Page 5 of Calder Strong (The Calder Brand #5)
That had been the last time he’d been with her.
A couple of months later, after he’d discovered Lucy and fallen under her spell, he’d seen Annabeth at the Harvest Dance with another boy. The sight of her, twirling on the dance floor in a slim-waisted blue dress, had reassured him that she must not be pregnant. It appeared that he’d been wrong.
She could have told him, damn it. If the baby was half his, hadn’t he deserved a say in its future?
But what kind of husband and father would he have been—nineteen years old, with no more sense of responsibility than a jackrabbit?
Annabeth might have realized that. Besides, Joseph could imagine how he’d hurt her, dropping her for a more sophisticated girl. He could hardly blame her for turning to another man. Still …
The Ford’s chassis shuddered as the right front wheel lurched into a washtub-sized pothole and settled with a sickening thud.
Joseph cursed as he switched off the engine, climbed hastily out of the car, and walked around to the other side.
Blast it, he should have been watching the road instead of wallowing in old memories.
The Ford was tilted at a rakish angle toward the wheel, which had sunk almost to the hub.
Joseph crouched low enough to peer underneath.
If the axle was broken or the auto otherwise seriously damaged, he could be hours getting it to Miles City and more time, even days, waiting for repairs.
He wouldn’t know for sure until he could get the vehicle back on level ground.
Through the sifting dust, he could see the axle resting on the edge of the hole. It appeared to be in one piece, and the wheel didn’t seem to be bent, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he could get a better look.
Pushing or pulling the car out of the hole would be impossible without help.
If the engine had enough torque, backing out the way the wheel had gone in made the most sense.
But the hole had been washed out where last month’s rains had found a weak spot.
Its edges were steep all the way around.
Even behind, there was no slope for the wheel to climb.
Joseph kept a few tools in the trunk for emergencies. Among them was a short-handled shovel. If he could dig away the rear edge and enlarge the hole, he might be able to back the wheel out onto the level surface of the road.
With a sigh, he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, found the shovel in the trunk, and started digging.
The dirt was a gravelly mix that crumbled into the hole as soon as the ground was broken, filling up the space around the wheel.
If Joseph couldn’t clear it out, he’d be no better off than before.
He kept on shoveling, loosening the packed earth on the surface and scooping the dirt and gravel out of the hole.
Progress was slow, with the overhead sun beating down like a blacksmith’s hammer.
Sweat poured off his body, soaked his clothes, and streamed down his face.
He unbuttoned his dirty shirt and tossed it on the hood of the car.
Even working in his singlet, he was hot.
Joseph had paused a moment to rest his back and wipe his face with his handkerchief when a tingling of awareness warned him that he was being watched.
There was no sound except the call of a passing crow, no movement except the wind that stirred the dusty leaves of the service-berries growing along the roadside.
But the subtle feeling was unmistakable.
Was he about to be robbed? The loaded pistol Joseph kept under the seat of the auto was out of reach.
The only weapon at hand was the shovel. Gripping it, he turned and spoke.
“Hello?”
There was no response.
“I know you’re there. Show yourself.” Maybe the unknown presence was harmless, even afraid, Joseph reasoned. It could even be a child.
Keeping the shovel close, he lowered himself to a crouch. “Come on out,” he coaxed. “I won’t hurt you.”
The only answer was the mocking call of the crow.
Joseph usually trusted his instincts, but this time he could be wrong. He stood still, waiting for a sound, a movement. Maybe some animal was watching from the bushes. Or maybe his imagination was working overtime.
A farm truck, pulling a wagonload of hay, stirred up clouds of dust as it passed on the road. Joseph waved, but the driver paid him no attention. As the dust settled around him, Joseph shrugged and went back to the task of freeing the wheel.
The drone of an airplane overhead caused Joseph to look up.
That would be Chase Calder flying home to his ranch.
Webb Calder had built an airfield and paid for his son’s flying lessons.
Now Chase could fly to any place he needed to go—something Joseph could only dream of.
But thinking about that now would only worsen his mood.
After another half an hour of work, the ramp was taking shape.
The loose gravel had been piled into a high mound on one side of the hole, leaving a clear space for the wheel.
Joseph’s skin, hair, and clothes were smeared with dirt and soaked with perspiration.
He ached in every joint and muscle. Getting back on the road would be worth the effort, he told himself. But only if his plan worked.
After a few more minutes of shoveling, he was ready. He pulled on his shirt, stowed the shovel in the trunk, and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. The vehicle was tilted, with the left front wheel resting lightly on the ground. But both rear wheels looked solidly grounded.
The driver’s side door was ajar. Had he left it that way when he jumped out of the car? Never mind. He could only hope the wheel was sound and the engine would do its job.
In the driver’s seat, he started the engine, shifted into reverse, and pressed the gas pedal.
The engine roared as the rear wheels dug into the earth, spitting dirt and rocks.
Joseph’s heart sank as he began to smell heat.
But then the wheels found purchase. Slowly, the car began backing up, the right side lifting as the wheel moved up the ramp and onto solid ground.
Joseph allowed himself a deep breath. Everything appeared to be all right. He could drive into Miles City and leave the Ford to be checked by a mechanic while he took the lumber payments to the bank.
He glanced at the passenger seat where he’d left his briefcase with the money. Not seeing it, he checked the floor and the space under the seat where it might have slid. A sick sensation crept over him as the certainty grew.
The briefcase was gone.