by Janet Dailey
“Biscuits are what you Brits call cookies, aren’t they? I almost forgot that.” Cat went directly to the stove and slipped on the insulated mitt she had left on the counter.
“Indeed they are.” Monte bypassed the long wooden table with its ladder-backed chairs and wandered over to the old rolltop desk in the alcove off the dining area. “What a marvelous old desk. Is it a family heirloom?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I think Logan told me he found it at a used-furniture store in Miles City.” Cat removed the baking sheet from the oven and set it atop the stove. She smiled when she noticed Monte examining the desk’s many pigeonholes. “When Quint was younger, he was fascinated by all its little nooks and drawers.”
“Does it have any hidden compartments?” he wondered. “I know many of these old desks do.”
“None that I know about.” With a spatula, Cat removed the hot cookies from the sheet, one by one, and placed them on a wire rack to cool. “I have some coffee made if you would like a cup. Or I can brew you some tea.”
“Regrettably I can’t stay that long. I have an appointment in town. I only stopped to see if you have any plans for this coming Sunday. So many things have happened lately that forced the postponement of the dinner I planned to host for all of you. Perhaps it isn’t appropriate now, so soon after Sally’s funeral, but I concluded there may never be a proper time so I have decided to have it Sunday—assuming everyone is available, of course.”
Tensing a little, Cat kept her back to him. The prospect of spending a social afternoon in Jessy’s company still wasn’t a comfortable one. She had said some harsh things to her, and Cat hadn’t yet decided that she wanted to retract them.
“I don’t think we have anything on the calendar, but I probably should check with Logan before I commit to coming.” She bounced a glance off Monte as she slipped another sheet of cookies into the oven. “Is it all right if I call you tomorrow and let you know?”
“Tomorrow will be fine.” He drifted away from the desk. “I have yet to speak to Jessy, but I plan to phone her this afternoon. Therefore, nothing is definite yet.”
“I understand.” Privately Cat hoped Jessy wouldn’t be available.
“Your . . . uh . . . cookies . . . smell delicious.” His hesitation over the word choice was deliberate, edged with a smile. “As much as I would like to stay and indulge in such a treat, I really must be going.”
“I hope you stop by again when you can stay longer.” In preparation for walking him to the door, Cat slipped off the mitt and laid it on the counter.
But when she started toward him, Monte lifted a detaining hand. “There’s no need for you to accompany me. I can find my way out.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know about the dinner,” Cat promised.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement and exited the kitchen. Listening to his footsteps make their way to the front door, Cat swung back to the counter, slipped the mitt on again and picked up the still-warm cookie sheet to spoon more dough onto it. By the time she had the next batch ready for the oven, Monte’s vehicle had pulled out of the yard.
When she turned to check on the ones in the oven, she was startled to see Culley standing there. “Good Lord, you scared me,” she said with a half-laugh. “I thought you had left.”
“I didn’t go far.” The hardness in his eyes was a little disconcerting.
In that instant Cat realized he had stayed close to protect her, unwilling to leave her alone with a man he didn’t know. “You were in the utility room, weren’t you?” she guessed.
In former days it had been a small back porch that had since been closed in to house the washer and dryer. The door that opened from the kitchen into it was still the old door, the top half of it a glass window.
“Thought I should stick close by in case he took a notion t’try somethin’ with you,” Culley said in an indirect admission.
Warmed by his deep-caring gesture, Cat smiled. “It wasn’t necessary, but I’m glad you did.”
“He didn’t stay long.”
“No. He only stopped to invite us to his place on Sunday.” After checking the cookies on the rack, Cat decided they were cool enough to stack, and provide room for the new batch from the oven.
“You goin’?”
“I haven’t decided. I told him I would call tomorrow and let him know.”
“What was he doin’ snoopin’ around that old desk?”
“He was just admiring it.”
“He poked around it like he was figurin’ on buyin’ it,” Culley observed.
A small smile deepened the corners of her mouth. Cat couldn’t help being a little amused by the proprietary attitude Culley took toward anything he regarded as hers. “Some people are fascinated by old furniture, Uncle Culley.”
He responded with a disdainful snort. “He probably likes paintings an’ statues, too. He looks like the type.”
This time Cat laughed out loud. “Coming from most people, that would be a compliment. But something tells me you just insulted him.”
Culley didn’t deny it. “To my way of thinkin’, he strikes me as bein’ a bit too dandified.”
Cat suspected that Culley based his opinion on the patrician fineness of Monte’s features and upper-crust British accent, but she didn’t say so. “The cookies are still warm from the oven. Would you like a couple with your coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Culley had never been one for sweets, although he always kept a box of something on hand at his ranch, the Shamrock. Cat was the one who craved them, especially anything chocolate. “He bought the old Gilmore place, didn’t he?”
“That’s right.” Cat located her empty cup and filled it with coffee.
“Ain’t been by there in a spell. Reckon it’s changed some.”
“I know he’s done a lot of work there.”
Culley toyed with the idea of riding over that way and taking a look-see one of these days.
Chapter Fourteen
Church bells rang joyously over the quiet town of Blue Moon while a playful wind danced among the parishioners exiting the sanctuary, tugging at shirts and skirt hems and any loose item it could find. With her hands occupied holding on to the twins, Jessy simply nodded to Reverend Pattersby as she filed past him, eschewing the customary handshake.
They were halfway down the steps when the wind snatched Trey’s Sunday-school drawing from his fingers and sent it fluttering across the lawn. Trey immediately jerked free of her hand and raced after it. Laura was much too worried about scuffing her white patent-leather Mary Janes to speed up even a little. Anxious that Trey might run into the street in his haste to retrieve his paper, Jessy glanced back at her parents. “Watch Laura for me,” she said and went after Trey.
To Jessy’s relief, the wind slapped the paper against the leg of a fellow rancher, George Seymour. When Trey pounced on it, startling the rancher, the barrel-chested man looked down, identified the cause, and retrieved the paper for Trey. Jessy arrived on the scene just as the rancher returned the drawing to its owner.
“Tell Mr. Seymour thank you, Trey.” She gave Trey a little nudge.
But Trey was too intent on smoothing out the creases to do more than mumble his gratitude. When Jessy looked up to add her voice to Trey’s barely intelligible words, the wide smile was gone from the rancher’s face.
His sudden look of cool reserve caused Jessy to temper the friendliness in her manner. “Thank you. I had visions of Trey barreling in front of a car trying to get his paper.”
“You need to keep a tighter check on him. But I guess a Calder figures they can do whatever they like.”
Jessy was quick to challenge his statement. “You aren’t talking about my son when you say that. Out with it. What’s got your back up, Mr. Seymour?”
“As if you didn’t know,” he snorted.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
The hardened contempt in his expression never wavered. “I suppose you’re gonna tell me that y
ou don’t know Markham came to me first with his lease deal,” he countered. “My mistake was in calling Chase to check this English guy out. Chase said he’d look into it for me. He did that all right. He snatched the deal for himself. It shouldn’t surprise me. The big ones always gotta get bigger—and to hell with the little guys.”
There was a touch of sarcasm in the polite way he touched his hat to her before walking away. Stunned, Jessy stood motionless, letting the full implication of his words wash over her.
The expression of resentment wasn’t new. No ranch could be as big as the Triple C without sowing seeds of envy among smaller spreads. What made it unusual this time was Monte’s involvement. It seemed to be almost too much of a coincidence.
Trey tugged at her hand. “Can we go, Mom?”
After a brief hesitation, Jessy nodded. “First, though, we have to find Gramma and Poppy.”
“How come?” Trey wanted to know.
“Because we are riding with them.” But when she glanced toward the church, it was Monte she saw in her line of vision, gliding straight toward her. For the first time Jessy felt a new wariness of him.
“Good morning.” His greeting was typically warm and friendly. “Lovely sermon today, wasn’t it?”
“I enjoyed it.” Curious, she tilted her head to one side. “You must have been sitting in front. I don’t remembering seeing you.”
“Indeed I was,” Monte confirmed. “A habit from home, I expect. Our family always occupies the front pew at Sunday service.” Just when Jessy had nearly convinced herself a simple coincidence was no basis for suspicion, Monte glanced in the direction of the Seymour sedan as it pulled out of the church parking lot. “Isn’t that George . . . George . . .” With an impatient snap of his fingers, he attempted to recall the rancher’s surname.
“George Seymour.” Jess supplied it. “Yes, I was talking to him only a minute ago. The wind blew away Trey’s paper and George was kind enough to snare it for him.”
Jessy didn’t volunteer more than that. Monte seemed to wait a beat to see whether she had anything else to add.
Before the silence became too long, he offered wryly, “I always remember names and faces, but not always together.”
Jessy chose not to comment on that. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to come to your place for dinner today.”
He waved off her apology. “I understand, although it seems circumstances are conspiring to prevent me from returning your hospitality. Just the same”—Monte paused, glancing at Trey, a touch of fondness in the curve of his mouth—“I agree that Trey has waited long enough for his surprise.”
“I gotta s’prise?” Trey asked, suddenly all ears. “Where? What is it?” Instantly he was cautious. “It’s not another pony, is it?”
Monte chuckled. “I have it on good authority that it is definitely not a pony.”
Her parents joined them. After the customary exchange of greetings with Monte, Stumpy turned to Trey. “I see you caught up with your drawin’. Did it get hurt any?”
“Naw.” Trey smoothed the paper again, then darted a look at Monte. “He says I gotta s’prise, Poppy. Do you know about it?”
A smile twitched Stumpy’s mouth. “I reckon I know a little about it.”
“What is it?” Laura chimed in. “Do I have one?”
“Not this time, pet,” he told her.
Laura thought about it a minute, then decided. “That’s okay. Trey can have one this time.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Stumpy declared, still fighting not to smile.
“Where is my s’prise, Poppy?” Trey wanted to know.
“At my place,” he replied. “Are you ready to head in that direction? I think we should. Your grandma left dinner in the oven, and we don’t want it to burn up before we get there.”
“Will I get my s’prise before or after dinner?” Convinced now that his grandfather was the source of his surprise, Trey was more eager to have it.
“After.”
Trey’s surprise was a ten-year-old quarter horse gelding, red roan in color and named Strawberry Joe. Trey couldn’t have been happier if he had been presented with the moon.
Confident that it would be a long afternoon spent with horse and rider getting to know one another, Jessy knew it wasn’t likely she would be missed. As always, her parents were eager for any opportunity to look after their grandchildren. Her mother was especially happy to have, at last, a little girl who loved dolls and tea parties—unlike the tomboy daughter she had raised.
Stumpy readily accepted Jessy’s excuse that she needed to drive around and get a feel of range conditions for herself. But when she left the South Branch camp, Jessy drove straight to the Boar’s Nest. It was close to mid-afternoon when she arrived, the heat of the day. But high up in the foothills, a cooling wind lessened the effect of a blazing sun.
Stepping out of the pickup, Jessy looked around. There was no sign of Laredo’s truck anywhere. The whole place had a deserted feel to it.
“Hello?” Her seeking call seemed harsh in the stillness. “It’s me, Jessy!”
Faint noises came from inside the line cabin. Immediately she approached it. A tanned and fit-looking Chase pushed open the screen door to admit her.
“I wondered when you would be able to slip away again.” There was a smile of welcome in his brown eyes.
“It wasn’t easy.” Stepping inside, Jessy glanced around. “Where is everybody?”
“Hattie and Laredo went to town for groceries. They should be back anytime.” Chase crossed to the sink and set about brewing some coffee. “Have you had a chance to show Cat my note?”
Vaguely restless, Jessy wandered over to watch him. “I did—at the reception following Sally’s funeral.” She had barely begun to fill him in on the details when she heard the distant honking of a horn. She immediately stiffened in alarm.
Noting her reaction, Chase explained, “That’s Laredo. He always signals from the road so I know it’s him and not someone else.”
“That’s another thing,” Jessy recalled. “At the reception, Logan was asking questions about Laredo.”
“I was afraid of that.” A grimness thinned the line of his mouth. “Maybe we can get Cat settled down before he gets any answers that might start him looking into Laredo’s past on his own.” Chase lit the fire under the range-top coffee percolator and turned away. “We might as well give them a hand unloading those groceries. The coffee should be ready by the time we’re through.”
Jessy followed him outside, conscious of an odd tension tingling through her at the prospect of seeing Laredo. She knew it was that teasing kiss he stole in the barn that was responsible for the vague discomfort she felt. Mostly because she hadn’t found it offensive. After Ty, she hadn’t expected to be physically attracted to another man. It was disconcerting to discover that a part of her was.
Hattie bounded out of the cab seconds after the pickup rolled to a stop. Laredo was slower to emerge. “Hi, Jessy.” She waved to her and went directly to the truck’s tailgate. “Am I ever glad we took the cooler with us. If we hadn’t, half of what we bought would be spoiled from the long drive in this heat.”
Hattie lowered the tailgate and dragged the heavy cooler onto it. As she maneuvered it around to lift it out of the truck bed, Chase moved to take it from her.
“I’ll get that for you,” he said.
“Are you sure it isn’t too heavy for you?” But the sidelong glance she gave him was teasing, rather than concerned.
Chase smiled down at her, eyes twinkling. “It shouldn’t be. You aren’t.”
Stunned by the intimate exchange, Jessy stared at the pair. She couldn’t recall hearing Chase saying anything remotely like that to Sally.
She was too distracted to notice when Laredo came up behind her. Jessy was unaware of his presence until he murmured near her ear, “Better close your mouth unless you plan on catching flies.”
Her mouth happened to be closed, but it snapped open when she swung
around to deliver a sharp answer. But Laredo was already moving away. Jessy clamped her mouth shut and moved to the truck to help with the groceries.
Hattie hurried ahead to hold the screen door for Chase while he manhandled the bulky cooler through the opening. Jessy curled her arm around the second sack of groceries and started for the cabin. Laredo slowed his steps, allowing her to catch up with him.
His side glance was lazy but cool. “Aren’t you going to ask how long that’s been going on?” he asked with a nod in Chase and Hattie’s direction.
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’m glad you realize that,” he replied. “When you think about it, it’s natural. A man and a woman, alone in a cabin, hour after hour, day after day, no radio, no television. Nothing but each other.”
“I could figure that out for myself,” Jessy replied tightly. “I don’t need you to draw me pictures.”
“I don’t imagine there is much that you do need me for,” he stated with a faintly sardonic smile. “But Chase does need me.”
When they reached the cabin, Laredo waited, letting her enter ahead of him. Jessy found she didn’t like the touch of acid coolness in his attitude toward her. She much preferred his lazy mockery and laughing eyes. She was careful not to examine too closely the reason for that.
Later Jessy couldn’t help noticing the way Laredo lounged by the cabinets, not joining them at the table. After she brought Chase up to date on Cat’s reaction to the note, Jessy switched to the incident after church that continued to nag at her.
“Do you remember George Seymour?” she asked Chase.
“Seymour,” he thoughtfully repeated the name. “A rancher, on the heavyset side,” he said with a slow nod. “He has a small spread southeast of Blue Moon, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, the Rafter J,” she said, supplying the ranch’s brand.
“What about him?”
Jessy told him about her brief meeting with the rancher after church, and the comments Seymour had made. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” she admitted. “But it sounds like you might have done some discreet checking into Monte’s business practices. Maybe that’s the connection with the banker in Fort Worth. I wish now that I had thought to ask George if he had given you Brewster’s name. Maybe I should call George and ask.” Jessy hesitated, recalling, “Although Monte did see me talking to Seymour.”