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“I’m sure you didn’t. It’s probably nothing more than an odd coincidence.”
“Now I’m curious. You don’t still have his notes, do you? I would be interested to see what he wrote.”
Jessy shook her head. “No, I gave the paper to Cat. There was no reason for me to keep it, and it meant something to her since it was in her father’s handwriting.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” he murmured with a tinge of sadness, “how trivial items suddenly become treasured mementoes after the loss of a loved one.”
“It always seems to happen that way,” Jessy agreed.
“Speaking of trivial things,” Monte began, “how are you progressing in your search for a horse for Trey? I think I may have found a suitable mount for him if you are still looking.”
“As a matter of fact, Dad mentioned yesterday that he had one he wanted me to see.”
“It’s a good thing I asked, and saved myself a bit of embarrassment later. I shall never forget the shock I felt that day when Trey announced that the pony wasn’t big enough to ride.”
They shared their separate recollections about the incident. The passage of time allowed them both to have a good laugh over it. Privately Jessy marveled at how much more relaxed she felt now that she had delivered Chase’s note to Cat. She felt confident that it had achieved the desired result. Tara could do all the lobbying she wanted, but Cat had a mind of her own, one that Tara wouldn’t find easy to sway.
With that complication out of the way, Jessy hoped things might go more smoothly now. But it was a hope that turned out to be short-lived.
After the last of the guests had left The Homestead, her parents and two other ranch wives stayed behind to help with the cleanup. While making a sweep through the rooms, Jessy spotted a coffee cup that had been left on a windowsill in the dining room. She picked it up and glanced around for any other stray item. Her father came through the room on his way to the kitchen, a stack of sandwich plates in his hand.
He stopped when he saw her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jessy, how come Logan was asking so many questions today about that new man you hired, Laredo Smith?”
“What kind of questions?” she asked, her stomach suddenly churning.
“General things . . . where he worked before—stuff like that. ’Course nobody could tell him much because Smith hasn’t been here long enough for anybody to know much about him.” He gave her a half-worried look. “What do you know about him, Jess?”
“I know he’s a good man and a good worker. We’ve never asked any more than that at the Triple C.” It was another one of those old codes that was still followed on the ranch; nobody delved too deeply into a man’s background.
Stumpy Niles nodded in agreement. “Logan sure is questioning, though,” he said.
“Maybe, but I know Chase . . . thought highly of him.” Jessy almost forgot to put it in the past tense. “That’s all the recommendation I need.”
“You’re right there,” he said and headed for the kitchen.
Jessy knew that one of these times she would get tripped up by a little slip of the tongue. She also knew that if her father had noticed all the questions Logan was asking, other ranch hands had as well. Which meant they would be watching Laredo more closely than they might otherwise have.
She sighed, convinced that this entire situation had more knots in it than a green bronc on a frosty morning. It was going to require skillful riding to not get bucked off.
Dust motes danced in the shaft of morning sunlight that poured through the kitchen window. Culley observed their erratic movements, aware as he always was of all things around him no matter how small and insignificant. Cat belonged in neither category. Most mornings she gabbed away like a magpie, but this wasn’t one of them.
She stood at the counter, methodically spooning cookie dough onto a baking sheet. Culley poured himself another cup of coffee and lingered by the pot to watch her.
“Not many folks showed up fer Sally’s funeral the other day,” he remarked.
“No.” The single syllable answer did little to encourage conversation.
“I kinda thought that Laredo fella might be there, but he didn’t show.”
“No.” The flat pitch of her voice never changed, but there was something slightly savage in the way Cat dipped out the next spoon of dough.
“What’s Logan got t’say about him?”
After a vague movement of her shoulders, Cat replied, “He’s going to call someone in Texas he knows and see what he can find out about the Smith family.”
With the cookie sheet filled, she stuck the spoon in the remaining dough and checked on the batch baking in the oven. The opening of the oven door released a fresh bloom of vanilla and chocolate scents into the kitchen, but it was the edgy briskness of her movements that Culley noticed. Leaving the cookies to bake a little longer, Cat turned away from the stove, paused, and exhaled a troubled sigh.
“I don’t know, Uncle Culley. Maybe I was too quick to find fault with Jessy. It’s for sure Dad would hate it if he knew Jessy and I were at odds over the ranch. I’ve heard that anger is often a manifestation of grief.”
