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floral-patterned thing faded from too many washings. She had been right to
wear it. She no longer had any doubt about that, although she knew Neil
thought they should have worn their Sunday clothes. In Emma's mind, her good
navy dress and pillbox hat had been the right thing to wear to meet with
Rollie's courtappointed attorney, but not Chase Calder. It wasn't something
she could explain, but she was certain of it just the same.
When the pickup clattered to a stop a few yards from the house, Emma raised a
quick hand to her hair, checking for any wayward wisps. Her waist-length hair
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remained her one vanity. Every night she brushed it the standard one hundred
strokes, and every morning she plaited it into braids and wound them in a
coronet atop her head. Years ago it had lost its glossy chestnut color and
turned a polished pewter gray, but that hadn't lessened the care she took of
it or the pride she took in it.
She gave the stubborn pickup door a hard push with her shoulder, then climbed
out and walked around to the driver's side to help her husband. His arthritis
always stiffened him when he sat too long, and with his twisted hands, opening
the truck door was difficult for him. Long used to his grunts and grimaces of
pain, she paid no attention to them as she assisted him from the cab and kept
a bracing arm around him once he stood upright on the ground. She stayed at
his side when he hobbled away from the truck toward the porch steps and the
waiting Chase Calder and his daughter. She saw, with satisfaction, the way
both Calder and his daughter watched her husband, noting the effort it took
him to walk and the discomfort it cost him.
"Morning, Calder." Pain had him biting off the words and breathing in jerky
gasps. Neil halted and dug his kerchief from his pocket to wipe at his
watering eyes.
"Good morning, Neil, Emma." Chase nodded the greeting to each of them in turn,
an unspoken question in his eyes that asked what they wanted.
"If you have a few minutes, Mr. Calder, Neil and I would like to talk to you,"
Emma spoke quietly, resisting the urge to ask to see him in private without
his daughter. She had seen the grief that haunted those eyes, and remembered
that she had been engaged to the Taylor boy. From all Emma had heard, the girl
took after her mother. And the O'Rourkes had never been the forgiving kind.
Chase measured them both with a thoughtful glance, then nodded. "Of course.
Come inside." He motioned toward the house, then turned to his daughter. "Ask
Audrey to bring us some coffee in the den, will you, Cat?"
She hesitated only a moment, then swung around and climbed the steps, entering
the house ahead of them. Emma breathed easier, relieved that he had excluded
his daughter.
The interior of the house was as big and grand as the exterior, the large
entryway opening into an even larger living room. Emma looked around with
interest while Calder shut the front door. She was surprised by nothing she
saw. The Homestead was a popular topic of conversation among the locals. Every
visitor to the house came away with descriptions of it that were passed around
from one wagging tongue to another.
When Calder led them to a set of double doors on their left, Emma knew what
she would see before she entered the room. Sure enough, there above the
mantelpiece of the massive stone fireplace were the wide, sweeping horns of
the legendary longhorn steer that had led the first Calder herds to this land
more than a century ago. A framed map hung on the wall directly behind the
desk. Roughly drawn and yellowed with age, it outlined the boundaries of the
Triple C Ranch, an area of land larger than the state of Rhode Island.
The man who ruled it walked behind the large desk and sat down, waving them
toward a pair of leather and brass-studded chairs that faced the desk. "Have a
seat."
Neil lowered himself into the first chair while Emma claimed its twin. Neil
mopped at his eyes again, then stuffed the kerchief back in his pocket. "I
appreciate you taking the time to speak with us," he said with a nervous bob
of his head.
"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" He directed the question to Neil.
"It's about our boy Rollie," Neil began, then paused and threw an uneasy
glance her way. "The missus and me met with his lawyer yesterday, a fellow by
the name of Barstow. He's young, but he seemed to know what he was talking
about. Anyways, the way he explained it is this , there's a hearing coming up.
As things stand now, Rollie is facing a manslaughter charge, which means he'll
have to serve some time in prison. Barstow wants to plea-bargain the case and
get the charges reduced. He says that the judge might suspend the sentence and
release Rollie on probation. But to do that, he says we'll need somebody to
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speak up for him. Not just anybody, but somebody whose name carries some
weight."
Chase leaned back in his chair and regarded him steadily. "And you want me to
speak up for him."
"Your word means something around here. Folks listen when you talk." He stated
it flatly, making no appeal with his voice.
"Rollie is a good boy, Mr. Calder." Emma leaned forward. "A hard worker, too.
He's sorry about causing that accident, sorrier than I could ever say. He
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