Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

Trey shot Laura a warning look and muttered low, “For God’s sake, don’t ask for a glass of wine.”

Since she had no intention of doing so, Laura didn’t bother to respond and flashed her most winning smile at the man. “Since I seem to be the designated driver, I’ll have a glass of iced tea.”

“A beer for me,” Trey said. “Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

“The same,” Quint echoed

After the man left to fetch their drink order, Trey swung his attention to Quint. “How soon do you have to report back to work?”

“Never, if Mom has anything to say about it.” Quint attempted to make a joke of it, but the underlying truth in his words injected a kind of troubled heaviness. “But I’ll be reporting back as soon as the doctor gives me a release, which will probably be in two weeks or so.”

“Mothers worry. It’s part of the job description,” Laura told him.

“Mom’s gone above and beyond the call of duty, then,” Quint replied and paused when the man returned to the table with their drinks. Trey dug some bills out of his pocket to pay their tab. After the man moved away from the table, Quint resumed their conversation. “I honestly thought Mom would feel better knowing that I’d be stuck behind a desk for the next six months to a year, but I forgot about the Oklahoma City bombings. She’s convinced any federal law office is a potential target. Unfortunately, she’s right. Dad thinks she just needs some time to get used to the idea of me going back in the field.”

“But you don’t agree, do you?” Laura guessed.

Quint shook his head. “No. Only one thing would make her happy, and that would be for me to resign and go to work for the Triple C.”

“I think that’s a helluva good idea,” Trey declared.

Quint turned his steady gray gaze on him. “No, it isn’t. That ranch is going to pass into your hands one day.”

Trey flashed a cynically amused glance at Laura. “He says that like it might be news to me, instead of something I’ve been told ever since I can remember. And I don’t see what difference that makes, anyway.” He directed the challenge to Quint. “It would be good to know I have somebody I could trust at my side running things. And in case you haven’t looked at that old map on the wall lately, the Triple C’s as big as some eastern states—certainly big enough for two.”

“You’re wrong,” Quint stated calmly. “There can’t be two people at the top of the Triple C, or you’ll end up with divided loyalties. You can see it today in the way some of the old hands wait for Granddad to nod when your mother tells them to do something.” He shook his head again. “As much as I might like to, I won’t be going to work at the ranch.”

Laura caught the note of regret in his voice and wondered if Trey had, too. But Quint’s remarks seemed to have a sobering effect on Trey that had him still contemplating them.

“How in the world did this conversation get so serious?” she said in mock reproach. “I thought we were here for a cousins’ celebration—although I can’t say this is the most festive place I’ve ever been in.” Laura flicked an amused glance at the dingy surroundings that reeked with the stale, sour odors of tobacco smoke and liquor.

“After Europe this place must be quite a comedown for you,” Quint observed matter-of-factly.

“I suppose.” One bare shoulder lifted in a diffident shrug. “But I think you’ll agree Harry’s definitely provides a lesson in appreciation for the better-class establishments.”

Quint chuckled at her response. “I guess when you’re the only watering hole in nearly a hundred miles, quality isn’t something you have to worry about.”

“How true.” Laura raised her iced-tea glass in a toasting acknowledgement of his statement.

Trey made a single sideways twist of his head in disagreement. “If your idea of quality is silk boxer shorts, I’ll take Harry’s any time.”

“Silk boxer shorts?” Quint repeated.

“Yeah. That’s what she brought me back from Europe. Can you believe it?” The high arch of his eyebrows left little doubt of Trey’s opinion of the gift.

“He refuses to even try them on,” Laura complained.

“I have just one question.” There was a devilish glint in Trey’s dark eyes. “Does Crockett wear them?”

“Who’s Crockett?” Quint split his gl

ance between the two of them.

“Laura’s new beau.” Trey answered, still watching Laura.

“Really.” Quint’s gray eyes took on the same teasing light that glittered in Trey’s. “Someone you met in Europe, is he?”

“In Rome, actually. And his name isn’t Crockett, it’s Boone. I happened to be gone when Boone called yesterday, and Gramps answered the phone. By the time Gramps got around to giving me the message, he’d gotten mixed up about the name and remembered only that it was the same as a famous frontiersman.”