Page 1 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

Blue Moon, Montana

J OSEPH D OLLARHIDE STOOD IN THE DUST OF THE ROUND PEN, THE sun blazing down on his dark head. Sweat drizzled down his face and glued his denim work shirt to his torso as he focused his attention on saddle-breaking a two-year-old colt.

The colt, a spectacular bay with champion bloodlines, had reached a full height of fifteen hands at the shoulder; but the young horse was still putting on muscle. Like a teenage human, the colt was restless, impulsive, and had a great deal to learn. It would be Joseph’s job to teach him.

“Easy, boy,” Joseph murmured, stroking the white star on the colt’s forehead. “Easy, now. That’s it. You’re safe here. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The colt’s intelligent, liquid eyes watched his every move, ears shifting to catch every nuanced whisper.

The youngster, a registered American quarter horse, had been promised to a wealthy Nevada rancher for a princely sum.

The balance of the money was to be paid on delivery, after the colt had been broken Comanche-style by Joseph Dollarhide.

Joseph had taken the colt’s training at a gentle pace, building trust over time.

Now, as he laid the thick, woolen saddle pad on its back, he hummed the Comanche horse chant he’d learned from his grandfather, Joe Dollarhide.

The old man, a master horse trainer, had been gone for years, but in his later life, he’d taught his grandson much of what he knew.

Joseph had taken every lesson to heart. Now, at twenty-four, he was still learning from experience, but he was already building a reputation as a great natural trainer.

Joseph had heard the story of how his grandfather’s life had been guided by dreams of a blue roan stallion. When a similar dream had come to Joseph a few years ago, he’d taken it as a message that he should follow the same path.

But that didn’t mean that the path would be easy. Joseph was reminded of that every time he went home to his family.

A quiver passed through the colt’s body as Joseph lifted the saddle and laid it over the pad.

Still chanting, he buckled the straps and tightened the cinch.

The colt had worn the saddle and a light bridle before.

But today, for the first time, he’d be carrying a rider—and he was smart enough to sense that something new was about to happen.

Logan Hunter, who was married to Joseph’s aunt, Dr. Kristin Dollarhide, watched from outside the log fence. The Hunter Ranch, with its cattle and pedigreed horses, belonged to him. But he’d offered Joseph a partnership in the horse business if his training could bring in enough cash.

For Joseph, that would be a dream come true. But Joseph’s father had other ideas.

Blake Dollarhide was already planning for Joseph, his only son, to step into managing the Dollarhide Ranch and Sawmill.

But that day could wait, Joseph told himself.

Blake was barely into his fifties. He was in good health, and he liked being the boss.

Joseph’s full-time help wouldn’t be needed for years.

Meanwhile, he would have time to pursue his dream.

“That colt looks a mite skittish to me,” Logan said. “Do you think he’s ready to ride?”

Joseph took a moment to shoo a fly that buzzed around the colt’s face. “This boy’s got a lot of spunk,” he said. “That’s not going to change. I’d say he’s ready, but I’m expecting some resistance.”

As he slipped a boot into the left stirrup, preparing to mount, his grandfather’s words echoed in Joseph’s mind.

Remember, a horse is a prey animal. If something lands on his back, his instincts tell him he’s about to become a meal.

So he fights for his life. Your horse has the same fear that saved his ancestors.

You can’t force it out of him. You can only teach him to trust you—and to believe that whatever happens, you’ll keep him safe .

Joseph pushed up in the stirrup, swung his right leg across, and settled into the saddle. At the sudden weight, a shudder passed through the colt’s body. He snorted. His legs danced sideways. Then, with a squeal of fury, he exploded straight up and started to buck.

As the colt jumped, twisted, and sunfished like a rodeo bronc, raising clouds of dust, Joseph steeled his resolve.

It wouldn’t do for the young horse to learn that he could get rid of a rider by bucking him off.

He’d be sure to try it again next time. The surest way to teach the rascal a lesson would be to outlast him.

Now, as he fought to stay in the saddle, Joseph could feel the colt tiring. Little by little, his frantic jumps slowed and weakened until, at last, he stood with his head down, his sides lathered and heaving.

With dust clouds settling and Logan cheering from the fence, Joseph eased his battered body to the ground.

He had won the battle of wills. Now all that remained was to cool his pupil down, give him a good rubbing with a towel, and take a well-earned break on the ranch house porch with a glass of cold milk and a wedge of Aunt Kristin’s apple pie.

He was walking the colt around the pen, feeling proud of his progress, when he heard the faint ringing of the ranch house telephone. He paid it scant attention. As Blue Moon’s only doctor, his aunt often got calls from people who needed her services.

Moments later, Kristin burst out of the house. Still wearing her apron and clutching her black medical bag, she raced for the Chevrolet Superior truck she drove on emergency calls. Her auburn hair blew loose. Her pale face wore an expression Joseph had never seen before.

“Joseph!” she shouted. “Come with me now! There’s been an accident—a terrible accident!”

Three days later

Joseph gazed down at the two flower-strewn graves, seeing them through a haze of grief.

The sky was a blinding blue, the mounded dirt still raw, like an open wound in the skin of the earth.

A circling hawk cast a shadow over the graves, its cry a heart stab as Joseph struggled with the shock of what had happened.

How could a single split-second decision end two treasured lives and shatter the peace of a family?

The fatal decision had been his father’s.

Blake Dollarhide had been driving the family’s aging Model T down the switchbacks from the house on the bluff to the main road when a deer had bounded into the path of the car.

Acting on reflex, Blake had slammed on the brakes and swerved hard right.

The front wheels had overshot the crumbling edge of the road.

The vehicle had careened down the high embankment and crashed onto the rocks below.

Three members of the Dollarhide family had been inside the car.

Blake’s wife, Hannah, and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Elsa, had died instantly.

Blake had suffered a shattered pelvis and crushed vertebrae.

He would live, but the doctors in Miles City had given him little, if any, hope of walking again.

The deer, as if it mattered, had been found dead below the road.

After the frantic call, Joseph and Kristin had rushed to the scene of the accident.

Blake had been in shock and too badly injured for them to move him.

There’d been little they could do except keep him stable until the ambulance arrived from Miles City.

The images Joseph had seen that day—the twisted wreckage and the bodies of his mother and sister—would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Confined to a hospital bed, Blake had been unable to see his wife and daughter laid to rest. But other friends and family members had come for the simple service in the small graveyard behind the house.

Blake’s older daughter, Annie, had arrived by train from Butte with her mining engineer husband, Frank.

Pregnant with her first child, she’d wept inconsolably, sobbing over the graves until Frank led her back to the house.

Britta, Hannah’s younger sister, was a tower of strength, her plain face showing little emotion.

Married to the former sheriff, who now worked from his wheelchair as the foreman of the Hunter Ranch, Britta was expecting her second child—joyous news for the family.

But after she’d lost both parents, two brothers, a sister, now another sister and a niece, Joseph had sensed, as she hugged him close, that his beloved aunt was crumbling inside.

There were others who’d come—neighbors, friends, schoolmates of Elsa’s, and women who’d stocked the kitchen with casseroles, breads, and desserts.

But one family member hadn’t shown up, nor had Joseph expected to see him.

Mason Dollarhide, Blake’s half-brother, had created a permanent rift in the family twenty-five years ago when he’d impregnated an innocent farm girl and left town to avoid a shotgun marriage.

It was Blake who’d stepped in, wed young Hannah, and raised her son as his own.

In every way save one, Blake Dollarhide was Joseph’s father. But Joseph’s striking eyes—jade green, like Mason’s—were on display for all to see and know the truth.

Had Mason, who’d inherited the nearby Hollister Ranch from his mother, stayed away out of respect or out of indifference?

But that question didn’t matter. Hurts ran long and deep in the Dollarhide family.

Even if he’d come to the service, Mason might have been tolerated. But he would not have been welcomed.

Others, however, were there. Blue Moon was a close-knit community. At tragic times like this, most quarrels and feuds could be put aside to pay respects to the bereaved family.

“Joseph, I’m truly sorry. What a loss.” Chase Calder stood facing Joseph, his hand extended.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and piercing brown eyes, Chase was barely two years older than Joseph.

As boys, they’d been friends. But that was before long-standing family rivalries had driven them apart.