Calder Strong

Book 5: Calder Brand

by Janet Dailey

Genres: Sagas; 20th Century Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

1929, Blue Moon, Montana. A rugged new generation is taking the helm of the cattle town’s most infamous and powerful families. But even as the future burns bright, old rivalries, heartbreaks, buried secrets, and ranching feuds still loom as large as the western sky in a tale perfect for fans of Yellowstone craving western familial sagas.

At 24, Joseph Dollarhide is struggling to find his place as the future head of his ranching family. His father, Blake, may have been disabled in an accident but he’s as domineering as ever. Joseph’s childhood friend, Chase Calder, has inherited the rival Calder operation, and for both young men, longstanding battles over water and grass continue. But there’s yet another weight on Joseph’s shoulders.

Years ago, Joseph abandoned his teenage love, Annabeth, to court glamorous Lucy Merriweather, a seductive trickster. The affair, of course, imploded, and Annabeth went on to marry a farmer, Silas Mosby, and have two children. But now Joseph has spotted Annabeth and her family in town . . . and he has no doubt that her oldest, a boy, is his.

Joseph’s love for Annabeth never died—and Annabeth, too, still has feelings for him, though they’re tainted by anger. Learning that Silas is involved in a bootlegging ring leaves Joseph troubled. His natural father, Mason Dollarhide, is a reformed bootlegger, but the two have long been estranged, and Joseph won’t ask his advice.

Meanwhile, Joseph feels pressed to start his own family. The town’s sweet new schoolteacher seems a perfect match. But as the strain of long-standing feuds persist and Lucy reappears, flush with stolen money and armed with blackmail, Joseph and some others in Blue Moon will find out just how strong they really are.  

The epic tale of the settling of the American West comes to vivid life in this inspiring saga of love, hope, and endurance.

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

Blue Moon, Montana

Early summer, 1929

JOSEPH DOLLARHIDE STOOD IN THE DUST OF THE ROUND PEN, THE sun blazing down on his dark head. Sweat drizzled down his face and glued his denim work shirt to his torso as he focused his attention on saddle-breaking a two-year-old colt.

The colt, a spectacular bay with champion bloodlines, had reached a full height of fifteen hands at the shoulder; but the young horse was still putting on muscle. Like a teenage human, the colt was restless, impulsive, and had a great deal to learn. It would be Joseph’s job to teach him.

“Easy, boy,” Joseph murmured, stroking the white star on the colt’s forehead. “Easy, now. That’s it. You’re safe here. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The colt’s intelligent, liquid eyes watched his every move, ears shifting to catch every nuanced whisper. The youngster, a registered American quarter horse, had been promised to a wealthy Nevada rancher for a princely sum. The balance of the money was to be paid on delivery, after the colt had been broken Comanche-style by Joseph Dollarhide.

Joseph had taken the colt’s training at a gentle pace, building trust over time. Now, as he laid the thick, woolen saddle pad on its back, he hummed the Comanche horse chant he’d learned from his grandfather, Joe Dollarhide. The old man, a master horse trainer, had been gone for years, but in his later life, he’d taught his grandson much of what he knew. Joseph had taken every lesson to heart. Now, at twenty-four, he was still learning from experience, but he was already building a reputation as a great natural trainer.

Joseph had heard the story of how his grandfather’s life had been guided by dreams of a blue roan stallion. When a similar dream had come to Joseph a few years ago, he’d taken it as a message that he should follow the same path.

But that didn’t mean that the path would be easy. Joseph was reminded of that every time he went home to his family.

A quiver passed through the colt’s body as Joseph lifted the saddle and laid it over the pad. Still chanting, he buckled the straps and tightened the cinch. The colt had worn the saddle and a light bridle before. But today, for the first time, he’d be carrying a rider—and he was smart enough to sense that something new was about to happen.

Logan Hunter, who was married to Joseph’s aunt, Dr. Kristin Dollarhide, watched from outside the log fence. The Hunter Ranch, with its cattle and pedigreed horses, belonged to him. But he’d offered Joseph a partnership in the horse business if his training could bring in enough cash.

For Joseph, that would be a dream come true. But Joseph’s father had other ideas.

Blake Dollarhide was already planning for Joseph, his only son, to step into managing the Dollarhide Ranch and Sawmill. But that day could wait, Joseph told himself. Blake was barely into his fifties. He was in good health, and he liked being the boss. Joseph’s full-time help wouldn’t be needed for years. Meanwhile, he would have time to pursue his dream.

“That colt looks a mite skittish to me,” Logan said. “Do you think he’s ready to ride?”

Joseph took a moment to shoo a fly that buzzed around the colt’s face. “This boy’s got a lot of spunk,” he said. “That’s not going to change. I’d say he’s ready, but I’m expecting some resistance.”

As he slipped a boot into the left stirrup, preparing to mount, his grandfather’s words echoed in Joseph’s mind.

Remember, a horse is a prey animal. If something lands on his back, his instincts tell him he’s about to become a meal. So he fights for his life. Your horse has the same fear that saved his ancestors. You can’t force it out of him. You can only teach him to trust you—and to believe that whatever happens, you’ll keep him safe.

Joseph pushed up in the stirrup, swung his right leg across, and settled into the saddle. At the sudden weight, a shudder passed through the colt’s body. He snorted. His legs danced sideways. Then, with a squeal of fury, he exploded straight up and started to buck.

As the colt jumped, twisted, and sunfished like a rodeo bronc, raising clouds of dust, Joseph steeled his resolve. It wouldn’t do for the young horse to learn that he could get rid of a rider by bucking him off. He’d be sure to try it again next time. The surest way to teach the rascal a lesson would be to outlast him.

Now, as he fought to stay in the saddle, Joseph could feel the colt tiring. Little by little, his frantic jumps slowed and weakened until, at last, he stood with his head down, his sides lathered and heaving.

With dust clouds settling and Logan cheering from the fence, Joseph eased his battered body to the ground. He had won the battle of wills. Now all that remained was to cool his pupil down, give him a good rubbing with a towel, and take a well-earned break on the ranch house porch with a glass of cold milk and a wedge of Aunt Kristin’s apple pie.

He was walking the colt around the pen, feeling proud of his progress, when he heard the faint ringing of the ranch house telephone. He paid it scant attention. As Blue Moon’s only doctor, his aunt often got calls from people who needed her services.

Moments later, Kristin burst out of the house. Still wearing her apron and clutching her black medical bag, she raced for the Chevrolet Superior truck she drove on emergency calls. Her auburn hair blew loose. Her pale face wore an expression Joseph had never seen before.

“Joseph!” she shouted. “Come with me now! There’s been an accident—a terrible accident!”

Three days later

Joseph gazed down at the two flower-strewn graves, seeing them through a haze of grief. The sky was a blinding blue, the mounded dirt still raw, like an open wound in the skin of the earth. A circling hawk cast a shadow over the graves, its cry a heart stab as Joseph struggled with the shock of what had happened. How could a single split-second decision end two treasured lives and shatter the peace of a family?

The fatal decision had been his father’s. Blake Dollarhide had been driving the family’s aging Model T down the switchbacks from the house on the bluff to the main road when a deer had bounded into the path of the car. Acting on reflex, Blake had slammed on the brakes and swerved hard right. The front wheels had overshot the crumbling edge of the road. The vehicle had careened down the high embankment and crashed onto the rocks below.

Three members of the Dollarhide family had been inside the car. Blake’s wife, Hannah, and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Elsa, had died instantly. Blake had suffered a shattered pelvis and crushed vertebrae. He would live, but the doctors in Miles City had given him little, if any, hope of walking again. The deer, as if it mattered, had been found dead below the road.

After the frantic call, Joseph and Kristin had rushed to the scene of the accident. Blake had been in shock and too badly injured for them to move him. There’d been little they could do except keep him stable until the ambulance arrived from Miles City. The images Joseph had seen that day—the twisted wreckage and the bodies of his mother and sister—would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Confined to a hospital bed, Blake had been unable to see his wife and daughter laid to rest. But other friends and family members had come for the simple service in the small graveyard behind the house. Blake’s older daughter, Annie, had arrived by train from Butte with her mining engineer husband, Frank. Pregnant with her first child, she’d wept inconsolably, sobbing over the graves until Frank led her back to the house.

Britta, Hannah’s younger sister, was a tower of strength, her plain face showing little emotion. Married to the former sheriff, who now worked from his wheelchair as the foreman of the Hunter Ranch, Britta was expecting her second child—joyous news for the family. But after she’d lost both parents, two brothers, a sister, now another sister and a niece, Joseph had sensed, as she hugged him close, that his beloved aunt was crumbling inside.

There were others who’d come—neighbors, friends, schoolmates of Elsa’s, and women who’d stocked the kitchen with casseroles, breads, and desserts. But one family member hadn’t shown up, nor had Joseph expected to see him. Mason Dollarhide, Blake’s half-brother, had created a permanent rift in the family twenty-five years ago when he’d impregnated an innocent farm girl and left town to avoid a shotgun marriage. It was Blake who’d stepped in, wed young Hannah, and raised her son as his own.

In every way save one, Blake Dollarhide was Joseph’s father. But Joseph’s striking eyes—jade green, like Mason’s—were on display for all to see and know the truth.

Had Mason, who’d inherited the nearby Hollister Ranch from his mother, stayed away out of respect or out of indifference? But that question didn’t matter. Hurts ran long and deep in the Dollarhide family. Even if he’d come to the service, Mason might have been tolerated. But he would not have been welcomed.

Others, however, were there. Blue Moon was a close-knit community. At tragic times like this, most quarrels and feuds could be put aside to pay respects to the bereaved family.

“Joseph, I’m truly sorry. What a loss.” Chase Calder stood facing Joseph, his hand extended. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and piercing brown eyes, Chase was barely two years older than Joseph. As boys, they’d been friends. But that was before long-standing family rivalries had driven them apart.

Chase’s handshake was firm. After the passing of his father, Webb, he’d taken control of the biggest ranch in the state of Montana. His ascendancy showed in his bearing, his confidence, and the air of entitlement that came with the Calder name. Like his father and grandfather before him, Chase was Calder strong and Calder rich. He wore his power like a crown.

They exchanged a few polite words. Joseph thanked him for coming and watched him walk away. Their meeting had been cordial enough. But despite Chase’s handshake and consoling words, Joseph could be sure of one thing. The rivalry between the Calders and the Dollarhides hadn’t changed and probably never would. For years to come, perhaps for the rest of their lives, the two boyhood friends were destined to be rivals.

Midsummer, five weeks later

Joseph stood on the porch of the sprawling log home that had sheltered his family for three generations. Gauzy clouds drifted over the full moon, casting shadows that flowed like water across the yard. Insects chirped and droned in the darkness. Bats darted and dived, catching their prey in midair. From somewhere down the wooded slope, the call of a coyote quivered on the night breeze.

The house was silent, as if the accident had sucked the life of what had once been a home. Hannah and Elsa had been the happy members of the family, chatting, laughing, and singing as they went about their day. Now, memories lurked like ghosts in empty rooms and shadowed corners. Even the air felt dead.

Joseph’s hands rested on the porch rail, his calloused fingertips finding the old chisel marks left from the shaping of the wood. Joseph’s grandfather had built the house on the crest of a high bluff with a panoramic view of the family empire—the barns, sheds, corrals, and the bunk house, the pastures teeming with white-and-red Hereford cattle, and at the foot of the bluff, the sawmill.

The Dollarhide sawmill had spread into the pastureland like an ever-growing fungus. A convoluted maze of logs, stacked boards, sheds, machinery, and mountains of sawdust, the mill was ugly even by moonlight. But the demand for lumber had contributed greatly to the Dollarhide fortune as well as provided jobs for more than twenty men.

Joseph had grown up hating the scream of saw blades, the gritty air, and the vile yellow sawdust that coated everything, even the sweating men and the huge, gentle draft horses that pulled the logs. As a youngster, he’d vowed that when he grew up to be the boss, he would close the mill, maybe sell it to someone who would cart everything away, and let the land go back to nature. As a man, he knew that wasn’t going to happen, especially now that he had no choice. It would be up to him to carry on his father’s legacy. The mill was a vital part of that legacy.

Blake Dollarhide had devoted his life to providing for his family, both the present and future generations. Under his stewardship, the Dollarhide holdings had more than tripled in value. But at what cost? Joseph had never known his father to take a vacation or to spend money on any unnecessary pleasure, not even a nice car. He had the money. He could have bought a DeSoto, a Packard, or any other auto that caught his fancy. But he’d insisted that the family’s eight-year-old Model T was good enough for a sensible man like him. He had been driving that car when it left the road and crashed.

As if thinking of Blake could summon him, Joseph heard the rumble of wheels crossing the darkened parlor. His father had been home for almost three weeks. A young orderly had been hired to help him around and see to his needs. But despite being in considerable pain, Blake refused to rest. He was pushing his limits, denying his grief, and fighting to prove that he was the man he’d always been. Using his powerful arms and gritting his teeth against the pain, he’d managed to drag himself from the bed to his wheelchair. Now, on his own, he could go anywhere on the main floor of the house, at any hour.

Joseph turned toward the sound, then checked himself. He had learned the hard way not to offer help. Instead, he waited for his father to come to him.

The wheelchair rolled out onto the porch and stopped beside him at the rail. Blake had made it on his own, driving the large wheels forward with his hands. “Shouldn’t you be resting, Dad?” Blake asked. “It’s after midnight.”

“Can’t sleep. Too much going on in my head. How about you?”

“The same, I guess.” Joseph knew that his father was grieving. But Blake had scarcely mentioned the loss of his wife and daughter, choosing to keep his emotions locked inside. It was his way of being a man, and he expected the same of his son.

“I’ve been worried about the mill,” Blake said. “The men are good workers, but if you don’t check the quality of every board that goes on those wagons, things can get slipshod, and the next thing you know, you’re losing customers. Are you spending enough time there?”

“I was there most of the morning yesterday.” Joseph spoke the truth. “Everything was fine.”

“What about that big order for the new warehouse in Miles City? Will the first batch of lumber be ready on time?”

“Yes, everything’s on schedule,” Joseph said. “I checked on the cattle, too. Coyotes got one of the calves in the upper pasture. I had to fire the cowboy who went to sleep on the job and let it happen. You could use a dog or two up there. I know a man in town who’s got some pups for sale.”

“I don’t want no damn dogs. Just more mouths to feed. And you can’t trust ’em. First thing you know, they’ll go rogue and start killing stock on their own.” The gritty undertone in Blake’s voice told Joseph his father was speaking through excruciating pain. But Blake would never own up to that.

This would be no time for Joseph to mention his work with Logan’s horses. While his father was in the hospital, he’d stolen enough time to finish breaking the bay colt. But there were more colts waiting and no time to spare. Logan would have to do the work himself. For now, maybe even forever, Joseph’s dream would have to wait.

Gazing out past the porch, into the moonlit darkness, Joseph could see across the distant pastures to where a crude dirt road cut across the open country. The road, which from here looked as thin as a pencil line, connected the Dollarhide and Hunter ranches. From there it meandered through a scatter of dirt farms before joining with the road to town.

Something was moving along that road—a distant speck of light that became a pair of headlamps before taking a cutoff and disappearing in the dark.

“Looks like moonshiners,” Joseph said. Smuggling illegally brewed liquor was nothing new in these parts. It had been going on since the passage of the Volstead Act in 1919. When one moonshiner died or got arrested, others would show up to take his place. For the most part, law-abiding folks had learned to look the other way.

“Do you think Mason’s up to his old tricks?” Blake rarely mentioned his half-brother and their painful past. “You’d think five years in prison would cure a man. But I know for a fact he went back to smuggling after he got out.”

“What Mason does is no concern of ours.” Joseph and his teenage friends had been caught up in Mason’s first bootlegging operation. When their involvement had almost gotten the boys killed, Joseph had cut all ties to his natural father. Mason was married now and had supposedly gone straight. But Joseph would never trust him again.

The two men had fallen silent. Joseph could almost feel the pain in each labored breath his father took. Blake had broken ribs in addition to his spinal injuries. The healing would take time.

Joseph was about to suggest that they go back inside and go to bed when Blake cleared his throat and spoke.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say. After the accident, I thought it might be too soon. But I’ve waited long enough.”

“I’m listening.” Joseph braced himself for bad news. What else could it be?

“I’ve spent my life building a legacy for this family,” Blake said. “Not just for now, but for future generations of Dollarhides. Now I’ve begun to wonder where those generations are going to come from or whether they’ll even exist.

“Your mother, rest her sweet soul, was still young. I’d always hoped we might have more children. But now …”

The words choked off his throat. Joseph waited for him to recover and go on, even though he could already sense where this conversation was leading.

“Now Elsa’s gone, and Annie won’t be raising her children on this ranch. Frank’s a mining engineer. He can’t make a living here. As for me, there’s no chance of my marrying again. What woman would have me? And why even think about it, when I can’t …” He let the words trail off, though his meaning was clear enough.

“Aunt Kristin has two boys,” Joseph volunteered.

“They have their own place, damn it. Besides, they don’t have the Dollarhide name.” He twisted his head to fix Joseph with a stern gaze. “The future of the Dollarhide family is going to depend on you, Joseph.”

“Uh, Dad you know—”

“Of course, I know.” Blake cut him off almost angrily. “Your children won’t be my direct descendants. But they’ll be a direct line from Joe Dollarhide. They’ll have the name, and the boys will carry it on.”

Joseph had sensed that this was coming. Still, he felt as if he’d been struck by a cannonball. At twenty-four, he’d been enjoying a carefree bachelorhood, doing what he pleased, romancing any girl or woman who caught his fancy, bedding the ones who were willing and knew the score. Someday, he’d take a wife, but only when he found the right one. Meanwhile, there was no reason to rush. Now all that was about to change.

“It’s time you lived up to your responsibility, Joseph,” Blake said. “There are plenty of single girls in Blue Moon. Pick a nice, fertile one, get married, and start filling this empty house with little Dollarhides! That’s an order!”

ON FRIDAY, JOSEPH TOTALED THE PAST TWO WEEKS’ PAYMENTS FOR lumber deliveries, put $6,255 in cash and checks into his briefcase, and set out for the bank in Miles City.

In the days after the accident, with Blake in the hospital, the ranch had needed a vehicle. The brand new Ford Model A Tudor sedan that Joseph had bought for $500 was still a sore point between father and son. Joseph could’ve argued that if Blake had been driving that car when the deer jumped in front of him, his wife and daughter might still be alive. But there was nothing to be gained by casting blame. Blake had already cast enough blame on himself.

Price-wise, the Tudor was at the low end of the Ford line. But driving the shiny red auto was pure pleasure. The motor started up without the need of a crank. The forty-horsepower engine gave it a top speed of sixty-five miles per hour, with a three-speed sliding gear and a single speed reverse. The four-wheel mechanical drum brakes could stop on a dime.

The day Joseph had driven his father home from the hospital, Blake, braced and in pain, had complained all the way about the cost of buying a new car when several hundred dollars could have been saved on a used Model T. But Joseph had understood that the real issue wasn’t money. It was that Blake had been bypassed in the decision to buy the car. He hadn’t even been asked.

For now, Joseph would be walking a tightrope between pleasing his father and carrying out his new responsibilities. Much as he longed to be free again, there could be no turning away from the demands of the ranch and the mill.

Had Chase Calder felt the same when his father died, leaving his son to run the biggest ranch in Montana? No, Chase had stepped into his new role as if born to it—which he was. Chase had been the crown prince of the Calder line from his boyhood. Now he was king.

Joseph felt more like a glorified lackey, in charge of the family enterprises but accountable to his father for every decision.

Now, as he drove down the switchback road from the house, he put out a hand to keep . . .