Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“I’m trying to decide where to put this chair,” she replied and pushed his hands away when he tried to slip them around her waist. “Don’t, Ty. I’m trying to work this out.”

“You’ve been rearranging the furniture,” he observed with a glance around the room. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for a party.”

“It won’t hurt if we’re late.” She impatiently waved aside his reminder. Just as suddenly, she was turning and grabbing both his hands. “You don’t know how good I feel.” She looked around the spacious room with a swelling pride. “This is our own private corner of the house, completely ours. I can hardly wait to start fixing it up.”

“You’ll have to wait, because you have to get ready for the party. It was very generous of my parents to give us the master bedroom with its adjoining sitting room,” he agreed and changed the grip of their hands to pull her close enough to kiss.

After a brief touching, she drew back. “You smell of horses.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’d better go shower before I smell of them, too.” The drone of an airplane’s engine sounded outside the window. “That must be Daddy and Stricklin.” She dashed to the window. “Remind me to have him ship that antique secretary up here. It will (it perfectly in this corner.”

Sheriff Potter had found a place in the shade where a breeze blowing in from the river could reach him. From his chair, he had a view of the tent and the wood pits, the cluster of tables, and most of the crowd. Without exerting himself, he could keep an eye on just about everything that went on. Thin-chested and wide-hipped, he was sprawled over the chair, his legs stretched in front of him with his feet crossed. The hair on his head had thinned to white wisps. Always on the edge of laziness, age had slowed him down still more.

Although he observed Chase Calder’s approach, he neither straightened nor shifted his position. He continued sucking at his teeth, occasionally poking a toothpick between one gap or another. He waited until Calder had stopped in front of him before he bothered to nod.

“Glad you could make it, Potter.” An empty chair was by the trunk of the shade tree. Chase brought it around and sat down.

“Wouldn’t have missed the feed.” The sheriff dug at his teeth again, then sucked out the bit of food. “I wanted to see the boy’s gal, too. I’ve known four Calders in my time. Wonder if I’ll be around to see the fifth one born.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Chase murmured dryly. The old man had a way of conserving energy and keeping himself going long after most people figured he was through.

“I’ve seen a lot.” He slid him a look. “Been smart enough to forget most of it, too.” The toothpick was left sticking out of his mouth to be rolled around and chewed on. “That engineering fella Belton that’s got his trailer parked there by Sally’s? I managed to do some backtracking on his company. Found out who hired him.”

The initial check had come back more than two months earlier, proving the man to be reputable. Since no trouble had been reported, Chase had pushed the matter to the back of his mind. The sheriff obviously hadn’t.

Chase glanced at him, mildly interested. “Who was it?”

“Another Texas outfit. A company outa Fort Worth, named Dy-Corp.” He continued to watch the crowd with the ease of one accustomed to watching the world go by. “That’s the same company that drilled them oil wells on your land, ain’t it? Your son’s new father-in-law owns it, I believe.”

“Yes.” Chase turned his gaze to the crowd and searched out the Texan. He didn’t recall Dyson mentioning that he was planning any more drilling in the area.

“Remember that old Stockman place? Some company back east owns it and leases a bunch of federal graze. Dyson cut a deal this past June and leased it lock, stock, barrel, and mineral rights, includin’ that government land.” He chewed on the toothpick and flipped it to the other corner of his mouth as if his teeth got tired of holding it on the one side. “Just got one old buzzard on the place. Belton goes in and out every day. I don’t know what’s goin’ on in there. It’s real secret. But it ain’t oil he’s hoping to find.”

“Water would be more valuabl

e to him.”

There was a long pause. “I see O’Rourke’s here, skulkin’ around the barn,” the sheriff observed. “Queer fellow.”

Chase followed the direction of the sheriffs gaze and located the slim, lanky man, leaning against the corner of the stable barn. He was like a coyote, curiosity bringing him close enough to see what was going on, yet with open space behind him so he could bolt and run.

“He does a lot of riding.” Arch Goodman had reported on the frequency of fresh tracks crossing onto Calder land from the Shamrock. So far, there hadn’t been any trouble. “It seems he can’t stand being hemmed in anymore.”

“Sorta like a wild animal that’s been caged for a spell an’ set free.” Potter nodded his understanding. “Always gotta keep movin’ now.”

“O’Rourke was always a loner. Never wanted to fit in,” Chase concluded.

“Now, that’s a pair to keep your eye on—Dyson and Bulfert.” The toothpick was taken out of his mouth as the sheriff focused thoughtfully on the two men, talking amiably amidst the crowd. “Yes, sir, Bulfert’s the best money can buy, and he’s been bought more than once. I bet he’s turned more political tricks than a whore. And he’s gone through his money ’bout as fast as one.” There was another pause. “I heard he’s retiring after this term. Wonder when he’s going to check to see how well his pockets are lined.”

“That sounds like a warning.” Chase studied him, trying to read between the lines.

“Just an observation.” The sheriff almost managed a tired smile. “Observing people is ninety percent of my business. I let the young fools chase the speeders at a hundred miles an hour and bring in the mean drunks. No, I just watch. That’s how I’ve stayed sheriff so long—by watchin’ and knowin’. I’m just passin’ on to you what I see . . . for whatever good it might do you.”

“I appreciate it.”

“That partner of Dyson’s—what’s his name?” The sheriff cocked his head toward Chase. “That tall, pale-haired fella with glasses.”

“Stricklin.”

“Stricklin.” He repeated the name with a kind of satisfaction. “He’s got clean hands. You ever noticed how clean they are?” He shook his head briefly. “I never trust a man with clean hands. I always wonder why he washes ’em so much.” With a weary effort, he uncrossed his feet and made a project out of sitting up. “Guess I oughta pay my respects to the bride and groom and get back on the job.”