This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

Lord knows, he’d tried his best to be a good father to her. They had a place to sleep and food on the table. He’d promised to buy her all the clothes and pretty things a young girl should have. Nothing he ever did was enough for that girl. She was a regular hellion; never gave him a minute’s peace.

Now, Culley was a good lad. He always listened and understood why things were the way they are. Angus wished Maggie were more like her brother. But Culley was a boy. It was easier to relate to a son. A father had to choose his words so carefully with a daughter. If Mary Frances were alive, she’d explain things to Maggie and make her understand that it wasn’t his fault they were poor. It was men like Webb Calder who wouldn’t give a man a chance to get ahead in this world.

Chapter III

With a deft flick of his wrist, Chase let the rope sail out and made a quick dally around the saddlehorn as the loop settled around the neck of a calf. In the work-a-day world of the cowboy, calf-roping did not entail the rump-sliding stops of the horse or the calf being jerked to the ground when it hit the end of the rope, as the rodeos depicted. With little theatrics, the calf was roped and dragged on foot to the branding crews to be vaccinated and branded.

Yet the scene held more excitement and confusion than a rodeo, in this arena of wild range land under acres of blue sky. Men were rushing everywhere, on foot and on horseback. There was the running banter of challenges and the bawling of the calves and bellowing cattle, riders dodging ground crews in pursuit of a calf, and men ducking loops. Churning hooves had ground the grass into the dirt, exposing the soil and sending up a thin haze of dust to blur the proceedings.

The scene assaulted the senses, dizzying the eyes that tried to take in all the action, confusing the ears that tried to separate the jumble of sounds, and assailing the nose with the combining odors of sweat, manure, and burning hair.

Through the maze of man and animal, Chase towed his protesting calf. It was Buck who came trotting up to flank his calf and bring it to the ground. Sweat had made streaks of mud on Buck’s face. While he stabbed a dose of vaccine into the downed calf, a second cowboy pressed the hot Triple C brand iron to the calf’s hip. Then Buck was loosening the noose and casting it free to let the bawling calf race back to its momma.

As Chase began recoiling his lariat, Buck paused for a breath. “I can’t take three days of this, Chase. All for one measly little ‘hell.’ It ain’t right. It just ain’t right,” he insisted.

“The world is tough, Buck.” The line of his mouth curved, alleviating some of its natural hardness.

“That’s a profound statement coming from the heir to all this,” Buck scoffed and took a tired stride after another roped calf.

The comment made no impression on Chase as he started his horse toward the herd. He accepted without question that the Calder empire would be his one day. He’d grown up with the knowledge. There had never been a moment when he’d thought of any other possibility. Someone called his name, and he stopped. Looking around, he spotted his father motioning for Chase to join him on the sidelines of the action. He walked his horse through the branding melee and reined in next to his father’s stud, pushing his hat to the back of his head.

“What is it?”

“I want you to come back to the house with me for dinner tonight.” At the vague surprise that leaped into Chase’s eyes, his father explained, “Senator Bulfert is flying in around five. He’s having dinner and spending the night with us before going on to Helena in the morning. It’s time you had some firsthand experience with behind-the-scenes politicking.”

“More lessons?” A reckless quality entered Chase’s smile, revealing an amusement for the endless schooling by his father.

“So far, all you’ve learned are the basics,” Webb answered with total seriousness. “If you expect to successfully run this ranch someday, you have a long way to go.”

On this subject, his father had no sense of humor. Straightening in the saddle, Chase pulled his hat down low on his forehead and wiped the smile from his face. “Yes, sir.”

“I know you think this ranch practically runs itself.” Webb read the thoughts in his son’s mind. “But when the time comes for you to take over, you are going to have your hands full, because they are going to try to take it away from you.”

“You keep talking about this ‘they,’ but you never tell me who ‘they’ are.” Chase couldn’t imagine anyone threatening to take the ranch from him. How could they?

“That’s going to be your problem, discovering which one of your friends or neighbors is making a move against you. This ranch seems secure, but it’s vulnerable because it’s so big.” His features became tainted with a grim sadness. “Nobody really likes you when you’re big, son. Sometimes that is the hardest thing to realize … and accept.”

It seemed to Chase that his father was exaggerating, but he held his silence. He’d learned long ago there was usually a great deal of truth in what his father said, no matter how skeptically he regarded it at the time.

“I left the pickup parked at the pasture’s east gate. Nate will ride along with us and bring the horses.” Webb gathered his reins. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep the senator waiting.”

“You have the senator in your pocket, and you know it,” Chase remarked dryly.

His father just smiled. “If you have a man in your pocket, he’s usually pilfering.”

Chuckling softly at his father’s wry wit, Chase followed along to meet up with Nate Moore on the near side of the herd. When the experienced ramrod noticed Chase, his gaze swung back to Webb.

“You never said I’d be losing a man. What’s the occasion?” he questioned, reining his horse alongside theirs.

“The senator is arriving to spend the night.”

A dancing light entered the older cowboy’s eyes, although his expression didn’t change. “Old Bullfart is coming, huh?”

“Senator Bulfert is coming, yes.” Webb stressed the senator’s proper name, but there was no censure in his tone.

“I suppose it pays to have friends in high places,” Nate conceded, “even when they stink.”

“I do my best to stay upwind from him so the smell never reaches me,” Webb replied and urged his horse into a reaching canter.