“I thought you were supposed to be leaving soon. That’s what you said.”
Laredo moved his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “If I’m a few days late crossing the border, my friends won’t worry about me.”
“I see.” Common sense told him that Laredo’s suggestion was a sound one, yet it grated on him that he would have no active part in it.
“I know you hate the idea of sitting here and waiting, but it’s the most practical solution. By now others will have noticed you are missing and started asking questions. It wouldn’t arouse anybody’s suspicions if I nosed around, too.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But I can’t help wondering why you want to involve yourself in my problem.”
“Curiosity, pure and simple,” Laredo replied. “I can’t help wondering who you are. Besides,” he added in jest, “I saved your life. The way I figure it that makes me responsible for you.”
Hattie walked into the bedroom, saw Laredo sitting on the bed, and made a sharp pivot toward Duke. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Drinking coffee.”
“You can finish that in bed.” She plucked the mug from his hand and set it on the dresser top before he could raise an objection.
“I’ve laid in it long enough,” he protested.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hattie informed him. “And I say this afternoon you rest. Tonight you can have supper at the table with us.”
“Not me, Hattie,” Laredo inserted. “I won’t be here for supper.”
“You’re leaving, then?” Her expression became shuttered to conceal her disappointment at the news.
“Not permanently,” Laredo replied. “I’m going into Fort Worth and see if I can find anybody who remembers Duke.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she asked in all seriousness.
“I always am.” He matched her tone and look.
Chapter Two
Lightning raced in jagged streaks from the black clouds. On the heels of it, thunder boomed and rolled across the plains of eastern Montana as the rain fell in sheets, driven by a whipping wind.
The patrol car’s windshield wipers worked at high speed, their rapid rhythm adding to the tension. Acting Sheriff Logan Echohawk gripped the steering wheel with both hands as the headlight beams struggled to penetrate the curtain of rain and the premature darkness beyond it. The high, hard slash of his cheekbones and the pitch-black color of his hair spoke to his Sioux ancestry, but it was the gray of his eyes and the expression in them that always drew a second look, usually a wary one.
Just in time he spotted the intersecting side road and slowed the patrol car to make the turn into the east entrance of the Calder ranch. A brilliant flash of lightning briefly illuminated the sign that hung over the road. Logan had only a glimpse of the letters that spelled out the name CALDER CATTLE COMPANY before he passed under it. It was an unprepossessing entrance for a ranch that encompassed nearly six hundred square miles within its boundaries, making it roughly the size of Rhode Island. From the east-gate entrance, it was a forty-mile drive to the ranch headquarters.
And Logan knew the drive would never seem longer than tonight. He wasn’t eager to get there, not with the news he had to bring them. It was a close-knit group that inhabited the Triple C Ranch, as it was better known. Most of the hands were descendants of cowboys who had worked for the ranch’s founder, Chase Benteen Calder, who had staked a claim to the land well over a hundred years ago.
The history of the ranch was long and legendary. Although relatively new to the area, Logan knew much of it. Over three years ago he had married Cat Calder, daughter to Chase Calder, a grandson and namesake of the ranch’s founder.
This last year had been a rough one for everyone on the ranch, but especially the family, who were still mourning the loss of the son and heir, Ty Calder. His death had been tragic and violent, and the motive for it was one that still made no sense to Logan. But the twisted logic of a killer rarely stood up to scrutiny.
Ty’s death had been a crushing blow to Chase; no man ever expected to outlive his children. But the heavier burden had fallen to Ty’s widow, Jessy. Not only did she have the difficult
task of raising their three-year-old twins, Trey and Laura, by herself, but also the responsibility of running the Triple C would ultimately pass to her. No one doubted, however, that Jessy had the makings of an able leader. Born and raised on the Triple C, she could ride and rope with the best of them. Under Chase’s tutelage, she was rapidly learning to handle men as easily as she did cattle.
Lightning forked from the clouds in blinding tongues of light, briefly illuminating the vast expanse of treeless plains. A crash of thunder shook the air. Logan kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead of him. As violent as the storm was, he knew it was nothing like the one that was about to break over the Triple C. The news he was bringing was likely to shake the ranch to its very foundation.
At the Triple C headquarters, light blazed from the windows of the barns, sheds, commissary, and cottages that housed the hired help. More light pooled around the towering yard lights, its brightness dimmed by the slanted sheets of rain. In the darkness of the storm, the gleam from the multitude of ranch buildings gave the headquarters the appearance of a small town.
Dominating it all was The Homestead, an imposing two-story house, fronted by towering columns, that stood on a high knoll. Built on the site of the ranch’s original homestead, resulting in its name, the Calder family home had long been the heart of the ranch. From it, the ranch business was conducted just as it had been for over one hundred years.
Guests were few and far between in this empty corner of Montana where the nearest city was hundreds of miles away. But those who did drop by were always welcomed. Tonight was no exception.
Another booming clap of thunder rattled the windows in the den. Steeped in the ranch’s storied history, the room had become the traditional place to entertain guests.