Calder Storm Read Free

at the motel entrance.
    Standing six feet, three inches, he was easily taller than the average man, wide in the shoulders and chest, yet youthfully lean and supple, with a rider’s looseness about him. One look at his deep-set eyes and rawboned face and there was no doubt he was a Calder. That hard vitality was like a tribal stamp.
    At his birth, Jessy had proudly named him Chase Benteen Calder after his grandfather and the family patriarch. His great-great-grandfather had carried the same name, the Calder who had formed the Triple C Ranch more than a century and a quarter ago. Within weeks of his namesake’s birth, the baby was dubbed “Trey Spot,” which was soon shortened. He’d been called Trey ever since.
    As Trey swung his long frame toward Jessy, he was hailed by Kelly Ramsey. “Mind if I ride with you to the fairgrounds, Trey?”
    Laredo was quick to detect the wary tensing of Trey’s body, but the smile was easy, without the coolness of rejection. “Sorry. There’s no room. I’ve got Tank and Johnny with me.”
    His response was clearly not the one she wanted to hear. She wavered for an instant, as if assessing the odds of changing his mind, then showed some wisdom and accepted his answer with good grace.
    â€œNo problem,” she said, already taking the first retreating steps back to the Ramseys’ double-cab pickup. “I’ll see you later.”
    Trey was quick to turn away and shoot a glance at Laredo. It was one of those man-to-man looks that conveyed his utter lackof interest in the girl and his relief at avoiding her company. Laredo dipped his head down, hiding a smile, as Trey loped over to them.
    â€œDid you two just drive in?” he asked when he joined them.
    â€œWe’ve been here long enough to check in.” Jessy eyed her tall, strapping son with a mixture of affection and quiet pride.
    â€œI guess that means all I have to do is pick up a key.” His grin had a reckless and carefree quality to it that spoke of his youth.
    When Trey reached over and took the suitcase from Jessy, she surrendered it without objection—this from a woman who staunchly believed everyone should pull his or her own weight, making no exceptions for either status or sex. But here was a son helping his mother, not an ordinary ranch hand carrying his boss’s luggage.
    Trey made a quick visual check of the truck bed, verifying that there were no more bags to be retrieved. “Gramps decided to stay home, did he?”
    â€œLike he said,” Laredo answered, “someone needed to stay behind and keep an eye on things at the ranch.” He made no mention of the comment Chase Calder had added, saying matter-of-factly, “There’s not much point in me going, anyway. All my contemporaries are either in rest homes or the cemetery.”
    â€œAs crowded and noisy as it’s likely to be, I couldn’t imagine Gramps coming, but I don’t put anything past him.” Mixed in with the easy affection in Trey’s voice was a deep note of respect for his grandfather.
    It was hardly surprising. Following his father’s death when, Trey was barely more than a toddler, Chase had stepped in to fill the role. At an early age, Trey had learned from his grandfather that as a Calder, he would be held to a higher standard. Like it or not, he would be expected to work longer, be smarter, and fight rougher than anyone else. No favor would be shown to him, no concessions made, and no special privileges granted because he was the son and heir. On the contrary, the reverse would be true. During his growing-up years, Trey was often assigned the dirtiest and hardest jobs, the rankest horses in the string, and the longest hours.Any problems he encountered along the way were his to solve. If he found himself in trouble, he was expected to fight his way out of it with his fists or his wits.
    Trey had never really known the fine line his mother and