Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

“I see him,” Trey stated. “Looks like he’s headed back to his truck.”

“I wonder what he was doing over there.” Laura sent a curious glance in the direction of the caterer’s tent.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Trey replied.

Positioned as they were, Mitchell had to pass them to get to his pickup. Intent on the truck with the boy inside, the man didn’t notice Trey and Laura until he was a few yards from them. Immediately he slowed to a walk, something hot and wary leaping into his expression.

“What are you doing here, Mitchell?” Trey said in peremptory challenge.

The man sneered, “If it’s any of your business—”

Trey cut in, his voice cold and hard, “It is our business. You’re on the Triple C.”

Mitchell clamped his mouth shut for a long second, then jerked a thumb in the direction of the tents. “My wife’s workin’ out here today. I just stopped to find out what time she’d be gettin’ off. Now that I’ve found out, I’m leaving. Are you satisfied?” The sneer returned.

“As long as you’re leaving, we won’t stand in your way.” Trey continued to regard him with cool distrust.

Mitchell glared at him for a silent second, flicked a look at Laura, and stalked off. As he headed for his truck, Laura caught another glimpse of the boy stealing a peek out the rear window before he ducked out of sight again.

“Poor kid,” she murmured to Trey. “I can’t imagine anything worse than a child being left in the care of a brute like that.”

“Hey, Trey!” Someone called from the barn area. “The filly’s up next.”

Trey lifted a hand in reply, gathered up the reins, and grabbed hold of the saddle horn. “Keep an eye on him and make sure he really does leave,” he told Laura and swung into the saddle.

“Will do,” she promised.

When Trey reined the roan filly toward the barn, Mitchell jerked open the truck’s driver side door and threw a look at Laura. Rather than make it obvious that she intended to watch him, Laura headed toward the barn, taking an angle that kept the pickup in her side vision.

The pickup sputtered to life, belching dark smoke from its tailpipe with each rev of the engine. She was nearly to the barn before it reversed out of its parking spot and backed into a right turn that pointed it in the direction of The Homestead.

Keeping one ear tuned to the pickup’s idling engine, Laura entered the barn through a side door and worked her way through the scattering of prospective buyers standing along the wall until she reached the barn’s opened double doors. She stood to one side and looked out as the pickup rolled slowly forward on a path that took it unusually close to the row of parked vehicles. It was obvious to Laura that Mitchell was in no hurry to leave, and she wondered why.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are going to like this next filly we have for you,” the auctioneer’s baritone voice came over the sophisticated sound system that had been set up in the barn. “She’s a three-year-old by Cougar’s Pride out of a fine San Peppy mare.”

Laura glanced toward the sale ring as Trey rode in on the horse, stopped in the center, and reined the athletic filly into a fast spin that had nearly everyone in the place sitting up a little straighter. Laura smiled, feeling a surge of pride, both in the filly’s talent and her twin’s skill in the saddle. Then she shifted her attention back outside to check on Mitchell.

The pickup had stopped. At the same instant that fact registered, Laura noticed a thin slip of a woman hurrying toward it from between the cars. She was dressed in the white top and black skirt of the catering staff and carried a sack in her hands. There was something furtive in the glance the woman threw over her shoulder.

The minute she reached the pickup, she hurriedly stuffed the sack through the opened window, pressed her fingertips to her lips, and transferred the kiss to the little boy in the passenger seat, darted another worried look over her shoulder, and hurried back to the catering truck. Simultaneously the pick-up roared away from the site.

It was only a guess, but Laura thought it was a fairly accurate one that the sack had been full of food, no doubt the same as that being served in the refreshment tent. Her mouth moved in a wry smile as Laura realized the Mitchells would have plenty to eat tonight, courtesy of the Calders.

With the mystery of Mitchell’s presence solved, she shifted her attention to the sale ring, where the bidding was under way. The auctioneer’s rapid and rhythmic chant filled the barn. She scanned the crowd and located Boone standing near the rear.

The initial bidding was fast and spirited as Laura picked her way through the mix of spectators and buyers. One of the spotters pointed to Boone. At a nod from him, the price jumped two thousand dollars.

“You know your horseflesh,” Laura murmured when she reached Boone’s side. “I think she’s the best of the lot.”

“My father agrees with you.” He automatically curved an arm around her waist, more in a statement of ownership than affection, and nodded again, raising the last bid by another two thousand.

Aware of the knowing looks they received, Laura leaned lightly against him and spread the flat of her palm over the front of his shirt and the iron-hard muscles beneath it. She made no further comment, choosing to feign an interest in the bidding. When the hammer fell, the top bid was Boone’s.

His success brought a round of congratulations and good-natured back-slapping

from those close by them. It faded with the entry of the next horse into the sale ring.

Tilting her head back, Laura smiled up at Boone. “I hope you read the fine print in the sales agreement.”