Santa In Montana (Calder Saga 11)

Trey drew his head back in surprise. “Why?”

Sloan took a few seconds to marshal her argument before she responded. “Look, Trey, we don’t know anything about Wade Rogers. Chase is getting old, and we have to be realistic about what that means.”

Trey watched her. “I’m listening.”

“Elderly people get tricked out of their money all the time. Con men specialize in frauds that target senior citizens.”

“That’s true,” Trey admitted, and smiled his unconcern, “but Chase is way too wise to be taken in by such schemes.”

“He probably has been in the past, but—”

Trey held up a silencing hand to stop her. “Look, it’s his money. What he does with it is his business. I am not about to ask him to account for it.”

Sloan’s eyes darkened, their look matching her troubled frown. But she didn’t shrug off the arm Trey slid around her shoulders. He drew her close, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“Are you trying to distract me?” she asked softly.

“No. I respect your concern for Chase. But that check stub you saw doesn’t worry me.”

She looked up at him, not convinced. “I wish I felt the same way.”

“Sooner or later, he’ll probably tell us what it was for,” Trey assured her. “Or not. It’s up to him.”

Sloan sighed and relaxed a little, leaning her head against her husband’s chest, trying to absorb some of his confidence.

“Come on,” he murmured, “let’s go to bed.”

Chapter 6

The winter afternoon was numbingly cold, even though the sun was shining. The crusty snow crunched under the hooves of the horses Jessy and Laredo were riding, revealing isolated patches of winter-brown grass where it had melted a few days before. Deceptively dull in color at this time of year, the native bunch grass was rich in nutrients that put hard weight on cattle, making it one of the ranch’s best assets.

The riders were taking it slow as they surveyed the endless landscape that surrounded them. There was no sound but the occasional creak of saddle leather, or now and then a snort from one of the horses that made warm, rolling vapor rise in the air.

“Everything seems to be in good shape. Better than I expected, actually.”

“You look happy, Jessy.” Laredo ran an assessing glance over her profile, noting how relaxed and at ease she appeared without the stress lines that had been on her face when they set out. “You needed a break from the office.”

Jessy admitted to that with a nod. “That’s the one thing I don’t like about running the Triple C,” she said with a sigh. “I have to spend so much time inside four walls. I miss being out here on the land.”

“You’re not the only one,” Laredo said.

She looked at him quizzically.

“I think Chase does too. He stays in his den most of the time. I remember when he rode out every day, rain or shine—or snow.”

Jessy’s expression grew sad. “Me too. It’s a shame that his arthritis makes it impossible for him to sit in a saddle anymore. Seeing this land from inside a pickup cab just isn’t the same as riding across it on a horse.”

Laredo reined his mount to a stop, rested his gloved hands on the saddle horn and looked around. Jessy followed suit.

“There is one thing he’s happy about, though,” Jessy added as her horse sidled closer to his. “Cat and Wade Rogers hit it off.”

“What makes you think that?” A trace of surprise was in his questioning frown.

“You mean you haven’t heard all the clattering of the range telegraph?” she mocked lightly. “I guess they spent some time together the last time he was here.”

“So. Is he sending roses? Or did he serenade her with an old guitar?”

“No serenades,” she said. “He’s a city slicker. They don’t sing under windows in Washington, D.C., as far as I know. And he hasn’t sent roses yet. But I understand they have a dinner date the next time he’s here.”