Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“What’s your impression of the girl? You’ve met her?”

Her expression softened, a slight curve to her wide lips. “I don’t think we have to worry. I didn’t get any sense at all that she was like Tara.”

“That’s good.” If Chase noticed the careful way she referred to her late husband’s first marriage and avoided any direct mention of Ty himself, he never showed it. It was rare that he ever mentioned his son by name or voiced any of the grief that lingered even these many years since his death. Chase had been raised in the Western tradition that dictated such feelings were not for public display, but to be kept to oneself.

Catching the sound of two sets of footsteps approaching the den, Chase picked up his cane and levered himself out of the chair. Ignoring the protest of his arthritic joints, he hobbled around to the side of the desk just as the couple entered the den.

After the introductions were made, Chase listened with only half an ear while Jessy asked about the drive and whether the room was satisfactory. He was too busy observing the pair, especially the way Trey kept a possessive hand on the girl’s waist, the special glow in his eyes, and the big smile he wore, the width of it rivaling the ranch boundaries. A reflection of it could be seen in the girl as well, but a bit reserved. Yet, that was to be expected given her situation of being thrust among strangers and new environs.

For a moment Chase envied the two of them for that exultant rush of young love with all its heady flavors and sweet sounds. He remembered the excitement of that feeling and the way his fancies had wanted to shout it to the stars.

Once all the usual pleasantries were exchanged, Sloan remarked on the wide sweep of horns mounted above the fireplace mantel. “Those almost make me think I’m in Texas.”

“It’s right that you should think that way,” Chase told her, “considering they belonged to a true Texas longhorn—a big brindle steer called Captain. He led the first cattle drive my grandfather made, traveling from Texas all the way to the spot where I’m standing.”

He went on to tell her about the subsequent drives that were made to stock the ever expanding ranch with cattle—with Captain leading the way in all of them. Then he directed her attention to the framed map on the wall, the one his grandfather had drawn, delineating the ranch’s boundaries and the location of various landmarks, watercourses,

and out-camps. The paper itself had long been yellowed with age, but the markings on it had been made by a strong, bold hand more than a century and a quarter ago; as a consequence, they were still clear and sharp.

Cat arrived with coffee and a platter of sandwiches. Everyone insisted they weren’t hungry, but the sandwiches managed to disappear. The talk continued nonstop, most of it generated by Cat. Chase participated in less and less of it as a weariness settled over him. He caught himself nodding off and darted a quick look around to see if anyone else had noticed. Giving in to the tiredness, he reached for his cane.

Cat’s sharp eyes observed the action. “Going to call it a night, Dad?”

“You young people have a lot more energy and stamina than I have,” Chase said by way of an answer. “But when you get to be my age, you’ll need your rest, too.”

Amidst the chorus of “good nights” that followed his announcement, Cat rose from her chair, gathering up the empty coffee pot. “I’ll walk out with you. I need to refill the pot anyway.”

Chase grunted a response to that and waited until they were outside the den before he spoke. “I can get my own self into bed, so don’t be thinking I’ll need your help.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Cat denied, but he didn’t believe a word of it. “She seems like a nice girl, doesn’t she?”

“Who?” Out of orneriness, Chase pretended he didn’t know who his daughter was talking about.

“Sloan, of course. As if you didn’t know.” She threw him a chiding look, then looked toward the den. “I do hope she’s as bright and level-headed as she seems. It’s so obvious Trey is head-over-heels in love with her.”

On that score, Chase couldn’t disagree.

Chapter Nine

The following morning, right after breakfast, Trey took Sloan on a shopping trip to the commissary and outfitted her in appropriate ranch attire, from the straw Resistol hat on her head to the tough Justin boots on her feet. In the days that followed, she had plenty of occasions to wear them as she accompanied Trey just about everywhere he went, lending a hand to whatever task he was about. What she lacked in skill, she made up for with effort.

On a ranch the size of the Triple C, Sloan soon learned that the work was never-ending. There were colts to be halter-broken, fences to be mended, stalls to be cleaned, daily chores to be done, cattle to be checked, parts to be delivered, sick or injured animals to be doctored, water supplies and range conditions to be monitored—all of which was just a small sampling.

Twice she rode along with Trey when he drove to one of the half-dozen outlying camps that formed a circle around the ranch headquarters, dividing its vastness into manageable districts. The trips gave Sloan a glimpse of the private road system that linked all the various parts of the ranch.

Always there was the land, stretching from horizon to horizon. The dominating expanse of sky overhead gave it a flat look, but it was riddled with benchlands and breaks, cut-banks and coulees, as Sloan discovered when she rode over it with Trey.

And Trey seemed to know every inch of it and the things that lived on or under it. When Sloan made some passing comment about the curly, matted grass beneath their horses’ hooves, Trey identified it as buffalo grass. Like the taller blue joint, it was native to the area and more nutritious for the animals than any other kind of grass. Renowned for its hardiness, it was resistant to heat and drought. There was no brag in his voice when he explained that the grass was the source of the ranch’s wealth; it was a simple statement of fact.

Except for the huge irrigated hayfields along its south boundary, most of the land within the Triple C fences had never been touched by a plow. It was much the way it had been when the first Calder rode over it.

Day’s end always brought them back to The Homestead, where the family gathered for the nightly meal. The dinner conversation invariably centered on ranch business, though Sloan was never made to feel left out. Afterward nearly everyone lent a hand clearing the table, but Cat always shooed Sloan out of the kitchen, refusing any further help and insisting she go off somewhere with Trey.

Sometimes they cuddled on the couch to watch a movie or went for a long walk. One night they made love on a blanket beneath a cottonwood tree with only the stars to witness their union. Another evening, Cat dragged out the family album with its pages of photographs and regaled Sloan with stories of the rowdy and rambunctious boy Trey had been.

For a while, time seemed to stand still. Then, suddenly, there was little of it left. As they made the long walk from the old barn to the front steps of The Homestead, the knowledge rested heavily on Trey that this time tomorrow Sloan would be on a plane flying to Hawaii. Tension coiled through him.

Beside him, Sloan swept off her hat and shook her hair free of its confining band. “What a day,” she said with a sigh. “I was beginning to think you were never going to get that calf out of the mud. It was lucky you heard that cow bellowing. The calf might have died if you hadn’t found him. But,” she added, “I guess that’s why you make regular checks of the pasture.” She flashed him a smile.