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“Let me know what you think he’d like. Here you are.” The cook set a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and thick buttered bread in front of her. Every bite tasted wonderful. It was all Kristin could do not to wolf it down.
Finished, she carried her plate and mug to the sink. “Thank you so much. I’m going back upstairs now. I’ll let you know about the tray.”
She hurried upstairs to find Logan sitting up in bed, face washed, hair combed, and wearing a fresh nightshirt. The dark stubble on his jaw gave him a roguish look that set off an unexpected quickening of her pulse. She remembered lying next to him last night. Tired as she was, she’d been very much aware of him. But then she’d gone to sleep, and the dream had come and gone. Nonetheless, she’d awakened feeling calm and rested.
“Webb sent a man to help me up,” he said. “I’m still unsteady on my feet, but I don’t want to stay in this bed any longer than I have to.”
“How’s the pain?”
“The shoulder’s sore. But not as bad as yesterday.”
“Excellent. Let me get you some breakfast. When you’re done, I’ll check the dressing.”
In the kitchen again, she prepared the tray in only a few minutes. Kristin carried it up the stairs, taking slow steps to keep it from spilling. She remembered last night’s conversation about the ranch property. Had she convinced Logan not to throw in his lot with Webb Calder?
He’d listened, but she couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. She only knew that if he bought the ranch, he’d be in a position to cause no end of trouble for Blake—trouble that could lead to conflict, violence, and bloodshed.
She could push and ask him whether he’d made a decision—but no, she’d said her piece. That would have to be enough.
Logan was eating his breakfast with the tray on his lap. Kristin was at the window, about to open it and let in some fresh air, when Webb stepped into the room. At the sight of his face and the flinty look in his eyes, her throat tightened as if someone had jerked a noose around her neck. Even before he spoke, she knew it was decision time.
He walked straight to Logan’s bedside. “You’re looking better today,” he said.
“I feel a lot better. But my doctor’s insisting that I stay in bed for one more day.”
“Good idea,” Webb said. “By tomorrow, I want you well enough to go to Miles City and buy that property from the bank. You do plan to buy it, don’t you?”
In the beat of silence that followed, Kristin forgot to breathe.
“Yes, I do,” Logan replied.
Kristin’s heart dropped.
“You’re sure now?” Webb said. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No. My mind is made up.”
Webb grinned for the first time. “Well, now, that’s good news. I was afraid you were backing out, but I should have known better. You may have a different name, but you’re a Calder at heart.”
Kristin turned away and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EARLY SUMMER ON THEMONTANA PRAIRIE BROUGHT KNEE-HIGHgrass and long, sunlit days. Spring roundup was over. In the pastures, new white-faced calves frolicked beside their mothers. With school in recess for the season, there was no better time to be a boy.
After the daily chores were done, Joseph would grab a few apples from the cellar, wrap some bread around a slab of roast beef, and ride down to the crossroads to meet his friends.
Sometimes Chase would join them. But with his father often keeping him busy at home, it was usually just the three of them—Joseph, Buck, and Cully. A world of innocent fun awaited them. They could ride into the foothills for a picnic, fish in the creek, or shoot birds and rabbits with Buck’s BB gun. If the day was warm, they could swim in one of the cattle ponds that dotted the pastures or gig frogs in the patch of swampland that bordered the road south of town. But those adventures paled beside their new discovery.
Joseph had forgotten which of his friends had suggested sneaking out of their homes at night, after their families were asleep. But once they’d tried it, the lure of darkness called to them like a siren’s song—the beauty and mystery of night, the danger, the risk, and the thrill of being unseen. There was always the chance that they could be caught and punished. But that only heightened the sense of adventure.
It took some planning to get it right. All three boys lived some distance from town. Getting together meant setting a time and place and riding their horses to the rendezvous. For Joseph, it meant listening for the chime of the downstairs clock, arranging a pillow dummy in his bed, and sneaking out the kitchen door to the stable. Bridling his calm horse and mounting it bareback, he would ride down the hill to the main road. Somewhere along that road, his friends would be waiting.
Once or twice a week, from late May into early June, they enjoyed their forays into the sleeping community. The few pranks they played were innocuous enough—a dead rat on a girl’s doorstep, an opened gate on a pigpen, a harmless snake slipped into a Model T parked outside the roadhouse—the usual boyish mischief.
But then came the night when everything changed.
It was after midnight. The boys had met on the south road from Blue Moon. They’d tethered their horses to a fence and were plotting their adventure when an army surplus–style truck pulling a canvas-covered flatbed came rumbling along the road from the direction of town.
