Lone Calder Star (Calder Saga Book 9)
Page 1
A SILENCE SWIRLED BETWEEN THEM
With each step, each rocking sway of motion, they came a little bit closer together, their bodies automatically adjusting to the contours of each other.
Quint was conscious of a thousand things about her—the long sweep of her brown eyelashes, the supple grace of her body, and the heat that emanated from her.
In spite of the rightness he felt holding Dallas in his arms, he was gripped by a growing frustration that came from knowing he didn’t dare see her again—not for a while, not until this business with Rutledge was concluded. And not just for her sake, but also for his own.
If Max Rutledge suspected that Quint cared even a little about Dallas, it wouldn’t trouble his conscience to use her as a means to get to him. Quint couldn’t afford to let Rutledge have any kind of hold over him.
After tonight, he needed to stay well away from Dallas. He had no other choice.
Also by Janet Dailey
LET’S BE JOLLY
CALDER PROMISE
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
SHIFTING CALDER WIND
MAYBE THIS CHRISTMAS
GREEN CALDER GRASS
SCROOGE WORE SPURS
A CAPITAL HOLIDAY
Published by Zebra Books
LONE CALDER STAR
JANET DAILEY
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.zebrabooks.com
Contents
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
PART TWO
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
PART THREE
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Prologue
Clouds blanketed the Texas landscape southwest of Fort Worth as a stiff wind broomed the countryside, sweeping up anything that wasn’t firmly attached. The air was cold with the bite of December’s breath, courtesy of the blue norther that had invaded Texas the night before.
A sign swung drunkenly from its gatepost, held by a single chain that creaked and rattled with the effort. The sign itself was pockmarked with bullet holes, making it difficult to read the painted letters that spelled out the name CEE BAR RANCH.
Brake lights flashed red as a fast-traveling patrol car slowed its approach to the ranch entrance. Still the vehicle took the turn a little fast, the rear end fishtailing slightly on the dirt lane. Dust boiled around the patrol car, but not before Officer Ray Hobbs got a look at the dangling sign.
“Looks like somebody’s been using that sign for target practice,” he remarked to his partner behind the wheel.
“So what else is new, city boy?” Joe Ed Krause, a veteran of some seventeen years on the force, threw a jaundiced look at the young rookie. “Half the signs in the county’ve been shot up at one time or another. That’s just what happens when you put boredom, beer, and back roads together. It don’t mean anything.”
“Probably not,” Ray Hobbs agreed and shifted his attention to the empty landscape, partially obscured by the blowing dust. When the patrol car rolled into the ranch yard, he sat up a little straighter, taking note of the pickup parked in front of an old barn before focusing on the single-story house and the front porch that traversed the length of it. “Looks like somebody’s here.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Joe Ed muttered and drove straight to the house. Leaving the warm confines of the patrol car, he stepped into the winter-chilled air and clamped a hand on the crown of his hat to prevent the wind from blowing it off.
His partner joined him. Together they crossed to the shelter of the porch. There was an uneven cadence to the heavy thud of their footsteps on the planked floor, the sound partially muffled by the wind.
Without hesitation or caution, Joe Ed opened the screen door and pounded loudly on the wooden door, then waited. As the seconds stretched out, the rookie peered through the dust-coated panes of a side window.
“Don’t see any movement,” Ray said.
Joe Ed pounded on the door again, rattling the hinges, then reached down and tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand.
“It’s not locked?” The rookie gave his partner a startled look.
“Hell, we’re in the country,” Joe Ed retorted with barely veiled disgust. “Nobody locks their door during the day.” He stepped inside and shouted, “Hello? Anybody home?” He paused and called out again, “Evans, are you here?”
But he was met only with silence.
The rookie followed him inside. “I don’t think anybody’s here.”
“No kidding.” That observation didn’t come as any great surprise to Joe Ed. If he’d been alone, he would have turned around and left right then. But with the green officer at his side, he decided to go through the motions of a search. “We might as well check the other rooms.”
The doorway on his right opened into the kitchen. Joe Ed motioned toward it and led the way into the room, floorboards creaking under the weight of his heavy frame. His foray into the room took him to the automatic coffeemaker on the counter next to the sink.
He pulled out the pot and made a face of disgust. “There must be an inch of mold in this pot.” More grew on the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. The state of the dishes in the sink didn’t bother him, but the coffeepot did. “Every cowhand I ever knew couldn’t start his day without coffee. Nobody’s made any in this pot for days.”
“Do you think we should check out the bedrooms?” the rookie suggested.
Joe Ed shrugged. “Why not?”
A search of the three bedrooms yielded one unmade bed and three empty closets. “This Sam Evans guy that’s supposed to be living here has obviously pulled out.”
“But how come there’s a pickup parked outside?” The rookie, Ray Hobbs, still wasn’t satisfied that the situation was as simple as that.
“Yeah. I guess we’d better check it out,” Joe Ed agreed with reluctance, regarding it as a waste of time.
The wind howled a greeting as they exited the old ranch house. Heads down, the two officers walked into the teeth of it, taking a straight line to the pickup parked in front of the barn. Like the house, the truck was unlocked. A search of the glove compartment produced a certificate of insurance and registration slip.
“The owner of record is the Calder Cattle Company,” Joe Ed announced. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the name of the Montana outfit that owns this place.”
PART ONE
A lonely star,
A Texas sky,
A Calder learns
That trouble is nigh.
Chapter One
Mother Nature was in an impish mood. While Texas shivered under cloudy skies and a cold north wind, the plains of eastern Montana enjoyed temperatures in the mid-sixties, thanks to a chinook wind that blew its warmth over the high prairie.
In this big and empty land that had once been the domain of the mighty Sioux, today over a million acres of it fell within the boundaries of the Calder Cattle Company, better known throughout the west as the Triple C. Quint Echohawk’s roots were sunk deep in its soil. His mother was the daughter of the family patriarch, Chase Benteen Calder, and his late father had been a quarter Sioux.
Quint had inherited his father’s smoke-gray eyes, his high, prominen
t cheekbones and glistening black hair. But there was much of the Calder side in him as well, visible in the granite jaw, the deep set of his eyes, and the muscled width of his shoulders and chest.
As a boy growing up on the Triple C, he’d been dubbed “little man” by the ranch hands. “Little” no longer described his six-two frame, but at twenty-seven, he had made the full transition into manhood.
With the afternoon sun warm on his back, Quint climbed the steps of the Homestead that had long been the residence of the Calder clan. The towering two-story structure was grand in scale, making it visible for miles like a massive white ship anchored in an ocean of grass.
Thanksgiving had barely passed, but already the big house was decked in holiday dress—a Christmas wreath on the door and a garland twined around its tall pillars. In the bright light of day, its multitude of twinkling lights was invisible, but they were there just the same.
Quint paused at the top of the steps and swung back to survey the ranch yard with its sprawl of buildings. To an outsider, the Triple C headquarters would have resembled a small country town. In many respects it was.
In addition to the usual assortment of barns and sheds associated with the ranching business, there was a commissary stocked with a variety of essential supplies that ran the gamut from foodstuffs and work clothes to hardware and vehicle parts. A few years back an addition had been added to provide space for video rentals and the ranch post office. Other buildings housed a first-aid dispensary, a welding shop, and an elementary school. Besides the old cook shack that served as a restaurant of sorts, there were nearly a dozen houses that provided homes for married ranch hands and their families.
Considering the nearest large town was some two hundred miles distant and the ranch itself covered as much ground as some eastern states, the Triple C had become self-sufficient out of necessity. And the Calder family controlled every inch of it.
That knowledge was at the back of Quint’s mind as he idly ran his glance over the large cluster of buildings. If his mother had her way, he would play a major part in the ranching operation, though both knew the reins of the Triple C would eventually pass to her brother’s son, Trey. Quint had no problem with that, convinced that it was a role Trey had been born to fill. Still Quint regarded his own future as far from settled. As always, that was something Quint kept to himself.
Hearing the click of the door latch behind him, Quint turned as his mother stepped into view. Cathleen Calder Echohawk—known by all as simply Cat—was a slim, petite woman with green eyes and black hair that showed few strands of gray. Her smile was quick and wide, indicative of a personality that was both vibrant and volatile.
“I thought that was you standing out here,” she declared. “You’d better come in. Jessy’s looking for you. I got the impression there’s a problem of some sort.” She continued talking as he crossed to the door. “I hope it’s nothing serious, not when we’re supposed to leave for England in the morning for Laura’s wedding. It would be horrible if the mother of the bride can’t be there.”
“At least Jessy was present at the first ceremony,” Quint reminded her, a glint of teasing humor in his gray eyes.
“Now you sound like your grandfather,” Cat chided with affection, stepping aside as he came through the door into the entryway. “He still doesn’t see why Laura is having two weddings—one here and one in Britain. But the trip to England would have been much too hard on him at his age, and it simply wasn’t practical for Sebastian’s family and friends to fly over here.”
“I know.” Quint nodded. “Where’s Jessy? In the den?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, then placed a detaining hand on his arm. “I’m glad you decided not to make the trip. The idea of leaving your grandfather here by himself bothers me.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of people keeping an eye on him besides me.”
“Of course there will.” She cast a glance in the direction of the den. “You’d better go see what Jessy wants.”
The Homestead’s large den was still considered the heart of the Triple C despite the construction of a separate ranch office several years back. It was on one of its walls that the old hand-drawn map of the ranch was hung, outlining its far-flung boundaries and identifying its various landmarks and watercourses on paper that had yellowed over time.
It was in the den as well where the impressive set of horns from a longhorn steer was mounted above the mantel of the massive stone fireplace. The same steer that had led the first cattle drive from Texas to the newly established Triple C Ranch in Montana. It was a room of history and heritage that never failed to make its imprint on Quint. This afternoon was no exception.
The fresh scent of pine emanated from the greenery that adorned the mantel. A cheery fire blazed in the old stone fireplace, casting its glow into the room and adding a welcome warmth for his grandfather’s old bones.
As usual, his grandfather, Chase Benteen Calder, sat behind the oversized desk, his once vigorous body now gray-haired and stoop-shouldered, with age lines creasing his rawboned face. The accumulation of years had left the mark on his body, but his mind remained as sharp as ever, and full of a lifetime of ranching knowledge on this northern plain.
Currently, his grandfather’s attention was centered on his daughter-in-law, Jessy Calder, who, under Chase’s able tutelage, had been running the Triple C for the last twenty-odd years since her husband’s death. Jessy sat on a corner of the desk, her boy-slim body angled toward Chase. She swiveled to face the doorway when she heard Quint’s footsteps.
“We were just talking about you, Quint.” In a single, fluid motion, Jessy straightened up from the desk.
“Mom said you wanted to see me.” Quint swept off his hat and walked the rest of the way into the room, dividing his curious glance between the two of them. But there was little that could be read from their expressions. “What’s up?”
“That’s what we want you to find out,” Jessy stated. “How soon can you be packed?”
Quint halted in surprise. “To go where?”
“Texas. We’ve been leaving messages at the Cee Bar for the last week, but none of our calls were returned. Today I asked the sheriff down there to check it out. I got off the phone with him just a few minutes ago. There was no one at the ranch—and no one had been there for at least a week, as near as his men could tell.”
Quint frowned. “I thought you hired somebody from the outside to manage the operation at the Cee Bar.”
Jessy released a half-irritated sigh and nodded. “Sam Evans, by name. We hired him about a year and a half ago.”
“Have you had any problems with him before now?” Quint asked, following his first thought.
“Not with Sam,” Jessy replied without any hesitation. “Although the last few months he has complained that all his hired help kept walking out on him after only a few days’ work.” Her shoulders moved in a vague shrug of confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe he got tired of doing all the work by himself and quit without bothering to notify us.”
There was something in the inflection of her voice that told Quint she didn’t totally believe that. “You think that would be out of character for him, don’t you?” he guessed.
Jessy’s innate sense of practicality surfaced. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The fact remains he’s gone—bag and baggage, according to the sheriff,” she added. “We need you to fly down there and take charge of the ranch until we can hire someone else.”
“If that’s what you want, I can be packed and ready in an hour,” Quint stated, then cocked his head at a puzzled and inquiring angle. “But why me? We all know there are any number of men here at the Triple C who have more ranching experience than I do.”
The question was directed at Jessy, but it was Chase who answered, “Back in June, Max Rutledge offered to buy the Cee Bar. I turned him down flat. Shortly after that, Evans started having trouble keeping help. It could be just a coincidence. But my gut tells me it isn’t.”
The Texan was reportedly worth millions, thanks to his vast petroleum and banking investments. And numbered among his many holdings was the Rutledge family ranch, which just happened to border the Cee Bar.
Quint understood that it was a troubleshooter they wanted more than someone with ranching skills. In that he was uniquely qualified, considering that until a few months ago, he’d been an ATF agent for the Treasury Department. And it was that background in law enforcement they wanted.
“I’ll have the twin-engine fueled and waiting for you,” Jessy said and reached for the phone.
Winter pressed an early darkness over the Texas landscape. The cold front had passed on through the area, taking the clouds with it and leaving a bright glitter of stars in the evening sky.
The headlight beams on Quint’s rental car illuminated the two-lane highway in front of him. At this hour there was little traffic on it, and nearly all of it headed in the opposite direction. As he rounded a bend in the road, Quint noticed a cluster of lights in the near distance that looked to be a mixture of streetlamps and partially lit buildings. According to the directions Jessy had given him, he was to pass through the small town of Loury, Texas, before he reached the Cee Bar.
Within minutes, the city limit sign loomed along the shoulder and Quint reduced the car’s speed to match the posted number. The two-lane road cut straight through the center of town. Block buildings, some with brick facades and others with modern awnings, marked the town’s business district. Most of the buildings stood empty, a few of them with optimistic FOR LEASE signs displayed in their dusty storefront windows.