Santa In Montana (Calder Saga 11)

“No, it isn’t,” Wade replied. “As long as I don’t get tripped up by delays or unforeseen problems, it should be doable.”

Trembling under her warm coat, Cat tipped up her face to his, knowing what they both wanted. His last kiss was passionate.

Again, he was the one who broke it off, stroking her cheek in a final caress. “Wait for me,” he said.

Cat nodded and watched him go.

The Sunday morning sunlight blazed through the windows, but there wasn’t much warmth in it. The others were in the dining room when Cat made a belated entrance, attempting to be invisible. But Trey looked up.

“Morning, Aunt Cat,” he said cheerfully and pushed a platter of eggs and sausage over to her when she sat down. “Everything’s still hot, including the coffee.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, but I’ll just have some toast, I think.”

Trey passed that plate too. “Here you go.”

Cat selected a slice and buttered it, nibbling a corner as she looked around at the extended family. Her father was at the head of the table, studying the commodities reports in Friday’s newspapers, his half-glasses way down on his nose. The local and national newspapers got to the ranch a day or so late as a rule, but that didn’t bother him. He’d finished his breakfast and had one hand curved around a refill of coffee.

Trey leaned back in his chair, in no hurry to leave. He draped an arm over the back of his wife’s chair and lightly rubbed the nape of Sloan’s neck, easing a hand under the high, draped collar of her hand-knit sweater to do it.

Seeing the ease and familiarity of his idle caress, Cat felt a pang of loneliness. Wade was right. It had been too long.

Briskly, she poured herself a half-cup of coffee and ate the last few bites of her toast. Jessy entered at that moment with a fresh pot in hand. “Oh—hello, Cat. I thought that one was nearly empty. Here’s more if you need it.” She set the second carafe down.

“Thanks. I do,” Cat said.

Jessy settled into a chair opposite her and tackled a slice of toast herself before she spoke again. “So,” she said, “did you and Wade enjoy yourselves last night?”

“Yes, we went to Blue Moon and had dinner at Kelly’s. We did stay at the party long enough to see the Christmas program,” Cat replied. “I thought the kids did a wonderful job.”

Jake piped up, “Did you see me, Aunt Cat?”

“I certainly did. And I thought your performance was excellent.” She laughed.

“Thanks.” He beamed at the praise.

“Did Wade mention anything about when he might be able to come back?” Jessy asked, returning to the previous subject.

Cat knew that dodging questions would only lead to more questions. “He hopes to make it before Christmas,” she admitted.

Sloan’s head snapped up. “So soon,” she blurted, then darted a quick glance at Trey.

He acted as if he hadn’t heard either of their comments. “Did you still need me to give you a hand to bring those quilts down?”

“What quilts?” Jessy asked curiously.

Accepting Trey’s deft change of subject, knowing that he didn’t want any of her suspicions about Wade to become known, Sloan explained, “I found a motherlode of handmade quilts in an attic closet the other day. There was a dresser blocking it. When I moved it, there they were. Some signed and dated in embroidery thread. The oldest was from 1910 and the newest is from 1939.”

“I think I know the ones you mean,” Jessy said slowly. “They were all made here.”

Trey intervened. “Not a problem. They’re in our bedroom right now and they could use a good airing.”

“We could string clotheslines in the laundry room for that,” Cat suggested. “And with those bright overheads, we could see if they need mending. They must after all that time in the attic.”

“I thought they’d make an ideal backdrop for a family picture. I’d like to photograph all of us in front of them, especially the kids.”

“That’s a great idea, Sloan,” Cat said.

“I thought so,” Sloan replied. “Come on, Trey. Let’s go get them.”