Santa In Montana (5 page)

“We'll eat as soon as your grandma and Laredo get here,” Sloan promised and moved toward the oven. “Is the warming stone for the rolls still in here, Cat?”

“Upper rack,” was the answer.

“And we gotta wait for Dad, too, I s'pose,” Jake said with clear dismay as he lingered by the rolls, eyeing them with obvious longing.

“Your dad's not going to be here for lunch.” Using an oven mitt, Sloan removed the stone and placed it in the bottom of the roll basket.

“How come?”

“He's at South Camp, helping haul hay out to the cattle. I imagine he and your other great-grandpa will have lunch together.” Sloan laid a large, sturdy dishtowel over the warming stone and draped the ends over the basket's edge.

“And Grandma, too,” Jake surmised.

“No, she won't be there,” Sloan told him. “Don't you remember? You saw her with the other ladies at the commissary boxing up the toys.” In an aside to Cat, she said, “They scored some incredible bargains shopping on black Friday.”

“Good. That means all the money that was donated will spread further.” Cat checked the large pot of beef and noodles and turned the burner to its lowest heat setting.

Boredom claimed Jake. With typical abruptness, he turned away from the tantalizing rolls and broke for the doorway to the dining room.

“Where do you think you're going, Jake?” Sloan demanded, a mother's natural suspicion surfacing.

Brought up short, Jake swung back in exasperation. “To see if Greypa opened the door yet?”

“Don't you worry about that door. Just stay here with us,” Sloan ordered.

“But, Mom,” he protested with great drama. “I want to tell Greypa about the snow fort me an' Luke an' Danny built.”

“Luke, Danny, and I built,” Cat corrected without thinking.

“You weren't there, Aunt Cat,” Jake declared.

Before Cat could explain about his misuse of pronouns, Sloan inserted, “There will be plenty of time for you to tell Greypa about your fort at lunch.”

He opened his mouth to argue the point, then correctly interpreted his mother's stern-eyed look of warning that this point wasn't open to debate. So he settled for simply asking, “How long before lunch?”

“Everything's ready. We can start dishing up as soon as your grandma and Laredo get here.” Quick to see the next question forming in Jake's eyes, Sloan added, “And—no, I don't know how long that will be.”

With a great show of reluctance, he dragged himself back to the kitchen table and, more or less, flung himself onto one of the chairs. Disgruntled and out of sorts, he demanded, “How come Greypa's got the doors shut anyway?”

“So he could visit with his friend in private.”

“But Greypa'd want to see me if he knew I was here,” Jake reasoned.

Sloan just smiled. “Nice try.”

The corners of his mouth turned down in defeat as he slumped even lower in the chair. From the entryway came the sound of the front door opening, footsteps entering, and a man's muted voice. Jake immediately brightened.

“That's 'Redo.”

Cat smiled her amusement with his reaction. “So it is. I tell you what—why don't you go knock on Greypa's door and tell him lunch is ready.”

“Oh, boy.” He was off the chair in a flash and racing out of the kitchen.

“Just knock,” Sloan called after him. “Don't open the door.”

“'kay, Mom.” His answer floated back from the dining room.

“That boy,” Sloan murmured, but with obvious and genuine affection as Jessy and Laredo made their way into the kitchen.

“I swear Jake only has two speeds. Stop and go,” Laredo declared, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“Trey was just like that at his age,” Jessy recalled, then made an assessing sweep of the lunch preparations in progress. “Need some help?”

“Everything's ready. Just needs to be dished up,” Cat replied.

With so many hands to help, the task was accomplished in short order, leaving only Cat in the kitchen. She cast a glance around the counter and stove top to make sure nothing had been forgotten, then caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the oven door's glass front. She bent down slightly to check her appearance, touching fingers to her dark hair.

Lips curving in amusement, she sent a glance heavenward. “I'll bet you're up there smiling at me, Logan, for being so female I want that handsome Wade Rogers to think I look attractive.” She turned a little serious. “It's good to feel this alive again, though. You don't mind, do you?” The minute the soft question slipped from her, an easy peace settled over her. “Of course, you don't.”

She entered the dining room at the same moment that Wade Rogers strolled in alongside the much slower moving Chase. There was instant eye contact between them, and it was a heady thing. They exchanged small nods of greeting.

The moment Chase paused in the doorway, Jake was at his side. “Greypa, I've been waitin' an' waitin' for you to come out. Me an' Danny an' Luke built us a snow fort. Aunt Cat thinks she helped 'em, but it was me. And—”

“Whoa there, son.” Chase held up a shushing hand. “You need to remember your manners. The first thing you do is greet our guest. Wade, this whirlwind is my great-grandson, Jake Calder. Jake, meet Mr. Rogers.”

With shoulders squared and his expression solemn, if a little impatient, Jake thrust out a hand. “How do you do, sir?”

Adopting Jake's man-to-man attitude, Wade bent slightly to shake his hand. “How do you do, sir. I'll be interested to hear about that snow fort of yours later.”

Jake's eyes got big with excitement. “Really?”

“Really,” Wade assured him.

“He said later,” Chase reminded him and continued with the introductions, skipping over Cat with a simple—“Of course you've already met my daughter”—and finishing with Laredo. “Last, but far from least, Laredo Smith, who's a member of the family in all but name.”

“A pleasure,” Wade said as he gripped Laredo's hand. “Laredo. That's an unusual name.”

“Definitely colorful,” Laredo agreed. “I guess some parents do that when they've got a last name as common as Smith.”

“Good point,” Wade conceded, matching Laredo's easy smile.

Jessy smiled to herself at the deft way Laredo had deflected the comment without revealing anything. He was a master at it, just like that air of friendliness he projected, all the while sizing the man up, assessing and weighing everything from the nuances of his speech pattern to his body language. All the ranch hands were convinced Laredo simply had a nose for trouble. If he did, Jessy believed it was based in his ability to read people.

Privately Jessy was curious to know what conclusion Laredo had drawn about their guest as everyone took their seats around the table. Her own first impression was favorable, but as always she reserved judgment until she heard Laredo's opinion, having learned over the years to trust his instincts.

After the blessing was given, the serving dishes were passed around the table, and any talk was mainly centered on the food. As everyone dug into their meal, there was a momentary lull in the conversation.

Cat filled it. “Dad told us that this is your first visit to the Triple C.”

“That's right, although my father has talked about it so much that it all seems very familiar to me.” Wade paused a beat and smiled a moment to himself. “After I turned off that highway and drove through the gate, then drove and drove the forty miles to here, I got a clear understanding of what Father was talking about when he said, ‘It takes a big chunk of ground to fit under a Calder sky.'”

“How true,” Sloan agreed. “The first time Trey brought me here, I felt a little bit like that. It doesn't matter how much you hear or read about the Triple C, you don't really grasp any of it until you're actually here.”

“What part of the country do you hail from, Mr. Rogers?” Laredo asked, and Jessy guessed immediately that Laredo couldn't place the man's accent.

“Here, there, and everywhere,” he replied. “I was born while Father served in Congress. After college, I went to work for the State Department and ended up being posted in half a dozen or more countries around the world.”

“That has to be an interesting career,” Sloan stated.

“It's like most jobs that sound very glamorous—but the reality is usually something else.”

“Are you stationed here in the States now?” Cat wondered.

After a slight hesitation, he replied, “In a manner of speaking. You see, I resigned from the State Department a few years back. Now I work as a private consultant, usually for companies with overseas business interests.”

“So what brings you to Montana?” Laredo eyed him curiously while he dipped his knife into the butter for his roll.

“I had some business in the general area, and since I had a couple free days on my calendar, I decided to trade on my father's friendship with Chase and wrangle myself an invite. After hearing so many stories about the Triple C, the thought of being so close and not seeing it for myself—well, I just didn't want to pass up the chance,” he concluded.

“We're glad you didn't,” Cat said with a wide smile.

“So am I,” Wade replied, returning her smile and holding her glance long enough that Jessy noted it. She shot a look at Cat, and caught that tell-tale glow about her face. She gave Laredo a little nudge and tipped her head in Cat's direction. Like her, he observed the very personal interest she was taking in their guest. And his reaction was to make a closer study of Wade Rogers.

“So where do you live now?” Cat asked, with seemingly polite curiosity.

“In one of the D.C. suburbs, on the Maryland side.”

“Maybe you should ask him next whether he's married, Cat,” Chase suggested, his head cocked in her direction.

“Dad—” She uttered his name in a breathless protest and shot a self-conscious and embarrassed glance at Wade. He avoided eye contact, directing his attention to the food on his plate. Yet Jessy was almost sure he was fighting back a smile.

“Well, the way you've been bombarding him with questions,” Chase began in defense of his comment, “I thought you might be checking him to see if he was good husband material.”

“Dad.” Cat glared at him to shut up.

Before Chase could respond, Wade spoke. “As it happens, I'm a widower. I lost my wife to cancer a few years back.” Nothing in his expression or tone of voice revealed any awareness that this topic might be awkward.

Unnoticed, Jake slipped off his chair and trotted around to Chase's side, laying a hand on his arm to claim his attention. “Greypa, is he the guy you're going to get Aunt Cat to be her new husband? You know, for Christmas.”

At the same moment that Chase tapped a silencing finger against Jake's mouth as if to remind him it was their secret, Sloan blurted an embarrassed, “Jake, you shouldn't ask questions like that. You get back here on this chair right now,” she insisted and threw an apologetic glance at Cat.

Cat was too furious to speak, certain she had never been so totally humiliated in her life. In her youth, she would have thrown her napkin on the table and stormed from the room. Now she sat in stiff silence and poked at her food, seething inwardly.

“I don't know what you must think of this family, Mr. Rogers,” Sloan began, speaking to cover Cat's silence. “My son—”

Chase interrupted, smiling at Wade, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “What she's trying to explain is it's one of those private family wars I'm having with my daughter. And young Jake here is a good needler.” He patted the boy's shoulder and nudged him toward his chair.

“Obviously it's an inside joke that's best ignored.” Wade directed his reply to Chase, but made a point to include Cat by way of a reassuring side glance.

Only slightly mollified, Cat murmured, “You're understanding is appreciated.” Try as she might, she couldn't keep the stiffness out of her voice—or shrug the whole thing off as easily as he seemed to be doing.

“Say, Jake,” Chase inserted as the boy climbed on his chair, “you never did tell me about that snow fort you built.”

“It's a good 'un, Greypa,” Jake declared and immediately launched into a full description of it, who worked on it, and what each one did.

When others joined in with comments and questions, Cat was never so glad to have such a nonsensical topic dominate the conversation. Along the way, she did her part to keep it going, determined to have it carry them through the rest of the meal, if possible.

“Sounds like quite a fort,” Wade remarked.

“Want'a see it?” Jake sat forward, all eagerness. “I'll show it to you after we're through eating.”

“Maybe another time,” Wade replied, then let his glance encompass all at the table. “I know it's not polite to eat and run, but I'll have to be leaving right after lunch if I plan on making my flight.”

“But it won't take long,” Jake began in protest.

Sloan placed a silencing hand on his arm. “I think you forgot that you're going sledding with Luke and Dan this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jake pressed his lips together in deep thought, then glanced at Wade. “I'll show you another time.”

“Sounds good,” Wade agreed, smiling.

Cat remained silent, struggling with an odd mixture of disappointment and relief that Wade would be leaving so soon. “Maybe another time.” That's what he'd told Jake. She suspected that he had been deliberately vague because he knew there wasn't likely going to be another time. She knew she regretted that and carefully didn't examine the reason for it too closely.

At lunch's conclusion, Wade lingered over one cup of coffee, then pushed back from the table. “As much as I would like to stay, it's time I took my leave of everyone.” Rising, he extended a hand to Chase, negating the need for him to stand. “It was good to meet you at last.”