by Janet Dailey
“Coming,” Laura answered, and threw a questioning glance at Sebastian.
“I think they’re in the front parlor.” He pointed her toward it.
When she entered the formal parlor, Tara rose from a velvet-covered sofa, a cell phone to her ear. “Here she is now, Trey,” she said into the mouthpiece, then passed the phone to Laura.
She lifted it to her ear and said, “Hi. What’s up?”
“Don’t you ever carry your cell phone with you?”
Laura smiled at the comforting sound of her twin brother’s voice, conscious of her tension unraveling.
“Only when I choose to,” she admitted.
“That’s what I thought,” Trey replied with an undertone of censure.
“So what’s new at the ranch?” Laura asked and followed it up with a quick, “How’s Quint getting along?”
“That’s why I’m calling,” Trey replied. “Aunt Cat is flying him home on Tuesday. We’re going to have a big welcome-home bash for him on Wednesday. ’Course it won’t be quite complete without you here.”
“Wednesday, you say.” Strange as it sounded, even to herself, Laura suddenly had no great desire to continue this European tour. “Hold on a second.” She lightly cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Tara. “Quint’s coming home. They’re throwing a big party for him on Wednesday. You wouldn’t mind if we cut our trip short and flew back for it, would you?”
The request took Tara by surprise. “If that’s what you want—” she began.
Laura deliberately didn’t wait to hear more. “We’ll fly home on Monday,” she told Trey.
There was an instant of silence. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Is something wrong, Sis?” Trey asked, and Laura knew that sixth sense they shared was at work again.
She managed a convincing laugh. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t miss this party for the world. It’ll be the highlight of the year at the Triple C.”
When she finally rang off, Tara stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t really intend to fly home on Monday, do you?”
“Why not?” Laura countered.
“We left half our clothes at the hotel in London. Do you realize how much packing we’ll have to do before we leave?”
“Then we’d better get at it, hadn’t we?” Laura said as Max wheeled his chair into the room.
“Get at what?” he demanded, splitting his attention between the two of them.
“Tara will explain,” Laura told him. “I’m going up and start packing.”
Chapter Eight
The plane’s shadow raced across the limitless expanse of grass that marked the plains of eastern Montana. From the cabin’s porthole window, Laura looked down on the landscape below, devoid of any signs of human habitation. The plane’s altitude increased the land’s appearance of flatness. But Laura knew the way it rolled and dipped, sometimes smoothly like a calm grass sea and at other times roughly like an angry one.
She hadn’t needed a visible boundary to know the minute the private jet had entered the skies above the Calder range. She had known it instinctively, without the need for an obvious landmark. Laura decided it was something that came from being born a Calder.
It was that same instinct that caused her to scan the stretch of land to the southwest. Her search was rewarded with the sighting of a large collection of buildings that seemed to spring out of nowhere. A stranger would have mistaken it for a town, but Laura knew she was looking at the headquarters of the Triple C Ranch
In many respects the headquarters resembled a small town, complete with housing for the hired help and their families; a commissary stocked with food staples, hardware, work clothes, video rentals, and other sundry items; a central mail pick-up and drop-off; a gas station; a fire station; and a fully equipped first-aid station. There was even a cook-shack that could be loosely considered a restaurant.
The Triple C was more than forty miles from the nearest town and nearly two hundred miles from anything that resembled a city. Which made it essential for the ranch to be as self-sufficient as possible. It had become such a part of her life that Laura took it for granted, even as she identified each individual building.
But her gaze fastened on the massive, two-story house that towered over all the others, the white of its exterior walls making it stand out against the spring green of the grass. It had long ago been dubbed The Homestead, a name that conjured up images of something rustic and old. The Homestead might be old, but there was nothing rustic about it. It stood tall and proud, a gleaming white jewel atop the knoll.
The door to the cockpit opened, pulling Laura’s attention away from the window. The copilot stepped into the opening, flicked a glance at the dozing, jet-legged Tara and directed his gaze at Laura.
“Let Mrs. Calder know that we’ll be landing shortly.”
“Of course,” Laura replied.
When he disappeared back inside the cockpit, Laura reached across the aisle of the private jet and nudged Tara’s arm. She stirred, then sent a slightly groggy look at Laura. “Are we there?”
“Almost.”
Tara sat up and gently pressed her fingers to her eyes as if to force the sleep from them. But she didn’t do anything so indelicate as to rub them and risk smearing her makeup. Lowering her hands, she lifted her head and automatically gave her seat belt a tightening tug.
“What a shame we didn’t spend a few days in New York to break up this long flight,” Tara declared on a sigh.
“If we had, I wouldn’t have made it back in time for Quint’s party,” Laura reminded her as she listened with half an ear to the grinding whirr of the landing gear being lowered.
“Quint’s party is the reason you cut our trip short, isn’t it?” Tara’s questioning look held concern and uncertainty.
“Of course.” There was the thud of the landing gear locking into position.
“I wondered,” Tara admitted. “I thought your sudden decision might have had something to do with the information Max found out about Sebastian.”
Looking amused, Laura eyed her askance. “You aren’t really suggesting that I ran from the scene with a broken heart, are you? Honestly, Tara, can you imagine me doing that?”
“Not really, but you did seem quite fond of him.”
“I was. He was easily the sexiest guy I’ve ever met, and, truthfully, I was looking forward to seeing more of him. But finding out he is a fortune hunter was more a blow to my ego than to my heart,” Laura insisted
“Naturally,” Tara agreed. “And you’re much better off with Boone. The man has it all—money, power, position, and good looks.”
“True.” Through the cabin window, Laura watched the land rushing up to meet them, each blade of grass becoming discernible. “I imagine Boone’s in Texas by now.”
“If Max has anything to say about it—and he will—you’ll hear from Boone again. And fairly soon, I suspect.”
The jolting thud of the wheels making contact with the runway stopped further conversation. Which was just as well. Laura’s thoughts were on Sebastian, not Boone.
She couldn’t help wondering if the day might come when she would run into him again. The possibility was enough to resurrect that familiar flutter of excitement. Instead of being upset that the mere thought of him could arouse her, Laura accepted it.
Distance was what she had needed to acquire the proper perspective on the situation. Just as she accepted that nothing permanent could ever come of the attraction she felt for the man, that didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge that attraction, in the event of some future chance encounter. It was an attitude that seemed both worldly and wise, and one Laura felt comfortable wearing. In a way it was like an armor to protect her from further hurt.
The plane taxied to a halt on the hangar apron. As Laura unbuckled her seat belt, Tara relapsed an attention-getting sigh. “Laura, darling, if you don’t mind, I’ll say my good-byes now. There’s really no reason for me to get off here
, since we’ll be flying on to my private airstrip at Wolf Meadow as soon as your luggage is unloaded. Give my regards to your mother and Chase, will you?”
“Of course.” Laura crossed the aisle to Tara’s seat and bent down to air-kiss her cheek. “Thank you for an absolutely glorious trip.” She straightened. “Talk to you soon.”
When Laura stepped from the plane into the bright afternoon sunlight, there waiting on the tarmac was her boy-slim mother, Jessy Calder, dressed as usual in boots, Levis, and a cowboy hat. The crisp white blouse she wore was the only thing that set her apart from a working ranch hand. Chase Calder, Laura’s grandfather and the family patriarch, stood next to Jessy, gray-haired and stooped, without the rock-hard muscles that once covered his big frame—as evidenced by how heavily he leaned on his cane.
Jessy welcomed Laura with open arms and a deep-shining look of love. Even though they had little else in common, the love of a mother for her child and a child for her mother linked them together.
After an exchange of hugs, Jessy stepped back to take a good look at this grown daughter of hers. “We’ve missed you.” In a purely motherly gesture, she brushed the loose blond hair from Laura’s face. “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“No longer than when I was off at college.” Laura chided affectionately and turned to give her grandfather a big hug.
“It’s about time you came back.” His wide smile negated the gruff reproach in his voice. “Maybe now I can stop worrying about you.”
“You know you don’t have to worry about me, Gramps.” She planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a smear of lipstick behind. “I’m a Calder.”
“Don’t you forget it, either,” Chase Calder admonished, his eyes atwinkle with pride.
A movement in her side vision caught Laura’s attention. Laredo Smith was standing next to the Suburban’s rear fender, his boyish features belying his fifty-odd years. For almost as long as Laura could remember, the long, lanky cowboy had been a fixture at the Triple C. There was a story that Laredo had saved her grandfather’s life when Laura was a small child, but that was something people rarely talked about, making it another part of the Calder legend.
But Laredo had always been something of a mystery. Nobody seemed to know for sure where he was from, whether he had family somewhere, or even if Laredo Smith was his real name. Laura had asked often enough but never received adequate answers, certainly not from Laredo. Yet there was never any doubt about the absolute and unqualified trust placed in him by both her mother and grandfather.
“I should have known you would be somewhere close by, Laredo,” Laura said, his presence reminding her that even though he lived in an old line shack in the far western corner of the ranch, he was always at the Triple C headquarters, in the vicinity of either her mother or grandfather. She had long suspected, ever since her early teens, that her mother and Laredo were secretly lovers, mostly from the tender way they sometimes looked at each other. But if they were, they were unfailingly discreet.
“I see the world traveler has finally come home,” Laredo remarked, leisurely moving to join the threesome.
“I don’t think Europe exactly qualifies as the world,” Laura chided.
“Maybe not,” Laredo conceded.
“Where’s Trey?” Laura made a quick scan of the hangar area, but saw no one other than the two men who manned the private airstrip, serving as mechanics, ground crew, and, at the moment, baggage handlers as they unloaded her luggage from the plane’s hold. “I thought he’d be here.”
“He would have,” Jessy assured her. “But some truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and plowed up a large stretch of the boundary fence along the highway early this morning. You know how cattle are. The minute they discovered the downed fence, they had to find out what the grass tasted like on the other side. When Logan called to alert us we had cattle out, he said it looked like there might be close to fifty head scattered up and down the highway. I sent Trey and a bunch of the boys to round ’em up and get the fence back up. They haven’t returned yet, so they must be still at it.”
If Laura had needed a reminder that the Triple C, for all its immense size, was essentially a working ranch, with cattle representing its livelihood, she had just gotten it. On a priority list, her return hardly held the importance of nearly fifty head of cattle straying off the range.
She put aside her disappointment at Trey’s absence and asked instead, “Was the driver all right?”
“He was pretty shook up but otherwise okay,” Laredo answered. “The same can’t be said for his truck. The tractor got banged up good.”
Scowling, Chase peered at something beyond her. “Is all that your luggage, or is some of it Tara’s?”
Laura threw a glance over her shoulder. “It’s mine.”
Laredo looked at her sideways, amusement lurking in his eyes. “Am I mistaken, or are you coming home with more bags than you took?”
“One or two. After all, I had to buy presents for everyone.” Laura didn’t bother to mention the new wardrobe that filled two of the suitcases. Her mother, who had no interest in clothes, high-fashion or otherwise, never would have understood why Laura thought she needed so many. And Laura had long ago given up trying to explain.
“It might take two trips to get all of that down to The Homestead,” Laredo murmured, more to himself than to them.
“By the way, Tara asked me to give you her regards.” The minute she mentioned Tara’s name, Laura could almost feel the temperature dip. It was a reaction that confirmed what she already knew—that her family had no liking for the woman. Her presence in their lives was something they tolerated, mostly for Laura’s sake.
“Is she staying here in Montana or flying home to Fort Worth?” Chase asked, with no great interest in the answer.
“She’ll be staying here at Dunshill.” Dunshill was the name Tara had long ago given to her summer home, but Laura found she couldn’t say it without thinking of Sebastian.
The arrival of the men with her luggage briefly sidetracked the conversation. With Laredo’s help, the two men were busy trying to figure out how to fit it all in the back of the Suburban while the others looked on.
After a moment, Jessy glanced at Laura and asked, almost as an afterthought. “So how was your trip? Did you have a good time?”
“I had a marvelous time,” Laura stated without reservation. “I could bore you endlessly with stories about the places we went and the things we did. But right now I want to hear all about the welcome-home party you’re throwing for Quint.”
Fluffy white seed-tufts from the cottonwoods growing along the river’s edge drifted in the air like so much confetti as Mother Nature added her own touch to the festive atmosphere. Pennants streamed from the freshly painted gazebo, along with a banner celebrating Quint’s return home.
It was a party attended by all the ranch hands and their families as well as a few neighbors. The large turnout showed the high regard they had for this Calder-born son whom they had dubbed “Little Man” as a boy.
As always, there was more food than could be eaten, though an effort had been made to do just that. A few people were still grazing at the dessert table. But for the most part, the eating was done and the socializing had begun, filling the air with the sound of talk and laughter, the strumming of instruments from those musically inclined, and the shrieks of children at play or splashing in the shallow water at river’s edge.
Chase was comfortably settled in a lawn chair, letting the sun warm his bones, his cane hooked over the armrest and a cup of cold beer from one of the kegs in his hand. At the moment his attention was on his daughter Cathleen, better known as Cat. With her petite frame, green eyes, and black hair that had yet to show any streaks of gray, Cat was the spitting image of his first and much loved wife, Maggie. Chase had never been able to look at Cat without seeing the resemblance. But today it wasn’t the remnants of past grief that brought shadows to his eyes.
When he noticed his son-in-law, Logan
Echohawk, wandering by, Chase called him over and motioned for him to pull up an empty chair. Logan dragged the chair closer and sat down, giving his hat a push to the back of his head and showing Chase a profile marked by high, hard cheekbones and a strong, straight nose that spoke of his Sioux ancestry.
“Heck of a party,” Logan remarked and hooked one leg across the knee of the other, idly giving the hem of his jeans, which he wore in place of his sheriff’s uniform, a tug.
Chase chose not to comment and demanded instead, “Cat’s lost weight, hasn’t she?”
Logan’s gray eyes flicked a glance in his wife’s direction, a shadow of worry briefly darkening them. “She’s taken this hard. It doesn’t seem to matter that Quint’s wound was never life-threatening.”
Chase nodded in understanding. “Cat’s always had a tremendous capacity for emotion, the kind that runs to the extreme, seldom settling for anything in between.”
“I always knew she was against Quint going into law enforcement, but I thought it was mostly because she didn’t want him to live somewhere far away.”
“There was more to it than that.”
“Yeah.” Logan didn’t need it spelled out, either. “I’ve decided not to seek reelection when my term as sheriff is up. There’s enough work on the ranch to keep me busy.”
“That’s probably a good idea. At least she won’t have to worry about something happening to you.”
“That’s what I thought.” With Cat being the subject of discussion, it was automatic that Logan would watch her. He saw the idle glance she sent in the direction of the gazebo, and the second look she took before she began to scan the crowd in a slightly frantic way.
In seconds she was hurrying over to him. “Have you seen Quint around?” She attempted to inject a curious interest in her question without completely succeeding. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“I just saw him a couple minutes ago with Trey,” Chase answered. “They were headed toward the barn—I imagine to use the facilities.”
