by Janet Dailey
He used gruffness to hide any lingering ache in his voice. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Of course not.” Cat smiled in dry disbelief and bent to tuck the edges of a heavy blanket around his legs.
The action prompted him to notice the new weight of it on his leg. “What’s this about?” Chase demanded, the sight of it making him feel like an invalid.
“I don’t want you getting chilled.”
“So you’re going to roast me instead?” His glance was sharp with reproof.
“Now you know what the doctor said, Dad.” Her voice had that indulgent tone parents used when speaking to their children, further irritating him.
“The man’s a quack,” Chase grumbled. “He claimed I had pneumonia, but it was nothing but a damned cold.”
The instant the diagnosis had been made Cat had appointed herself as his personal nurse and moved into The Homestead to care for him. Although Cat had never said so, Chase knew the move was to be a permanent one. Living in the ranch house she had once shared with Logan had proved to be too painful and too lonely. Truthfully, Chase welcomed her presence even if she fussed over him too much.
“It doesn’t matter whether it was pneumonia or a common cold, we still can’t risk a relapse,” Cat insisted, “not with the wedding coming up next week. You know how determined Laura is that you be the one who gives her away.”
At the mention of Laura, Chase suddenly noticed the lack of chattering voices and other sounds of the flurry of pre-wedding activity that had filled The Homestead these last few days. “Where is Laura?”
“Upstairs with Tara and the seamstress. They’re finishing up the final fitting.”
He frowned. “How come you aren’t up there with them?”
“I was. I just came down to check on you,” Cat replied with a kind of studied nonchalance and drifted over to the window as if drawn by the thickening curtain of white flakes. “The snow’s coming down a lot heavier. I hope the roads aren’t slick.”
Chase knew at once that the remark was more than just an idle one and guessed, “Quint went over to the Circle Six, did he?”
Cat hesitated fractionally, then nodded. “He wanted to check on the cattle—make sure there was enough hay out for them. I thought he’d be back by now,” she added with a faint note of worry.
The day after his father’s funeral Quint had handed in his letter of resignation. Chase wasn’t surprised by his decision. The boy had always had a strong sense of duty, and there wasn’t any doubt that Cat had needed him desperately in those first months following Logan’s death.
“Quint’s never been the kind to take unnecessary risks.” Chase said to allay her concern. “If the roads are bad, he’ll just stay at the ranch.” After a slight pause, he added. “It’s natural to worry about him. All parents worry about their children, whether they’re four years old or forty. But you can’t continue to lean on Quint. It isn’t healthy for either of you.”
“I know,” Cat admitted on a faint sigh.
Chase was about to say more when an upstairs door opened and the house echoed with the sound of multiple footsteps and feminine chatter. He listened to it flow down the staircase and arched an amused glance at his daughter.
“With Laura in the house, the quiet couldn’t last.” He knew he’d miss the noise when she moved to England.
“How true,” Cat agreed and moved away from the window. “A snowy afternoon like this seems to call for a cup of hot cocoa. Would you like me to fix you one?”
“I’d rather have coffee.” Chase replied.
“I’ll bring you a cup.” She crossed to the doorway and paused there, her attention transfixed on something in the living room. “Laura,” she murmured, the single word conveying a wealth of utter appreciation and approval.
“Is Gramps in the den?” The familiar voice of his granddaughter reached his ears.
Chase spoke up before Cat could answer. “I’m here.”
“Close your eyes, Gramps. I have something I want to show you,” Laura said.
The beginnings of a small smile edged the corners of his mouth. “I think it might be hard to see it if I close my eyes.”
“Very cute,” Laura chided with affection. “Just cover your eyes and I’ll tell you when you can look. Let me know when he’s ready, Aunt Cat,” she added.
Realizing that Laura was determined to have it her way, as usual, Chase chose to indulge her whim and placed a hand over his eyes. Almost immediately light footsteps approached the den’s entrance, accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric.
“You can look now, Gramps.”
He lowered his hand and beheld the vision of his granddaughter poised in the doorway and dressed in a wedding gown of white satin. Its line was simple but incredibly elegant, with long, flowing sleeves and an artful studding of pearls. She was all beauty and grace, a sight that caused a swelling of pride in his chest.
“I wanted you to see me in the gown I’ll be wearing at our ceremony in Scotland,” Laura exclaimed, careful not to make any direct reference to the fact that he wouldn’t be present. It was the consensus that the trip would be too long and hard for him at his advanced age. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful, of course, but”—Chase frowned—“are you saying you have two wedding gowns?”
“Really Gramps, I can’t have Sebastian seeing me in the same one twice. It just isn’t done,” Laura chided. “Besides, since the wedding will take place in Skibo Castle, I thought I should wear something with a slightly medieval look.”
“Having two gowns is as foolish as having two weddings,” he grumped. “One should be good enough.”
“Now, Gramps, we’ve been through all that.” With an indulgent smile, she glided across the room to his chair and sat sideways on the arm of it, facing him. “It simply wasn’t feasible for Sebastian’s family and friends to fly over here for the wedding. There wouldn’t have been enough room to put them all up.” She lightly smoothed his coarse gray hair. “And nearly every Calder bride has been married right here in the den. I couldn’t very well break that tradition, now could I?”
“No, you couldn’t do that. You are, after all, a Calder.” A calmness settled over him. And Chase knew that long after he was gone, the Calder tradition would continue. That tradition of passion and pain, loving and losing, trial and triumph would never die. It was the Calder way.
Please turn the page for a preview of
LONE CALDER STAR
by Janet Dailey.
A June 2005 hardcover release
from Kensington Publishing.
Prologue
Clouds blanketed the Texas landscape southwest of Fort Worth as a stiff wind broomed the countryside, sweeping up anything that wasn’t firmly attached. The air was cold with the bite of December’s breath, courtesy of the “blue norther” that had invaded Texas the night before.
A sign swung drunkenly from its gatepost, held by a single chain that creaked and rattled with the effort. The sign itself was pockmarked with bullet holes, making it difficult to read the painted letters that spelled out the name CEE BAR RANCH.
Brake lights flashed red as a fast-traveling patrol car slowed its approach to the ranch entrance. Still the vehicle took the turn a little fast, the rear end fishtailing slightly on the dirt lane. Dust boiled around the patrol car, but not before Officer Ray Hobbs got a look at the dangling sign.
“Looks like somebody’s been using that sign for target practice,” he remarked to his partner behind the wheel.
“So what else is new, city boy?” Joe Ed Krause, a veteran of some seventeen years on the force, threw a jaundiced look at the young rookie. “Half the signs in the county’ve been shot up at one time or another. That’s just what happens when you put boredom, beer, and back roads together. It don’t mean anything.”
“Probably not,” Ray Hobbs agreed and shifted his attention to the empty landscape, partially obscured by the blowing dust. When the patrol car rolled into the
ranch yard, he sat up a little straighter, taking note of the pickup parked in front of an old barn before focusing on the single-story house and the front porch that traversed the length of it. “Looks like somebody’s here.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Joe Ed muttered and drove straight to the house. Leaving the warm confines of the patrol car, he stepped into the winter-chilled air and clamped a hand on the crown of his hat to prevent the wind from blowing it off.
His partner joined him. Together they crossed to the shelter of the porch. There was an uneven cadence to the heavy thud of their footsteps on the planked floor, the sound partially muffled by the wind.
Without hesitation or caution, Joe Ed opened the screen door and pounded loudly on the wooden door, then waited. As the seconds stretched out, the rookie peered through the dust-coated panes of a side window.
“Don’t see any movement,” Ray said.
Joe Ed pounded on the door again, rattling the hinges, then reached down and tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand.
“It’s not locked?” The rookie gave his partner a startled look.
“Hell, we’re in the country,” Joe Ed retorted with barely veiled disgust. “Nobody locks their door during the day.” He stepped inside and shouted, “Hello? Anybody home?” He paused and called out again, “Evans, are you here?”
But he was met only with silence.
The rookie followed him inside. “I don’t think anybody’s here.”
“No kidding.” That observation didn’t come as any great surprise to Joe Ed. If he’d been alone, he would have turned around and left right then. But with the green officer at his side, he decided to go through the motions of a search. “We might as well check the other rooms.”
The doorway on his right opened into the kitchen. Joe Ed motioned toward it and led the way into the room, floorboards creaking under the weight of his heavy frame. His foray into the room took him to the automatic coffeemaker on the counter next to the sink.
He pulled out the pot and made a face of disgust. “There must be an inch of mold in this pot.” More grew on the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. The state of the dishes in the sink didn’t bother him, but the coffeepot did. “Every cowhand I ever knew couldn’t start his day without coffee. Nobody’s made any in this pot for days.”
“Do you think we should check out the bedrooms?” the rookie suggested.
Joe Ed shrugged. “Why not?”
A search of the three bedrooms yielded one unmade bed and three empty closets. “This Sam Evans guy that’s supposed to be living here has obviously pulled out.”
“But how come there’s a pickup parked outside?” The rookie, Ray Hobbs, still wasn’t satisfied that the situation was as simple as that.
“Yeah. I guess we’d better check it out,” Joe Ed agreed with reluctance, regarding it as a waste of time.
The wind howled a greeting as they exited the old ranch house. Heads down, the two officers walked into the teeth of it, taking a straight line to the pickup parked in front of the barn. Like the house, the truck was unlocked. A search of the glove compartment produced a certificate of insurance and registration slip.
“The owner of record is the Calder Cattle Company,” Joe Ed announced. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the name of the Montana outfit that owns this place.”
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Copyright © 2004 by Janet Dailey
ISBN: 978-1-4201-2566-5
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