something more—the promise of a future.
In a town where betrayal lies around every corner, where every unlocked door, thrown punch, or suspicious fire is just a hint of deadlier things to come, the Calders will be tested as never before. And this time, it could cost them more than their land…it could cost them everything.
Calder Promise
All Laura Calder Wants Is Everything…
Young and beautiful, Laura Calder isn’t content to live on a Montana ranch. Touring Europe with her “Aunt” Tara brings her into contact with the sophisticated world she’s craved…and with the two men—and ultimate rivals—who will lay claim to her heart. Boone Rutledge is the son of a Texas billionaire and used to getting what he wants. He wants Laura…and so does Sebastian Dunshill, Earl of Crawford, a handsome, sexy Londoner with a few secrets he can’t share.
Caught up in a whirlwind courtship with both men that will take her from the nightclubs of Rome to the manor houses of England, across the dusty flatlands of Texas and finally home to the Triple C ranch, Laura is determined to make her choice on her own terms. But Calder pride will lead Laura into a danger for which her sheltered background has never prepared her…and to a man who is a threat to the family she loves more than she knows.
Shifting Calder Wind
Chase Calder has no recollection of who he is, why he came to Fort Worth…or who tried to put a bullet in his head the night that a cowboy named Laredo Smith saved his life. Laredo recognizes him as the owner of Montana’s Triple C ranch—but according to the local papers, Chase has just been declared dead, the victim of a fiery car crash.
The only place Chase can find answers is at the Triple C…and the only
person he can trust is his level-headed daughter-in-law, Jessy Calder. Helping Chase brings Jessy into conflict with headstrong Cat Calder, and into an uneasy alliance with the mysterious and seductive Laredo. And when another family member is found murdered on Calder soil, Chase resolves to come out of hiding and track down a ruthless killer…before the killer finds him first.
Green Calder Grass
Their land…their family…their pride. When the Calders fight for the things they love, they fight to win.
Jessy Niles Calder grew up on the Triple C ranch, six hundred square miles of grassland that can be bountiful or harsh, that bends to no man’s will—just like a Calder. As Ty Calder’s wife, Jessy finally has all she’s ever wanted. But even in the midst of this new happiness there are hidden enemies, greedy for the rich Montana land, and willing to shed blood to get it. Not to mention Ty’s ex-wife Tara, causing trouble wherever she goes. And soon Jessy will be faced with the fight of her life—one that will change the Triple C forever.
Don’t miss Janet Dailey’s brand new novel
of romantic suspense,
DRAWING FIRE,
available in August 2011.
High clouds drifted above the Blue Ridge Mountains as a hawk swept down from a barren granite summit, its wings spread wide, soaring over the rolling terrain below. Wheeling only once, the hawk flew through vast, moving shafts of light casting farms and fields into alternating bands of sun and shadow. Sheltered by nature, the rich land of Virginia’s valleys had been tilled for generations and tamed long ago, unlike the ancient mountains that rose abruptly from them, clad in their namesake haze of indigo. The hawk made a banking turn, spotting a moving object below. Its sharp eyes quickly identified a vehicle traveling along Route 231. But it took no interest in the dark-haired man behind the wheel and swung west toward the Shenandoah.
With eyes as keen as the hawk’s, the driver saw it lift away, then refocused his attention on the road ahead, catching glimpses of forest on the verge of spring. A pair of sunglasses shielded his eyes from the morning glare. The cut of his cheekbones and jaw line were on the hard side. Although only in his early thirties, RJ Bannon looked more experienced than that.
As he let a truck pass him, he glanced again at the steep slopes of Old Rag, a solitary outcrop of the Blue Ridge, the only one with a bare rock summit. A smile of remembrance softened the line of his mouth as he recalled climbing that mountain as a boy, scrambling over giant boulders to beat his brothers and father to the top.
The experience got him into rappelling and free climbing by the time he was twenty, something he very much doubted he could do now, twelve years later.
Bannon sat up straighter when he felt a twinge near his spine, an unwelcome reminder of the bullet still lodged there. In most respects, he was as strong as ever, something his brothers had taken into account when they’d asked him to open the backcountry cabin the three of them shared. He’d gone up two days ago, a jolting drive over ruts that the winter had deepened, to look the place over. Nothing too dire. The roof was still on, minus a few shingles. The well was working and, after a little persuasion with a wrench, so was the plumbing. A critter or two had taken up residence beneath the floorboards—he’d flung open all the windows and gotten into the crawl-space with a flashlight to make sure it had vacated its winter lodgings. Nothing there but drifts of fur.
After that it had been nice to get out into the air, and do the hard work of clearing away and chopping fallen branches around the property for firewood and kindling. When he was done, he hadn’t wanted to leave. But now that he was on the road, he wasn’t sure when he’d get back out again. With Deke and Linc out of the state on assignment, Bannon didn’t feel much inclined to hang out at the cabin on his own.
He drove on, humming some old song to himself, toward Wainsville. He could see it in the distance. Not his home town, but he’d been happy enough there, wanting to live in a town that time forgot, until Wainsville had been “discovered.” Now its friendly old houses were overshadowed by condos and too many trees had been taken down to make room for them. The town even had a couple of office parks on land that had been bought cheap and developed with no thought to tradition. The surrounding area was still beautiful and largely rural, but an influx of hedge-fund titans who’d cashed out had come here. Their new, out-size mansions were everywhere and their nouveau riche attitude rankled the locals.
Bannon scowled as he passed a just-built one that sat on raw soil, an eyesore from any angle. Construction debris was half-heartedly controlled by an orange plastic fence that flapped in the breeze. He didn’t have a good reason to feel superior. After all, he lived in a condo, mostly so he wouldn’t get stuck with maintaining the place. Being a cop, you made decisions like that. He stopped at his condo long enough to pick up an envelope of paperwork and headed out again.
The sun grew brighter as Bannon drove through town, turning left at a small complex of textured cinderblock buildings on the other side of Wainsville. Someone had made an effort to landscape around headquarters—yellow daffodils, the eye-popping yellow of crime scene tape, were blooming in rows of unvarying straightness. He bet the chief of police approved.
He parked in what had once been his slot and switched off the engine, looking up at the narrow windows under the eaves. They were too high to see in from the outside, but it was a safe guess that everyone was right where they usually were. Except him.
Out of habit he used the reflection of the wire-gridded glass to look behind him as he went up the front steps. What would it be like, he wondered, to not feel compelled to check every corner, every shadow, every movement for danger? But the habit of constant watchfulness had been drilled into him the hard way.
Bannon spared a fraction of a second to check himself out before he opened the door. His dark hair was windblown and his jaw was outlined with stubble after two days up at the cabin. Forget the uniform. He still wore the torn jeans, scuffed workboots, and banged-up leather jacket that had served him out in the woods. Too bad. He was here and he was on time. Chief Hoebel would have to deal with him the way he was.
His boots were old and they didn’t make much noise on the gleaming tile floor of the hallway as he walked down to the young officer on desk duty. Fair-haired and freckled, Kyle Rasmussen was a new guy, a fact almost anyone could conclude just from his spotless uniform and shiny new gun belt, laden with forty pounds of regulation-issue junk.
“Can I help you?” Rasmussen studied him with curious, almost innocent blue eyes.
It took Bannon a second to realize that the new cop didn’t recognize him. Without saying a word, he reached inside his jacket and flashed his badge. The officer shrugged, looking a little surprised, and went back to reading a binder with bulleted lists and line illustrations, a manual on police techniques that no one took seriously. Bannon suppressed a smile and headed down the hall where the chief’s office was locked.
When he reached the outer office, Bannon flicked a glance at the closed door to the chief’s inner sanctum then focused on Chief Hoebel’s assistant behind the desk. The blond and blue-eyed Jolene Summer had the phone cradled to her ear—with both hands. That, and the low flirty tone of her voice made it easy for Bannon to guess she was talking to her boyfriend.
Looking up almost indifferently, she cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “The chief had to go out. He said to leave your paperwork with me.”
Irritated that he’d come this far to hear that, Bannon smiled at Jolene anyway and passed her the manila envelope with his paperwork. Retracing his steps, he headed back to the front. Near the door to the basement, he automatically glanced at it then hesitated when he read the sign on it.
DORIS RAWLING. CASE FILES MANAGER.
An image of the fifty-something woman flashed in his mind—average height, slimly built, iron-dark hair with stylish streaks of silver-white, warm brown eyes and lips that were always ready with a smile for him.
Bannon looked at the new title again, realizi
ng she had been promoted from evidence clerk sometime in the last several weeks. But he had a feeling she hated being stuck in the windowless basement with its chill-inducing cement floor.
As he opened the steel door, he called out a greeting and descended the studded metal stairs. When there was no reply to his call, he ventured forward. The floor-to-ceiling metal grates that enclosed the Evidence Control Unit closed off the lines of sight. Bannon looked through them for a new person on duty, then swung around a corner, spotting the top of Doris’s head at a makeshift computer workstation, by the end of a long table half-hidden by the bulging file folders stacked on the station’s long table.
“Hey, RJ,” she tossed the absent greeting over her shoulder. Doris was about the only one who called him RJ; to everyone else he was just Bannon. Doris put a document from the pile beside her into a scanner and closed the lid. A thin bar of light moved from one end of the machine to another as the scanner emitted a faint hum. She looked into her monitor and clicked the mouse a few times to make the image fit a format and then saved it with another click. Turning, she flashed him a smile, a pair of reading glasses perched on her pudgy nose. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
Bannon shot a glance around the area. “Fine. Are you alone?” he asked.
Eyes dancing, she peered at him through her half-glasses. “What the hell do you have in mind, kid?”
He winked at her. “Just wanted to know. Who’s handling evidence now?”
“Hoebel’s son-in-law. Petey leaves early.”
Bannon nodded, then waved a hand at the tall stacks of file folders. “So what’s all this?”
“We’re going paperless. I’m archiving old case files,” Doris said, adding, “Hoebel gave me a month. I’ll never finish in time.”
