Calder Promise

by Janet Dailey

  “Just a minute,” Laura said into the phone, then clamped a hand over the mouthpiece to answer Sebastian. “She took the kids out the front when Mitchell was trying to get in the back door. The owner of the bar isn’t going to let her stay there. He’s afraid Mitchell will make trouble for him,” she said, eliminating the lengthy attempts at justification that had been sandwiched between the owner’s expressions of concern.

  “Tell him to keep her there until I arrive,” Sebastian said.

  “But where will you take her?”

  “To the nearest hotel—wherever that may be,” he answered with a droll smile. Then he was moving toward the front door.

  As she removed her hand from the mouthpiece, Laura made a split-second decision. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. In the meantime fix them some breakfast. I’ll pay for it when I get there.” She hung up. By the time she noticed Boone standing in the doorway to the den, her mind was already made up. She called after Sebastian, “Wait, I’m coming with you.”

  “Where are you going?” Boone demanded, the darkness of displeasure in his expression.

  “To town.” Her footsteps never slowed or altered their straight course to the entryway.

  Boone blocked her path. “You aren’t going anywhere with Dunshill.”

  Laura knew all the ways and words to get around his objection and bolster his already sizable ego at the same time. Strangely, she had absolutely no desire to do so.

  “I don’t take orders, Boone. Not from you or your father or anybody.” She took advantage of his momentary shock to shoulder her way past him.

  Laura was halfway to the door before Boone managed to recover some of his former bluster. “Dammit, Laura,” he began.

  But she was already walking out the door. In long, stiff strides, he crossed to the door and stepped onto the columned veranda, catching only a glimpse of Laura as she slipped into the passenger seat of Sebastian’s rental car.

  A rocking chair made its slow back-and-forth movement in his side vision. Turning, Boone saw the elder Calder and vented some of his irritation.

  “Why is she going off with him? She knows he’s after her money. What’s gotten into her?”

  “Hard to say. When Laura gets high-headed like that, she’s hard to rein down.”

  Lips thinning into a tight line, Boone made no reply and simply stared at the car reversing away from The Homestead.

  Dust plumed behind the compact sedan as it sped along the main graveled road that led to the ranch’s east gate. Morning sunlight poured through the windshield. Laura flipped the visor down to block its glare and wished for her sunglasses.

  “You realize the nearest motel is miles from here,” she told Sebastian somewhat caustically. “You can’t just take her there and leave her. How will she get back? You’re kidding yourself if you think she’ll even agree to leave Blue Moon.”

  “I’m open to an alternative suggestion,” Sebastian replied with the lazy ease that was so typical of him. It was an attitude Laura usually found appealing, but in the mood she was in this morning, she found it annoying. She kept her gaze transfixed on the straight road ahead of them.

  “I wish I had my cell phone. Then I could call Tara. Dy-Corp has several houses in town that are sitting empty. I’m sure she could arrange for Gail and the children to stay in one of them temporarily. I’ll call her when we get to Harry’s.”

  “A house in town would mean the children would have to stay inside to prevent Mitchell from seeing them,” Sebastian remarked.

  “It wouldn’t be any different at a motel.”

  “Most that I have seen have swimming pools.”

  “You’re determined to get her out of town, aren’t you?” Laura turned a challenging look on him.

  “It would be better,” Sebastian replied evenly.

  “Why are you doing any of this?” she demanded. “Boone thinks it’s all an attempt to impress me by showing how caring and compassionate you can be.”

  “Are you impressed?” He glanced at her, eyes atwinkle.

  Laura refused to give in to his considerable charm. “I am never impressed by stupidity. Trying to help a woman who’s married to a wife-beater is a waste of time. It never seems to matter how many times he pounds on her, she always believes him when he promises it won’t happen again. And it always does,” she said with exasperation. “She claims she loves him. Maybe she’s in love with the man she wants him to be, but she is definitely not in love with the man who knocks her around. So why do they keep going back? Is it guilt? Do they honestly believe they’ve done something to cause this? Is it fear? Do they think they can’t make it on their own? If the man died, they’d find a way. They wouldn’t have any choice.”

  “I suspect there is always more than one factor at work.” The calm pitch of his voice never changed.

  “How do you know?” Laura eyed him with sharpened interest, then said sarcastically, “Are you a champion of battered women back in England?”

  A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “Do I detect a trace of bitterness? You and Boone must have had words last night. Naturally, you have no wish to speak sharply to the love of your life, not when I make such a handy whipping boy.”

  “You’re very good at taking the conversation off in some other direction to avoid answering questions,” Laura stated. “But it isn’t going to work this time.”

  “I see that.” He nodded thoughtfully and let a silence fall.

  “So answer me,” she said impatiently.

  “The truth?” Sebastian countered with a quick, sideways glance. “I only ask because, in the past when I’ve spoken the truth, you’ve chosen not to believe me.”

  “You’re doing it again, Sebastian, and I refuse to be sidetracked.”

  “The reason isn’t really mine to tell,” Sebastian replied somewhat cryptically. “Helen is the one you should ask.”

  “Your sister?” Laura frowned in surprise. “Are you saying she was abused?”

  “Surely you don’t believe it happens only to women in the lower scale of society?” he queried. “I suspect it’s equally prevalent in the so-called privileged class, where it’s often kept as a dark secret, perhaps out of pride or shame.”

  “You’re serious.” Laura digested that fact, then said, “But your sister seemed like such an intelligent and sensible woman.”

  “It’s a conundrum, isn’t it?” Sebastian replied. “Fortunately she had a friend who recognized all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship and held a hand out without ever becoming judgmental.”

  Laura remembered his own lack of criticism in dealing with Gail Mitchell. “I was pretty rough with Gail,” she recalled.

  “But you never pulled your hand back.” There was a tenderness in the look he gave her that warmed Laura all the way through.

  Suddenly all the inner turmoil was gone—the odd anger and edginess. In its place was a kind of heady calm. Sebastian drove through the east gate and turned onto the two-lane highway, heading north to Blue Moon.

  An easy silence settled between them for a long run of miles. Rooftops jutted into the horizon ahead of them, their uneven angles close to the highway, making a jagged line against the sky. Standing two stories tall, close to the highway, Harry’s was easy to identify from the rest.

  Prompted by its nearness, Laura remarked idly, “I hope Mitchell was too drunk to go looking for his wife and kids when he discovered they weren’t in the house. If he showed up at Harry’s, I’m not sure Weldon would try to interfere—or call the police.”

  “I suspect your assumptions are accurate.” Sebastian didn’t bother to reduce the car’s speed until they were closer to town.

  To Laura’s relief, the parking lot at Harry’s was empty of vehicles. With a turn of the steering wheel, Sebastian swung the car into the driveway and stopped directly in front of the entrance. As Laura stepped out of the car, she happened to glance across the highway. The vehicle parked beside the pump island sported a light bar on its roof and
a county sheriff’s insignia on its door. Her attention instantly shifted to the uniformed officer making his way to the store at an easy walk. Even though his back was to her, Laura recognized him instantly.

  “There’s Logan across the way,” she said to Sebastian, comforted by the knowledge that Logan was close by if they needed him.

  As Sebastian turned to look, a bell jingled, signaling the opening of the door to Harry’s. The squat owner, Jack Weldon, stepped into the open doorway.

  “It’s about time you got here,” he declared, clearly agitated. “You’d better drive around back. Mitchell’s across the street at Fedderson’s.”

  Surprise held Laura motionless for a split second. As she swung around to look, two short, explosive pops rang out. Ranch-raised, she recognized the sound of gunshots. Even as fear leaped within her, she saw Logan pivot drunkenly away from the door he held open, his knees buckling, a dark stain on the front of his uniform.

  “No!” The scream came from her own throat when he crumpled to the ground, though Laura was unaware of it.

  On legs that felt strangely wooden and slow, she ran toward her fallen uncle. Sebastian caught and held her before she ever reached the highway. As she struggled to twist loose, the whole of her attention was riveted on Logan, lying motionless. She was only vaguely aware of the man who bolted from the store and scrambled to a pickup parked near its entrance.

  Not until she heard the slam of the pickup and the engine roar to life did Laura take notice of the light blue pickup. As the truck peeled onto the highway, she got a good look at the driver; it was Mitchell.

  Sebastian abruptly released her and took off for Fedderson’s. Laura ran after him, her heart hammering, fear clutching at her chest. Sebastian was the first to reach Logan’s side. He lay in a limp heap, blood saturating the front of his shirt.

  Sebastian took one look at him and ordered, “Call for help. Quick.”

  With her own eyes confirming the need for haste, Laura hurried inside, teeth clenched against the sobs in her throat. She saw no sign of the owner, Marsha Kelly, as she ran to the counter and the telephone that sat atop it. When she reached over to pick up the receiver, Laura saw the woman lying unconscious on the floor behind the narrow counter, a trickle of blood coming from a small cut on her left temple.

  Spurred by the sight, Laura climbed over the counter, scooped up the receiver and rapidly punched the emergency number. “This is Laura Calder,” she said the instant she received an answer and crouched next to Marsha Kelly, searching for and finding a strong, steady pulse. “I’m at Fedderson’s in Blue Moon. Logan”—she caught the beginnings of panic in her voice and clamped off her emotions, recognizing the need for cool, clear thinking—“Sheriff Echohawk’s been shot, at least once in the chest, and Marsha Kelly is unconscious. I saw Gary Mitchell leave here in an old Chevy pickup, light blue in color. I didn’t get the license plate number. But I’m sure he’s the one who shot Logan. Send an ambulance, fast.”

  “We have one on the way.”

  There were more questions to which Laura could provide few answers. Through it all she kept an eye on the glass door and the partially obstructed view it offered of Sebastian crouched over Logan. After receiving a parting caution to touch as little as possible, thus preserving any evidence at the crime scene, Laura hung up, checked again on Marsha, then made her way around the counter to the front door, using a hip to push it open.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” she said as Sebastian stood and turned to meet her, the red of blood on his hands and his clothes.

  For an instant, he made no reply. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. Laura didn’t have to ask what he meant; she could tell from his solemn expression and the look of deep compassion in his eyes.

  Still the disbelief came. “No.” She shook her head. “He can’t be dead. Not Logan.”

  Needing to confirm it for herself, she started to push past him, but Sebastian caught her by the arms. “He’s gone, Laura. You can’t bring him back. No one can.”

  She stiffened, wanting to deny it, but her throat knotted up, hot and painful. When Sebastian folded her silently into his arms, Laura didn’t resist. Just for a moment, she let her head dip against his chest, accepting his attempt to comfort, but she couldn’t stop the whirl of thoughts in her mind.

  One was foremost among them. “I’ve got to call home.”

  Wrapped in an emotionless calm, she turned out of his arms and went back inside the store. When she stepped behind the counter, there was a low moan from the woman on the floor. Laura bent down to her.

  “Marsha, it’s Laura Calder. Can you hear me?”

  “My head,” she mumbled, raising a hand to her temple.

  “Just lie still,” Laura ordered. “There’s an ambulance on the way.” The words only reminded her that Logan would have no need for it.

  The woman was still too dazed to offer any objection. Still, Laura kept an eye on her as she straightened and picked up the phone again. She automatically started to dial The Homestead, then remembered her mother would be at the ranch office, and punched in the digits to her personal extension.

  “Mom, it’s Laura,” she said the minute her mother answered. She thought she sounded calm, but something in her voice must have given her away.

  “What’s wrong?” her mother demanded with instant concern.

  “It’s Logan. He’s been shot.” Laura heard the quick intake of breath on the other end of the line, and something squeezed her own heart. “He’s dead, Mom.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence, followed by a slightly addled burst of questions. “How? Why? Where are you?”

  Laura briefly described the events that took place, ending with, “Aunt Cat.” Her voice tightened up. “She’ll have to be told.” And there was Quint, too, so far away.

  “I’ll go to her right away. Laura,” she began on a worried and questioning note.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom,” she assured her, knowing that at the moment all she felt was numbness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was ten minutes later when Laura heard the first siren, and another twenty minutes before the ambulance arrived. By then Marsha Kelly had fully regained consciousness and told Laura and Sebastian how Mitchell had walked up to the counter with a sixpack of beer and wanted to charge it.

  “He claimed he had an account here. I don’t know where he got that idea, because he’s never had one. But he kept insisting that he did. I could tell he’d been drinking,” she recalled. “And he just kept getting angrier. It didn’t do any good to argue with him. Finally I told him if he didn’t leave, I’d call the police. I was reaching for the phone and—I remember seeing him swing the sixpack at me. After that, it’s all blank.”

  Nothing was missing from the register’s cash drawer, but the handgun she always kept under the counter was gone. Laura could only surmise that after Mitchell knocked the woman out, he saw Logan, grabbed the gun from behind the counter, and fired in a blind panic.

  As soon as the crime scene was secured, the patrol officers turned their attention to Laura and Sebastian. There were questions to be answered and statements given. More than an hour passed before they were free to leave.

  News of the shooting had spread quickly, drawing the curious. Laura was conscious of their eyes on her as she slid into the passenger seat of Sebastian’s rental car, but she was beyond caring. A dullness encased her.

  As they turned onto the highway, she had a brief view of the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance and the body bag that lay on it.

  “My father died when I was small. I always imagined, though, that he would have been like Logan if he had lived.” Her voice thickened. “It’s hard to believe he’s really gone.”

  A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. Sebastian saw it; there was only one. Laura Calder wasn’t the kind of woman to wear her emotions. Behind all that chic sophistication, she was essentially a private woman.

  Saying nothing, Sebastian reached across the
seat and placed a hand over hers. Laura was surprised by the comfort she drew from such a simple gesture. With a coaxing tug of her hand and a signaling nod, Sebastian invited her to sit next to him. Laura obliged, discovering that she wanted the warmth of human contact. He curved an arm around her shoulders and fitted her against his side.

  They rode like that all the way back to the Triple C headquarters, neither speaking; it wasn’t a time for words. The grasslands of the Calder range rolled away from them, and the sun shone brightly in the immense sky. It seemed that nothing had changed, yet for each of them, some things had changed forever.

  Journey’s end came when they reached the big white, columned house that stood alone on its island knoll. Three other vehicles were already parked in front of it. And they were only the beginning, Laura knew; there would be many more before the day was over. Some people would come before they went to her aunt’s house at the Circle Six, and others afterward.

  When Sebastian parked near the veranda steps and climbed out, Laura was slow to move. By the time she slid across the seat, he had the passenger door open for her. Weighted by some invisible heaviness, she stepped from the car. Sebastian lightly rested his hand on the ridge of her shoulder as they made their way around the car to the front steps. The front door opened, and Boone came out, long strides carrying him quickly across the veranda and down the steps.

  Sebastian’s hand fell away from her shoulder as Boone’s arms reached to gather Laura into his embrace. “I’m sorry about your uncle, Laura,” he said, holding her tightly to him. “I wish I had been there.”

  “There was nothing you could have done. No one could have. It happened too fast.” It was the same thing Laura had told herself a dozen times since it had happened.

  “Just the same, I wish I had been there.” Boone kept her wrapped tightly to his side as he guided her up the steps.

  She was halfway to the top before she realized Sebastian wasn’t following them. Halting, she turned and saw him walking back to the car.

  “Where are you going, Sebastian?” She said, frowning.