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Everywhere there was a stirring of activity as the ranch hands carried out their routine morning chores. But the black armbands they wore took away any semblance of normalcy. The shock and the grief went deep—as deep as the emptiness.
Not a single one had questioned her right to assume control. They recognized she was in charge now and accepted it. But things weren’t the same. And nothing would be the same until the reins were once again in the hands of one who was Calder by blood. Even Jessy felt it. She had been entrusted with the responsibility of holding the ranch together so it could pass intact to her son.
Already the subtle job of grooming Trey had begun. A dozen times in the last three days Jessy had noticed the special attention the older hands now gave Trey—not in a way that would spoil him, but one that would train him in the ways of a Calder and the codes he would be expected to follow. Jessy felt a mix of pride and gratitude toward these men, and those feelings buoyed her, despite the long and difficult day that lay ahead—for all of them.
She turned her gaze to the private cemetery located a short distance back from the river. A blue canopy had been erected over the opened grave that soon would become the final resting place of Chase Benteen Calder.
Currently the closed casket that held his remains sat in the den where a space had been cleared for it. From the moment it had been set in place, someone had sat with it day and night. The ranch hands had started it, partly Jessy suspected as a way to make his death seem more real, something the closed casket had made difficult for a great many.
The snick of a latch alerted her to the opening of the front door. Turning, she saw Monte Markham w
hen he stepped out of the house, a pajama-clad Trey riding on his shoulders.
“Mind your head, now,” he warned Trey in his distinctive British accent, then noticed Jessy standing at the top of the steps. “Ah, there is your mum. Isn’t that good luck? We found her straight away.”
“Good morning.” Jessy’s glance touched on the Englishman’s aesthetically fine features before it shifted to the dark scowl on her son’s face. It troubled her the way Trey had changed from a wild rapscallion to a somber, almost angry little boy since learning of his grandfather’s death. “Looking for me, were you?” She reached up and lifted him off Monte’s shoulders. As always, Trey reminded her of a spindly colt, all arms and legs. “What’s the problem?”
Trey clamped his mouth shut in mutinous silence and fixed his gaze on the shoulder seam of her chambray shirt.
Monte quietly supplied the answer. “He is a bit reluctant about attending the funeral.”
The explanation earned him a glare from Trey. “My grampa’s not dead.”
The topic was one Jessy had discussed with Trey at length. She didn’t choose to go into it with him again. “If you’d rather not, you don’t have to go,” she replied with an easy calm, well aware that his absence would be a disappointment to the ranch hands, who wanted a Calder to be made of sterner stuff. “I’m sure Quint will understand.”
His dark gaze bored into her. “Quint’s going?”
“Yes.” Jessy was careful to say no more than that. Trey might not be four years old yet, but he was intelligent, and quick to recognize when he was being manipulated.
“Maybe I’ll go,” he said cautiously.
“That’s up to you.” She remained very matter-of-fact. “But right now I think you should go upstairs and get some clothes on.” Setting him down, Jessy pointed him toward the front door and gave him a light swat on the rump. “Scoot.”
He ran to the door, his bare feet slapping across the veranda’s wooden floor. He grabbed hold of the handle and gave the heavy door a mighty tug, pulling it open, then disappeared inside. When the door closed behind him, Jessy let her attention come back to Monte.
His look was soft with compassion. “Death is always difficult for a small child to accept.”
She nodded. “The closed casket just makes it that much harder.”
“Yes. It eliminates one of those final rites that provide us with a sense of closure,” Monte agreed thoughtfully.
“Funerals have always been for the living.” Almost automatically she thought of Ty and the void his death had created in her life. But she had become adept at shifting the focus of her thoughts. “When I left the house this morning, I noticed your Range Rover. I realized then that you must have volunteered to take the dawn shift sitting vigil. That was very kind of you, Monte.”
“Believe me, I wish there was more I could do,” he said with utmost sincerity. “But it would be futile for me to suggest that you call me if you need help with something. I am certain countless others with considerably more knowledge and experience than I possess have already offered their services. Truthfully, I have never met a woman who appeared to be more capable of running an operation of this magnitude than you. Quite likely it is I who will be coming to you for advice.” His smile was warm with a rueful amusement.
She widened the curve of her mouth in response. “Anytime, Monte. You know that.”
“Thank you.” He inclined his head. “And I would hope that if you ever should want some undemanding company for dinner or an evening of idle chatter, you will feel free to call me.”
“I’ll do that,” Jessy assured him.
“You say that easily, but I hope you mean it.” Despite the slight twinkle in his eyes, he studied her with a thoughtful regard. “This is hardly the proper time to be speaking of such things, but with the press of people who will be attending the funeral today, I doubt I will have another chance to speak privately with you. This new role you have assumed brings with it considerable responsibilities and obligations, of which I am certain you are aware. Perhaps you also know that it will place you apart from those around you. There will be occasions when you will wish to be an ordinary mortal. I know it is a desire my brother, the Earl of Stanfield, has expressed to me more than once. At such times, I ask that you remember my offer. There,” he concluded, his smile taking on a winsome quality, “I have made my little speech—and no doubt bored you dreadfully.”
She laughed low in her throat. “You are never boring, Monte.”
“I am relieved to hear that. Since coming here, I have overheard more than one local remark that I sound stuffy and a bit pompous. I suspect it is this accent of mine that gives that impression.”
“They clearly don’t know you very well,” Jessy replied.
