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When Trey reached over and took the suitcase from Jessy, she surrendered it without objection—this from a woman who staunchly believed everyone should pull his or her own weight, making no exceptions for either status or sex. But here was a son helping his mother, not an ordinary ranch hand carrying his boss’s luggage.
Trey made a quick visual check of the truck bed, verifying that there were no more bags to be retrieved. “Gramps decided to stay home, did he?”
“Like he said,” Laredo answered, “someone needed to stay behind and keep an eye on things at the ranch.” He made no mention of the comment Chase Calder had added, saying matter-of-factly, “There’s not much point in me going, anyway. All my contemporaries are either in rest homes or the cemetery.”
“As crowded and noisy as it’s likely to be, I couldn’t imagine Gramps coming, but I don’t put anything past him.” Mixed in with the easy affection in Trey’s voice was a deep note of respect for his grandfather.
It was hardly surprising. Following his father’s death when, Trey was barely more than a toddler, Chase had stepped in to fill the role. At an early age, Trey had learned from his grandfather that as a Calder, he would be held to a higher standard. Like it or not, he would be expected to work longer, be smarter, and fight rougher than anyone else. No favor would be shown to him, no concessions made, and no special privileges granted because he was the son and heir. On the contrary, the reverse would be true. During his growing-up years, Trey was often assigned the dirtiest and hardest jobs, the rankest horses in the string, and the longest hours. Any problems he encountered along the way were his to solve. If he found himself in trouble, he was expected to fight his way out of it with his fists or his wits.
Trey had never really known the fine line his mother and grandfather had walked to push him as hard as they dared without pushing too far and breaking his spirit. It was all preparation for the day when he would take control of the Triple C.
It had been no easy job to carve out a ranch the size of some eastern states back in the days of the Old West, and in these modern times, it would be no easy job to keep it. Some in Trey’s place might have shrunk from the pressure of that job, but he had always viewed it as a challenge he was eager to tackle. Maybe that was due to the way Chase had put it to him, or the belief he sensed that his mother and grandfather had in him that he could do it.
At the age of twenty-four, Trey shouldered responsibility with the ease of one accustomed to its weight. It hadn’t dulled the gleam in his dark eyes, the gleam that said there still lived in him the boy he had once been, reckless and a little wild. For the most part, Trey kept that side of himself reined in, but it was still there.
“You should have heard Gramps carrying on last night, reminiscing about some of the crazy shenanigans that went on during past bucking-horse sales.” That gleam in Trey’s dark eyes now became an impish twinkle as he addressed his mother. “He even told me about the time you took Uncle Mike’s place in the chutes and rode the bronc he’d drawn. Gramps said the gasp that came from the crowd nearly sucked up all the arena dust when your hat flew off and all that blond hair tumbled loose.”
Laredo turned a laughing look at her, both amused and curious. “Is that true?”
“I did it on a dare,” Jessy admitted with neither regret nor pride, regarding it as simply a foolish escapade of youth. “My brothers goaded me into it.”
“According to Gramps, you stayed on for the full eight seconds and probably would have scored the highest ride of the day if the judges hadn’t disqualified you.”
“That was a long time ago,” Jessy said, dismissing the incident. To ensure that it stayed that way, she asked, “What took you so long getting to the hotel?”
“Johnny and Tank wanted to scope out where they’re pitching their tents,” Trey said, then explained with a grin, “You know Johnny—he isn’t about to spend a dime for something if he can figure out a way to get it for nothing.” A pair of short, sharp honks of the pickup’s horn drew Trey’s glance to his compatriots parked a few spaces away. “Do you get the feeling they want me to hurry up?” Despite the careless toss of the question, he obligingly swung toward the motel entrance, striking out with long strides to take the lead while adding over his shoulder, “They’re anxious to get out to the fairgrounds and find out what their draw is for tonight.”
“Tank doesn’t usually ride the bulls,” Jessy said with some surprise.
Trey stopped to explain. “Johnny talked him into it. The riders get paid a few bucks just for climbing on board, and Johnny convinced Tank he had a fifty-fifty chance of drawing a bull that couldn’t buck worth a damn. ’Course, ever since Tank found out that a contractor is unloading his rodeo stock at this year’s sale, including two bulls selected for the National Rodeo Finals a couple years ago, he’s been sweating his draw.”
“With cause, I’d say,” Laredo remarked dryly.
“Damn right.” Trey flashed the older man a look of grinning agreement as he reached for the door and gave it an outward pull. He came to a dead stop one second before he walked into a brunette on her way out. Having shifted to one side to allow Jessy to precede him, Laredo had a clear view of the near collision. He saw the startled looks that were exchanged, one male and one female, and sensed a primitive current of something more that shimmered between them like a living thing.
Recovering, the brunette murmured a faintly apologetic, “Excuse me,” and Trey pivoted out of her path. His gaze tracked her as she slipped past him and headed for the parking lot. The dazed and rather avid look in his eyes was that of a man whose hunger was fully aroused.
“You look like you were just struck by a thunderbolt,” Laredo observed after the girl had disappeared among the parked vehicles.
“Something like that,” Trey murmured in admission, then turned back to them. “Who is she? Do you know?” He looked straight at Jessy.
“No one I’ve ever seen before,” she replied without hesitation.
“Me either.” Trey tossed a last thoughtful glance toward the parking lot, then flashed Laredo and Jessy a grin. “She was sweet, though.”
In the process Trey almost convinced himself he had identified the force of the attraction that had struck him so hard. Yet it didn’t explain the sudden surge of restlessness that flowed through him, leaving him with a vague feeling of discontent and unsatisfied needs, a sense of something missing. All of which he had experienced before, but this time the feelings seemed a lot stronger.
Like always, Trey used physical action to sweep the uncomfortable thoughts away, his quick, long strides carrying him into the relative dimness of the motel lobby after he told Jessy, “I’ll bring your suitcase as soon I get my key.” He slowed only long enough to allow his vision to adjust from the sun’s bright glare to the interior’s fluorescent glow.
The owners of a neighboring ranch were just collecting their keys when Trey arrived. That old edgy impatience surfaced again, even though his wait for the clerk’s attention was a short one.
“Trey Calder,” he said to the clerk after a brief nod of greeting to his ranch neighbors. “My mother already signed in for me.”
“Sure thing, Trey. I’ve got your key right here.” The man pushed it across the counter to him.
Trey laid a hand on it, then paused, something prompting him to ask, “That brunette who just left when I came in, can you tell me who she is?”
The clerk shook his head. “Sorry, I must have been busy. I don’t remember seeing her.”
