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“Who gave it to you?”
“Mrs. Calder,” he replied. “She asked me to leave it here at the hospital after I dropped her off at the airport. That’s my cab out there.” He waved a hand in the direction of the sedan idling outside the entrance.
Clouds rolled across the Montana plains, pushed by a fast-moving cold front. Their thick layers blocked the late afternoon sunlight from the land, casting a premature darkness over the Triple C headquarters. Smoke curled from one of The Homestead’s chimneys, its gray trail blending into the skyscape.
Inside the big white house, the snap and crackle of flames in the den’s fireplace dominated the stillness. On this afternoon, Chase had bypassed his chair behind the desk and chosen instead to sit in a wing-backed one near the fire, angled to expand his view of the area directly outside the house.
One liver-spotted hand gripped the head of his cane, and the other patted the armrest in a show of impatience. With all his senses trained on the sights and sounds beyond the glass panes, Chase was quick to catch the distinctive rumble of an approaching vehicle.
Using his cane for leverage, he pushed himself out of the wing-backed chair and stumped over to the window. But the minute his sharp eyes identified Laredo as the driver, he turned from the window in disgust and clumped back to the desk.
When a search of a top drawer proved fruitless, Chase released a cranky bellow. “Cat! Get in here!”
Three sets of footsteps responded to his summons, but Cat was the first to enter the room ahead of Laredo and Jessy. “What is it? What’s wrong?” The questions tumbled from Cat in an alarmed rush.
“Where’d you hide my damned cigars?” he demanded.
“Your cigars?” Cat repeated in disbelief.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” he demanded, all testy.
In a huff, Cat crossed to the desk and flipped open the lid of the small wooden humidor that sat atop it. “Your cigars are right where you put them this morning. If you had bothered to look instead of carrying on like the sky was falling, you would have seen them.”
Chase grunted a nonresponse and plucked a cigar from the box. “Are you going to smoke that now?” Cat frowned.
“Damn right. If I can’t hold that new great-grandbaby of mine, then, by God I’ll smoke a cigar to him.” He turned a scowling look on Jessy. “What’s taking Trey so long to get here? I thought Sloan and little Jake were supposed to leave the hospital this morning.”
“That’s what Trey said last night,” Jessy admitted. “But there are any number of reasons why they aren’t here yet. For all we know, the doctor might have been late getting to the hospital to sign her out. I’m sure they’ll be arriving soon.”
“They’d better be. I’m tired of waiting.” Chase propped his cane against the desk to free his hands and proceeded to light his cigar, taking quick puffs to draw the flame to its tip.
Laredo wandered over to the drink cart. “How about a shot of whiskey to go with that cigar, Chase? It might make the waiting easier.”
“Not unless you’re having one. Drinking alone is a bad habit for a man my age to get into.” With the smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, he hobbled back to the wing-backed chair and lowered himself onto its seat.
“In that case, I’ll join you.” Laredo removed the stopper from the whiskey decanter and slid a questioning glance at Jessy. “How about you?”
“I think I’d rather have coffee,” she said.
“That’s probably wise,” Laredo agreed with a teasing grin. “Grandmas shouldn’t have whiskey on their breath.”
“Or great-aunts, either,” Cat inserted. “I’ll get the coffee, Jessy.”
When Cat left the den, Chase removed the cigar from his mouth and directed a look at Jessy. “How have our numbers been running in the calving sheds?”
“So far the live births are one hundred percent, although Shadow Rock Camp had one calf that’s too weak to nurse, so they’re bottle-feeding it. We checked the records, and that same cow lost her calf last year, so she’s one we probably want to cull.”
At the drink cart, Laredo listened to the run of conversation behind him while he poured whiskey into two glasses and added a splash of water and ice to his. As he put the stopper back on the decanter, his glance strayed to the window and stayed there when he saw the Suburban pull up to the house. He started to alert the others of Trey’s arrival, then checked himself when he noticed the absence of any passengers.
But it was the cold set of Trey’s expression when he emerged from the vehicle and the look of tightly caged energy in the way he crossed to the steps that prompted Laredo to say in warning, “I think we’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?” Chase reared his head back. “What kind of trouble? Where? What are you talking about?”
Laredo didn’t have to answer as the slam of the front door reverberated through the house, followed by the sound of hard-striding footsteps coming straight to the den. Laredo had the advantage of knowing it was Trey before he walked in, his sheepskin-lined jacket hanging open and his dress black Stetson pulled low on his forehead.
“Trey.” Chase’s expression brightened like a child at Christmas, then clouded with confusion when he realized Trey was alone. “Where’s Sloan and little Jake? Why aren’t they with you?”
Without bothering to answer, Trey crossed to the drink cart and jerked the stopper out of the decanter. His hat brim shadowed much of his face, but Laredo was close enough to see the glitter of banked savagery in his eyes.
