Santa In Montana (12 page)

“He must have seen this dozens of times,” Wade murmured, standing well in the back with Cat.

“Scores,” Cat agreed. “But look at the twinkle in his eye. He enjoys it as much as all the other parents.”

They joined the enthusiastic applause that greeted the two small shepherds who clutched the edges of the curtains and ran to either side to reveal the stage.

The costumed children were positioned in a nativity scene, looking out at their audience with a mixture of expressions, from calm to jittery.

Babette read the opening narration and stepped aside to let the play begin. Dave came forward, unrolled his scroll, and announced the impending birth of Jesus to the shepherds watching by night.

When he finished, Jake confronted him. “Next time, ask God to have Jesus borned in Montana so I can wear my boots,” he blurted out.

The crowd erupted in laughter, even Chase. When the happy noise dwindled down, the play continued without a hitch. The children hit their marks and remembered their lines, telling the old, old story of the night in Bethlehem with no more adlibs or flubs. The great star, which looked suspiciously like a pierced tin pie-plate, blazed against the dark backdrop and Becky gazed tenderly into the straw-filled basket that cradled the unseen Christ Child.

There was a brief rustle of programs as the audience joined the children in singing “Silent Night.” As soon as the last note died away, the applause began and the young actors ran forward to take their bows, some proud, some self-conscious, but all pleased with themselves.

“That went well,” Babette said to Sloan. “Jake was the hit of the show, though.”

“He certainly got a laugh,” she answered with a wry smile.

“Arms up,” Babette ordered the kids waiting in line when they left the stage. She shucked the costumes over their heads with practiced speed and handed them to Sloan to fold and put into a big cardboard box. The children ran back to claim the praise from their parents. Dave didn't bother to change and walked away in his angel's costume, rocking to the music coming into his earbuds. Evidently wings were cool, Sloan decided.

As expected, Sloan found Jake half-draped across the arm of Chase's chair, chattering away, dividing his attention between Chase and Jessy. While Sloan had been helping Babette, Jake had run back to the tack room and retrieved his boots.

The instant Jake saw her, he ran to meet her. “Greypa said the program was the bestest he ever seen.”

“I hope you thanked him for that.”

Nodding, Jake made an agreeing sound. “And Grandma said I did my lines perfect.”

“And what did she think of your ad-lib?” Sloan asked in a mildly teasing voice.

Jake screwed up his face in a puzzled frown. “What's that?”

“Nothing.” She laughed and gave the brim of his cowboy hat a playful, downward tap. “Have you seen your dad?”

“He was here at first. He had to leave, though,” Jake explained. “He said he had something important to do, but he'd be back.”

“If he said he'll be back, then he will,” Sloan declared, fully aware of where her husband had gone and why.

Jake caught hold of her hand and pulled her over to Chase's chair. “I told Mom that you thought I did good.”

Suppressing a smile, Jessy asked, “And did you tell her what part you want to play in next year's program?”

“I forgot,” he said in self-disgust then turned an earnest look on Sloan. “Next year I want to be the angel.”

Surprised by his choice, Sloan decided the wings were even cooler than she realized. “Why the angel?”

He propped one hand on his hip in a slightly challenging pose. “'Cause that boy got to wear his boots.”

Try as she might, Sloan couldn't choke off the laugh that bubbled from her. Chase and Jessy chuckled along with her.

“You can take a lot of things away from a cowboy, but don't touch his boots,” Chase declared.

“At least, not this cowboy's,” Sloan agreed and gave his hat another downward tug.

“Quit, Mom.”

At that moment, Jake's best friend Dan came running up and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Jake. Hurry. Santa's here.”

Turning in place, Sloan spotted the tall figure dressed in the traditional stocking cap and red Santa suit, sporting a long white beard and toting a sack bulging with presents, making his way to the stage area, already surrounded by children. The costume fooled the children, but Sloan recognized Trey's dark eyes and rugged features despite the masking beard.

He winked at her as he passed. When he reached the stage, he slid the big sack off his shoulder, placed both hands on his stomach and issued a hearty “Ho! Ho! Ho!”, then attempted to discreetly pull strands of fake beard out of his mouth. Sloan had to laugh. Automatically she glanced to see where Jake was.

The minute she noticed him staring with fierce intensity at Santa Claus, she knew the jig was up. “Oh-oh,” she murmured and hurried forward, practically pushing her way to Jake's side.

She arrived just as he thrust out an accusing finger. “Hey, how come—”

She clamped a silencing hand over his mouth and steered him out of the group of children. Only when she judged they were a safe distance away did Sloan remove her hand from his mouth and kneel down in front of him.

“That was Dad. How come he's wearing Santa's clothes?” Jake demanded.

“Santa had to be somewhere else tonight, and because he knew how disappointed all the children would be, he asked your dad to pretend to be him just for tonight,” Sloan explained. “And Santa asked him to keep it a secret. So don't you tell the other kids. Okay?”

“If it's a secret, how come you know?”

For a split second she wasn't sure how to answer that. “Mothers always know everything.”

He sighed a big sigh. “Like where my sandals were.”

“Exactly.” She almost hugged him for that. “Now, Santa left a present for you, so you go get it. But remember—not a word to the others. Promise?”

“I promise.” He nodded. Then his expression turned a little smug that he knew something his friends didn't.

Releasing him, Sloan straightened and watched as Jake ran back to the stage area, all smiles. Jessy came up on her left and exchanged a knowing glance with her.

“He recognized Trey, didn't he?” she guessed.

“You saw that, too,” Sloan realized.

“It was obvious. To everybody,” she added. “I'm not surprised. It's hard to fool a Calder.”

Sloan immediately thought of Wade Rogers, and remembered Trey's utter lack of suspicion about the man. She felt a little guilty for not fully sharing his opinion. Blind trust had never been something Sloan found easy to give.

Without thinking, she skimmed the crowd, looking for Cat and Wade. Almost immediately she made eye contact with Cat, who waved, then signaled that she and Wade were leaving. Sloan acknowledged the message with a high lift of her head and waved back, then nudged Jessy.

“Cat and Wade are off to dinner.” She nodded in the direction of the departing couple.

“Good. I was hoping Cat wouldn't feel under any obligation to do more than put in an appearance here.”

“Do you think Wade is the right man for her?” Sloan couldn't help wondering about that.

“It doesn't matter what I think. Her feelings are the only ones that count,” Jessy replied in a calm, steady voice that fully accepted whatever decision Cat made.

Forty-five minutes after leaving Triple C headquarters, Cat and Wade pulled up to the east gate. “Which way?” Wade asked, glancing at her while keeping one hand on the steering wheel.

“Blue Moon is to the north,” Cat pointed left.

The headlights sent long beams of white over the winter landscape as the rented SUV made the turn and took aim on the Big Dipper.

Being alone with him was something Cat welcomed, although she still found herself searching for what to say. Wade kept the conversation neutral, and she was grateful for that, answering his questions about the area as they drove into the night.

“How far is it to town?” he wanted to know, adding, “I mean in minutes. The distances out here in Montana are mind-boggling.”

“Oh, we don't even notice the miles.” Cat laughed. “It's about fifteen or twenty minutes. I'm not sure you would even call it a town.”

“Typical wide spot in the road, huh?”

“Definitely.”

Wade smiled and leaned back a little as he drove. A semi was ahead of them, but it quickly disappeared. “Looks like we have the highway to ourselves.”

“There hasn't been much traffic since Dy-Corp closed its coal-mining operation,” Cat admitted. “And once again, the population of Blue Moon dropped to just a few when the workers moved somewhere else to make a living.”

“Once again.” Wade picked up on the phrase she had used. “You mean it's happened before.”

“Back during the drought and depression years. Instead of coal being the cause of the town's boom, it was the immigrants who flooded in, took out homesteads and tried to grow wheat. When the rains didn't come and the wells dried up, they watched their land blow away along with their dreams.”

“And they had to leave, too,” he guessed.

“All except my grandmother, who wisely stayed and married my grandfather,” Cat added lightly.

“She was wise indeed,” Wade agreed and cast a curious sideways glance at Cat. “What was she like?”

“I don't know. I never knew her. She died shortly after my father was born.” Cat thought of something else that he might find interesting. “I forgot to tell you how Blue Moon got its name—at least, according to local legend. Supposedly a trader called Fat Frank Fitzsimmons was traveling the area with a wagonload of supplies and whiskey. His wagon broke down where the town now stands. Unable to fix it, he set up shop and nailed up a sign that said WHISKEY. Few days later a cowboy rode by, saw it and stopped for some of that whiskey. It seems he warned Fat Frank that he was doomed because folks only came this way once in a blue moon. After the cowboy left, Frank wrote under his whiskey sign, Blue Moon, Montana Territory. And that's how it got its start and a name.”

Wade chuckled softly. “Whether it's true or not, it's definitely colorful. And this place where we're going, is that where Fat Frank sold his whiskey?”

“No, the Feddersons bought his place and ran a general store there for years. Then they sold it to the Kellys, who basically turned it into a large convenience store and gas station. The place we're going got its start as a roadhouse during the prohibition years. After all, Canada isn't that far away,” she reminded him. “I've heard the old-timers whisper that the proprietor had some very attractive ‘nieces' who worked there.”

“Sin always sells, doesn't it?”

“So I've heard.” Cat smiled. “Ross and Marsha Kelly own it now. It's right up there—Kelly's Bar and Grill.” She pointed to the building's sign. “It's a much more respectable place now, I'm glad to say.”

Wade slowed and made the turn into the parking lot of Kelly's. Cat released her seatbelt when the car stopped and got out without waiting for him to come around and open her door. The brisk night air felt invigorating, increasing her sense of being fully alive.

He didn't bother to button up for the short walk to the door and neither did she. He took her arm in his and she accepted the courteous gesture without a moment's hesitation. The strength and warmth of his light hold felt very right and natural.

“Busier than I expected,” Wade commented as they headed for a table. The walls were decorated with paper Christmas motifs and the windows had been looped with strings of colored lights, the old-fashioned big ones.

She nodded. “But not exactly packed like a typical Saturday night,” Cat replied, her glance making its own sweep of the place. There were only two or three couples dancing to music from the jukebox. She recognized the song, a hit from a while ago that had never lost its popularity. Her gaze moved to the back and stayed on the rectangle of green felt under a spotlight and the random arrangement of colorful billiard balls on it. An ancient cowboy was bent over the table, playing pool with some much younger ranch hands, who stood to the side with long cues in hand. One was busily twirling a small cube of blue chalk on the tip of his cue just for something to do. But there wasn't the usual number of onlookers.

The sharp click of billiard balls got Wade's attention. Ricocheting off two others in turn, a striper rolled straight and true, and dropped into a far pocket with a solid thunk. The watching men scowled. Wade paused for a fraction of a second to watch the old man line up another complex shot. He sank the next ball he'd indicated with practiced smoothness.

“He knows what he's doing,” he said with a low chuckle. “The competition doesn't look too happy.”

Cat smiled in silent agreement. The ancient cowboy straightened as they passed by several feet away and took a moment to tip his hat to her, a faint but wily smile of triumph on his wrinkled face as he nodded to both of them.

They responded in kind and picked a table with an extra seat for their coats, sitting down. Marsha bustled over. “Evenin', you two. Kind of a surprise to see you here, Cat, what with the ranch party going on tonight.”

“We snuck away,” Cat told her and touched a forefinger to her lips. “Don't tell anyone.”

An answering smile increased her apple-cheeked look as Marsha winked and promised, “Mum's the word. Now what can I get for you?”

Wade ordered a beer and Cat asked for a Coke.

“Nachos to start?” Marsha suggested.

Wade folded his arms on the table and grinned up at Marsha. “I try to say yes to temptation. If you're talking nachos, the answer is hell yes.”

“What kind of dip? We have salsa or cheese.”

“Both,” Cat said impulsively.

“You've got it.” Marsha departed for the bar.

His grin softened to a smile when he looked across the table at her. “Both, huh? You're my kind of girl, Cat.”

“That's nice to know,” she said, pleased by the frank tenderness in his casual remark. A playful part of her couldn't resist adding a teasing, “At least I think it is.”

“It is.” Wade reached out a hand and brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. The brief touch wasn't that intimate, but it seared her. Cat sensed he was aware of her reaction to it. “Was that over the line for such a public place?”

“Not really,” she said, lifting her head to a proud tilt.

“Sorry.” He looked into her eyes as if he was gauging her mood.

Cat willed her racing pulse to slow down. “Don't be. I truly didn't mind.”

The drinks and nachos were coming their way on the tray that Marsha held in one hand as she wove between the tables. “Here ya go.” She set down coasters printed with four-leaf clovers and positioned the beer and soda on them, popping in two straws, added the rest of their order and left in a hurry. A few more customers had arrived.

Cat removed the paper from her straw and took a long sip of icy, refreshing Coke, looking up at Wade, who was turning the nacho plate around to study the cheese-drenched chips. “Yes indeed. They look good and greasy. Dibs on the big ones,” he said. “I might let you have a few, though.”

Cat laughed. “How do you stay in such good shape?”

“I run. Play tennis. Ski. Basically, if it involves moving, I'm your man.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“And you?”

Cat picked up a nacho and nibbled on the corner. “Living on a ranch automatically means being active. I ride a lot. Swim in the summer, fish a little. And I'm always walking.”

He nodded to the dancers, who were stepping to a lively tune. “How about that?”

“Sure. Uh—sometimes. I used to love to go dancing.”

He caught the wistful note in her voice and asked gently, “How long has it been since you did?”

Cat didn't answer right away. “I don't know,” she said finally.

Wade took a healthy swallow of beer and set down the frosty mug. “After dinner, we can take a turn on the floor if you like.”

She nodded. “I'd enjoy that.”

“So how long have you lived on the Triple C?” he asked.

“Almost all my life,” she replied, “minus the time I spent at college.” Cat paused a beat, then added, “I'm including the years Logan and I lived on the Circle Six ranch. It borders the Triple C so it hardly seems to count as living somewhere else.”

“Ever think of moving?”

The question surprised her. “Where?”

“It doesn't matter. I was just curious.”

She shook her head very slightly. “Moving isn't something that's occurred to me. No, that's not completely true,” Cat corrected. “Since my son Quint took over running the C Bar ranch in Texas, I have toyed with the idea of moving there, so I can see my young grandson a little more often.”

“You have a grandson?” he said.

“His name's Josh. He will be two years old soon. All three of them will be flying up for Christmas in a few days, so I'll get to see him then.”

“You Calders are a close-knit clan,” Wade observed.

Cat acknowledged that immutable truth with a rueful nod and smiled. “You know what they say about the ties that bind. Family ties are strongest.”

“And they last the longest, it seems.” Wade was thoughtful. “Chase filled me in on some of the family history. He even showed me that old map of the ranch, which got him started talking about the first cattle drives from Texas to Montana. Fascinating story. More like a saga, really.”

“It must sound like that,” Cat admitted and let her gaze wander over his face. In the dim light of the dining area, he was even more attractive than usual. The touch of silver in his hair suited him, and the sexy twinkle in his eye when he looked at her was making her feel very special.

Marsha stopped by their table again. “Is everything all right? Did you want to order dinner yet?”

“I think I'd better look at the menu first.” Wade removed two from their table holder and passed one of them to Cat.

“Take your time. Don't let me rush you,” Marsha told them. “Whenever you're ready to order, just flag me down.”

“Will do,” Cat promised and went through the motion of glancing at the menu choices even though she already knew what she would find.

“Anything you would recommend?”

“Well, they serve Calder beef, so the steaks here are excellent.”

“Naturally.” Wade grinned.

 

The old barn with its massive timbers was alive with laughter and chattering voices. This was the strictly social time that all the ranch families looked forward to, coming after the children's program, Santa's visit, and the assault on the long buffet tables that had been laden with platters and bowls of food. A few continued to graze on the pickings that remained at the buffet, something that was likely to go on the rest of the night. The remnants of a piñata, a Texas tradition that had traveled north to Montana along with the Longhorns, still hung from a low rafter, its contents long ago spilled to the delight of the children.

For most, this was the shank of the evening with a lot of partying yet to be done and stories to be swapped. Only the very young showed any signs of tiring. And one in particular, Sloan noted, spotting her son sitting Indian-fashion on the floor next to Chase's chair, seemingly content merely to watch the goings-on rather than tear around with his friends like a hooligan. Sloan observed the way he was leaning against the chair leg.

She nudged a shoulder against Trey and nodded in Jake's direction. “I think it's a certain little boy's bedtime.”

Trey glanced his son's way just as Jake let his head loll back against the chair. “Give him another minute and he'll be asleep.”

“It's a thought. Except he's twice as heavy to carry when he's asleep. I'd better go put him to bed,” Sloan decided and started forward.

“Tell him I'll be up directly to tuck him in.”

Sloan responded with an acknowledging wave and made her way to Chase's chair. His head was bent toward Stumpy Niles as if to better hear what Stumpy was saying. Chase gave her a questioning look when she paused in front of his chair.

“I decided it was time to claim this sleepy boy at your feet,” she told him and bent down to pick up Jake.

“Are you taking him up to the house?” Chase asked.

Sloan nodded and shifted the boy in her arms so more of his weight rode on her hip. “It's time he was in bed.”

Her statement roused a protest from Jake. “I'm not tired, Mom.”

“Just the same, you're going to bed.”

“Aww, I don't want to.” His head dipped onto her shoulder, belying his words.

“Mind if I ride along with you?” Chase asked, gripping his cane and preparing to stand. “It's time I called it a night, too.”

“Of course you can ride with us. Can't he, Jake?” She looked down at her son, who managed a tired nod, then stood back to wait for Chase.

Stumpy Niles stood up when Chase did. “I guess I'll try to find the old lady. We need to be headin' home, too. Good visitin' with you, Chase.”

“Same here,” Chase replied and struck out for the exit, not seeming to notice how readily a path was made for him.