Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“Liar.” It was calmly spoken as his mouth curved faintly in one of those fake smiles that chilled her blood. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s quite simple to figure it out.” He reached inside his suit jacket and took out a pen and a leather-bound note pad. “You’re going to write me a note to your boyfriend.”

“Repp?” Cat breathed his name in shocked dismay, realizing Stricklin believed she had confided in him. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“That’s very noble of you. Here.” He held out the paper and pen.

“No.” She took a step backwards. “I’m not writing any note for you.”

“I think you will,” he murmured.

When the locked door between the twin jail cells and the front offices swung open, Ty rolled to his feet and crossed swiftly to the door of his cell. The tautness ran from him when he recognized the suited man being admitted by the sheriff.

“I wondered when you’d get here,” he said.

Silverton flashed him an understanding look, then glanced pointedly at the sheriff, lingering by the door. “I’d like to speak to my client privately.” Blackmore shrugged his shoulders and moved away reluctantly. The lawyer faced Ty, a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “It’s lucky your local police weren’t out patrolling the highway for speeders, or I’d be in there with you.”

“How soon can you get me out of here?”

“There isn’t much I can do until they officially file charges, and they’re going to drag their feet right up to the deadline, I’m afraid,” he replied, cautioning him against expecting to be released any time soon. “I can’t do much about arranging bail until I find out what the judge is going to want. You can bet it’s not going to be reasonable. They’re going to try to keep you in here as long as they can.”

“What about the injunction? Any luck?”

“Not so far,” Silverton admitted, his mouth tightening in grim sympathy as Ty swore under his breath. “I don’t have to tell you what small-town law can be like.”

“No.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I want you to get hold of Potter. If the judge or any official around here has got old skeletons in their closet, Potter can tell you everything you’d want to know about them and how long since they’ve been dusted. He’s old and sick now, but his mind hasn’t gone yet. Let him rattle some bones for us.”

31

Long afternoon light laid its angle on the land, stretching out the shadows cast by the mob of pickup trucks that blocked the road from the east gate. Cowboys lounged in the shaded areas, seeking relief from the daylong heat that had baked metal surfaces until they were too hot to touch. The seeming lethargy of the group was a pose, a means of conserving energy. To a man, they were alert, eyes always moving, watching, waiting.

When a dark-colored Chrysler, covered with a film of travel dust, slowed on the highway and turned into the lane, those seated on the ground rolled to their feet and advanced to meet the car before it had clattered across the cattle guard. Their looks of hard suspicion gave way to dawning smiles when Ty Calder climbed out of the passenger side. As the car reversed onto the road, they pressed around him with a hearty, backslapping welcome.

“What’s the word, boss?”

“Yeah, what’s the word?” another voice echoed. “Are we gonna have to let them through?”

“Silverton”—Ty gestured to indicate the driver of the car just pulling onto the highway—“will have an injunction by morning. So, nothing crosses this range between now and then—no matter what law-enforcement official orders it.” More talk followed, gradually dying as their curiosity was satisfied. They began to scatter again, seeking the shade. Ty poured himself a cup of coffee from the large urn in the back of a truck, then patted his empty shirt pocket. Repp Taylor was leaning against the tailgate. “Grot a cigarette?” Ty asked, then lit the one Repp finally offered him after a blank minute. “I sent Cat to buy me a pack

, but she must have forgotten.”

“I think something’s wrong, Ty.” The cowboy’s lean-bitten features looked troubled as he fingered the slip of paper in his hand. “Some kid came riding up a while ago and said a girl had asked him to deliver this note to me. It’s from Cat.” He unfolded it to look at it again, not reading it verbatim. “She says she’s running away and wants me to meet her tonight.”

“Running away?” Furrows ran deep in his brow as Ty reached for the note.

“Yeah. That’s what I couldn’t figure out either,” Repp admitted with a gathering frown of concern. “She says she’s tired of the arguing and fighting—and she’s upset ’cause you won’t listen to her about the plane crash.”

“The plane crash.” Ty came to that part in the note and was equally confused. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Neither do I. I know she’s still upset over losing her mother, but—” Repp shrugged, unable to make anything other than the obvious connection between the two.

“The note also asks you not to tell anyone of her plans.”

“I know, but something’s not right about this note,” Repp insisted grimly.

“When’s the last time anyone on the ranch saw her?”

“I asked around after this note came. Someone thought they saw her take one of the trucks around noontime.” Repp eyed him with piercing interest. “What do you think?”

“If she’s really intending to run away, she’s picked a helluva time for it.”