Page 53 of Calder Country

Restless, he slipped the brass buckle out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands. The metal was cold against his skin, the rodeo design on the front and the initials on the back still haunting him. The memory was just out of reach. Was it something he’d blocked because he wanted to forget?

Then, in a flash, the image came back to him.

He’d been a young boy—nine or ten—walking past his mother’s bedroom after an early-morning visit to the toilet. As he passed her door, it had opened, and a man had stepped out. A tall man, a man he knew well. Mason had kept his eyes lowered, as if pretending not to see him. His gaze had remained fixed on the man’s belt buckle.

The same buckle he held in his hand.

The body in the cave, the body he’d burned, was Ralph Thompson, his mother’s foreman—and her lover.

Questions remained—how had Thompson died, and how did his body come to be in the cave? Asking his mother would only stir up painful memories. But one other person might be able to tell him the story.

Later that day, while his mother was napping, Mason joined Sidney in the kitchen. When shown the buckle and asked about the body, the old man sighed.

“You’d remember Ralph, of course. He was here for a long time. Then he got into trouble. He was caught taking money from the local banker to harass immigrant farmers. After he skipped town, we also discovered that he’d been skimming cash from the ranch. So, good riddance.

“We thought we’d seen the last of him. Then a few years ago, after you went to Deer Lodge, he showed up again. He claimed your mother owed him money, which was a lie. When she told him to leave, the man became violent. He was shaking her when I came up from behind and struck him on the head with a cast-iron skillet. I was younger then, and I guess I didn’t know my own strength. He went down and never woke up. Your mother didn’t want any trouble with the police, so we hitched up a wagon, hauled his body to the cave, and left it there. You know the rest. I hope you won’t mention this to your mother.”

“No need,” Mason said. “And I’ll get rid of the buckle. I never want to see it again.”

* * *

Ruby had delivered the last of the current shipment that morning. Now exhausted, she huddled on the porch steps, drinking coffee while she waited for her ride back to the Olive Hotel in Miles City. All she wanted to do was sleep around the clock.

Heavy footsteps crossed the porch behind her. She shrank inside herself. She’d been avoiding Colucci for the past several days. But she should have known he wouldn’t let her go without showing her who was boss.

He lowered himself to the step beside her. He smelled of the ham-and-garlic sandwich he’d recently eaten. “I just got off the phone with one of Capone’s lieutenants,” he said. “He’s going to find us a new plane.”

“So Capone’s passed us down the line to one of his helpers,” she said. “How about a new pilot? I can’t take another week of making all the deliveries. I’ll burn out and crash. Is that what you want?”

“You know what I want, baby.” He laid an arm around her shoulders. “Play ball with me, and you won’t have to fly at all.”

A shudder passed through her body. Shaking his arm loose, she stood. “If I wanted to play ball, as you say, it wouldn’t be with a man who hit me. I’ll fly your planes. But what’s between us is strictly business.” She stepped away from him as her driver appeared from around the house in the Model T. “Speaking of business, I believe I’ve earned a raise,” she said.

Colucci chuckled as the car pulled up to the porch. “You want a raise, sweetheart, you know what you’ll have to do to earn it.”

Safe in the back seat of the Model T with its silent driver, Ruby took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Being around Colucci was becoming unbearable. If it weren’t for her father, she would have left by now. But she was trapped by the commitment she’d made to keep Art safe.

When she got back to the hotel, she would be obligated to phone Agent Hargrave. She could tell him about Colucci’s advances and plead for relief. But she knew that Hargrave wouldn’t care. He would tell her it was all in the line of duty. He might even remind her that going to bed with her boss could give her access to useful information.

The only time she’d felt something besides fear, anger, and frustration was when Mason Dollarhide had taken her in his arms and melted her with his kiss. Under different conditions, she could almost have fallen in love with him. He was strong, masculine, and tender. But he was also an ex-convict and an active bootlegger, no better in his way than Leo Colucci. She would be smart to forget about that kiss—and to forget she’d ever met the man.

Still, the urge to see him was there, especially when lying awake at night, yearning to give herself to his lovemaking—to feel like a woman again.

The car was coming into Miles City. As it passed the hotel, rounded the corner, and swung into the alley, Ruby forced herself to look ahead to a few hours of well-earned rest. She owed herself that much. Maybe tomorrow, with a clear head, she could think of a way to gain some control over her situation.

* * *

Joseph had been at the sawmill since first light, loading boards on trolleys and sweeping up what appeared to be mountains of sawdust. It was still early in the day when his father showed up and beckoned him away from the billowing dust and the scream of the huge blade as it sliced lengthwise through a log.

They walked to an open area by the gate, far enough from the noise to be heard without shouting. Joseph pulled off his leather gloves. He welcomed the break, but with some trepidation. He could sense the tension in Blake. Was he in trouble for something else?

They stopped next to the Model T, which was parked inside the gate. “Have you heard how the sheriff is doing?” Joseph asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“I got a telephone call from Kristin this morning. He’s going to live. But you need to see him. As you said, you want to tell him you’re sorry. You’re about to learn the real meaning of that word. Get in the car.”

They drove down to the main road and headed into town. Only then did Blake tell his son what had happened. “One of the bullets damaged his spine, Joseph,” he said. “The sheriff’s legs are paralyzed. Time will tell whether the condition is permanent.”

“Oh, God . . .” Joseph doubled over in the seat, feeling sick. The money loss was serious enough. But this—the consequence of his actions—was unthinkable.

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