by Janet Dailey
Epilogue
The sun was at its zenith, stripping the ranch buildings of their shadow and giving a summer warmth to the December day. Dallas hummed to herself as she crossed the ranch yard, bound for the house.
There was a radiant look to her face that rivaled the Texas sun. Not even the purpling bruises on her cheek and neck were visible, concealed by an adept application of makeup.
As she reached the porch steps, she caught the distinctive sound of a vehicle traveling up the ranch lane. Pausing, Dallas turned and cast a curious glance its way, but the blue sedan that rolled into view wasn’t one that she recalled seeing before. At first she assumed it was a health inspector coming to check on the quarantined herd, but the car carried no government identification, either on its tags or its doors.
When it came toward the house, Dallas walked out to meet it. The sun’s glare on the windshield blocked her view of the driver, but she had a clear look at a large box in the rear seat, filled with wrapped gifts.
The door on the driver’s-side swung open and a smartly dressed woman stepped out, slender and petite with raven-dark hair. A smile spread across her face when she saw Dallas. Without hesitation, she came to meet her, quick to extend a hand in greeting.
“You must be Dallas. We spoke a couple times on the phone. I’m Cat Echohawk, Quint’s mother.”
Dallas stared at the woman’s startlingly green eyes for a stunned moment. Other than the black color of their hair, there was little resemblance between mother and son.
Recovering from her initial surprise, she grasped the woman’s outstretched hand. “Mrs. Echohawk,” she murmured. “I didn’t know you were coming. Quint must have forgotten to mention it.”
“That’s because he didn’t know. I decided to surprise him. And please call me Cat.”
“Welcome to the Cee Bar, Cat.” Dallas struggled to sound natural, but she felt oddly flustered and nervous.
“The old place hasn’t changed much,” Cat remarked, her glance making an idle sweep of her surroundings.
“Of course, you’ve been here before,” Dallas remembered. “I’d forgotten. Would you like to come in? I was just going to fix some lunch.”
“Is Quint inside?”
“He’s in the barn, repairing a bridle strap. Would you like me to—” Dallas broke off the offer when she saw Quint emerging from the building. “There he is now.”
Clearly recognizing his mother at once, Quint broke into a jogging trot, a laughing smile of welcome on his face. He greeted her with a hug that was mostly one-armed.
“What are you doing here?” he declared, drawing back to look at her.
“It was obvious you weren’t coming home for Christmas. So I didn’t have any choice but to fly down here.” A hand reached up to cup the side of his face. “I’ve missed you, you know.”
“I know.” His simple reply conveyed a depth of understanding that reminded Dallas that it hadn’t been that many months since he’d lost his father. Then the smile was back, and he was turning to include her. “Have you met Dallas yet?”
His mother nodded. “We introduced ourselves.”
“I hope you’re going to be able to stay for a few days,” Quint told her.
“That’s the plan,” she admitted.
“Good. That’ll give you a chance to get acquainted with your future daughter-in-law.” Smiling with a kind of pride, he curved an arm around Dallas’s shoulder and drew her to his side, uniting them before his mother. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned that his announcement was a total surprise to his mother.
“My—you—” Cat stammered briefly, then laughed, the happy sound dispelling all the tension that gripped Dallas. “What a Christmas present this is! Have you set the date yet?”
“There hasn’t been time, but it will be soon,” Quint assured her.
“Quint,” she began on a note of excitement, “our old house at the Circle Six is sitting there empty. It will be the perfect place for the two of you to live.”
“Don’t get your heart set on that, Mom,” Quint cautioned.
“Why not?” Cat frowned in bewilderment. “It would be ideal. Where else would you live?”
“Maybe right here,” he told her. “I plan on talking to Jessy about taking over the operation of the Cee Bar on a permanent basis.”
“Are you serious?” she murmured in disbelief.
“I am.” He lifted his gaze to the Texas hills, drawn by the wide sweep of them. “This is Calder land, Mom. It’s time a Calder lived on it again.”
A single star,
A Texas brand,
There is no doubt
He’s on Calder land.
Please turn the page for a preview of
CALDER STORM
by Janet Dailey.
A July 2006 hardcover release from
Kensington Publishing.
Trey hesitated, then headed in the opposite direction. Away from the dance area, people tended to gather in clusters or travel in twos and threes, making it easy for him to spot a solitary figure. There were few of those, and all male.
Then he spotted her coming his way, the neon light of a bar sign flashing over the sheen of her hair, and everything lifted inside him, his blood coursing hot and fast through his veins. His long striding walk lengthened even more, carrying him to her.
A smile broke across her lips. “You forgot to say which stage. There happens to be three of them.”
The glistening curve of her lips and the sparkle of pleasure in her eyes acted like the pull of a magnet. When mixed with the pressures of waiting, wondering, and wanting, the combination pushed Trey into action.
His hands caught her by the waist and drew her to him even as he bent his head and covered her lips with a long, hard kiss, staking his claim to her. There was an instant of startled surprise that held her stiff and unresponsive, but it didn’t last. It was the taste of her giving warmth that lingered when Trey lifted his head.
Through eyes half-lidded to conceal the blatant desire he felt, he studied her upturned face and the heightened interest in her returning gaze. He allowed a wedge of space between them, but didn’t let go of her waist, his thumb registering the rapid beat of the pulse in her stomach. Its swiftness signaled that she had been equally unnerved by the kiss.
“I was just about convinced that I’d have to turn the town upsidedown to find you,” he told her in a voice that had gone husky.
“It wouldn’t have been a difficult task,” Sloan murmured. “After all, you know where I’m staying.”
“I forgot,” Trey admitted with a crooked smile. “Which shows how thoroughly you’ve gotten to me.”
She laughed softly, paused, then reached up, fingertips lightly brushing along a corner of his mouth. “You’re all smeared with gloss.”
He pressed his lips together and felt the slick coating, but it had no taste to it. “You use the unflavored kind, too.” Automatically he wiped it off on the back of his hand. “My sister claims that a man should taste her and not some fruit.”
“You have a sister?” Sloan asked, absorbing this personal bit of information about him. “Younger or older?”
“Younger.” By less than two minutes, but Trey didn’t bother to divulge that and have the conversation diverted into a discussion of the twin thing. Instead, he took note of the change in her attire—the bulky, multipocketed vest and tan pants replaced by a femininely cut tweed jacket and navy slacks. “You ditched the camera and changed clothes.”
“The others were a bit grimy from all the arena dust.” Her matter-of-fact answer made Trey wish that he had taken the extra time to swing by the motel, shower and change his own clothes, but he’d been too anxious to get here. A quick smile curved her lips, rife with self-mockery. “This is my first street dance,” she said. “So I had to ask the desk clerk what to wear. He assured me it would be very casual.”
“Your first street dance, is it? In that case it’s time I showed you what it’s all about.” Grinning, Trey
shifted to the side and hooked an arm behind her waist, drawing her with him as he set out for the dance area.
“I should warn you,” she said, slanting him a sideways glance, “I’m not much of a dancer.”
His gaze skimmed her in frank appraisal. “I’m surprised. You have the grace of one.” He guided her through a gap in the row of onlookers, then turned her into his arms, easily catching up her hand. The band was playing a slow song, which suited Trey just fine. “Don’t worry about the steps,” he told her with a lazy smile. “Dancing was invented solely to provide a man a good excuse to hold a woman in his arms.”
A laugh came from low in her throat, all soft and rich with amusement. “Something tells me it was a woman who came up with the original idea. How else would she ever coax a man onto the dance floor?” she teased.
“And something tells me, you’re probably right.”
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Copyright © 2005 by Janet Dailey
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