Santa In Montana (11 page)

“They seem to love anything with purple in it,” Cat agreed and followed Sloan the short distance to the tree.

Sloan walked around the legs of a tall ladder. A strand of crepe paper drifted in front of her face, and Sloan blew it away.

The tree stood well over ten feet tall in its holder. Freshly cut two days earlier, it gave off a pine scent that overpowered the barn's normal smells. “We're going to need a step ladder for this,” Sloan observed.

Cat spotted one across the way and went to drag it over. On her return, she found Sloan seated on the floor pulling more rope garlands from a bag and draping them carefully over her jeans-clad legs.

“You're younger. You can do the climbing.” Cat pressed down on the side braces to secure the ladder.

“No problem.” Sloan gave Cat at least ten strings of purple and gold beads, and rose from her seat. “If you could hand me those, we can start at the top of the tree and work down.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Cat waited at the base of the ladder and handed Sloan the garlands one by one. Some hung in perfect loops, but a few slithered down through the branches and rattled onto the barn's brick-paved floor. Sloan's muttered swearing made Cat laugh.

At first Sloan didn't think it was amusing but in the end, she had to laugh as well. “Why did I sign up for this?” she said with a mock groan.

“I don't know, Sloan. Did you get more presents?”

“No. Damn!” Another garland slithered down into the bucket. “I guess we can fish those out when we're done.” She concentrated on her loops and got the top half of the tree done. Sloan stepped backward down the ladder, pausing to assess the job. “Not bad. Actually, I think I can do the rest myself from here on in. Don't you want to get ready?”

“For what?” Cat gave her a puzzled look.

“More like for whom. Wade's coming, isn't he?”

“He's supposed to,” Cat admitted. “But I don't know when he's arriving exactly. Chase wasn't specific.”

“Oh. Do you think he will stay for the ranch party?”

“I don't know that either.” Cat smiled up at the young woman on the ladder. “If he does or doesn't, it won't really matter to me. Just as long as he comes.”

Sloan went down the final few steps and stood on the floor. “You should see your face, Cat. You're all flushed just thinking about him.”

Cat gave her a self-conscious look. “It's warm in here.”

“Of course.” Sloan quickly accepted the excuse rather than embarrass Cat further. She cast a glance at the men coming down from their ladders, finished with hanging the red and green crepe paper. “Look at that. They did a great job. Even without Laredo to supervise.”

The mention of Laredo prompted Cat to wonder, “What do you suppose Dad has sent him off to buy?”

“I don't even have a good guess,” Sloan admitted.

“Neither do I, especially when I think of what Dad asked Quint to get Jake.”

“What?” Sloan fixed her with a wary look. “Is he having him buy something I wouldn't for Jake? Please tell me it isn't a drum set.”

“I promise it isn't a drum set,” Cat assured her. “But I'm not going to say any more than that. It's better if you don't find out ahead of time.”

“That is not reassuring,” Sloan declared, then tipped her head to one side.

“But, if he sent Laredo to fetch a Christmas gift, it really makes me wonder what it is and who it's for.”

Cat shrugged. “Who knows? Dad is definitely thinking outside the box this year.”

“Okay. I'll stop pestering you.” Sloan smiled. “Oops—almost forgot.” She kneeled at the bottom of the tree and gathered up the garlands that had fallen to the floor. “They're all dusty.”

“I'll get a rag or something.” Cat laughed and went to fetch one from the same closet the ladder came from. Sloan waited for her, wondering briefly about that outside-the-box comment.

If the ten-thousand-dollar check Chase had given to Wade was for a Christmas present, it had to be one hell of a big one. She couldn't imagine what it might be. But then Chase could be awfully close-mouthed about his financial affairs. Maybe Trey was right and it was a charitable donation or something else that wasn't remotely festive.

She put the thought aside as Cat returned, a towel in hand. Cat held it like a hammock and Sloan poured the dusty beads into it.

“Anything else in the bucket?” Cat asked.

“I don't think so.” Sloan rolled the strands around in the towel. “So what were you doing when I came over?”

“Sorting out the wall decorations.”

“I'll give you a hand.”

 

“Around four o'clock” had long been the stated starting time for the Triple C's ranch party for its employees. As usual, the first arrivals showed up at the big timbered barn shortly after three. Those from distant corners of the ranch left early in case the roads were bad. Others, especially the bachelors, were all cleaned up for the party and had nothing better to do.

From her bedroom window, Cat could see the steadily growing collection of vehicles parked at the barn. Any other year she would already have been at the barn by now as well. But this year she hadn't left the Homestead when Jessy, Trey, Sloan, and Jake had. Cat had used the excuse that Chase wasn't ready and that she would stay to drive him to the barn later.

All knew that Chase wasn't ready because he was waiting for Wade Rogers to come—just as they knew Cat was staying for the same reason.

Aware that she had dawdled in her room long enough, Cat selected a pair of earrings from her jewelry box and crossed to the mirror to put them on. She gave her reflection a cursory glance. The bright red of her Christmas sweater jarred her, making her realize how far from festive she felt.

“You might as well face it,” she told the woman in the mirror, her voice tight and low, “you've been stood up.”

The words twisted through her like a knife for a moment. She shut her eyes in an attempt to check the sharp ache, then determinedly shook off the hurt, her chin pitching forward at a proud angle.

“No,” she told herself. “He simply wasn't able to make it today.”

As she fastened on the last earring, she caught the rumbling sound of a vehicle outside. A second later, Cat realized that she could hear it so clearly because it was directly out front.

Wade?

Pushed by a fresh surge of hope, Cat flew to the window, reaching it as Sloan stepped out of the driver's side and headed for the front steps. Abruptly she swung away from the window, squared her shoulders, and left the bedroom, head high.

At the top of the staircase, Cat saw Sloan on her way up, taking the steps two at a time. It was the angry set of Sloan's features more than her haste that caught Cat's attention.

“What's wrong?”

“That Jake,” Sloan muttered. “I had his costume all together in a tote. After I got to the barn, I discovered his sandals were missing and I happen to know they were in there—right on top.”

A laugh bubbled in Cat's throat. She fought it down. “He hid them.”

“I'll find them and he's going to wear them if I have to—” Sloan left the rest of the threat unfinished and headed for her son's bedroom.

“Check his pajama drawer,” Cat called after her. “That's where Trey put things he didn't want Jessy to find.”

Sloan halted halfway through the doorway and threw Cat a puzzled look. “The pajama drawer? Why there?”

Cat shrugged. “Who knows how a little boy's mind works? But would you have looked in his drawers?”

“Only if I couldn't find the sandals anywhere else. Thanks.” Sloan swung back into the bedroom and crossed directly to the chest of drawers.

Cat didn't wait to see if Sloan found them there but went down the stairs in search of her father. As expected, she found Chase in the den, seated behind his desk, an elbow propped on the chair arm with the knuckles of a fisted hand idly tapping his mouth. Impatience was in his expression as he contemplated the scene beyond the den's window.

Cat paused in the doorway. “It's nearly four o'clock, Dad. Time for us to join the party.”

He grumbled a non-response and lowered his hand as he let his gaze slice to her. “Why was Sloan in such a hurry?”

“She had to come back for Jake's sandals,” Cat replied and took the first step toward the front entry. “I'll go start the car while you get your coat on.”

She retrieved her own parka from its wall hook, dug out her leather gloves and slipped them on. As she dipped a hand back in the pocket for the car keys, Cat heard the clumping of Chase's cane that said he was following her.

Keys in hand, she stepped outside and turned back to close the door behind her, breathing in the invigorating crispness of the late afternoon, glad to find that the temperature wasn't brutally cold. As she crossed the columned veranda to the steps, she focused her attention on separating the ignition key from the others on the ring. It wasn't until she reached the top of the steps that Cat noticed the man standing at the bottom of them.

“Wade—” She breathed his name in stunned surprise.

She didn't even realize she dropped the keys until she heard the jangle of them hitting the steps. Before she could recover, Wade was bending to pick them up for her.

“Were you headed out to search for me?” The twinkle in his dark eyes was teasing. But Cat had a hard time seeing it; she was too absorbed by the caressing way his gaze moved over her face.

“Actually, I had decided you weren't going to be able to make it today,” she admitted, still feeling a little breathless.

“I almost didn't. It was one weather delay after another.” He offered the keys to her, coming up a step as she moved down. Rather than release the keys when her gloved fingers closed around them, Wade continued to hold them. “I guess that always happens when you're eager to get somewhere.”

He came up one more step, and their faces were level with each other. Cat tipped her head fractionally in the age-old way that invited his kiss. He seemed about to comply when the front door opened behind Cat and the end of a cane stomped on the veranda's wooden floor. Wade's head lifted and Cat turned, frustrated by the sight of Chase.

“Wade. You're here.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Chase shot her an impatient glance. “Why didn't you tell me, Cat? You know I've been waiting for him.” He didn't pause for a response. Instead, he opened the door and gestured to Wade with his cane. “Let's go in the den and talk.”

“I'll be right there,” Wade promised, then redirected his focus to Cat. “You aren't leaving, are you?”

“I was on my way to the barn. Today's the day for our employee Christmas party.”

“Oh.” A frown flickered across his face.

“You're welcome to come,” Cat inserted quickly, then hesitated. “That's if you can stay for it.”

“I can stay,” he assured her. “I was just thinking about the dinner plans we made.”

Cat was so relieved, she almost laughed out loud. “No one will mind if I slip out before the party's over. Jessy and Trey are obligated to stay for the bulk of it. But Dad and I are free to leave anytime.”

“Then we still have a date.”

Cat allowed a wide smile to claim her mouth. “And I intend to see that you keep it.”

“You aren't going to get any protest from me.” He darted a glance at the house. “I'd better not keep Chase waiting. See you later.”

As he moved around her and up the steps, Cat remembered. “Would you mind driving Dad down to the barn after you two finish talking?”

“Be glad to.” He sketched her a wave and slipped into the house.

In high spirits, Cat almost glided down the steps to the car. Suddenly everything seemed incredibly wonderful.

After a search of Jake's sock drawer failed to turn up his missing sandals, Sloan rummaged through the next drawer. She struck pay dirt in the bottom and last drawer, pulling out first one sandal from beneath a stack of clean pajamas and the second one that had been tucked deep in the corner.

The sandals weren't the only items she discovered. The drawer was clearly where Jake stashed his “treasures,” everything from an old chipped arrowhead to an old Hot Wheels car. Privately Sloan wondered how she had missed discovering any of it before, then acknowledged that she hadn't been looking for them—or even guessed that anything existed that Jake would feel the need to secret away. She smiled to herself, realizing she had learned another lesson in child-rearing.

With the drawer's contents straightened and his other treasures returned to their hiding places, Sloan grabbed the sandals and stood up. As she left his bedroom, she reminded herself to thank Cat for the suggestion. She didn't care to think about how much time she would have wasted searching other areas of his room before checking the chest of drawers.

She ran quickly and lightly down the steps, a smile of satisfaction curling her lips. As she swung around the newel post at the base of the staircase, she heard Chase's voice coming from the den and realized that he and Cat hadn't left for the party yet. She crossed directly to the open doorway.

“Hey, Cat, you were right.” She held out the sandals in triumph and opened her mouth to say more, but the sight of Wade Rogers seated in the wingbacked chair in front of the desk stopped any more words from coming out. Feeling both men's gazes on her, Sloan forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I thought Cat was in here.”

“No, she's already left for the barn,” Chase told her.

“I'm going too.” As Sloan backed out of the opening, two things registered—the ballpoint pen Chase was holding and the open checkbook beneath his hand.

There was only one conclusion she could draw from that, Chase was writing another check to Wade Rogers. For what? And how much this time?

The questions nagged Sloan all the way to the barn. Her first thought was to find Trey and let him know what she'd seen. But one look at the crowd in the barn and Sloan knew this wasn't the time or the place to talk about her suspicions. Sloan settled instead for locating her son and getting him into his costume. To do that, she had to find Jessy, who had volunteered to keep an eye on Jake while Sloan went to locate his sandals.

Scanning faces, she started working her way through the throng. A second later, she spotted Jessy and altered her course toward her mother-in-law.

“You found them!” Cat's voice came from her left.

Sloan paused to reply as Cat closed the gap between them. “In the pajama drawer. Thanks for the hint.”

Cat smiled away her thanks. “Jake is his father's son.”

“True.” Sloan found it impossible not to notice how incredibly alive and happy Cat looked. She looked radiant and positively youthful. It didn't call for any great deal of imagination for Sloan to guess why. “I noticed that Wade made it here after all.”

“I know.” Cat fairly beamed. “He volunteered to bring Dad down when they were finished. Hopefully that won't be too long.” Her glance strayed to the barn's entrance.

“It better not be, or Chase will miss the children's program. Which reminds me. I need to get Jake in his costume.”

“Good luck,” Cat said with a laugh.

On her way to Jessy, Sloan spotted Jake playing with two of his friends not far from where his grandmother stood. Jake looked anything but happy when he saw the sandals in her hand. Grudgingly he let Sloan lead him to the tack room that served as a string room for the Christmas program's props and a changing room for the children. With ill grace, he removed his cowboy hat and boots, trading them for the sandals and turbaned headdress, then donned his shepherd's robe.

Sloan all but dragged him out of the tack room. “How come I had to change now?” Jake grumbled. “It isn't even time yet. See.” He pointed to his friend. “Dan doesn't have his costume on yet.”

“He soon will,” Sloan assured him, then noticed Chase standing next to Jessy. Wade Rogers wasn't with him. “Your Greypa's here.”

Chase was quick to greet the boy. “Well, Jake, I see you're in your costume already. Good for you.”

“No, it isn't,” Jake declared. “My toes are cold.”

An eyebrow arched in mild reproof. “I don't hear any of the other boys complaining, and you shouldn't either.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. He heaved a big sigh of resignation and made a big show out of lifting his downcast head. Abruptly his expression lost its disgruntled look. “Hey, Greypa, there's Aunt Cat. She's with the husband you got her.” He pointed to the couple a short distance away from them.

“Now, he isn't her husband yet,” Chase corrected.

“But he just put his arm around her. That means he likes her, doesn't it?”

“I'm pretty sure he likes her,” Chase agreed.

“I bet it's a special kind of liking, the same as me and Becky.” Jake nodded in certainty.

“Who's Becky?” Jessy wanted to know.

“A girl. She's in the play, too.”

Chase exchanged an amused look with Jessy. “Really?”

“What part does she play?”

Jake thought for a second. “She's supposed to be Mary. She has really long hair and a blue dress.” He looked down doubtfully at his burlap robe. “Is this a dress? It's scratchy. Aren't shepherds s'posed to wear jeans?”

“I've never seen one in jeans,” Chase stated.

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.

“I'm the second sheep,” the little girl replied. “I don't have to say anything.”

“Yes, you do,” Babette reminded her, after sticking the pins safely into the pincushion. “You get to baa, remember? Let's hear it.”

Lizabeth took a deep breath and obliged with several long baas. The two boys and Becky giggled behind their hands.

“Hey,” Lizabeth said indignantly. “That's what sheep sound like. My big sister raised lambs for a 4-H project, so I know.”

“You're absolutely right,” Sloan assured, suppressing a smile of her own. The little girl's outraged expression wasn't very sheeplike and neither were the braids.

“Hmm,” Babette mused. “I think we should cut that down to one baa. Okay with you?”

Lizabeth pouted.

“Don't forget that the animals stand in back,” the little girl in blue pointed out. “I'm in front. The whole time.”

Her friend's pout turned into a scowl but Babette intervened before the unhappy little sheep could object to her role being shortened.

“That'll do, kids.” She rolled her eyes at Sloan, as if saying “Actors and their egos.” “And Becky, please remember that everyone's part is as important as yours. Now I want all of you to do a last read-through of your lines. Showtime is in fifteen minutes.”

“I lost the paper,” Eddy said.

“Your mom has extra copies.”

He looked guilt-stricken.

“Just ask her.” Babette laughed. “She won't get mad.”

“Okay, Mrs. Nevins,” he answered respectfully.

Becky smoothed her blue robe and walked away, followed by Lizabeth, who threw a dark look over her shoulder at the two boys. There could be trouble in Bethlehem tonight, Sloan thought, tickled by the pint-size rivalries.

She got the extra copies of the two-page play and helped Babette herd the children into a quieter area. An older kid, a gawky thirteen-year-old who hadn't taken out the earbuds in his ears, was listening to music while he rolled and unrolled a scroll on a spindle.

“Who's that boy?” she asked.

“That's Dave,” Babette said. “He's our last-minute replacement for the angel. Actually, he's a blessing in disguise. The wings came out longer than we expected and he's tall enough that they don't drag the floor.”

Sloan glanced at the swooping, feather-bedecked cardboard shapes attached to the back of the full-sleeved robe the teenager wore. The wings' tips cleared the floor by a foot. “So far, so good,” she murmured. “What happened to the first angel?”

“He came down with a stuffy nose and sore throat. Are you ready, Dave?” she asked the tall boy.

Dave looked startled but he unrolled the scroll with a flourish and cleared his throat before he pretended to read from it. “Wow! Listen up, people! I bring you tidings of great joy! Awesome!” he said loudly.

“That's not what it says on the scroll,” Babette said dryly. “Take out the ear things so you can hear me, okay? The first word is ‘behold,' not ‘wow.' And you can drop the second line and the ‘awesome' while you're at it.”

He got it right the next time. The other kids did fine, remembering nearly all of what they were supposed to say.

“Very good,” Babette told them. She turned to Sloan. “We'd better do this for real before they forget,” she whispered. Both women guided the group of children to the stage platform, and had them wait at one side.

Sloan went up the wooden stairs and pulled together the makeshift stage curtains. Then she motioned to Babette to bring the children onto the stage.

Beyond the curtains everyone began drifting over, chatting with each other, but watching the curtains, waiting for the moment when they would open. There was an occasional bump from a child walking behind them but no little faces to be seen.

Among the onlookers, many stood, but some found folding chairs to sit on, creating a couple of irregular rows. Chase was in front, dead center, seated on a wooden armchair that befitted a family patriarch. He waited for the play to begin, a composed expression on his weathered face. He accepted a printed program from the Martin girl, who had a basket of them on her arm, and nodded his thanks.