Free This Calder Sky by Janet Dailey Page B

helping with the roundup, I understand?” The lilting inflection of his stentorian voice made it a question.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBusy time of year.” The senator spoke in short, clipped sentences. He slapped Chase on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. “You remind me more of your father every day. Doesn’t he, George?”
    â€œYes, he does. He’s more handsome, though.” George Bidwell rose from the leather armchair to greet him. “Hello, Chase.”
    After shaking hands with the sparrow-faced man, Chase made the rounds, renewing his acquaintance with the senator’s assistants. When that was accomplished, Chase found himself standing next to the senator once more.
    â€œHave a cigar. My own special brand.” The politician placed it in Chase’s hands, not bothering to see if he wanted it or not. “Wes, fix me another whiskey.” He directed the order to an aide, then raised an interrogating eyebrow at Chase. “You’ll join us for a drink? Make it two, Wes.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, Senator”—Chase raised a hand to veto the drink order—“I’d like to wash off this dirtand cattle smell before I join you in that drink. If you’ll excuse me?” The last was a polite request encompassing the entire group.
    Leaving the den, he started to cross the living room to the staircase, his spurs jingling with each stride. He’d barely gone halfway across the room when a woman’s voice stopped him.
    â€œChase Calder, don’t you dare walk on those beautiful oak floors with those spurs!”
    A woman stood at the far end of the room where a hallway led to the kitchen; her blonde hair appeared lighter with the accumulating additions of gray-white strands. The stern expression on Ruth Haskell’s face was reminiscent of his childhood days, when she was as quick to scold him for wrongdoing as she was her son, Buck. Chase had never fully understood how she always knew when he was doing something he was not supposed to.
    â€œSorry.” A reckless smile proclaimed his guilt as Chase bent to unbuckle his spurs. She was gone when he straightened, returning to the kitchen to continue the preparation of the evening’s meal.
    With his hat and the spurs in his hand, he climbed the stairs, divided in the middle by a landing. The top of the stairs faced the south, and his bedroom was in the northwest corner, the only one outside of the master suite that had a private bath. All the guest rooms shared adjoining baths. Entering his room, he tossed the hat and spurs atop the quilted coverlet on his bed and started unbuttoning his jacket.
    In the den, Webb had heard the reprimand Ruth Haskell had issued and waited until he heard Chase’s footsteps on the stairs before excusing himself from his guests on the pretext of checking on dinner. He climbed the stairs after his son and knocked once on his door before opening it without waiting for permission to enter.
    Bare-chested, Chase was standing in the center of the room just taking his arm out of his jacket sleeve. The incongruity of wearing a jacket without a shirt unconsciously registered in Webb’s mind, but his thoughts were concentrated elsewhere at the moment.
    â€œWhat kept you?” Webb didn’t bother with the preliminaries, but went straight to the point.
    â€œI have no excuse, sir.” Chase walked to the closet to hang his coat on the knob.
    â€œI’m glad we agree on that point.” Webb followed him with his eyes, watching him closely. “Do you realize how long I waited for you at the gate? What took you so long?”
    There was an expressive lift of naked shoulders. “I just lost track of the time.” He crossed in front of Webb and stopped at the chest of drawers.
    â€œYou were just having so much fun that you didn’t pay any attention to what time it was getting to be,” Webb concluded with a lack of