Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“Good question. Too bad I don’t know the answer.”

Mixed in with that note of indifference in Laredo’s voice was a touch of grimness. Trey caught it right away but chose not to comment on it. It summoned up the half-forgotten whispers he’d heard as a boy, hints that Laredo had b

een in trouble with the law. There had even been a suggestion that Logan had uncovered his secret while he was sheriff but chose to keep quiet about it. Until now Trey had always dismissed those old rumors as another tall tale the old-timers liked to feed people, one that would turn out to be only partly fact and mostly fiction. Trey wasn’t so sure about this one anymore.

“You’re positive Donovan isn’t someone you might have known before you came here?” Trey put it as a question and observed the way Laredo’s glance sliced to him.

“Positive.” He looked Trey in the eye when he answered him. “He isn’t a man I’d be likely to forget. And he isn’t one I would trust, either.”

Laredo never suggested that Trey should distrust the man as well. That wasn’t his way. But the seed was planted just the same.

“I’ll talk to Tank and make sure he passes the word for everybody to watch their step in there.” Saddle leather creaked as Trey shifted his weight in the seat. “We’ll find out soon enough what Donovan’s game is. Blue Moon’s too small for anything to stay a secret for long.”

“Don’t count on that,” Laredo advised. “That’s a man who knows how to keep his mouth shut. And he plans on being here for the long haul. If we find out anything, it’s something he wants us to know.”

Amusement quirked Trey’s mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was Granddad talking. You sound just like him, always expecting danger to be lurking in every shadow.” Trey found it hard to take this kind of talk seriously.

“When you own a place as big as the Triple C, there’s always going to be somebody who resents it. Whether you’re responsible or not, you’ll get blamed for their troubles. Cattle prices are too low—the Calders glutted the market. Their well goes dry—the Calders lowered the water table by irrigating their hayfields. Most of it won’t ever be anything more than a lot of ill-natured griping.” Laredo paused to make his point. “But it only takes one to decide he wants to get even. Chase knows what he’s talking about. Always check those shadows.”

Trey lost some of his skepticism. “That’s why he’s fixated on Rutledge, isn’t it?”

“Can you think of a better man to fear than one with the power and wealth that Rutledge has—and with his only son dead at the hands of a Calder?” Laredo countered.

“It was self-defense.” In Trey’s mind, that made all the difference.

“Do you think that matters to him?”

“It should.” But Trey realized that “should” didn’t mean it would.

His gaze stretched beyond the dusty backs of the plodding cattle and drifted over the sweep of gently rolling land ahead of them, mostly covered in summer-brown grass. Wherever there was a patch of bare ground, the soil had turned to powder.

Laredo could say all he wanted to about the danger Rutledge might pose, but as far as Trey was concerned, the lack of rain was the biggest threat to the Triple C right now.

Halfway up the knoll, Chase came to a halt and leaned both hands on his cane. It galled him that he could no longer climb the smallest hill without stopping to catch his breath. Growing old could be hell at times.

As his breathing began to even out, he gathered himself to make the final push to the front steps of The Homestead, where he could sit for a minute or two and pretend to be enjoying the morning air. He hadn’t traveled more than two feet when he heard the front door close and saw Sloan skipping lightly down the steps. There was an exuberance about her that made him smile.

“Just getting back from your walk, I see. You must have taken a long one this morning,” she remarked.

“It wasn’t long, just slow,” Chase corrected, then gestured with his cane at the leather case she carried. “Where are you off to?”

“On a picture-taking spree.”

He frowned. “Who’s getting their picture taken on a workday?”

“Oh, I’m not taking pictures of anyone in particular,” Sloan hastened to explain, “just whatever I happen to see. Trey mentioned they were moving cattle to another pasture today, so I thought I might try to capture some of that on film.”

After a small hesitation, Chase nodded, a little slow at recalling. “That’s right. The grass at the Broken Butte range was getting short.” He ran a thoughtful glance over his grandson’s young bride.

“If that’s where you’re heading, you might want to wait and follow the cook when he takes the noon meal to the boys. He’ll be pulling out in an hour or less.”

She shook her head in unconcern. “This morning light is too good to waste. Cat gave me directions. I’ll find them.” She struck out for the ranch pickup parked a few feet away.

Chase called out after her, “You got water with you?”

“Are you kidding?” She threw a laughing look at him as she pulled opened the driver’s door. “Cat loaded me up with everything—water, sandwiches, the works. I feel like a schoolkid with a packed lunch. See you sometime this afternoon. I’ll probably be late, so don’t worry.” Offering a farewell wave, Sloan climbed into the cab and pulled the door closed after her.

Dust billowed around the tires when she backed away from the house and pointed the truck at the ranch yard. It hung like a haze in the air, smudging his vision. Chase turned from it and resumed his climb up the steps.