Calder Pride (3 page)

Twenty minutes later, a deputy escorted Rollie Anderson into the interview room where Logan waited with Sheriff Blackmore, a barrel-chested man in his fifties with a belly that hung over his belt. Even in orange jail garb, Anderson looked like what he was—a big, strapping farm boy with wheat-blond hair, blue eyes, and a sun-browned face that showed a telltale band of white near the hairline where his cap always sat. A wide bandage partially covered one pale eyebrow, and the effects of a bad hangover were evident in
the pasty gray undertone to his skin and the dullness of his blue eyes.

His head came up when he saw Logan, his puzzled glance running to the sheriff. Blackmore waved him toward a chair at the scarred metal table.

“Sit down, Anderson,” he said. “This is Agent Logan Echohawk from the Treasury Department. He wants to ask you some questions.”

“Questions?” Rollie lowered himself into the chair and stared at the identification Logan pushed across the table to him. He wiped a hand across dry lips. “My God, how much more trouble can I get into?”

“Do you have any coffee, Sheriff?” Logan paused, glancing at Rollie. “Would you like a cup?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his forehead above the bandage as a nod from Blackmore sent the deputy out to fetch the coffee. “You wouldn’t have any aspirin, would ya?”

“Sorry.” Logan took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out, offering it to him.

“Thanks.” His hand trembled visibly when he carried it to his mouth. Logan lit it for him, then returned the lighter to his pocket along with the cigarettes. “I swear I don’t remember anything about the accident. Hell, I don’t even remember climbing into the truck to go home. All I did was go to Sally’s for a couple beers. I’d been working in the fields all damned week.” He puffed on the cigarette and nervously tapped the end of it in the charred ashtray, his eyes sliding to Logan. “They’re gonna throw the book at me, aren’t they?”

“It doesn’t look good.”

He stared at the ashtray, shoulders slumping. “Maybe I deserve it. I don’t know. But my ma, what’s gonna happen to her? My old man’s too crippled up to work the farm anymore. Without me, how’s she gonna live?”

“Maybe your brother can help?” Logan suggested.

“Lath?” Rollie scoffed at the idea. “He hates that place.”

“Maybe there’s some other way he can help out. Have you talked to him?”

“No. He called Ma from Texas a few weeks ago, but…” He shrugged off the rest.

“Does he know about the accident and you being in jail?”

“Ma might have called him, I don’t know.” He shrugged again, then tensed. “Wait a minute. You’re here about Lath, aren’t you?” he said accusingly.

“That’s right.”

“I should have known.” He crumpled the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. “You just don’t leave a guy alone, do you? How many times does Lath have to tell you that he didn’t know those guns were stolen when he bought them?”

“We just want to talk to him. We need a little more information about the man he bought them from.”

“Yeah, right. Too bad for you that Lath moves around a lot, isn’t it? Sure, he was in Texas a few weeks ago, but he could be in Timbuktu now.”

The deputy returned with two Styrofoam cups of acid black coffee. Aware that he had obtained about as much information as he was going to get from Rollie Anderson, Logan talked to him a few minutes longer, then rode with Blackmore out to the Anderson farm to talk to the parents.

A newly leafed cottonwood tree formed a canopy over the mourners gathered at the grave site. For generations, the small cemetery near the river had
served as a final resting place for the ranch’s dead. Today the remains of Repp Taylor would join them, and the Triple C employees and their families had turned out en masse to pay their last respects to one of their own.

Cat stood bareheaded and tearless behind the Taylors, a single red rose gripped in her hand. Deaf to the words of prayer the minister intoned, Cat stared at the coffin. The spray of flowers was entwined with a ribbon stamped with golden letters that spelled out
OUR SON.

There was none that said
HUSBAND.
The absence of it cut into her. She made no sound; a sharp hitch in her breathing marked the only change.

Control was something she had learned in the last two days, control aided by a numbness that kept all emotion frozen deep inside.
Just get through this day
had become her watchword. Cat was careful not to look beyond it, inwardly knowing the future looked too bleak, too lonely and empty.

Her father’s voice rumbled an “Amen” beside her. Realizing the prayer was over, Cat murmured a quick one herself. A pitch pipe sounded a note, and a quartet of male voices began singing “Shall We Gather at the River.” Others joined in the familiar hymn. Suddenly the service that had seemed unendurably long was over much too soon, and a quietly weeping Norma Taylor was led from her son’s casket.

It was Cat’s turn. Numbly she stepped forward and placed the bright red rose, still in tight bud, atop the floral spray. Her fingers lingered an instant on the velvet petals. Then the pressure of her father’s hands guided her away from the grave and toward the Taylors. In wordless sympathy she embraced the woman who would have been her mother-in-law.

“We all grieve with you,” her father said when Cat drew back.

The woman made a sound that was near to a sob, then lifted her head, her eyes not focusing on either of them. “I can’t help thinking about Emma Anderson,” she murmured. “How awful this must be for her—with Rollie at fault in the accident and the authorities looking for her oldest boy. I feel so sorry for her.”

Fury was a whip that lashed through Cat, spinning her around and driving her from the couple before she gave voice to it. She was still trembling with it when her father finally caught up with her.

“How can she feel sorry for them?” Her voice vibrated with the effort to keep its volume low and her anger controlled. “How can she care what happens to them? Repp is dead, and Rollie Anderson killed him. Has she forgotten that?”

“Of course she hasn’t.” Chase caught her arm, forcing Cat to stop. “But she also understands how difficult it would be as a parent to know your child is responsible for the death of another. Now it appears that the law is looking for Lath as well—”

“Lath?” She frowned.

“Yes, Rollie’s older brother. Evidently he’s in some sort of trouble. The sheriff and some government agent were at the farm a couple days ago to see if they knew where Lath is.”

“They both belong behind bars for the rest of their lives.” Her voice thickened with the pain and anger that had woven itself through every tissue in her body. “Repp is dead because of the Andersons. And I hate them for it.”

“Cat, don’t. Hate won’t bring Repp back. And revenge won’t make the pain any easier to bear.” Chase spoke from personal knowledge.

Recognizing that, she turned to him, her green
eyes stark with grief. “How did you do it, Daddy? How were you able to go on living after Mother died?”

“It wasn’t easy.” He had to be truthful. “Many times it still isn’t,” he admitted, seeing again his daughter’s strong resemblance to Maggie. Sometimes that helped. But sometimes it hurt.

Ty and Jessy walked up, accompanied by the portly, cherub-faced Reverend Pattersby. Chase felt his daughter stiffen at the sight of the minister, and knew she was bracing herself for more murmured words of sympathy. Deciding she had heard enough, Chase spoke first, complimenting the man on his service.

“Thank you,” Reverend Pattersby replied with a faintly pleased look. “In times of such tragedy, one can only try to offer some small comfort and leave it in the hands of the Almighty to do the rest. I regret that I can’t stay longer for the sake of the Taylors. But I’m afraid I have a long drive ahead of me.”

“I’m sure the Taylors understand,” Chase returned smoothly.

“I hope so,” the minister said, then turned to Ty and Jessy. “I must be off now. I’ll see the two of you next week.”

“Next week?” Cat echoed in surprise, then directed a questioning look at Ty and Jessy. “But the wedding is this Saturday.”

“We postponed it a week,” Jessy explained calmly.

“When did you decide this?” Frowning now, Cat glanced from one to the other.

“The other day,” Ty answered. “We thought it would be best.”

“Best for whom?” Cat demanded, anger flickering again in her green eyes.

Ty knew the quickness of his sister’s temper and
sought to placate her. “Cat, we have plenty of time.”

“Do you?” she shot back. “I can’t tell you how many times I heard that—from Repp, from you, from everyone. Wait until you’re older, you all said. Wait until you finish school. Wait until you graduate from college. There’s plenty of time to get married. But there wasn’t, was there?” she challenged. Without giving them a chance to respond, Cat swung back to the wide-eyed minister. “The wedding will be on Saturday—as scheduled.”

She walked off. Reverend Pattersby cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, Ty spoke up, “She’s right. We’ll be married Saturday afternoon as planned.”

C
at shifted the gift-wrapped present in her arms and knocked lightly at the door to her brother’s bedroom, the one he would be sharing with his new bride after today.

“Come in,” Jessy called.

Right on the heels of that came her mother’s voice. “Ty Calder, if that’s you, you can’t come in. You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

Fixing a smile on her lips, Cat pushed the door open. “Not to worry. It’s only me.”

Three steps into the room, she stopped to stare at the tall, slender woman standing in front of the room’s full-length mirror. Jessy wore a ivory suit with a collarless jacket cut in a classically simple design. Her long taffy-colored hair was pulled back from her face and plaited in a sleek French braid. The style accented the strong bone structure of her face, giving her a look of elegance and grace.

Suddenly Cat didn’t have to fake anything, not happiness for the bride or admiration. “Jessy, you look positively stunning.”

“She looks like one of those high-fashion models, doesn’t she?” Judy Niles declared with undisguised pride.

“She certainly does.” Cat walked into the room, marveling at the transformation that had occurred. “Ty won’t know what hit him.”

“This isn’t the real me.” Jessy attempted to take a long stride away from the mirror, but the slim-fitting skirt brought her up short. “The real me goes around in Levi’s and denim shirts.”

“But not on your wedding day,” Judy Niles chided gently.

Jessy paused an instant, then smiled warmly and easily, losing the look of nervous tension. “No, definitely not on my wedding day,” she agreed, then glanced at Cat, one sandy eyebrow arching slightly. “Although I wish someone would tell me what a bride does when she’s ready thirty minutes early?”

“Why don’t I bring up some coffee from the kitchen?” her mother suggested.

“Sounds good.” Jessy waited until her mother had left the room before she shook her head in mild irony. “Like I need the caffeine to further jangle my nerves. But it gives Mom something to do.”

“And you, too, I imagine.” Cat held out her gift. “Why don’t you open this? It’s kind of a wedding present. I know Ty plans on leaving right after the ceremony. If I don’t give this to you now, I might not have another chance.” She was rattling on too much, trying to cover the forced brightness in her voice. But the glimmer of sympathy in Jessy’s eyes told her that she wasn’t succeeding.

“Anyway, this is for you.”

She pushed the package into Jessy’s hands. When she carried it over to the bed to open, Cat followed. In short order, Jessy dispensed with the ribbons and
wrapping paper to reveal a slim box that bore the Neiman-Marcus name.

“I wanted to get you something personal and romantic,” Cat explained when Jessy opened it. “Something appropriate for a bride. I hope you like it. I hope it looks good.”

Jessy pushed aside the tissue paper and lifted out the naughty silk-and-lace nothing that masqueraded as a nightgown. She looked at it, then turned and, without a word, threw it toward the middle of the floor. It floated down to lay in graceful folds.

“It definitely looks good,” Jessy declared, eyes sparkling with a wickedly impish light.

After an instant of surprise, Cat burst into laughter. Jessy quickly joined in. Cat suddenly found her eyes filling with tears and the ache she had forced deep inside broke loose, threatening to surface. She turned away, determined not to spoil Jessy’s joy. But it was too late; Jessy’s quick eyes had already seen the welling tears.

“Cat.” There was a wealth of sympathy in that single word.

“I’m all right,” she insisted with a sharp toss of her head.

Jessy took a step toward her. “This is why we wanted to postpone the wedding—”

“It isn’t the wedding.” Cat briskly wiped away the tears on her cheeks and battled to regain control of her emotions.

“Then what?” Jessy asked in a gently prompting way.

Without answering, Cat walked over and picked up the nightie, then stood there in the room’s center, looking at the gown. “Did you know that Repp would never make love with me?” she asked in a voice that was too flat and too cool. “Nothing I ever said or did could get him to change his mind. First
he said I was too young. Then he thought I should go to college first, saying I might meet someone there. After my first year, he said we should wait until we were married and do it the right way. I suppose because I am a Calder.” A bitterness crept into her voice. “I loved him, Jessy, but he put me on a pedestal and wouldn’t let me off. I hate him for being so damned honorable, so damned noble. I hate him for leaving me a virgin.” Her voice trembled. “I hate him.”

“Repp was a fool,” Jessy announced.

Cat tipped her head toward the ceiling and expelled a breath that bordered on a laugh, then looked at her brother’s soon-to-be wife, a wry smile tugging at a corner of her mouth. “That’s what I have always liked about you, Jessy. You are always so honest and straightforward about everything—your opinions, your wants, your needs. You’ve never been overly concerned about what other people think. For a long time I didn’t understand that, especially back when I still thought Ty should stay married to Tara. But you’ll be good for him. You’ll be good for each other.”

“Most of the time, anyway.” An answering smile showed briefly on her face before Jessy turned serious again. “Cat—”

“Don’t worry about me.” She deliberately cut her off.

“Actually, I don’t.” The ready admission took Cat by surprise.

“You are made of strong stuff, Cathleen Calder. How could you be otherwise when you are Chase and Maggie’s daughter? I saw it in you a long time ago. Others haven’t, probably because they have been too busy patting you on the head and telling you what a pretty little thing you are.”

“I was wrong.” Cat thoughtfully studied the tall blonde before her. “You are going to be good for all of
us.” Without another word, she walked over, tossed the nightie back in its tissue-lined box and clasped both of Jessy’s hands. “If I haven’t said it before—welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” Jessy replied. Her expression softened without ever losing its look of calm, steady composure.

The bedroom door opened, and both turned as Judy Niles walked in carrying a coffee tray. “Sorry I took so long.” She deftly used her elbow to push the door closed behind her, jiggling the cups in their saucers. “But your father had drunk the last of the coffee and I had to wait for Audrey to make a fresh pot.”

“How is Dad holding up?” Jessy asked with a knowing smile.

“Don’t ask.” Judy rolled her eyes and crossed the room to set the tray on the long bureau. She poured coffee into three cups. “I swear your father is more nervous than he was when we got married.”

“Poor Dad,” Jessy murmured in amused sympathy.

“Your brothers aren’t any better.” Judy Niles brought each of them a cup, then spied the unwrapped gift on the bed. “What’s this?”

“A present from Cat.”

She lifted the negligee from its box. “This is absolutely beautiful, so feminine and”—she paused and looked at them with the same impish gleam that Cat had seen in Jessy’s eyes—“so deliciously naughty.”

“Isn’t it?” Jessy grinned, and all three of them laughed like a bunch of girls. A knock at the door interrupted the moment.

“Yes, who is it?” Judy asked.

“Chase,” came the answer. “Reverend Pattersby has arrived. We can begin whenever the bride is ready.”

“I’ll be right down.”

The ceremony took place in the den, in front of the cavernous fireplace with its sweeping set of longhorns mounted above the stone mantelpiece. It wasn’t the painful ordeal that Cat had thought it might be, mostly because she sincerely wanted Ty and Jessy to find the happiness she had been denied.

But there were moments when the tears in her eyes were for herself. Moments that came when Ty slipped a plain gold band on Jessy’s finger, when they fed each other wedding cake and Ty licked the icing from Jessy’s fingers, and when they scrambled to the can-festooned Range Rover amid a pelting shower of rice.

The worst came, however, after Reverend Pattersby and the Niles family left The Homestead, leaving Cat alone in the suddenly quiet house with her father, with too much time on her hands, and too little to do but think and remember.