Calder Pride

A
north breeze swept across the private airstrip and rustled through the grass at its edges. It was Calder grass, growing on Calder land and stretching in all directions farther than the living eye could see.

Directly southwest of the airstrip stood the headquarters of Montana’s famed Triple C Ranch, the home of the Calder Cattle Company. For well over a hundred years, the land had tasted the sweat, the blood, and the tears of the Calders.

Too many tears, Chase Calder decided and leaned heavily on his cane. For a moment, his big shoulders bowed under the weight of the thing that hung so heavily on him. But there was no one around to see this brief display of weakness by the Calder family patriarch. He stood alone outside the airstrip’s metal hangar.

The drone of a twin-engine aircraft had Chase Calder squaring his shoulders and lifting his gaze to the immense blue sky overhead. His sharp eyes quickly spotted the plane making a straight-in approach to the landing strip. His son Ty was at the controls, and his daughter Cathleen was the plane’s only other occupant.

The plane touched down and rolled toward him.
Chase glanced at the heavens, the ache intensifying in his chest.

“Where am I going to find the words, Maggie?” he murmured, talking as he so often did to his late wife.

But there were no words that could dull the pain of the news he carried. Just as there had been none to blunt the knife-stabbing pain he’d felt five years ago when he learned his wife Maggie had died in the plane crash that had so severely injured him.

Chase shifted more of his weight onto the cane, his expression grim as he watched the twin-engine plane taxi to a stop near the hangar. Within seconds of the engines’ being shut down, the plane’s rear door opened and out stepped his twenty-year-old daughter, Cathleen.

His eyes softened at the sight of her. In many ways, Cat, as the family called her, was the image of his late wife, with her glistening black hair and eyes that were as green as the Calder grass in spring. It was a striking combination, made even more stunning by the mingling of fineness and strength in her face.

Simply dressed in navy slacks and a white silk blouse, Cat came toward him with quick, confident strides. Chase glanced briefly at his son when Ty emerged from the plane, experiencing a familiar surge of pride for this tall and broad-shouldered man of thirty-five who bore the unmistakable stamp of a Calder in every hard-boned line.

But it was Cat who concerned him now, this full-grown woman who was his little girl. Chase straightened to stand squarely on both feet, abandoning his reliance on the cane, needing to be strong for her.

With a smile on her lips that was positively radiant, Cat ran the last few steps and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He held her close, reminded again of his daughter’s tremendous capac
ity for emotion, a capacity that could swing to the extremes of laughter, softness, and anger.

“It is so good to be home again, Dad,” she declared on a fervent note, then pulled back to arm’s length, her green eyes sparkling with happiness. “Where’s Jessy?” She glanced beyond him, then tossed a teasing smile over her shoulder when Ty walked up. “Don’t tell me Ty’s bride-to-be is off somewhere chasing cattle?”

“She’s at the house.” Chase saw the startled lift of Ty’s head and the sudden sharpening of his gaze as he caught the faint scent of trouble in the air.

Cat was oblivious to it. “Wait until you see the sexy nightgown I bought Jessy for her wedding night, Dad. On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t.” She stepped closer and studiously straightened the collar of his shirt, slanting him a look packed with feminine wiles. “At least, not until I talk you into making this a double wedding. It’s ridiculous that Repp and I should wait to get married until after I finish college. That’s—”

“Cat.” He gripped her wrists to still the movement of her hands, his cane hooked over his arm. She looked up, surprised by the hard tone of his voice. “I have bad news.”

“Bad news?” Her eyes made a quick search of his face. “Don’t tell me Tara decided to contest the divorce from Ty at the last minute? It’s supposed to be final—”

“No, it isn’t that. The divorce is final,” Chase said. “It’s Repp. There was an accident late last night—”

“Dear God, no,” she murmured, her eyes widening in alarm. “Is he badly hurt? Where is he? I have to go to him.”

She tried to pull free of his hands, but Chase tightened his hold even as Ty gripped her shoulders
from behind, bracing her for the rest.

“It’s too late, Cat,” Chase stated in a firm voice. “Repp was killed instantly.”

She stared at him for a long, brittle second, her expression awash with shock, pain, and denial. “It can’t be true,” she said, in the thinnest of whispers. “It can’t be.”

“I’m sorry.” There were no other words Chase could say.

“No.” She said it over and over, her voice growing in strength and volume until she was screaming it. Chase gathered her rigid body into his arms and silently absorbed the pounding of her fists on his chest, waiting through the rage until she finally sagged against him and broke into wild, body-wrenching sobs.

“I’ll bring the truck around,” Ty said quietly, and Chase nodded.

By the time the luggage was transferred from the plane to the ranch pickup, that first violent shock of grief had subsided, leaving Cat numb with pain. She felt wooden, unable to move on her own, and offered no protest when two pairs of hands helped her into the cab.

She sat between the two men, her head lolling against the seat back, her eyes closed against the horrible ache that moaned through her. Some part of her knew that all the tears in the world wouldn’t lessen it. But she didn’t bother to wipe away the ones on her pale cheeks.

“How did it happen?” Ty asked.

At his question, her impulse was to cover her ears and shut out her father’s reply. A few years ago, a younger Cat would have done that. But she was older now, and wise enough to know that denial was foolish. It changed nothing. So she opened her eyes and listened to her father’s answer.

“Neil Anderson’s youngest boy, Rollie, was driving on the wrong side of the road. The tire tracks indicate Repp swerved to avoid a head-on, but Anderson’s pickup plowed into the driver’s side.”

“And Rollie?” Ty asked.

“He had a gash to his forehead.” The grimness in her father’s voice was tangible.

“He’d been drinking, then,” Ty muttered in a tone that matched her father’s.

“His blood alcohol level was way over the limit. He passed out at the scene.”

With a strangled sound of protest, Cat swallowed back a sob. It lodged in her throat until it hurt to breathe. Beside her, Ty muttered a choice expletive and fell silent.

A breeze tunneled through the pickup’s opened window, carrying the bawl of a young calf and the fresh scents of spring to Cat, of life reborn. She wanted to scream at the sounds and the smells, at the sunshine that washed the land, but no sound came from her.

The warmth and roughness of her father’s hand settled over hers. In his touch there was both comfort and strength. The urge was strong to turn into his arms and cry more tears. But it wasn’t what he would have done. Calder men never made a display of their grief; it was something they held inside. Only the very discerning saw the pain that lurked in their eyes.

Never once had she seen her father break down after her mother died, Cat recalled. For the longest time she believed that he had resisted it because to do otherwise would have been a sign of weakness. Now she understood that the pain and grief were too personal, too intimate, reaching beyond anyone else’s understanding.

So she wrapped her own pain deep inside and
remained motionless, accepting the comforting weight of her father’s hand but seeking nothing more.

The pickup truck pulled up in front of the massive two-story house that four generations of Calders had called home. Long known as simply The Homestead, it stood on a knoll overlooking the cluster of buildings that made up the Triple C headquarters. It was built on a large scale, a silent statement of dominion over the vast, rolling plains that sprawled in all directions.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Cat saw her brother’s soon-to-be bride, Jessy Niles, waiting on the front porch. Slim-hipped and long-legged in her typical dress of boots, blue jeans, and white cotton shirt, she had been raised on the Triple C. Her roots went deep into the soil. From the first day the ranch had come into existence, a Niles had worked on it. It was a claim that could be made by several other families, including Repp Taylor and his parents.

Repp. A fresh wave of anguish ripped through Cat at the thought of never seeing him again, of never feeling his arms around her. He had been her first love, her only love. Now he was gone forever, leaving Cat with a gaping emptiness in her life she didn’t think she could endure. But of course she would. That’s what made it so painful.

“Cat.” There was a tug on her hand, followed by her father’s gently insistent voice. “Come on. Let’s go in the house now.”

His hand was at her elbow when Cat stepped from the cab. Jessy came to greet them, her attention centering on Cat, but not before her glance had run to Ty in a quick, warm look of love and relief that he had safely returned to her. Then her hazel eyes were on Cat, direct as always and full of compassion.

Jessy offered no trite words of comfort, but sim
ply curved a hand on Cat’s shoulder. “The Taylors send you their sympathies.”

“You have seen his parents?” she asked, only now giving a thought to the enormity of their loss.

“I stayed with them for a while this morning.”

Cat looked in the direction of their house. “I need to go see them.”

“Later,” her father stated.

Some distant part of her acknowledged that she was in no fit state to see them now. Without protest, Cat submitted to the guiding pressure of the hand that directed her toward the house. She never noticed when Jessy swung in behind to walk with Ty, each slipping an arm around the other, needing the reassurance of contact, with death striking so close.

It was a quiet group that entered the big house and walked directly to the sprawling living room. Chase paused beside his favorite armchair, his hand falling away from Cat’s arm.

“I think we could all use some coffee.” He leaned his cane against the chair.

“I’ll get it.” Jessy took a step toward the kitchen, then hesitated when Cat continued toward the oak staircase.

Chase noticed her movement as well. “Cat?” A look of concern darkened his eyes.

“I’m going to my room.” Her voice was flat, drained of all emotion.

As one they watched as she climbed the stairs, holding herself stiffly erect. Her pale cheeks glistened with the wetness of earlier tears, but her eyes were dry now.

When she was nearly to the top, Ty murmured to Jessy, “Maybe you should go with her.”

Jessy shook her head. “No. I think she would rather be alone right now.”

Jessy sensed Ty’s disagreement and understood
its cause. For too long he had regarded his sister as headstrong and impetuous, on the irresponsible side, and more than a little spoiled by an adoring and indulgent father. He didn’t realize that, in addition to his mother’s beauty and capacity for sudden fury, Cat had also inherited a good deal of Calder steel and that unbendable iron pride of a Calder. And—like a Calder—she wanted to grieve in private.

“I’ll check on her later,” Chase said firmly, settling the matter.

The sound of an upstairs door closing broke the stillness that had held all three of them motionless. Chase lowered himself into the armchair while Jessy left to bring coffee. Sweeping off his hat, Ty dropped it on an end table and sank onto the couch.

“What about Rollie Anderson?” he asked. “Has he been arrested?”

“I was told charges would be filed as soon as he is sober enough to understand them.” A thread of anger edged the clipped reply. It was still there when his father continued, “I understand he has three previous drunk-driving convictions. With a manslaughter charge, it’s virtually guaranteed he’ll serve time.”

“That will make things rough on Neil Anderson and his wife,” Ty remarked idly. “Anderson is too old and too crippled with arthritis to keep the place going without help. And they can’t afford to pay a hired hand.”

The Andersons owned a small farm along the eastern boundary of the Triple C. Most of the time they had barely eked out a living. Rollie Anderson was the youngest of three sons, and the only one still living at home.

“If Anderson is smart, he’ll sell the place and retire,” Chase stated as Jessy returned to the living room with the coffee.

“Who should retire?” She set a mug of steaming
coffee on the table next to Chase.

“Neil Anderson,” Ty answered. “We were just saying it would be best if he sold his farm.”

“I wouldn’t count on that happening any time soon. That farm means as much to Neil Anderson as the Triple C does to you.” As always, Jessy spoke with a man’s directness. “He will hang onto it until his last dying breath.”

“I have no doubt he will try,” Chase agreed as Jessy handed a mug to Ty, then sat on the couch next to him, their legs touching.

“Which brings me to something else I wanted to talk to you about, Ty.” Her hand slid onto his knee in easy possession. “Under the circumstances, I think we should postpone our wedding until next week.”

“What do you mean—postpone it? Why?” Ty challenged her.

“Because I don’t think it would be right for us to get married so soon after Repp’s funeral.”

“It wouldn’t be right if we were having some lavish wedding with acres of guests, but it’s only going to be your family and mi—” Ty broke off in mid-word. “Cat,” he said in understanding. “From the moment I picked her up at the airport in Helena, she was full of plans to turn our wedding into a double ceremony.” He covered Jessy’s hand with his. “You’re right. We’ll wait a week, but no longer than that.”

“No longer.” Her slow smile of agreement tunneled into him, touching all the soft places. Ty never ceased to be amazed by the warm ease he felt with Jessy, an ease that produced its own kind of heady glow. This was love, strong, steady, and certain.

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