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Authors: Janet Dailey

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He yelled to the two boys, “Get Logan—and get him quick! Tell him we’ve got trouble.” Halting, they stared wide-eyed at the gun in his hand. “Run!”
Laredo heard the tackle box hit the ground, but he didn’t hang around to watch them take off. He moved to the side door and slipped inside. No lights were on, giving a shadowy darkness to the interior. He took a step to the side and listened to the eerie stillness. Markham had to be somewhere toward the back, but where?
Hugging close to the stalls, Laredo began moving along the alleyway, constantly scanning the shadows and upper reaches of the barn. His heightened senses magnified every sound from the whisper of his clothing to the hammering of his pulse.
There were too many places for Markham to hide in the massive old barn. Laredo knew he was running out of time to find him.
“I know you’re in here, Markham!” He lifted his voice, letting it echo through the timbered rafters. He strained to catch some sound that would betray Markham’s location, but all he caught was a faint scrape, coming from somewhere off to his left. “Give it up, Markham! Even if you get Chase, you’ll have to get past me!”
There was a faint
thump
mixed in with a muted
chink
. The tack room. Laredo remembered there was a window in it that overlooked the river and the barbecue site.
Laredo worked his way toward it, sinking deeper into the concealing shadows of the opposite wall. Markham had to be sweating now.
Determined to increase the pressure, Laredo called again, “Even if you get lucky and get past me, Logan will be waiting for you. Chase remembered everything. By now Logan’s already heard the whole story. And we both know ballistics will match the slug they took out of O’Rourke to your rifle. You’re finished, Mar—”
He was still in midword when the tack-room door flew open. Simultaneous with a muzzle flash was the reverberating
boom
of a high-powered rifle. At almost the same instant that Laredo squeezed the trigger, a board not three inches from his head exploded in a shower of splinters. The rifle clattered across the concrete alleyway.
The sudden silence was deafening. Wisps of gunsmoke hung in the air, its acrid odor mingling with the hay smell. Laredo kept his gun pointed at the bare-legged man lying motionless across the tack room’s threshold. Sweat ran down Laredo’s face, and his ears still rang with the thunderous clap from the rifle while his breathing ran shallow and fast. He worked to even it out.
The barn’s side door burst open, letting in a long flood of light. Laredo wheeled as Logan ducked inside, gun at the ready.
“It’s okay, Logan.” Laredo raised his weapon skyward. “It’s over.”
Still cautious, Logan moved out of the shadows and slowly approached the body. He kicked the rifle well out of reach, crouched next to Markham, and checked for a pulse.
He straightened. “He’s dead.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry.” Laredo joined him as Logan glanced into the tack room.
On top of the picnic hamper sat a wooden case that had held the rifle’s disassembled parts. Seeing it, Laredo remarked, “Want to bet that hamper has a false bottom?”
“No, thanks. I don’t like the odds.” Logan stepped back from the doorway and glanced at the gun in Laredo’s hand.
After an instant’s hesitation, Laredo offered it to him, butt first. “I imagine you’ll need this. That stall board over there will tell you it was a clear-cut case of self-defense.”
“I know. I heard you shouting to draw Markham’s fire.” Logan held the gun for an indecisive moment, then leveled his gaze at Laredo. “I assume this isn’t registered.”
“Not hardly,” he replied dryly.
“That’s what I thought.” Logan tucked it inside the waistband of his jeans. “It may be a bit easier for me to explain what I was doing with an unregistered firearm than it would be for you . . . considering you weren’t here when the shooting took place. Right?”
“There are two boys who might say differently,” Laredo reminded him, “although I’m grateful for the gesture.”
They both knew his past wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny. Even if the shooting were ruled to be justifiable, there would likely be extradition papers waiting for him.
“Those are Triple C boys. They aren’t going to say a word,” Logan told him. He nodded toward the door. “Go on. Get out of here, and let Chase know what went down.”
PART FOUR
A shifting wind
Blows soft and cool,
And once again
A Calder rules.
Epilogue
T
he horse herd swept over a rise in the plains, their summer-sleek coats rippling with muscle in the morning sunshine. With Hattie at his side, Chase sat atop the fence, the heels of his boots hooked on a lower rail. On either side of them was a twin.
“Here they come, Grampa!” Too excited to be satisfied straddling the top rail, Trey stood up to point at the approaching herd.
“I see them.” It was something Chase had witnessed endless times in his life, but it was new to these three, allowing him to enjoy the spectacle through their eyes.
“Look at all the colors, Grampa,” Laura marveled, staring wide-eyed at the glistening mix of sorrels, bays, grays, and buckskins.
“What a sight,” Hattie exclaimed as the drumbeat of their hooves reached them, the sound of it like a low roll of thunder. “I’m glad you insisted I come watch.”
His side glance moved over her with intimate warmth. “I never intended for you to spend all your time in the kitchen when I suggested that you do the cooking at The Homestead.”
“What are you gonna do with all them horses, Grampa?” Laura frowned curiously as the herd swept toward the open gates to the big pen, accompanied by a quartet of riders.
“Roundup time is just around the corner. We’ll need the extra horses to fill out each rider’s string.” But his answer sailed over her head, requiring a further explanation.
By the time he finished, the last of the horses had trotted into the pen and the gates were swung shut. Two of the outriders peeled away from the gates and rode over to join them.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, ’Redo.” Trey rushed the greeting. “Next time can I help get the horses? Me an’ Joe, we could do it.”
“We’ll see,” Jessy replied.
Trey took it as a “yes.” “Yippee!” he shouted and launched himself off the fence. “Come on, Laura. Let’s go look at the horses.”
Hattie watched the pair race to the big pen. “Oh, to have that much energy again.”
“Getting to be a dim memory, is it?” Laredo teased, but his expression was much more serious when he directed his attention to Chase. “I saw Logan pull in earlier. What did he want?”
“He stopped by to give me an update on what they have learned so far about the scope of Markham’s operation.” The news of Monte’s death had caused an initial flurry of headlines that had died within a few days. The ongoing investigation into his activities had garnered little media attention, but the ramifications of it were proving to be far-reaching. “The numbers they have right now indicate that Markham supposedly sold close to one hundred and fifty thousand head of cattle. So far they have located about thirty thousand. Which leaves over a hundred thousand head missing, at a value of roughly fifty million dollars. And that might be just the tip of the horn.”
Laredo whistled softly when he heard the dollar figure. “No wonder he was so anxious to shut you up.”
“What made him think he could get away with it?” That was the part Jessy didn’t understand.
“He’s been at it for at least the last seven years without anyone getting suspicious,” Chase replied. “Maybe even longer than that.”
“What about the shooting? Has anyone questioned it?” Laredo asked with a certain wariness.
Only three people knew the exact circumstances—Logan, Chase, and Laredo. And that was the way Chase wanted it to stay. “Anytime an officer is involved in a shooting there is always an investigation. Logan explained what happened and the evidence bears him out.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Jessy was too wise in the ways of a Calder not to read between the lines and guess at the real story. But she was also wise enough not to ask. She understood that it wasn’t necessary for her to know the true facts.
“Then it’s finally over, isn’t it?” Jessy said.
“It’s over,” Chase confirmed. “You always told me you were going to stay for the duration, Laredo. I hope you know that you have a home here as long as you want it. But that’s for you to decide.”
When Laredo didn’t immediately respond, Jessy felt a tightness in her chest. She wanted to speak up and insist that he stay. But she wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could hold him if he wanted to leave. So she waited for his answer, tense, and braced for the worst.
Laredo tipped his head into the cool breeze that came out of the north. “If I get on it right away, I should be able to get the cabin insulated before winter sets in.”
Relief soared through Jessy. She covered it with a surprised laugh. “You don’t have to stay there,” she protested.
“It suits a bachelor like me, peaceful and quiet, far from prying eyes.” There was a twinkle in his blue eyes when Laredo looked at her, the kind that had her heart skipping a little faster. He added, almost as a warning, “It’s for sure I don’t belong up there.” He nodded toward the big white house that overlooked the whole of the Triple C headquarters.
It was his way of making sure Jessy had no false expectations of what the future might hold for them. She understood that it wouldn’t likely ever include marriage—not because of his pride, but because of his past.
Jessy directed her reply to Chase. “We better plan on getting a road built to the Boar’s Nest as soon as we can get a crew on it.”
“Good idea,” Chase agreed. “In the meantime, you need to join us at dinner tonight for a little celebration, Laredo. Earlier this morning I received a call from my attorney—”
“Don’t tell me,” Jessy interrupted. “The courts have declared you are legally alive.”
“Actually, they did, but he was calling to let me know they completed the title search and confirmed that Seth Calder was a former owner of Hattie’s ranch in Texas,” Chase explained. “She has agreed to sell it to me and bring it under the Calder brand again. That way she can’t accuse me later on of marrying her to get my hands on it.”
Jessy was too stunned by his decision to buy the ranch for the significance of his latter comment to register with her. “Are you serious? Are you really going to buy it? I didn’t think the day would ever come when a Calder would go back to Texas.”
“Then maybe it’s time. He glanced sideways at Hattie, his smile alive with warmth and shared amusement.
Please turn the page for a preview of
CALDER PROMISE by Janet Dailey.
A July 2004 hardcover release
from Kensington Publishing.
 
 
 
 
 
“W
hat happened, Laura? Did you forget to look where you were going?” The familiarity of Tara’s affectionately chiding voice provided the right touch of normalcy.
Laura seized on it while she struggled to collect her composure. “I’m afraid I did. I was talking to Boone and—” She paused a beat to glance again at the stranger, stunned to discover how rattled she felt. It was a totally alien sensation. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt in control of herself and a situation. “And I walked straight into you. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies necessary,” the man assured her while his gaze made a curious and vaguely puzzled study of her face. “The fault was equally mine.” He cocked his head to one side, the puzzled look deepening in his expression. “I know this sounds awfully trite, but haven’t we met before?”
Laura shook her head. “No. I’m certain I would have remembered if we had.” She was positive of that.
“Obviously you remind me of someone else then,” he said, easily shrugging off the thought. “In any case, I hope you are none the worse for the collision, Ms.—” He paused expectantly, waiting for Laura to supply her name.
The old ploy was almost a relief. “Laura Calder. And this is my aunt, Tara Calder,” she said, rather than going into a lengthy explanation of their exact relationship.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he murmured to Tara, acknowledging her with the smallest of bows.
“And perhaps you already know Max Rutledge and his son, Boone.” Laura belatedly included the two men.
“I know
of
them.” He nodded to Max.
When he turned to the younger man, Boone extended a hand, giving him a look of hard challenge. “And you are?”
“Sebastian Dunshill,” the man replied.
“Dunshill,” Tara repeated with sudden and heightened interest. “Are you any relation to the earl of Crawford, by chance?”
“I do have a nodding acquaintance with him.” His mouth curved in an easy smile as he switched his attention to Tara. “Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately no,” Tara admitted, then drew in a breath and sent a glittering look at Laura, barely able to contain her excitement. “Although a century ago the Calder family was well acquainted with a certain Lady Crawford.”
“Really. And how’s that?” With freshened curiosity, Sebastian Dunshill turned to Laura for an explanation.
An awareness of him continued to tingle through her. Only now Laura was beginning to enjoy it.
“It’s a long and rather involved story,” Laura warned. “After all this time, it’s difficult to know how much is fact, how much is myth, and how much is embellishment of either one.”
“Since we have a fairly long walk ahead of us to the dining hall, why don’t you start with the facts?” Sebastian suggested and deftly tucked her hand under his arm, turning her to follow the other guests.
Laura could feel Boone’s anger over the way he had been supplanted, but she didn’t really care. She had too much confidence in her ability to smooth any of Boone’s ruffled feathers.
“The facts.” She pretended to give them some thought while her sidelong glance traveled over Sebastian Dunshill’s profile, noting the faint smattering of freckles on his fair skin and the hint of copper lights in his very light brown hair.
Despite the presence of freckles, there was nothing boyish about him. He was definitely a man fully grown, thirty-something she suspected, with a very definite continental air about him. He didn’t exude virility the way Boone Rutledge did; his air of masculinity had a smooth and polished edge to it.
“I suppose I should begin by explaining that back in latter part of the 1870s, my great-great-grandfather Benteen Calder established the family ranch in Montana.”
“Your family owns a cattle ranch?” He glanced her way, interest and curiosity mixing in his look.
“A very large one.”
“How many acres do you have? I don’t mean to sound nosy, but those of us on this side of the Atlantic harbor a secret fascination with the scope and scale of your American West.”
“So I’ve learned. But truthfully we don’t usually measure in acres. We talk about sections,” Laura explained. “The Triple C has more than one hundred and fifty sections within its boundary fence.”
“You’ll have to educate me,” he said with a touch of amusement. “How large is a section?”
“One square mile, or six hundred and forty acres.”
After a quick mental calculation, Sebastian gave her a suitably impressed look. “That’s nearly a million acres. And I thought all the large western ranches were in Texas, not Montana.”
“Not all.” She smiled. “Anyway, according to early ranch records, there are numerous business transactions listed that indicate Lady Crawford was a party to them. Many of them involved government contracts for the purchase of beef. It appears that my great-great-grandfather paid her a finder’s fee, I suppose you would call it—an arrangement that was clearly lucrative for both of them.”
“The earl of Crawford wasn’t named as a party in any of this, then,” Sebastian surmised.
“No. In fact, the family stories that were passed down always said she was widowed.”
“Interesting. As I recall,” he began with a faint frown of concentration, “the seventh earl of Crawford was married to an American. They had no children, which meant the title passed to the son of his younger brother.” He stopped abruptly and swung toward Laura, running a fast look over her face. “That’s it!” He stopped abruptly and swung toward Laura, running a fast look over her face. “I know why you looked so familiar. You bear a striking resemblance to the portrait of Lady Elaine that hangs in the manor’s upper hall.”
“Did you hear that, Tara?” Laura turned in amazement to the older woman.
“I certainly did.” With a look of triumph in her midnight dark eyes, Tara momentarily clutched at Laura’s arm, an exuberant smile curving her red lips. “I knew it. I knew it all along.”
“Knew what?” A disgruntled Max Rutledge rolled his chair forward, forcing his way into their circle. But Boone stood back, eyeing the Englishman with a barely veiled glare. “What’s all this hooha about?”
“Yes, I’m curious, too,” Sebastian inserted.
“Well . . .” Laura paused, trying to decide how to frame her answer. “According to Calder legend, Benteen’s mother ran off with another man when he was a small boy. If the man’s name was known, I’ve never heard it mentioned. He was always referred to as a remittance man, which, as I understand, was a term used to describe a younger, and frequently ne’er-do-well, son of wealthy Europeans, often titled.”
Sebastian nodded, following her line of thought to its logical conclusion. “And you suspect your ancestor ran off with the man who became the seventh earl of Crawford.”
“Actually, Tara is the one who came up with that theory after she found some old photographs.”
Taking Laura’s cue, Tara explained, “Back when I was married to Laura’s father, I was rummaging through an old trunk in the attic and came across the tintype of a young woman. At that time, the housekeeper, who had been born and raised on the ranch, told me it was a picture of Madelaine Calder, the mother of Chase Benteen Calder. I’m not sure, but I think that was the first time I heard the story about her abandoning her husband and young son to run off with another man. Needless to say, I was a bit intrigued by this slightly scandalous bit of family history. And I became more intrigued when I happened to lay the tintype next to a photograph taken of Lady Crawford. Granted, one was a picture of a woman perhaps in her early twenties, and the woman in the other photo was easily in her sixties. Still, it was impossible to discount the many physical similarities the two shared, not to mention that the young woman had been called Madelaine and the older one was known as Elaine. I just couldn’t believe it was nothing more than a series of amazing coincidences. I’ve always suspected they were pictures of the same woman, but I have never been able to prove it.”
“And if you could, what would that accomplish?” Max challenged, clearly finding little of importance in the issue.
“Now, Max,” Tara chided lightly, “you of all people should know that sometimes there is immense satisfaction to be gained from finding out you were right about something all along.”
Max harrumphed but didn’t disagree with her response. Boone remained a silent observer. Something about the way he looked at Sebastian Dunshill spoke of his instant dislike of the man.
“You say there’s a portrait of Lady Elaine displayed at the earl of Crawford’s home,” Tara said, addressing the remark to Sebastian.
“Indeed there is. A splendid one.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.”

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