by Janet Dailey
Jessy shrugged off the gossip. “Well, they’re wrong.”
“It makes for a good story, though—wealthy Englishman from a noble family woos rich and beautiful widow of a cattle dynasty. I guess the surprise would be if they didn’t try to marry you off to him.” His mouth crooked in a brief smile, something Jessy had seen little of lately. “What about Cat?” he asked. “How did your meeting go with her?”
“It didn’t. She wasn’t home when I stopped by the Circle Six yesterday,” Jessy explained. “I left a note asking her to call. We have been playing phone tag ever since. Unfortunately I’ll be in and out most of today. I probably won’t be able to talk to her until tonight or tomorrow.”
“Let me know when you do so I can pass on the results to Duke.” He drained the last of the coffee and set the empty cup on the tray. Through it all, his expression had been one of heavy thought. “I’d better head down the road,” he said absently and straightened from the desk. But he stood there, still pondering something.
“What’s wrong?” Jessy sensed his concern.
“I think I may have made a mistake calling Parker,” he stated, staring into the middle distance. “If he talks to Markham, he’s likely to mention getting a call from a lawyer. Markham will wonder who my supposed client is. It depends on how paranoid he is as to what he’ll do about it.”
“What do you mean?” She felt a mounting uneasiness.
“I mean, if he does any checking at all, he’ll find there is no such law firm of Cummins, Fitch and Stillwater in the Denver metropolis.” His gaze locked with hers. “The next time you see him, Jessy, be very careful what you say. One slip, no matter how small, might make him start wondering what you know. That could be dangerous, Jess.”
“I know.” She nodded, feeling the first faint lick of fear.
“Be on the lookout for any questions from him about Chase, regardless of how casual or innocent they might sound,” Laredo warned.
“I will.” She showed him the stony calm that had long been her protection against questions that probed in closed areas.
“Let me know if there is any change in his attitude toward you. Any at all,” he stressed. “If there is, you may have to find some work for me to do here at headquarters. Because it’s for damn sure I can’t protect you from the feedlot.”
“You just worry about protecting Chase,” Jessy replied, finding the prospect of seeing Laredo a dozen times or more a day to be too unsettling.
“You can count on it,” he told her and left.
PART THREE
A shifting wind,
It sees him die,
And Calder knows
The time is nigh.
Chapter Fifteen
Abig yellow sun sank closer to the western horizon, its golden color bleeding into the sky and adding a touch of amber to the late-afternoon light. Slowing the Suburban, Cat made the turn into the Circle Six ranch lane. The distinctive scent of fresh-cut hay invaded the vehicle long before she came within sight of the forty acres of ridge-top planted in alfalfa.
As she approached the field gate, she noticed Logan standing just inside the opening. Culley was there as well, slouched atop his brown horse with one leg hooked over the saddle-horn. Both men had their attention focused on something in the field. Looking beyond them, Cat saw the pair of big bay draft horses pulling the mower hitched behind them. Quint held the reins, perched on the mower seat.
Pulling onto the shoulder, Cat stopped the Suburban and joined Logan at the gate to witness this major event in her young son’s life—his first time mowing with the horse team. Logan slipped a welcoming arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.
“How’s he doing?” Cat asked anxiously. “Has he had any problems?”
“How could he have any when Jake and Angel know the routine better than he does,” he said, referring to the two Clydesdales. “How did your meeting go with Jessy?”
“It couldn’t have gone better,” Cat admitted. “In fact, I wish now that I hadn’t kept putting off getting together with her, but I dreaded the thought of arguing with her again.”
As the team neared the end of the field, Logan called, “Set them up to make the turn, Quint. And don’t forget to raise the blade.”
“I won’t,” Quint called back and beamed at Cat. “Hi, Mom.”
“Good job, Quint.” She smiled, pride swelling within her. “Keep it up.” The turn was made without incident, due, in no small part, to the well-trained horse team. “He’s doing really well, isn’t he?” she murmured to Logan.
“He is.” His gray eyes echoed the pride she felt in their son’s accomplishment.
“So what did Jessy have t’ tell you?” Culley asked. Cat related Jessy’s decision not to renew the feedlot lease, which would ultimately result in laying off Laredo. “She more than met me halfway,” she concluded. “How could I continue to object under those circumstances?”
“Assumin’ she does what she says she’ll do,” Culley said, remaining skeptical.
“I have to give her the benefit of the doubt, Uncle Culley,” Cat insisted. “It’s what Dad would want me to do.”
“It’s fer sure nothin’s been the same at the Triple C since he got himself killed. An’ I don’t see that changin’, neither,” he concluded. “If she ain’t slippin’ off to see that Laredo character, then she’s hangin’ around with that English guy.”
Cat had never known her uncle to say anything without a reason. “Have you seen Jessy with Laredo again?”
“I saw her drivin’ away from that old line shack where he’s been livin’ on Sunday afternoon. It musta been before she swung by here an’ left that note fer you. It could be just a coincidence that she talked t’ that Laredo fella’ afore she came here. An’ it could be they’re both mighty anxious to keep you from raisin’ a bigger fuss.”
“I think you are making something out of nothing, Uncle Culley.” But his doubts made her wonder.
“Maybe. But there’s somethin’ about this whole business with that Laredo guy that ain’ right. I just haven’t figured out what it is,” he concluded and glanced down the lane, catching the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Sounds like ya got company a-comin’.”
The minute Culley recognized the Land Rover he knew it was Tara. Unhurried, he swung his leg back over the saddle and slipped a boot into the stirrup. A turn of the reins aimed the brown horse in the opposite direction. He rode off, leaving Logan and Cat to greet their arriving guest. As usual, he didn’t travel any farther than his usual watching post.
Drawing level with the gate, Tara stopped and rolled the window down. “Is that Quint in the field?”
“Yes. It’s his first time to drive the team without Logan riding with him,” Cat explained with considerable pride.
“He seems to be doing well.”
“He’s doing very well,” Cat stressed.
“Isn’t that wonderful,” Tara declared with a show of enthusiasm.
“Yes, it is.” Knowing Tara, Cat doubted that this was a social visit. “So what brings you here?”
“I’ll tell you all about it at the house,” Tara replied and sent the Land Rover rolling forward.
“I think you are supposed to follow her,” Logan murmured dryly.
“I know.” Cat sighed in annoyance. “For two cents I’d stay right here, but she would simply wait until I showed up. So I might as well find out what she wants.”
“Quint has only one more sweep of the field to make to finish the mowing. I’ll stay here until he’s done . . .” He paused, shooting her a questioning look. “Unless you think you’ll need me.”
“No. More than likely she wants me to talk to her lawyer about Jessy. And there is no reason to do that now,” Cat told him.
She turned out to be only partially right about the purpose of Tara’s visit. It was indirectly about Jessy. But Tara chose a different approach.
“Do you still have that note Jessy gave you? The one that was supposedly written by your father?�
� Tara asked the minute they walked into the house.
“Yes. Why?”
“Because I just spent most of the last two hours talking to a handwriting expert—” Tara began.
Cat came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the living room and swung around to face Tara. “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to drop this for now? I talked to Jessy today and we have worked out everything. I have no more problems with her.”
Unfazed, Tara countered, “Do you really believe Chase scribbled those things on that paper?”
“I think it’s very possible he did, yes.”
“But what if he didn’t? Or what if Jessy manufactured it for your benefit?” Tara challenged.
“She didn’t.”
“Are you positive of that? According to Allen Thornton, the expert I spoke with, it would be relatively easy to fake something like that. All a person would need to do is take various examples of someone’s handwriting, select pertinent words or numbers, and trace over them to create a new example that looks authentic. Heaven knows, Jessy would have had plenty of opportunity to do just that, not to mention access to who knows how many notes or memos Chase might have written over the years.”
“Of course it’s possible,” Cat admitted with growing impatience.
“It certainly is. That’s why I want to see the note. Thortnon explained that amateurs often make rudimentary mistakes. He mentioned two very obvious things and suggested I look for those before going to the expense of having him examine it.”
“Tara, I told you I am not going to hire a handwriting expert or talk to a lawyer. End of discussion.” Cat held up both hands in a gesture of finality.
“If that’s your decision, naturally I will accept it.” Tara lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Although I don’t see what harm there would be in letting me look at the note. Aren’t you a little bit curious to know if it’s real or something Jessy created to fool you? If it turns out that she lied about the note, chances are she is lying about other things.”
The comment was too close to the one Culley had made. If it was only Tara who had said it, Cat would have ignored it. But she trusted Culley.
“All right, you can look at it. But you aren’t going to find anything,” she added in an attempt to convince herself of it.
Leaving the living room, she entered the kitchen and walked straight to the rolltop desk in the alcove. But the note wasn’t lying next to the phone book. She checked beneath a few more papers on the desktop.
“Can’t you find it?” Tara stood by, watching her search.
“Logan was doing some book work the other night. He probably moved it.” She looked in the desk’s many cubbyholes, then moved to the drawers.
“Don’t tell me it’s missing, Cat,” Tara stated on a critical note. “Do you realize how valuable it could be to you?”
“It isn’t missing,” Cat insisted, but she was beginning to feel a bit panicky. “I simply haven’t found it yet.” She shifted her attention back to the desktop, intending to methodically check every piece of paper on it.
“Tell me one thing, Cat: has Jessy been over here?” Tara’s voice was rife with suspicion.
Cat felt the pressure of it and broke off her search. “I don’t have time for this right now. Quint and Logan will be coming in any minute, and I haven’t started supper.”
When she moved toward the kitchen proper, Tara blocked her path. “You didn’t answer me. Was Jessy here?”
“I haven’t seen her. Are you satisfied?” It wasn’t actually a lie. Cat hadn’t seen Jessy when she stopped on Sunday.
Disappointed didn’t begin to describe Tara’s reaction to her answer. She looked positively annoyed. “That doesn’t mean she might not have slipped over here and taken it.”
Rather than admit the same thought had occurred to her, Cat simply shook her head in feigned exasperation. “I’ll look for it after supper. As soon as I find it, I’ll call you,” she promised. “Now, unless you want to peel some potatoes, I suggest you move out of the way so I can. I would ask you to stay for dinner, but I’m sure Brownsmith is busy seeing to the preparations for your evening meal.”
She brushed past Tara, crossed to a cupboard, took out a three-quart pan, carried it to the sink, and proceeded to fill it with water, conscious of the silence behind her. After interminable moments, she heard the sharp click of Tara’s footsteps exiting the kitchen. Cat waited until she saw Tara’s vehicle leave the ranch yard, then returned to the desk and resumed her search.
She was still at it when Logan and Quint came in. She was so engrossed in looking for the note that their presence in the house barely registered on her.
Logan walked into the kitchen. “I hope we have time for a shower before supper. We could both use it.”
Quint charged in behind him. “Dad said the team handled real good for me, Mom.”
But it was the word supper that did it as Cat suddenly realized that she had forgotten about it. A little rattled, she rose from the desk.
“You have plenty of time. I . . . ” She paused. “I thought we would have spaghetti, so I haven’t even started supper yet.”
“Sounds good. I called to Culley and told him to join us.” Logan lingered in the kitchen, watching while Cat set the pot of water on the stove and turned on the burner beneath it. “What did Tara want?”
“Nothing really.” She added salt to the water, a distracted frown purling her forehead. “Do you remember that note Jessy gave me? The one where Dad had jotted some things down about the feedlot? I could have sworn I laid it on top of the desk. Now I can’t find it.”
“I remember you showing it to me when we came home after Sally’s funeral. But I don’t recall seeing it since then.” He wandered over to the desk. “Are you sure you didn’t put it in one of the drawers?”
“I’m positive.” Joining him, Cat again began sifting through the papers on the desk. “I was about to go through the wastebasket when you came in, just in case it was accidentally wadded up and thrown away.”
“I haven’t thrown away anything except some junk mail,” Logan replied as Culley slipped into the house through the rear.
He paused, eyeing them curiously. “What’cha huntin’ for?”
“I mislaid a paper, something Dad wrote.” She didn’t look up from her task. “It was here on the desk last week, and now I can’t find it.”
“Important, was it?” Culley guessed.
“Mostly to me.” She shot Logan a dry look. “Right away Tara accused Jessy of taking it.”
“Why am I not surprised at that?” Logan countered with a droll smile.
“It coulda been that English fella,” Culley pointed out. “He was pokin’ around the desk, remember?”
“Monte?” Cat dismissed the notion as preposterous. “He didn’t even know I had it. Besides, it wouldn’t have meant anything to him.”
Offended by her rejection, Culley clammed up. To him it was as obvious as a willow tree in a desert that if Jessy didn’t want suspicion falling on her, she would likely put Markham up to getting it. In Culley’s mind, Jessy, Markham, and Laredo were entwined in some way.
First, that Laredo character showed up at the funeral; then Jessy secreted him up in the foothills. Not long afterward the Englishman has his cattle in the feedlot. Such strange happenings back to back made Culley wonder if Laredo and Markham were in cahoots. And it was for sure Jessy was awful friendly with both of them, which had to mean something.
Culley would have told Cat and Logan all of that if they had bothered to ask what he thought. But they didn’t, and he didn’t volunteer it.
The quiet of midmorning claimed the town of Blue Moon. It was an hour when its streets were empty of traffic. Those with jobs were already at their place of work, and the old-timers were gathered around their customary table at Harry’s, drinking coffee and swapping stories of the past.
Culley was as familiar with the town’s ebb and flow of activity as he was with the big lan
d that surrounded it. He had deliberately picked this hour of the day to make a trip into town, fully aware it was a time when he would encounter few people.
The gas gauge on his old pickup had stopped working years ago, but he knew its tank had to be close to empty. No other vehicles were at the pumps when he pulled off the highway into Fedderson’s combination gas station and grocery store.
Stopping next to the regular pump, he switched off the engine and listened to its dying cough and sputter. As he climbed out of the pickup, he cast a furtive glance around, but saw no one about. He pulled out the wadded-up rag that served as a lid for the gas tank and stuck the nozzle in. He let five dollars’ worth flow into the tank before shutting off the pump.
There were no customers about when he walked into the store. Culley sidled up to the counter and pushed five crumpled one-dollar bills toward the bored-looking woman behind the counter. It used to be that it was always Emmett Fedderson himself who took his money, but Culley rarely saw the owner nowadays.
“Want a receipt?” the woman asked while managing to keep her jaw working, cracking the wad of chewing gum in her mouth.
Culley answered with a shake of his head and turned away, moving quickly to escape the store’s confines. As he stepped into the sun-warmed air, a powerfully built Range Rover drove up to the pump island, stopping on the opposite side from Culley’s rusty pickup. A powdering of dust dulled the vehicle’s sleek sides, evidence of the dirt roads it had recently traveled.
Culley’s black eyes narrowed thoughtfully when the tall, lean Englishman stepped out of the vehicle. The memory of Cat’s fruitless search for the missing paper was still fresh in his mind. And his opinion hadn’t changed that the Englishman had taken it. Those two things worked together in his mind to embolden him.
Instead of hurriedly sliding behind the wheel of his pickup and driving off, Culley dawdled outside it until he managed to catch the Englishman’s eyes.
There was a moment when he thought the haughty foreigner was going to look right through him as if he wasn’t there. Then recognition flickered. Instantly the man’s expression took on a look of hearty welcome.