Calder Pride (16 page)

Irritated and more worried about his sister than he cared to admit, Ty took a long drag on his cigarette, eyes squinting against the smoke. Soundlessly O’Rourke appeared beside him, a forefinger crossing over the chewed and bloody base of his thumb.

“Cat ain’t gonna die, is she?” Anxiety riddled his voice.

“Of course not,” Ty snapped with impatience, the question grating nerves that were already raw.

But his answer didn’t ease any of Culley’s fears. “They’d tell us if anything was going wrong, wouldn’t they? They’d let us know?”

Ty wasn’t sure about that, and it showed in his eyes.

Suddenly there was a new tenor to the murmurs coming from behind the trailer, a note of urgency
entering them. Everyone in camp caught it and went instantly still, gripped by a tension they couldn’t have explained.

The full-blown wail of a baby broke it, drawing smiles that were quickly hidden by hurriedly adopted expressions of nonchalance. Art Trumbo tugged on his gloves and proclaimed to no one in particular, “My Amy knows about as much as any doctor does.”

“When do you figure Grandpa Calder’s gonna be passing out the cigars?” Tiny Yates wanted to know.

None of their talk was of any interest to Culley. He moved away, taking a circuitous route around the motorized chuckwagon toward the makeshift tent behind the stock trailer. The bawling infant may have reassured the others, but he had only one concern, and that was Cat.

Moments earlier, Cat had been certain she hadn’t an ounce of strength left in her body. But her baby’s strident cries brought a fresh surge of energy to her. She pushed onto her elbows, eager to see her child, impatient to hold this wondrous squalling miracle that was her son.

“Would you just look at how long his arms and legs are,” Cat marveled softly as the baby waved and kicked and stretched, fending off Amy’s efforts to bundle his newly washed body in a towel.

“He’s gangly as a colt,” Jessy agreed and readjusted the bedrolls behind Cat, propping her in a half-sitting position.

With both arms, Cat took the swaddled infant from Amy and gathered him to her. He stopped crying at once and looked directly at her with round and darkly blue eyes. She gazed at the reddened face, the wet mop of glistening black hair.

“You are so beautiful,” Cat whispered, completely losing her heart to him.

A shaft of sunlight fell across the baby’s face, the
brightness startling both of them. Cat quickly shielded his eyes from the glare of it and looked up. Culley stared at her, one hand still holding aside the draped blanket. She saw the deepening look of worry in his eyes, and guessed that she looked a sight, with her hair all wild and disheveled, still damp with sweat. But she was beyond caring about her appearance; her cup was too full with the joy she felt over her beautiful new son.

“Uncle Culley, come see my baby,” Cat invited.

He hesitated, then moved closer, his gaze never ceasing its study of her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied with unmistakable fervor, glancing up at him, green eyes shining.

Culley looked at the delicate pallor of her skin, the smile on her lips, and the radiance of her face. When he had first seen her, so ghostly pale with her hair all snarled in clumps, he had thought she was at death’s door. Now she reminded him of the picture of the Madonna in his mother’s Bible.

“Isn’t he beautiful, Uncle Culley?” She gazed adoringly at the bundle in her arms.

In his thinking, babies were something women were to fuss over, not men. But he peered dutifully at the infant. “Kinda red, isn’t he?”

She laughed softly. “All babies are when they’re first born.”

“Oh.” He searched for something good to say. “He don’t look like a Calder.”

To Culley’s surprise, Chase remarked, “With all that dark hair, I have a feeling he’s going to take after his mother.”

“Have you decided on a name for the little guy yet?” Amy asked curiously.

Cat nodded. “Since he will be part of the fifth generation of Calders on the Triple C, I’m going to call him Quint. Quint Benteen Calder.”

The baby waved a tiny fist in the air.

A
pickup carrying the Triple C logo on its doors swung off the highway, splashed through a puddle left by a recent spring rain, and rolled to a stop in front of Sally’s Place. Behind the wheel, Chase switched off the engine while Cat opened the passenger door, then turned back to the boy seated between them.

Four days away from his fifth birthday, Quint Calder had that slender, coltish look of a boy trying to grow into his long arms and legs. Beneath a battered and much-worn straw cowboy hat, his hair gleamed blue-black in the sunlight. There was already a hint of high cheekbones showing in the softness of his face. Head bent, a furrow of concentration marring the smoothness of his forehead, Quint worked to unfasten his seat belt.

“Let me get that for you.” Cat reached to help him.

“I can do it myself, Mom,” he asserted quite calmly.

“Of course.” Cat drew her hands back, exchanging an amused glance with her father.

Quint’s remark was typical of a boy seeking to estab
lish his independence. But in other ways, her son was far from typical. Rowdy and boisterous he was not. By nature, he was serious and quiet, a trait that many mistook for shyness. But there wasn’t a bashful bone in his body. On the contrary, Quint was absolutely fearless, a fact that had caused Cat many an anxious moment. He was slow to anger, but when sufficiently provoked, he had a temper to rival hers, although Cat could count on one hand the number of times Quint had displayed it. He was a thinker and a doer rather than a talker. The ranch hands called him “little man.”

As always, when Quint succeeded in unbuckling his seat belt, he didn’t look to Cat for praise. In his way of thinking, such a simple task wasn’t worthy of it. Aware of it, Cat swung out of the truck and held the door open for him, while Chase climbed stiffly out the other side.

Quint scooted forward in the seat, stood, then paused and reached down to pick up the cane lying on the floor. “Here’s your cane, Grandpa.” Matter-of-factly he passed it to him.

“Thanks.” Chase took it.

Turning, Quint headed out the passenger side, the tail of his shirt hanging out of his jeans. Noticing it, Cat stopped him at the door. “Let’s tuck your shirt in.” With a deftness that came from long practice, she proceeded to push the material inside his jeans.

“What d’we got to do in town, Mom?”

“I have some shopping to do first, then—”

“Are you shopping for my birthday present?” Quint wanted to know, excitement sparkling in his gray eyes, gray eyes that never failed to remind Cat of another pair of eyes equally gray. It was a sight she still found a little disconcerting.

“No, I have already bought your present.” Smiling, she gave his hat brim a playful tug, pulling it down onto his forehead.

He quickly righted it and jumped to the ground. “What did you get me?”

“You don’t really want me to tell you, do you?”

“No. Surprises are better,” Quint stated with adultlike certainty, then walked to the front of the truck where Chase waited for them. “Are you going shoppin’ with us, Grandpa?”

“Nope. I’m gonna have a cup of coffee and visit with Sally.” He nodded toward the building that housed the combination restaurant and bar. “Would you like to join me? Maybe have a soda or some hot chocolate?”

The suggestion of hot chocolate had Quint’s eyes lighting up, but he turned first to Cat. “Is it okay if I go with Grandpa?”

“Sure. Just behave yourself and mind your manners,” Cat told him.

“I will,” he promised solemnly, then trotted forward and automatically took his grandfather’s outstretched hand.

At this early hour of the afternoon the lunch crowd had already left and the coffee drinkers had yet to arrive, leaving the restaurant virtually empty of patrons. Chase and Quint had their pick of tables; Chase chose one near the counter and sat down, hooking his cane onto the back of a white-painted chair.

Quint crawled onto another one and peered around the empty restaurant. “Where’s Miss Sally?”

“Back in the kitchen, I imagine,” Chase guessed from the clank and clatter of silverware and dishes coming from the direction of the batwing doors. “She’ll be out directly.”

Quint nodded in sober understanding and sat back to wait. It was a short one, as the proprietress, Sally Brogan, pushed through the swinging doors into the restaurant proper. Age had thickened her
waistline and turned her once copper-red hair a snowy white, a color that intensified the serene blue of her eyes.

Sally stopped in surprise when she saw the pair at the table. A look of pleasure leaped into her eyes, a look that became hungry as she ran her gaze over Chase. She had been in love with him more years than she cared to count. Once she had believed she had a chance with him. Since Maggie’s death, however, she had seen even less of him than before. She had finally come to accept that he would never offer her more than his friendship.

“I didn’t realize I had customers.” Approaching the table, Sally smiled a warm welcome. “Have you been here long?”

“Just sat down,” Chase told her.

“This can’t be Quint.” She turned to the boy. “You are growing as fast as the spring grass.”

“Kids do that, Miss Sally,” he explained.

Her smile deepened in amusement. “I guess they do at that.”

“Quint has a birthday coming up this Thursday,” Chase informed her.

“A birthday? How exciting. How old will you be?”

“Five.”

“Have you decided what you want for your birthday?” Sally asked.

Quint contemplated that for a long minute, then sighed. “I guess I got just about everything a boy could want.”

Sally laughed in amazement. “I’ll bet your mom was happy to hear that.”

“I guess.” He shrugged the answer, then volunteered, “Mom went shopping. Grandpa and me decided to come visit you. He’s gonna have some coffee, but I want hot chocolate.”

“Would you like a marshmallow with that hot chocolate?”

“Please.” A rare smile curved his mouth. “Can I drink it at the counter if I’m careful not to spill?”

“Of course you can.”

“Thanks.” Still beaming, Quint scrambled off his chair, raced over to the counter and hauled himself onto one of the stools.

Sally had set his hot chocolate, topped with two fat marshmallows, before him, then brought two cups of coffee to the table and sat down with Chase. “He’s quite the boy,” she remarked.

“Sometimes it seems like he’s four going on fifteen. He’s definitely not the harum-scarum type.” Chase studied his grandson with pride.

“I should say not,” Sally agreed.

“So, what’s been happening in Blue Moon?” Chase sipped at his coffee.

“Sheriff Blackmore had triple bypass surgery on Monday. He took sick over the weekend, I guess. They rushed him to the hospital in Miles City.”

“How’s he doing?”

“They say he came through the operation in fine shape, but it’ll be a while before he’s back on the job.”

“Who’s filling in for him? Jim Atchison?”

“No, Jim resigned last November and took a job on the police force in Lewiston. The new man they hired to replace him this past winter has taken over for Blackmore. I don’t think Don Hubble liked that very much. But Don is one man that, I swear, doesn’t know ‘come here’ from ‘sic ’em.’”

“I know what you mean.”

“How’s Jessy?”

Chase smiled, recalling, “I never knew a woman could be so sick—and so happy about it at the same time. She’s wanted a baby for a long time.”

“When’s it due?”

“Early December.”

Quint hopped off his stool and walked back to the table. “I’m all finished, Grandpa.”

“Pull up a chair and join us, then.” Chase nodded.

“Okay.” Quint climbed onto the chair he had previously vacated, and settled back to listen with spongelike attention to their talk.

Leaving the Michels dry goods and hardware store, Cat walked back to the pickup, deposited the sacks of party favors on the floor of the cab and headed over to Fedderson’s. A semi trailer rig barreled past her on the highway, its diesel engine at a full-throated roar. Dust swirled in its wake. Cat turned her face away from it and blinked to clear her eyes of its stinging particles.

Distracted by the dust cloud, she was slow to notice the man idling outside the entrance to the gas station and grocery store, his hand cupped around a cigarette, his back propped against the building, one leg bent. His hair was a dirty blond color, worn long and pulled back in a ponytail. The blue marks of a tattoo adorned a forearm that bulged with muscle, like the rest of him.

But it was the coldness of his eyes that had Cat averting her gaze and walking straight toward the door. He pushed away from the wall and turned, planting his bulk close to her path. “Don’t tell me that you don’t remember me, Miss High and Mighty Cat Calder?” he taunted. “I figured I’d run into you one fine day, but I didn’t think it would take almost a year.”

She stopped, her gaze snapping back to him, tak
ing in with a rush his broad, blunted features and ruddy complexion. With an effort, Cat managed to conceal her surprise as recognition flashed in her mind.

“Rollie Anderson. I heard you were home.” But little remained of the big, strapping farm boy she remembered except the husky shell. Somewhere in the last five, almost six years, he had lost that fresh-faced innocence, the ready grin and boisterous humor. There was a new hardness about him now, tinged with something sullen and cold.

“I didn’t come home to much, did I?” His mouth twisted in an unpleasant smile. “My mother says I have you to thank for that.”

“She’s wrong, of course, but I don’t expect you to believe me. It’s too easy to blame someone else, and the Calders have always been handy for that,” Cat replied without heat.

He looked at her for a long second. “It was an accident. I never set out to hurt anybody.”

“Repp died just the same.” But it was the image of a man with smoke gray eyes that lived in her mind, not her fiancé’s face. It was a secret she kept to herself.

With the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, he took a last drag on it, his eyes squinting at her through the smoke. “I heard how much you mourned him,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Where’s your kid?”

Stiffening, Cat raised the angle of her chin fractionally higher.

“With his grandfather.”

The squeal and hiss of air brakes pulled his attention from her. Glancing around, Cat saw a bus slowing to make the turn off the highway into Fedderson’s. With the diesel engine throttled down to a growl, the bus swung into the station. When she
turned back, Rollie Anderson wore a look of expectancy.

“See you around.” He moved off toward the bus, obviously meeting someone.

Idly curious, Cat lingered a moment. The bus door
swooshed
open, and a man in a jeans jacket and cowboy hat clumped down the steps, a grin splitting his face as he grabbed for Rollie’s hand. The edges of his hair showed blond beneath his hat, and his face had the same broad, blunt features, but etched with more lines.

“Damn, but it’s good to see you, Lath.” Rollie’s voice was gruff with pleasure as he hugged the man to him in a rough, back-pounding embrace. “It’s been too damn long since you were home.”

Lath was his older brother’s name, Cat remembered, and took a closer look at the man, who stood a good inch shorter than Rollie.

“Hell, if I’d come back any sooner, the old man would have worked me to death on that hellhole of a place he called a farm,” Lath declared in a voice liberally tinged with a Texas drawl. “Believe me, little brother, there are a lot easier ways to make money.” The bus driver swung down behind him and walked to the vehicle’s baggage compartment, opening it up and dragging out a green duffel bag. Cat turned away and crossed the last few feet to the store’s entrance. Behind her, Lath asked, “Where’s Mom? I figured she would be here.”

“She’s had her fill of town. She never did cotton to it, and no one cottoned to her. She’s back at the trailer, cooking you up a feast,” Rollie replied and added something else, but the jangle of bells triggered by Cat pushing the door open drowned out his words.

Inside, she nodded a greeting to the bored-looking woman at the cash register and went straight to
the post office window in a rear corner of the store’s expanded grocery section. After collecting two packages destined for the ranch, Cat paused in the fresh produce section to inspect the shipment of ripe red strawberries, one of Quint’s favorite treats. As she reached for a shopping basket, the bells above the outside door jingled again.

On the heels of its musical clatter came Lath’s drawling voice, in midsentence, “—is thirsty business. A six-pack ought to hold me till I get home.” Rollie mumbled something in response, but Lath Anderson made no attempt to lower his voice or hide the sharp edge to it. “What do you mean, we don’t have credit here? Since when?”

Cat slipped the packages in the shopping basket and glanced toward the front of the store, catching a glimpse of the two brothers but unable to hear Rollie’s murmured reply. The body language of his turned-aside head and hunched shoulders hinted of embarrassment. A second later, Emmett Fedderson plodded into view, looking wary and nervous.

Lath spotted him at almost the same time. “Emmett, you’re just the man I wanted to see,” he declared and draped an arm around the old man’s shoulder in pseudo-friendliness. “Rollie just told me some news that really hurt me. He said you cut off Ma’s credit after Pa died. I gotta tell you, I don’t take kindly to that. No, sir, I don’t take kindly to that at all.”

“The bill got too big.” Emmett attempted to ease away from the younger and bigger man, but Lath tightened his grip, his fingers applying pressure to keep him close. “I didn’t like doing it, but it got to be more than I could carry, business being what it is and all.”

Cat turned back to the strawberries, selected a quart and looked for another, still listening to the
run of conversation, uneasy without being sure why.

“Business is something I understand, Emmett,” Lath told him. “A man running a business has got a lot of hidden costs and worries that most people don’t even think about, more things than just an unpaid bill or two. Things like shoplifting and vandalism, fires and robberies—why, I guess you’d even have to worry about a runaway vehicle crashing into the front of your store. Yup, a fella’s got to think about all those possibilities, don’t he?”