Sloan shook her head, confirming Chase’s statement, gave the rope belt around his waist an adjusting tug. He looked up in time to see Cat smiling up at Wade, and cupping a hand over the one he had on her waist as if to keep it there.
“Aunt Cat likes him a lot, too, Greypa.”
His grandfather chuckled. “Yes, she does.”
“Has she started thinking it’s her idea and not yours?” he wondered.
Sloan took him by the hand. “Come on,” she said to Jake. “Let’s go see if the other kids are ready yet.”
Jake didn’t protest and for once didn’t drag his feet. Sloan suspected that little Becky might have something to do with that.
“Did you practice your part?” she asked as they walked to the improvised stage.
“I sure did.”
He rattled off the few lines assigned to him and Sloan smiled, squeezing the warm little fingers in hers with maternal affection. “Very good. I’m proud of you.”
Wade kept his arm around Cat as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do so. The occasional curious glance they got from others at the party didn’t seem to faze him in the least.
“So all of these people work on the ranch?” he asked in a low voice.
“All of them. Some are married. Some aren’t. Most were born and raised here.”
“Really?” Wade seemed genuinely interested.
Warming to the subject, Cat nodded at a group standing around the punch bowl. “Really. Those over there are third and fourth generation on the Triple C.”
“I’m impressed. They really are like family. Now I understand why you and I are being watched. Discreetly, of course.”
She was pleased Wade was a quick study, but not surprised by his instinctive understanding of the relationship between the Calder clan and the people who worked for them. They really were an extended family and it was never more evident than around the holiday season.
“Need some help?” Sloan asked the woman in charge of the Christmas play. Babette Nevins was on her knees, pinning up a burlap robe for a boy who was shorter than Jake.
“You bet,” the other woman replied, straightening the rough fabric. The boy took a step away from her, but she shook her head. “Not so fast, Eddy. I have to baste the hem.”
Jake leaned closer to Sloan. “Baste? Isn’t that what Aunt Cat does to the turkey and ham?” Jake whispered with a hint of worry.
Sloan fought back a smile and nodded. “Yes, but in this case it means something different. And she said hem, not ham. That’s the bottom of the robe. It’s too long. Mrs. Nevins is going to sew up the material so he doesn’t trip on it.”
“Oh,” Jake said.
Babette took a threaded needle from a fat, tomato-shaped pincushion on the floor next to her. “Hold still,” she instructed Eddy, and got to work, sticking the pins into the pincushion as she removed them.
A little girl in a flowing blue robe came over to see what was going on, clutching one hand in the folds of the same blue fabric that was draped over her head. Sloan felt Jake’s grip tighten and glanced down. Jake’s gaze was fixed on the girl’s face.
“Hi, Becky,” he said.
“Hello,” she replied demurely.
“Do you want me to fasten that cloth for you?” Sloan asked her. She’d seen a safety pin among the straight pins Babette was working with.
“Yes, please.” Becky let go as Sloan knelt down and safety-pinned the draped material carefully so it wouldn’t slip off. Jake watched with interest. Another little girl came over, cute as could be, a curly, white, fake-fur pelt slung over her shoulders and fastened in front, clearly intended to be a sheep’s costume. Black knitted gloves stood in for hooves and a black headband held sheep ears made from felt in place behind her golden braids.
“Who are you?” Sloan asked, aware that some of the ranch families had visiting relatives staying with them and the Christmas play needed plenty of young actors to fill up the improvised stage.
“I’m Lizabeth,” she announced.
“Oh. What part do you play?” Sloan asked politely, even though the answer was fairly obvious.