by Janet Dailey
“Typical wide spot in the road, huh?”
“Definitely.”
Wade smiled and leaned back a little as he drove. A semi was ahead of them, but it quickly disappeared. “Looks like we have the highway to ourselves.”
“There hasn’t been much traffic since Dy-Corp closed its coal-mining operation,” Cat admitted. “And once again, the population of Blue Moon dropped to just a few when the workers moved somewhere else to make a living.”
“Once again.” Wade picked up on the phrase she had used. “You mean it’s happened before.”
“Back during the drought and depression years. Instead of coal being the cause of the town’s boom, it was the immigrants who flooded in, took out homesteads and tried to grow wheat. When the rains didn’t come and the wells dried up, they watched their land blow away along with their dreams.”
“And they had to leave, too,” he guessed.
“All except my grandmother, who wisely stayed and married my grandfather,” Cat added lightly.
“She was wise indeed,” Wade agreed and cast a curious sideways glance at Cat. “What was she like?”
“I don’t know. I never knew her. She died shortly after my father was born.” Cat thought of something else that he might find interesting. “I forgot to tell you how Blue Moon got its name—at least, according to local legend. Supposedly a trader called Fat Frank Fitzsimmons was traveling the area with a wagonload of supplies and whiskey. His wagon broke down where the town now stands. Unable to fix it, he set up shop and nailed up a sign that said WHISKEY. Few days later a cowboy rode by, saw it and stopped for some of that whiskey. It seems he warned Fat Frank that he was doomed because folks only came this way once in a blue moon. After the cowboy left, Frank wrote under his whiskey sign, Blue Moon, Montana Territory. And that’s how it got its start and a name.”
Wade chuckled softly. “Whether it’s true or not, it’s definitely colorful. And this place where we’re going, is that where Fat Frank sold his whiskey?”
“No, the Feddersons bought his place and ran a general store there for years. Then they sold it to the Kellys, who basically turned it into a large convenience store and gas station. The place we’re going got its start as a roadhouse during the prohibition years. After all, Canada isn’t that far away,” she reminded him. “I’ve heard the old-timers whisper that the proprietor had some very attractive ‘nieces’ who worked there.”
“Sin always sells, doesn’t it?”
“So I’ve heard.” Cat smiled. “Ross and Marsha Kelly own it now. It’s right up there—Kelly’s Bar and Grill.” She pointed to the building’s sign. “It’s a much more respectable place now, I’m glad to say.”
Wade slowed and made the turn into the parking lot of Kelly’s. Cat released her seatbelt when the car stopped and got out without waiting for him to come around and open her door. The brisk night air felt invigorating, increasing her sense of being fully alive.
He didn’t bother to button up for the short walk to the door and neither did she. He took her arm in his and she accepted the courteous gesture without a moment’s hesitation. The strength and warmth of his light hold felt very right and natural.
“Busier than I expected,” Wade commented as they headed for a table. The walls were decorated with paper Christmas motifs and the windows had been looped with strings of colored lights, the old-fashioned big ones.
She nodded. “But not exactly packed like a typical Saturday night,” Cat replied, her glance making its own sweep of the place. There were only two or three couples dancing to music from the jukebox. She recognized the song, a hit from a while ago that had never lost its popularity. Her gaze moved to the back and stayed on the rectangle of green felt under a spotlight and the random arrangement of colorful billiard balls on it. An ancient cowboy was bent over the table, playing pool with some much younger ranch hands, who stood to the side with long cues in hand. One was busily twirling a small cube of blue chalk on the tip of his cue just for something to do. But there wasn’t the usual number of onlookers.
The sharp click of billiard balls got Wade’s attention. Ricocheting off two others in turn, a striper rolled straight and true, and dropped into a far pocket with a solid thunk. The watching men scowled. Wade paused for a fraction of a second to watch the old man line up another complex shot. He sank the next ball he’d indicated with practiced smoothness.
“He knows what he’s doing,” he said with a low chuckle. “The competition doesn’t look too happy.”
Cat smiled in silent agreement. The ancient cowboy straightened as they passed by several feet away and took a moment to tip his hat to her, a faint but wily smile of triumph on his wrinkled face as he nodded to both of them.
They responded in kind and picked a table with an extra seat for their coats, sitting down. Marsha bustled over. “Evenin’, you two. Kind of a surprise to see you here, Cat, what with the ranch party going on tonight.”
“We snuck away,” Cat told her and touched a forefinger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”
An answering smile increased her apple-cheeked look as Marsha winked and promised, “Mum’s the word. Now what can I get for you?”
Wade ordered a beer and Cat asked for a Coke.
“Nachos to start?” Marsha suggested.
Wade folded his arms on the table and grinned up at Marsha. “I try to say yes to temptation. If you’re talking nachos, the answer is hell yes.”
“What kind of dip? We have salsa or cheese.”
“Both,” Cat said impulsively.
“You’ve got it.” Marsha departed for the bar.
His grin softened to a smile when he looked across the table at her. “Both, huh? You’re my kind of girl, Cat.”
“That’s nice to know,” she said, pleased by the frank tenderness in his casual remark. A playful part of her couldn’t resist adding a teasing, “At least I think it is.”
“It is.” Wade reached out a hand and brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. The brief touch wasn’t that intimate, but it seared her. Cat sensed he was aware of her reaction to it. “Was that over the line for such a public place?”
“Not really,” she said, lifting her head to a proud tilt.
“Sorry.” He looked into her eyes as if he was gauging her mood.
Cat willed her racing pulse to slow down. “Don’t be. I truly didn’t mind.”
The drinks and nachos were coming their way on the tray that Marsha held in one hand as she wove between the tables. “Here ya go.” She set down coasters printed with four-leaf clovers and positioned the beer and soda on them, popping in two straws, added the rest of their order and left in a hurry. A few more customers had arrived.
Cat removed the paper from her straw and took a long sip of icy, refreshing Coke, looking up at Wade, who was turning the nacho plate around to study the cheese-drenched chips. “Yes indeed. They look good and greasy. Dibs on the big ones,” he said. “I might let you have a few, though.”
Cat laughed. “How do you stay in such good shape?”
“I run. Play tennis. Ski. Basically, if it involves moving, I’m your man.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And you?”
Cat picked up a nacho and nibbled on the corner. “Living on a ranch automatically means being active. I ride a lot. Swim in the summer, fish a little. And I’m always walking.”
He nodded to the dancers, who were stepping to a lively tune. “How about that?”
“Sure. Uh—sometimes. I used to love to go dancing.”
He caught the wistful note in her voice and asked gently, “How long has it been since you did?”
Cat didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
Wade took a healthy swallow of beer and set down the frosty mug. “After dinner, we can take a turn on the floor if you like.”
She nodded. “I’d enjoy that.”
“So how long have you lived on the Triple C?” he asked.
> “Almost all my life,” she replied, “minus the time I spent at college.” Cat paused a beat, then added, “I’m including the years Logan and I lived on the Circle Six ranch. It borders the Triple C so it hardly seems to count as living somewhere else.”
“Ever think of moving?”
The question surprised her. “Where?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.”
She shook her head very slightly. “Moving isn’t something that’s occurred to me. No, that’s not completely true,” Cat corrected. “Since my son Quint took over running the C Bar ranch in Texas, I have toyed with the idea of moving there, so I can see my young grandson a little more often.”
“You have a grandson?” he said.
“His name’s Josh. He will be two years old soon. All three of them will be flying up for Christmas in a few days, so I’ll get to see him then.”
“You Calders are a close-knit clan,” Wade observed.
Cat acknowledged that immutable truth with a rueful nod and smiled. “You know what they say about the ties that bind. Family ties are strongest.”
“And they last the longest, it seems.” Wade was thoughtful. “Chase filled me in on some of the family history. He even showed me that old map of the ranch, which got him started talking about the first cattle drives from Texas to Montana. Fascinating story. More like a saga, really.”
“It must sound like that,” Cat admitted and let her gaze wander over his face. In the dim light of the dining area, he was even more attractive than usual. The touch of silver in his hair suited him, and the sexy twinkle in his eye when he looked at her was making her feel very special.
Marsha stopped by their table again. “Is everything all right? Did you want to order dinner yet?”
“I think I’d better look at the menu first.” Wade removed two from their table holder and passed one of them to Cat.
“Take your time. Don’t let me rush you,” Marsha told them. “Whenever you’re ready to order, just flag me down.”
“Will do,” Cat promised and went through the motion of glancing at the menu choices even though she already knew what she would find.
“Anything you would recommend?”
“Well, they serve Calder beef, so the steaks here are excellent.”
“Naturally.” Wade grinned.
The old barn with its massive timbers was alive with laughter and chattering voices. This was the strictly social time that all the ranch families looked forward to, coming after the children’s program, Santa’s visit, and the assault on the long buffet tables that had been laden with platters and bowls of food. A few continued to graze on the pickings that remained at the buffet, something that was likely to go on the rest of the night. The remnants of a piñata, a Texas tradition that had traveled north to Montana along with the Longhorns, still hung from a low rafter, its contents long ago spilled to the delight of the children.
For most, this was the shank of the evening with a lot of partying yet to be done and stories to be swapped. Only the very young showed any signs of tiring. And one in particular, Sloan noted, spotting her son sitting Indian-fashion on the floor next to Chase’s chair, seemingly content merely to watch the goings-on rather than tear around with his friends like a hooligan. Sloan observed the way he was leaning against the chair leg.
She nudged a shoulder against Trey and nodded in Jake’s direction. “I think it’s a certain little boy’s bedtime.”
Trey glanced his son’s way just as Jake let his head loll back against the chair. “Give him another minute and he’ll be asleep.”
“It’s a thought. Except he’s twice as heavy to carry when he’s asleep. I’d better go put him to bed,” Sloan decided and started forward.
“Tell him I’ll be up directly to tuck him in.”
Sloan responded with an acknowledging wave and made her way to Chase’s chair. His head was bent toward Stumpy Niles as if to better hear what Stumpy was saying. Chase gave her a questioning look when she paused in front of his chair.
“I decided it was time to claim this sleepy boy at your feet,” she told him and bent down to pick up Jake.
“Are you taking him up to the house?” Chase asked.
Sloan nodded and shifted the boy in her arms so more of his weight rode on her hip. “It’s time he was in bed.”
Her statement roused a protest from Jake. “I’m not tired, Mom.”
“Just the same, you’re going to bed.”
“Aww, I don’t want to.” His head dipped onto her shoulder, belying his words.
“Mind if I ride along with you?” Chase asked, gripping his cane and preparing to stand. “It’s time I called it a night, too.”
“Of course you can ride with us. Can’t he, Jake?” She looked down at her son, who managed a tired nod, then stood back to wait for Chase.
Stumpy Niles stood up when Chase did. “I guess I’ll try to find the old lady. We need to be headin’ home, too. Good visitin’ with you, Chase.”
“Same here,” Chase replied and struck out for the exit, not seeming to notice how readily a path was made for him.
Outside, Sloan settled Jake in his car seat, then slid behind the wheel. As she reached to pull the door shut, she glanced to make sure Chase was safely in. With the brightness of the overhead light fully illuminating his craggy features, she noticed for the first time how haggard and worn-out he looked. The discovery brought a sudden attack of conscience.
“I’m sorry, Chase. I should have checked to see if you wanted to leave earlier.” She had grown too used to Cat being the one who kept an eye on him.
“No problem. In fact it was a bit of welcome change not to have Cat worrying over me all evening.” When Sloan started to speak, Chase waved off her words. “I know. She means well.”
Sloan chose to lightly chide him. “A man who doesn’t mind a woman fussing over him? Now that is a surprise.”
Chase grunted an amused response, then said in all seriousness, “She has too many good years left to waste them on me.”
“I’m sure Cat doesn’t think they’re wasted.”
Chase made no reply to that. In fact he said nothing more during the short drive from the barn to the Homestead. He was already at the front steps by the time Sloan had gotten Jake out of the car seat. She hurried to catch up with him, then held the door for him.
She hesitated in the foyer and cast an uncertain glance at him when he stopped to shrug out of his coat. “Is there anything I can get you before I take Jake upstairs?”
“No. In fact I’m heading straight to bed myself.” He lifted his coat onto a hook, then collected the cane he had propped against the wall. “See you in the morning, Jake.”
“See ya,” Jake mumbled.
Sloan deliberately took her time crossing to the oak staircase, her ears tuned to the sounds of Chase’s cane as he made his way to his bedroom in the west wing. The rhythm remained steady, assuring her that he needed no assistance from her.
In the bedroom, Jake stirred sufficiently to give her some help changing out of his clothes and into his pajamas. He sat motionless on the edge of the bed while she pulled back the covers. Rather clumsily Jake rolled over and slid under the sheets.
“Isn’t Dad coming?” he asked in a halfhearted attempt to stave off the inevitable. “Maybe I should wait.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind if I tuck you in instead of him,” Sloan assured him. “He’ll be up to tell you good night though. Would you like me to read you a story while we wait for him?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, then abruptly threw the covers back. “I forgot to say my prayers.”
“While you do that, I’ll get your book.”
Sloan walked over to the bookshelf and selected his favorite story, smiling to herself while she listened to the familiar—and somehow comfortable—words of his prayer. “Now I lay me down to sleep.” He finished by asking blessings for each member of the family, said his “Amen” and started to rise, then knelt hastily agai
n. “I forgot. God, please don’t let Josh break any of my toys when he comes. Amen.” After he crawled back under the covers, he gave her a worried, “It’s alright to ask God for that, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure He won’t mind.” Sloan sat on the edge of the bed and opened the storybook.
As she expected, his eyes drifted shut before she was halfway through it. When she closed the book on the last page, Jake was sound asleep. She adjusted the covers around his slender body and lightly kissed the top of his head, whispering a “Good night, sweetie.” A term he would have been horrified by if he was awake to hear it.
Sloan made a noiseless retreat from the room, switched off the light, leaving only the soft glow of a night-light in the room, and pulled the door partway shut.
The stillness of the Homestead moved over her as she descended the staircase. The easy quiet was a welcome change after the hubbub of the barn. With Chase in the house, Sloan knew she was free to return to the barn, but she decided to wait for Trey.
She was halfway into the living room when her glance strayed to the doorway of the darkened den. She stopped, remembering the glimpse she’d had of the open checkbook and Chase’s hand poised over it, and Wade seated by the desk. All those unanswered questions came rushing back. Sloan tried to convince herself none of it was any of her business. But curiosity got the better of her.
She crossed to the den, started to flip on the light, then darted a guilty look in the direction of Chase’s bedroom. The hall was dark, no sliver of light showing beneath his door. Before she got cold feet, she hit the switch, flooding the room with light.
At the desk, she opened two drawers before she found the one that contained his checkbook. She laid it on the desk and flipped through the stubs to the last page.
Just as she suspected, the last check had been made payable to Wade Rogers. Her fingertip slid across the stub and came to a stop on the amount.
One hundred thousand dollars.
Numb with shock, Sloan could only stare at the number, unable to believe what she was seeing. Her thoughts raced, searching for some reason that might justify it. She never heard the front door open—or the approach of footsteps. She didn’t know Trey was in the house until he spoke from the doorway.