Santa In Montana (Calder Saga 11)

“Definitely.”

Wade smiled and leaned back a little as he drove. A semi was ahead of them, but it quickly disappeared. “Looks like we have the highway to ourselves.”

“There hasn’t been much traffic since Dy-Corp closed its coal-mining operation,” Cat admitted. “And once again, the population of Blue Moon dropped to just a few when the workers moved somewhere else to make a living.”

“Once again.” Wade picked up on the phrase she had used. “You mean it’s happened before.”

“Back during the drought and depression years. Instead of coal being the cause of the town’s boom, it was the immigrants who flooded in, took out homesteads and tried to grow wheat. When the rains didn’t come and the wells dried up, they watched their land blow away along with their dreams.”

“And they had to leave, too,” he guessed.

“All except my grandmother, who wisely stayed and married my grandfather,” Cat added lightly.

“She was wise indeed,” Wade agreed and cast a curious sideways glance at Cat. “What was she like?”

“I don’t know. I never knew her. She died shortly after my father was born.” Cat thought of something else that he might find interesting. “I forgot to tell you how Blue Moon got its name—at least, according to local legend. Supposedly a trader called Fat Frank Fitzsimmons was traveling the area with a wagonload of supplies and whiskey. His wagon broke down where the town now stands. Unable to fix it, he set up shop and nailed up a sign that said WHISKEY. Few days later a cowboy rode by, saw it and stopped for some of that whiskey. It seems he warned Fat Frank that he was doomed because folks only came this way once in a blue moon. After the cowboy left, Frank wrote under his whiskey sign, Blue Moon, Montana Territory. And that’s how it got its start and a name.”

Wade chuckled softly. “Whether it’s true or not, it’s definitely colorful. And this place where we’re going, is that where Fat Frank sold his whiskey?”

“No, the Feddersons bought his place and ran a general store there for years. Then they sold it to the Kellys, who basically turned it into a large convenience store and gas station. The place we’re going got its start as a roadhouse during the prohibition years. After all, Canada isn’t that far away,” she reminded him. “I’ve heard the old-timers whisper that the proprietor had some very attractive ‘nieces’ who worked there.”

“Sin always sells, doesn’t it?”

“So I’ve heard.” Cat smiled. “Ross and Marsha Kelly own it now. It’s right up there—Kelly’s Bar and Grill.” She pointed to the building’s sign. “It’s a much more respectable place now, I’m glad to say.”

Wade slowed and made the turn into the parking lot of Kelly’s. Cat released her seatbelt when the car stopped and got out without waiting for him to come around and open her door. The brisk night air felt invigorating, increasing her sense of being fully alive.

He didn’t bother to button up for the short walk to the door and neither did she. He took her arm in his and she accepted the courteous gesture without a moment’s hesitation. The strength and warmth of his light hold felt very right and natural.

“Busier than I expected,” Wade commented as they headed for a table. The walls were decorated with paper Christmas motifs and the windows had been looped with strings of colored lights, the old-fashioned big ones.

She nodded. “But not exactly packed like a typical Saturday night,” Cat replied, her glance making its own sweep of the place. There were only two or three couples dancing to music from the jukebox. She recognized the song, a hit from a while ago that had never lost its popularity. Her gaze moved to the back and stayed on the rectangle of green felt under a spotlight and the random arrangement of colorful billiard balls on it. An ancient cowboy was bent over the table, playing pool with some much younger ranch hands, who stood to the side with long cues in hand. One was busily twirling a small cube of blue chalk on the tip of his cue just for something to do. But there wasn’t the usual number of onlookers.

The sharp click of billiard balls got Wade’s attention. Ricocheting off two others in turn, a striper rolled straight and true, and dropped into a far pocket with a solid thunk. The watching men scowled. Wade paused for a fraction of a second to watch the old man line up another complex shot. He sank the next ball he’d indicated with practiced smoothness.

“He knows what he’s doing,” he said with a low chuckle. “The competition doesn’t look too happy.”

Cat smiled in silent agreement. The ancient cowboy straightened as they passed by several feet away and took a moment to tip his hat to her, a faint but wily smile of triumph on his wrinkled face as he nodded to both of them.

They responded in kind and picked a table with an extra seat for their coats, sitting down. Marsha bustled over. “Evenin’, you two. Kind of a surprise to see you here, Cat, what with the ranch party going on tonight.”

“We snuck away,” Cat told her and touched a forefinger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”

An answering smile increased her apple-cheeked look as Marsha winked and promised, “Mum’s the word. Now what can I get for you?”

Wade ordered a beer and Cat asked for a Coke.

“Nachos to start?” Marsha suggested.

Wade folded his arms on the table and grinned up at Marsha. “I try to say yes to temptation. If you’re talking nachos, the answer is hell yes.”

“What kind of dip? We have salsa or cheese.”

“Both,” Cat said impulsively.

“You’ve got it.” Marsha departed for the bar.

His grin softened to a smile when he looked across the table at her. “Both, huh? You’re my kind of girl, Cat.”