Page 27 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)

“Gone. Skedaddled. Took his clothes and some food and lit out in the night. I reckon we’ve seen the last of him.”

“Damn. I should’ve known he’d do that.” Joseph took another long sip and felt the scald burning down his throat. He was wide awake now.

“I noticed your car was missing,” Patches said. “I hope the kid didn’t steal it.”

“No. The car’s down on the main road with a flat tire. There wasn’t enough light to change it last night. I’ll need you to drive me down there—it shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes. First I need to tell my father we’re going and make sure he doesn’t try to get up alone.”

“Go on.” The old man untied his apron and tossed it over a chair. “I’ll go out and start up the old Tin Lizzie.”

He left by the back door. Joseph walked down the hall to his father’s room.

Blake had been an early riser all his life, and that habit hadn’t changed.

Even at this hour, he would usually be awake, pulling himself into his chair and rolling into the kitchen for coffee.

But he’d appeared tired last night. Hopefully, he was getting some much needed rest. It almost seemed a shame to wake him.

The bedroom door stood ajar, as Joseph had left it last night. The dawn light, filtering through the windowpane, revealed Blake lying amid the rumpled bedcovers, as if he’d been thrashing around in the bed, trying to get up.

“Dad?” Joseph stepped through the door. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”

There was no answer, no movement.

“Wake up, Dad.” Joseph leaned over him, reaching out to shake his shoulder. Blake’s skin was cool and rigid. No breathing. No pulse.

A single sob broke from Joseph’s throat. He sank to his knees as his world crumbled around him.

Three days later, Blake was laid to rest in the family graveyard, next to his beloved Hannah and their younger daughter, Elsa.

As one of Blue Moon’s leading citizens, he was widely known and respected.

A long procession of autos trailed up the switchback road as friends, business associates, and likely a few enemies came to pay respects and witness the simple ceremony.

Never one to show off his wealth or station, Blake was laid out in a plain pine casket lined with a patchwork quilt that his late mother, Sarah, had made for him as a boy.

The only speech was a string of homilies and a prayer from a local minister, a man who’d barely known him.

But that was all right. Everyone who’d come had their own memories of Blake—his honesty, his kindness, his work ethic, and his plain, straightforward way of speaking.

Joseph, his Aunt Kristin, and his married sister, Annie, stood beside the grave as the casket was lowered into the earth.

Weeks from giving birth, Annie sobbed as her husband supported her from behind. Kristin, who’d examined her brother’s body and found no sign of foul play, stood stoic and silent. She’d witnessed countless deaths in the Great War. But this one had struck closest to her heart.

Numb with grief, Joseph kept his emotions under tight control. He would mourn in private. Now, as he took his place at the head of the Dollarhide family, his father would expect him to be strong.

But why had his time come so soon? Blake had wanted to see the family continue, with a daughter-in-law and grandchildren giving new life to the big log home. Joseph had been too intent on his own happiness to give him that wish. Now it was too late—for that and for so many other things.

As the first clods of dirt thudded onto the lid of the casket, Joseph stepped back and surveyed the crowd.

Most of the faces he recognized—the mayor and his wife, the sheriff, the president of the Miles City Bank, and the owners of the ranches around Blue Moon.

With the sawmill shut down for the day, a number of the workers had chosen to come and honor the man they called the big boss.

Francine was nowhere in sight. Not that Joseph had expected her.

She hadn’t known his family, and she had no easy way to get here.

But Chase was here, looking like a matinee idol in a fashionable three-piece suit.

It would fall to Joseph to greet everyone and thank them for coming.

That would include Chase, the boyhood friend who had become his lifelong rival.

The funeral guests had begun to flow toward the house, where a light buffet of sandwiches, donated casseroles, and desserts was set up on the porch.

Only as the crowd cleared did Joseph see the tall man standing a dozen yards away, on the far side of the grave.

Joseph’s throat jerked tight as he recognized the chestnut hair, chiseled features, and confident stance of the one family member he had neither invited nor expected—Blake’s half-brother, Mason Dollarhide.

Joseph had broken off all contact with the man who’d fathered him when Mason went to prison ten years ago. Now, as their gazes met and locked across the distance, he found himself at a loss. He’d glimpsed Mason in town and on the road, but they hadn’t met face-to-face in ten long years.

What was he supposed to do?

It was Kristin who resolved the situation.

With a little cry, she ran to Mason and flung her arms around his neck.

He hugged her. “Hello, little sister,” Joseph heard him say.

“It’s good to see you. I’m sorry it took something like this to get me back to the family.

” Mason’s voice broke slightly. “All those lost years. I’m hoping maybe …

” The words trailed off, as if he feared he might have said too much.

Kristin released him and turned back toward Joseph.

He read her message in the stern look she gave him.

Forcing himself to move, he walked to where she stood with Mason.

He looked older than Joseph remembered, his face etched with lines, his hair threaded with silver.

But his eyes were the same. Green like Joseph’s. Green like Lucas’s.

Joseph gave Kristin a warning shake of his head. Given Mason’s impulsive nature, it might be best if he never found out about Lucas, who was his grandson.

Mason’s striking eyes took Joseph’s measure. “By God, you’ve grown into the image of your grandfather, Joseph. Joe Dollarhide in the flesh. And now you’ve stepped up as head of the family—what’s left of us.”

“I’m still trying to get my head around that, sir,” Joseph said.

At the word “sir,” Mason raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. What was he to be called? Joseph wondered. Not father. Not really uncle. Mr. Dollarhide seemed too formal, Mason too familiar. Not that he expected to be spending much time with the man. Relationships didn’t heal overnight.

“My wife would have come,” Mason said. “But our little girl, Grace, has the croup. Ruby didn’t want to leave her.”

“We can get together another time,” Kristin said. “Bring them to our ranch when she’s well. My boys would love to meet their cousin. And Britta has girls, too. They could have a grand time together.”

“We’ll do that.” Mason stood for a moment gazing down at the graves—his father’s, worn flat by time and weather, his half-brother’s, newly covered in fresh earth, and beside it, the grave of Hannah, the pretty farm girl he’d seduced and left to raise his child.

Did he have any regrets? But why wonder?

He had his own family now. And Joseph had grown to be a man.

He turned to face Joseph. “I won’t be staying,” he said. “I realize you might not be ready to forgive me. But I want you to know that the door is open. Any time you want to come and visit, you’ll be welcome.”

He extended his hand. After a beat of hesitation, Joseph accepted the brief handshake. His world, and his role in it, was changing. He would have to get used to that.

“I’ll need some time,” he said.

“I understand.” Mason took his leave of Kristin and headed back to his car. Kristin’s husband, Logan, appeared at her side to escort her up to the house, where most of the guests had gathered. Joseph trailed behind them.

Chase, who was heading back to his car, met him on the path. The two of them stopped for a moment, standing face-to-face. Remembering his manners, Joseph thanked him for coming.

“I’m sorry about your father, Joseph,” Chase said. “My dad never thought much of your family, but he respected Blake Dollarhide. Everybody did. He was a good man.”

“Thanks, Chase. I know you lost your father, too, just a few months ago.”

“That’s right. In a truck accident. It was sudden and all too soon.

I still miss him every day.” Chase’s piercing brown eyes met Joseph’s.

“The two great enemies are gone,” he said.

“Now it’s just you and me.” He offered a handshake, which Joseph accepted.

“Good luck, Joseph. I imagine you’re going to need it. ”

He turned away and strode to his car.

One week later

Lola sank onto a wooden chair, kicked off her high-heeled shoes, and hoisted her feet to a tabletop.

She sighed as the feeling returned to her swollen toes.

Her eyes surveyed the basement room—the empty glasses and scattered playing cards, the overflowing ashtrays, the pleasant disorder of abandoned tables and chairs.

She thought of the cash she’d just locked away in a strongbox on the bar.

Her speakeasy was doing even better than she’d hoped, the moonshine flowing and the poker games keeping customers at the tables.

With the money coming in, she’d even managed to fancy the place up a little, with bigger tables, more solid chairs, and some nice glassware from an estate sale in Miles City.

The sheet that had separated the speakeasy from the basement storage area had been replaced by an old velvet drape from a theater. Lola liked the classy look of it.