Santa In Montana (Calder Saga 11)

“I was hoping this was a social call,” Cat admitted, then smiled a little ruefully. “Christmas—it’s not very far off, is it?”

“Just over a month.” Cup in hand, the officer returned to his seat in the wingback.

“And that will go by fast,” Cat murmured, then turned to Jessy. “Want a refill?”

“Sure.” She held out her cup and waited while Cat poured more.

“Might as well top mine off while you’re here.” Chase pushed his cup forward.

“Sorry, Dad, but this is the real stuff,” Cat informed him. “I’ll come back with your decaf.”

“Save yourself the trip to the kitchen and just fill my cup with what you’ve got in the pot,” Chase stated.

“Now, Dad,” she began.

But Chase cut across her words before she could complete her admonition. “My daughter likes to think she knows what’s best for me.” He directed the comment to the officer, the coolness of his voice clearly indicating his opinion of it.

“You know you’re supposed to cut back on the caffeine, Dad,” Cat reminded him.

“There are a lot of things I’m supposed to do that I don’t. Now, fill my cup.” The latter statement had the familiar bark of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

Lips pressed tightly together in disapproval, Cat poured coffee into his cup, then attempted to reassume her role as hostess by turning to the trooper. “I didn’t ask whether you take cream or sugar. I have both on the tray.”

“Black is fine,” he assured her, then took several folded together papers out of an inside pocket and handed them to Jessy. “I printed out everything you’d need to know. We really appreciate you signing on. The support of the Triple C will mean a lot.”

“Glad to help,” Jessy replied and laid the papers on the desk. “I’ll read them later.”

With all the curiosity of her nickname, Cat snuck a look at the papers. “You’re partnering with the Toys for Tots this year. That’s good to hear.”

“No one likes to see kids go without—at any time of year.” Something in his tone implied that he’d seen more of it than he wanted.

Chase didn’t allow the conversation to get mired in the current economic troubles. “Every time parents have to tighten their belts, Santa’s bag just gets bigger—like it will this year.”

Everyone smiled in agreement, and the talk centered around the current campaign. Once the trooper finished his coffee, he didn’t linger, pleading other stops to make. Cat saw him to the door.

“I’ll spread the word about the toy drive—and make sure it’s posted at the ranch store,” Jessy said, idly speaking her thoughts. “Mom would be good at organizing this. She was complaining the other day that she needed some kind of project.”

“Stumpy will appreciate that,” Chase commented, referring to her father. “He told me just the other day she was turning into a royal nag.”

Laredo returned to the den in time to hear the latter remark. “Are you talking about Cat again?”

“The shoe does fit her too, but in this case, we were referring to Jessy’s mother,” Chase answered.

“I think I’ll just forget I heard anything.” Laredo helped himself to another cup of coffee and glanced in the direction of the front window as the patrol car pulled away.

The verifying glance didn’t escape Chase’s notice. But he didn’t comment on it, just as he didn’t say anything about Laredo’s return coming on the heels of the trooper’s departure. Instead he simply took a sip of his own coffee. Cat paused in the doorway, drawing his glance.

“Did you want something, Cat?”

As she opened her mouth to reply, the quiet of the house was shattered by the sound of boot-clumping feet and a little boy’s voice calling, “Greypa! Greypa!”

“In here, Jake,” Chase called out needlessly as his four-year-old great-grandson charged into the den, nearly mowing Cat down in the process.

Chase swung his swivel chair around to face the young boy who came barreling around the desk to him, his chin jutting out to match the fixed look of determination on his face, an expression almost shockingly familiar to the one that Chase had been known to wear in the past. Bending forward, Chase ran an inspecting glance over the scarf-like head covering the boy wore. It sat slightly askew despite the encircling black band that was intended to hold it in place.

He fought back a smile and asked, “What’s the problem, son?”

“It’s Mom,” Jake declare