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In former days it had been a small back porch that had since been closed in to house the washer and dryer. The door that opened from the kitchen into it was still the old door, the top half of it a glass window.
“Thought I should stick close by in case he took a notion t’try somethin’ with you,” Culley said in an indirect admission.
Warmed by his deep-caring gesture, Cat smiled. “It wasn’t necessary, but I’m glad you did.”
“He didn’t stay long.”
“No. He only stopped to invite us to his place on Sunday.” After checking the cookies on the rack, Cat decided they were cool enough to stack, and provide room for the new batch from the oven.
“You goin’?”
“I haven’t decided. I told him I would call tomorrow and let him know.”
“What was he doin’ snoopin’ around that old desk?”
“He was just admiring it.”
“He poked around it like he was figurin’ on buyin’ it,” Culley observed.
A small smile deepened the corners of her mouth. Cat couldn’t help being a little amused by the proprietary attitude Culley took toward anything he regarded as hers. “Some people are fascinated by old furniture, Uncle Culley.”
He responded with a disdainful snort. “He probably likes paintings an’ statues, too. He looks like the type.”
This time Cat laughed out loud. “Coming from most people, that would be a compliment. But something tells me you just insulted him.”
Culley didn’t deny it. “To my way of thinkin’, he strikes me as bein’ a bit too dandified.”
Cat suspected that Culley based his opinion on the patrician fineness of Monte’s features and upper-crust British accent, but she didn’t say so. “The cookies are still warm from the oven. Would you like a couple with your coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Culley had never been one for sweets, although he always kept a box of something on hand at his ranch, the Shamrock. Cat was the one who craved them, especially anything chocolate. “He bought the old Gilmore place, didn’t he?”
“That’s right.” Cat located her empty cup and filled it with coffee.
“Ain’t been by there in a spell. Reckon it’s changed some.”
“I know he’s done a lot of work there.”
Culley toyed with the idea of riding over that way and taking a look-see one of these days.
Chapter Fourteen
Church bells rang joyously over the quiet town of Blue Moon while a playful wind danced among the parishioners exiting the sanctuary, tugging at shirts and skirt hems and any loose item it could find. With her hands occupied holding on to the twins, Jessy simply nodded to Reverend Pattersby as she filed past him, eschewing the customary handshake.
They were halfway down the steps when the wind snatched Trey’s Sunday-school drawing from his fingers and sent it fluttering across the lawn. Trey immediately jerked free of her hand and raced after it. Laura was much too worried about scuffing her white patent-leather Mary Janes to speed up even a little. Anxious that Trey might run into the street in his haste to retrieve his paper, Jessy glanced back at her parents. “Watch Laura for me,” she said and went after Trey.
To Jessy’s relief, the wind slapped the paper against the leg of a fellow rancher, George Seymour. When Trey pounced on it, startling the rancher, the barrel-chested man looked down, identified the cause, and retrieved the paper for Trey. Jessy arrived on the scene just as the rancher returned the drawing to its owner.
“Tell Mr. Seymour thank you, Trey.” She gave Trey a little nudge.
But Trey was too intent on smoothing out the creases to do more than mumble his gratitude. When Jessy looked up to add her voice to Trey’s barely intelligible words, the wide smile was gone from the rancher’s face.
His sudden look of cool reserve caused Jessy to temper the friendliness in her manner. “Thank you. I had visions of Trey barreling in front of a car trying to get his paper.”
“You need to keep a tighter check on him. But I guess a Calder figures they can do whatever they like.”
Jessy was quick to challenge his statement. “You aren’t talking about my son when you say that. Out with it. What’s got your back up, Mr. Seymour?”
“As if you didn’t know,” he snorted.
