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Coming from Culley, that was saying something. For years the only good thing he’d say about Chase Calder was that he loved Maggie, maybe as much as Culley had loved his sister.
“I’ll try, Uncle Culley,” Cat said a little wearily. “I’ll honestly try.”
“You’ve got to do more than try,” he told her. “Or they’ll make your life hell.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” But she refused to be daunted by it. Resolute in her decision, she lifted her chin a little higher in a gesture that was typical of her, and pulled a hand from h
er pocket to link arms with her uncle. “I’m glad you came into town today. Somehow you always manage to be around when I need you.”
“I remembered you had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and I’d heard some of the talk going round.”
“So you decided to show up in case you needed to come to my defense, which—as it turns out—you did.” She thought back to the confrontation with Emma Anderson and recalled the comment he had made that had brought a quick end to it. “How did you find out the Andersons have another son in prison?”
He had a sly and knowing look on his face again. “I run into old Sheriff Potter a couple weeks back, and he hinted as much to me. Then last week I saw one of the deputies in Fedderson’s and asked him about it. He’s the one who told me Lath was doing time down in Texas.”
“What did he do?”
“It was something about illegal weapons, either buying or selling. I didn’t get the straight of it.”
“I see,” Cat murmured.
“I figured it could be useful information,” Culley explained. “That old lady was a Hatton before she married Anderson. The Hattons always were a grudge-holding sort.”
Cat nodded absently, finding it all suddenly depressing. Determined to throw off this gloomy talk, she turned to her uncle with a quick, bright smile. “I haven’t told you the news—I’m going to have a boy.”
It would have been better if it had been a girl, Culley thought. Folks around here would give a boy a rougher time of it. He started to say so, but Cat looked too happy so he said nothing.
TEN
On the last Sunday before Christmas, upward of two hundred people from all four corners of the ranch converged on the headquarters. The annual party for the workers and their families was a holiday tradition on the Triple C. As always, it was held in the one-hundred-year-old barn with its long, wide alleyway that had once garaged the buggies, wagons, hayracks, and plows used in the ranch’s early days. And, as always for the occasion, the huge barn was transformed into a festive hall, complete with strings of lights hanging from its massive oak beams, a Christmas tree decorated with paper chains, popcorn strings, snowflakes, and ornaments made by the ranch children, both past and present, and a large piñata—a custom brought to the ranch by those first Texans who had made the Triple C their home.
Since early morning, large salamanders had blown their heat through the cavernous alleyway, taking much of the chill from the air. The assemblage of people did the rest. Now children ran about in heavy sweaters and sweatshirts, and the roar of the portable heaters was drowned by the chatter of voices, the laughter of children, and Christmas carols that came over the tape deck’s speakers.
Ty came back from the groaning buffet tables carrying a plate mounded with turkey, ham, candied sweet potatoes, sage dressing with gravy, cranberry sauce, and green beans. Jessy got up from the seat she had saved for him, took one look at the food piled on his plate, and shook her head in amusement.
“If you manage to eat all that, Ty, you won’t need a pillow to fill out that Santa suit,” she said, ribbing him about his new role at the Christmas party as she had done ever since Chase had announced he was relinquishing it.
“Watch it, or I’ll have a Mrs. Claus outfit made for you,” he warned, a lazy gleam shining in his eyes.
“In that case, I promise to be a good girl, Santa,” Jessy countered with mock contriteness, then slipped in a final gibe, “but you’d better practice your ho-ho-hos.”
“And you’d better get in line before all the food is gone.” He gestured toward the buffet tables with his fork.
“I’m not worried. I saw how much food Tucker fixed. Right now,” she paused and craned her neck to scan the far end of the barn, “I think I’ll give Mom a hand. She’s trying to get the kids corralled so we can get the Christmas program under way.”
“Good luck.” Ty picked up his knife and fork to slice off a bite of ham.
“We’ll need it, as always,” Jessy replied.
The children’s Christmas program was a tradition at the employee party, and long one of its highlights. This year Judy Niles had received the dubious honor of being named coordinator of the event. Naturally, she had roped Jessy into helping.
Truthfully, Jessy hadn’t minded, although she still squirmed when she recalled some of her own less-than-shining moments as a participant—such as the time she had beaten up on Tommy Summers after he had razzed her one too many times about being a “sweet little angel.” She had ended up with a black eye—plus tattered wings and a crooked halo.
After an initial sweep of the area failed to turn up her mother, Jessy sought out her father. Stumpy Niles was leaning his squatly built frame against one of the stalls, busy finishing off a large slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
“I can’t find Mom. Have you seen her?” Jessy turned to survey the throng of milling mothers and excited children.
“Gabriel—alias Ricky Goodman—refuses to put on his costume,” Stumpy explained between bites. “He insists only girl angels wear robes. Your mom took him off to have a private talk and see what they could negotiate.”
