Calder Pride Read Free Page A

the Triple C brand stenciled on the vehicle’s passenger door. One look at the rest of the smashed and mangled cab told him no one could have survived the crash.
    For a fleeting moment, he had thought Chase Calder might finally be dead. Although he was no longer gripped by hatred for the man, Culley would have felt no regret at his passing, only sorrow for the grief it would have caused Cat. But he had quickly learned Repp Taylor had been behind the wheel, the man Cat loved—something Culley had never quite understood, believing as he did that she deserved better.
    “The pickup was totaled,” he told Cat. “Ain’t nothin’ left of the cab but a bunch of twisted steel and crumpled metal.” A low, horrible moan came from her as she wheeled from the window, eyes tightly closed against the grisly image. Culley realized what he’d done and hurried to rectify it. “It had to have killed him outright, Cat, without ever feeling nothing, without even knowing what hit him. You’ve got to think of it that way.”
    “I wish I couldn’t think at all.” Her voice was little more than a thready whisper.
    He lifted a hand to comfort her, then let it fall back to his side, uncertain what to do or what to say. He turned and looked out the window at the dust plume left in the wake of the departing ranch pickup.

TWO
    T he small town of Blue Moon hugged the edge of the two-lane highway that raced past it. To the rare passing motorist, it was an oasis of buildings plunked in the middle of nowhere, proof that civilization had reached into the heart of this grass desert. That it existed at all was due to the simple fact that Blue Moon was the only town for miles in any direction. In recent years, its population had tripled after Texas-based Dy-Corp began strip-mining coal on the old Stockman place not far from town. Progress had definitely come to Blue Moon. Some thought it was a good thing; some didn’t.
    But for the first time in half a century, the Triple C Ranch was no longer Blue Moon’s biggest customer. That position now belonged to Dy-Corp, with all its employees and their families. Yet a Calder was still regarded with considerable respect by the town’s longtime residents.
    When the Triple C vehicle pulled up to the combination grocery store and gas station, Emmett Fedderson spotted Chase Calder right away. He broke off his conversation with the former sheriff and went to greet him, out of politeness and respect.
    “Chase. Ty.” He nodded to the two of them when they climbed out of the truck. “I’ve been expecting someone from the ranch to come by, but I never figured on it being you. How you been?”
    “Fine, Emmett. Just fine.” Chase switched his cane to the other side to shake hands with the man. “We thought we’d take a look at the truck.”
    “It’s totaled, I’m afraid. I had Beeker unload both trucks around back so the place wouldn’t start looking like a junkyard,” he said. “I guess your insurance man will be coming around to check the damage for himself.”
    “The agent indicated that the adjuster probably wouldn’t get out here until sometime next week,” Chase told him.
    “Figures. They drag their heels about paying off a claim, but you better not be late with a premium. That’s the way of it, I guess,” Emmett Fedderson declared wearily. “I feel sorry for the Taylors, losing their only boy like that. It sure was one hell of an accident. I was just telling Sheriff Potter about it.” He waved a hand in the direction of the old man sitting on the planked bench in front of the store.
    At the mention of his name, Potter spoke up. “I told Emmett he ought to park both wrecks out front, right by the highway. Might slow down some of these drivers going hell-for-leather by here.”
    “It might.” Chase looked at the man who had been sheriff since before he was born. No one knew Potter’s exact age, but all agreed he had to be nudging ninety if he wasn’t there already. Age had shrunk his