Santa In Montana (Calder Saga 11)

“Real hungry.” Jake confirmed with an emphatic nod. “Sure glad it’s lunchtime. Mom and me was just headed to the house to eat. Mom said Aunt Cat would prolly have the food on the table by now.”

“Let’s hope so.” By common consent, they all struck out for the Homestead, but at a pace that Jake’s shorter legs could match.

“Hey, Mom.” He turned, walking sideways. “Do you s’pose Greypa has found a husband for Aunt Cat yet?”

“A husband?” Trey threw a puzzled frown at Sloan.

“Long story,” she murmured in answer, then said to Jake, “I doubt it.”

“Can I go ask him?” Jake asked with eagerness.

“May I,” Sloan corrected automatically.

“But I want to ask him, Mom,” Jake insisted, a determined set to his chin.

“No—I meant that you should have said ‘May I’ not ‘Can I’ go ask him.” She found it hard not to let a small smile show.

“Well, can I?”

Sloan gave up the attempt to correct his grammar and waved a hand toward the house. “Go.”

With permission granted, Jake took off at a run for the Homestead. She immediately called after him, “Don’t you dare go in the house with those muddy boots on, Jake Calder! Take them off outside.”

“Yes, Mom,” he hollered back.

“So what’s this long story about Gramps getting Cat a husband?” Trey asked now that Jake was out of earshot.

While she told him about the morning’s incident, she kept an eye on their son just to make sure he remembered to remove his boots before he went inside.

But Jake clumped across the veranda’s wooden floor straight to the bootjack near the front door, pried a foot out of first one muddy boot then the other, and launched himself at the door, throwing his weight against its heavy bulk to open it. Inside, he paused long enough to push it shut then struck out for the den. In his stocking feet, he had difficulty getting traction on the hallway’s hardwood surface and reduced his headlong pace to a scampering trot.

When he reached the den’s open door

way, he slid to make the turn into the room. “Hey, Greypa, did you find Aunt Cat a—husband?” He broke off the rest of his question and frowned in puzzlement when he saw his grandfather crouched behind the desk, only his head and shoulders visible. Jake moved to the side of the desk for a closer look. “Hey, Greypa, wha’cha doin?”

“Looking for something.” Chase never glanced up from his search of the middle drawer’s contents.

“Can I help? I’m a good looker, Greypa.”

“No, I’ll find it myself,” he half growled the reply, shoved the middle drawer closed, pushed his chair back and lowered himself out of it onto one knee as he pulled open the bottom drawer. “The damned thing’s gotta be here somewhere.”

A protest formed, but he checked it when he heard the sound of the front door opening, accompanied by his parents’ familiar voices. He pushed away from the desk and ran back to the entry, arriving just as Cat joined him.

“That’s good timing,” Cat declared. “I was just on my way to let Dad know lunch is on the table. Jake, would you run and tell him?”

“Okay, but—” he hesitated, “but I think Greypa needs some help first.”

“Why? Where is he?’ Cat asked, the first glimmer of concern showing in her expression.

“On the floor behind the desk.”

“On the floor? Oh, my God, he’s fallen.” Before she ever finished the sentence, Cat was running for the den, Trey and Sloan were only steps behind her. Not understanding what all the urgency was about, Jake brought up the rear.

Cat hurried behind the desk. “I’ll help you up, Dad.” Bending, she caught hold of his arm.

“Let go of me.” He jerked it away and threw her a glare when she reached for him again. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to help you,” she snapped, then accused, “You had a dizzy spell, didn’t you?”