CHAPTER FOUR
T HE PLANE TAXIED TO A STOP, ITS ENGINE STILL CHURNING . S TANDING with Britta behind the row of vehicles, Mason watched his tall son race onto the field to meet it.
“Joseph, stop!” Britta shouted. “Wait for me!” But her voice failed to carry over the sound of the engine. Whatever she’d meant to do, Joseph clearly had a different plan in mind.
Mason sensed Britta’s dilemma. Joseph was well ahead of her, determined to get his plane ride before his aunt could go first and decide to stop him. Now he was holding up his hands, pointing to the double stamp as evidence that he’d already paid. Ruby was climbing down from the front cockpit to give him her place. At least, this time, her father would be at the controls, although there was still no guarantee that the plane was safe.
But there was more to Britta’s situation. If she were to interfere now, and insist on taking the first flight, Joseph would be left on the ground with his estranged father—a man she had every reason to distrust.
“The boy will be all right, Britta,” Mason said. “The man’s a good pilot. I took a chance, flying with his daughter, but her father’s had plenty of experience.”
Britta’s posture was rigid, her jaw set. Her determined look reminded Mason of her father, the late Big Lars Anderson, who’d had every reason to hate him.
“I can’t stop Joseph from getting his plane ride,” she said. “But you’ve done our family enough harm. You’re not to be here when he comes back. I mean what I said—if you care about that boy, you’ll leave him alone.”
“I understand,” Mason said, and he did. “All I really wanted was to see my son. Now that I have, I’ll be content to mind my own business.”
“You have no right to call him your son,” Britta said. “Now get into your automobile and leave.”
“As soon as I know he’s safe,” Mason said.
Joseph had donned the goggles and helmet and climbed into the plane’s forward cockpit. Ruby checked his seat belt, jumped down from the wing, and made a hand sign to her father. Moments later, the biplane was headed back to the foot of the landing strip. On the near side of the field, Ruby had spread the parachute over the dry grass and begun preparing it to be packed.
Feeling the tension in his own body, Mason watched the biplane as it turned into the light wind. Droning like an angry wasp, it headed over the ground, gaining speed until the wheels left the earth. As it gained height, mounting the sky, Mason took a deep breath of relief.
He had promised to leave. But he would watch from his auto until the plane was safely on the ground again. Only then would he turn for home to resolve the issue of his mother and the missing money.
* * *
As the plane banked and leveled off, Joseph filled his gaze with the infinite blue above him and the land below—the toylike town and the patchwork of fields and pastures, rising to the scrub-dotted foothills and the forested peaks beyond. He’d expected to be nervous, even scared. But all he felt was a joyous bursting sensation in his chest. This was like magic—better than magic because it was real. He was flying.
The flight was a short one. As the plane banked again to head back to the landing strip, it passed over the Dollarhide family ranch and sawmill. Joseph could see the sprawling house on the bluff, the yellowed pastures spreading below, where red-and-white Herefords grazed on the dry stubble and drank from the cattle tanks that had to be filled almost daily from the dwindling creek that flowed out of the canyon. Blake, who was Joseph’s father in every way but one, had voiced fears that the cattle might have to be sold off early. But as long as the animals continued to put on weight—which would determine their sale price—they would likely remain until fall, when they’d be rounded up, sold, and shipped off to feed lots in places like Chicago.
At the foot of the bluff, the sawmill complex spread like a yellow fungus. Clouds of sawdust drifted above the open sheds where the big rotating blades shrieked as they cut the logs into slabs and boards. Heavy wagons, carrying logs and orders of cut boards, rumbled along the roads. Since the closure of the lumber mill in Miles City, the Dollarhides had cornered the local market on wood for the postwar building boom. The mill, which employed more than half the men of Blue Moon, had made Blake Dollarhide a modest fortune.
Joseph hated the sawmill. He hated the dust, the noise, and the demands it had always made on his father’s time. Most of all, he hated the idea that one day it would be his to manage. The prospect that awaited him was like a looming prison sentence.
And it wasn’t as if he could wait for Blake to pass on or retire. His father was already involving him in the work, teaching him every step of the process that turned rough logs to smooth, straight boards for building—the ordering, hauling, and stacking; the different types and grades of wood, and the sawyer’s craft that would ensure the measurement of every cut.
Once—and only once—had Joseph dared to suggest that running the sawmill might not be the life he would choose. Blake had put him down angrily. “This isn’t about you, Joseph. This is about your responsibility to take care of our family. It’s about building on the legacy that your grandfather began. Now, no more of this foolish talk. Get to work.”
Joseph hadn’t told Blake about the air show, and especially not about the plane ride. There was always the chance that Aunt Britta would give him away. But as the plane descended, the earth below growing closer and larger, Joseph knew that whatever punishment he might have earned, he would never regret what he’d done. He had found his soul—and nothing was going to keep him from returning to the sky.
There was something else Joseph had decided not to mention. He had recognized the man he’d glimpsed talking with his aunt. His father, Mason Dollarhide, was out of prison and back in Blue Moon.
Not that it should matter. Five years ago, Mason had hired Joseph and his friends to help with his illegal booze deliveries, guiding the trucks and unloading crates of Canadian liquor. The danger and the pocket money had provided a heady lure for three fourteen-year-old boys. But for Joseph, getting to know the glamorous father he’d never met had been an even more compelling draw. The adventure had ended when federal agents showed up. The boys had narrowly escaped arrest; and their friend, Chase Calder, who’d come to warn them away, had been shot and barely survived.
Joseph had concluded that a man who’d risk his own son, as well as the safety of the other boys, was no father of his. He’d visited Mason for the last time in jail and told the man he wanted nothing more to do with him—ever.
Now Mason was back—like a swashbuckling pirate from a Hollywood movie. Joseph had barely glimpsed the man, but his instincts told him that prison hadn’t changed his father. Not that it mattered. He was through with Mason—for good.
* * *
Britta was waiting when Joseph climbed out of the cockpit. Dropping to the ground, he stripped off the helmet and goggles. One look at the radiant grin on his face told her everything she needed to know. This was trouble—the kind of trouble that would need to be handled with kid gloves.
“You promised to wait for me, Joseph,” she said.
The glow faded a little as he handed off the helmet and goggles and walked toward her. “Forgive me, Aunt Britta. You’d stepped out of sight. I saw my chance, and I was afraid of losing it. I could say that I’m sorry, but that would be a lie. It was wonderful.”
“I understand. But I almost wish I didn’t.”
“Are you going to tell Dad?” he asked.
“No, you are. As soon as you get home. Better he hear it from you than from me.”
“He’ll take a strip out of my hide—and he’s bound to keep me at home for the next month.”
“Yes, he will. But you pay for your thrills. It’s time you learned that.” Britta wondered whether Joseph had seen and recognized Mason. Maybe not, since the boy hadn’t mentioned it.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” The woman who’d flown with Mason caught Britta’s attention. “I remember that you paid for your ride. Do you still want to go? If not, you can have your money back.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry. If you take your flight, my father will be the one at the controls. He’s an excellent pilot.”
Britta hesitated. What had she been thinking when she’d paid for the ride?
Most of the people who’d come to see the show had gone, but some of them had stayed to watch the plane take off and land. Britta could imagine what they’d be saying.
Look at her! The old maid schoolmarm going up in an airplane. And her a model of behavior for our young girls! What next? Will she be bobbing her hair and shortening her skirts like one of those flappers?
If she had any sense, she would take her money and leave, Britta told herself. But somewhere deep in her compliant spirit there burned a flame of defiance. While her pretty sisters had broken rules and flung away their virtue, she had remained the good daughter, the sensible, dutiful daughter—the one who was never likely to marry or leave Blue Moon.
Climbing into that plane would constitute a small act of rebellion, one she desperately needed.
Did she dare?
“Go for it, Aunt Britta.” Joseph stood just behind her, urging her on. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance?”
She took a deep breath. “All right, I’ll do it,” she said.
The pretty woman in the oil-stained jumpsuit handed her the helmet and goggles. “Come on. I’ll help you into the plane,” she said, taking Britta’s arm. “Mind your skirt and petticoat.”
With help, and despite her narrow, ankle-length skirt, Britta made it onto the wing and into the front cockpit. She was tucking her hair—a long, pale blond braid that wrapped around her head like a crown—into the helmet when she happened to glance back at the small group of people who’d gathered to watch. Standing next to Joseph was the last man she would choose to see her make a fool of herself—Sheriff Jake Calhoun.
Five years ago, there’d been a flicker of attraction between them. He’d whirled her around the floor at a dance, leaving her as flushed and giddy as a teenager. But in the weeks that followed that magical evening, she’d lost both her father and her younger sister, followed a few months later by her mother. Grief and family duties had kept her from responding to Jake’s show of interest. As time passed, Jake had married pretty Cora Rushland and fathered a baby girl.
Today he was carrying his four-year-old daughter on his shoulder. Perched like a little doll, the golden-haired child kept a tight grip on the big hand that kept her securely balanced.
The sight tugged at Britta’s heart. Cora, a porcelain-skinned beauty, had always been fragile. After the little girl’s birth, Cora’s health had slowly declined. She’d passed away sixteen months ago, leaving Jake to raise their daughter with the help of Cora’s aging grandmother.
A number of attractive younger women had tried to capture the handsome sheriff’s attention. Britta, at twenty-nine, wasn’t one of them. She’d had her brief chance. The timing had been wrong. Love had passed her by.
Still, she had her pride. She’d avoided Jake, not wanting him to think that she was pursuing him. If he was interested, he could let her know. He hadn’t.
And now, by chance, here he was. Just when she was about to do something crazy.
Joseph gave her a wave of encouragement. Britta waved back as the plane made a right-angle turn and taxied back across the field. Britta’s heart crept into her throat. She was really doing this. What would people say? What were they thinking, especially Jake Calhoun?
But what did it matter? She was doing this for herself—to prove that she had the courage to push her limits. At least she’d have a story to tell her students when they came back to school in the fall.
Britta willed herself to take deep breaths as the plane picked up speed. She felt the impact as the wheels bounced over the bumpy ground. Then the way became smooth. She felt the lift as the air rushed beneath the wings. She was flying.
But the fear was there, like a cold, quivering lump in the pit of her stomach. As her gaze traveled the distance from the sky to the ground, far below, she couldn’t help imagining how it would feel if the plane were to stop in midair and plummet straight down out of the sky. What would her last thoughts be in the seconds before the craft shattered against the ground? Would she be hoping to see her family—her parents, her two brothers, and her sister, who’d passed on before? Would she regret the life she’d chosen? Would she regret not having given Jake more of a chance?
Maybe she was an even bigger coward than she’d led herself to believe.
If she made it back to the earth safely, Britta resolved, she would walk up to him and say hello. She would speak to his little girl and allow him to ask about the flight. What did she have to lose? Maybe they could at least be friends.
It came as a relief when the short flight ended. Britta released a sigh as the wheels touched down and the plane headed back across the field. She could see a few people who’d stayed to watch. Joseph was waiting to congratulate his aunt; and the pilot’s daughter stood by to help her out of the plane. But there was no sign of a very tall man with a child on his shoulder.
Jake had gone.
* * *
Mason had stayed, watching from his car, until the plane carrying Joseph had landed safely. Only then did he crank the engine to a sputtering start and head back to the ranch. He was proud of his son. Joseph had shown daring and determination when it came to getting what he wanted. Mason possessed those same qualities. He liked to think that he might’ve passed them on to the boy, along with his striking green eyes.
What if things had been different? What if, instead of skipping town at his mother’s urging, he’d remained in Blue Moon, married sweet Hannah, and stayed to raise a family?
But that choice would have been a mistake. He would have ended up feeling trapped and frustrated; and he would have passed his discontent on to his wife and children. He’d done Hannah a favor, leaving her to be rescued by dull, reliable, duty-bound Blake. And he’d done Joseph a favor, too, giving him a secure childhood in the heart of the Dollarhide family.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering how things might have been. And he couldn’t deny a subtle yearning for what he would never have. But the past was gone and couldn’t be changed. All that mattered now was the future. And that future was in his hands.
The ranch house was quiet except for a line of laundry flapping behind the house in the afternoon breeze. He’d noticed a newfangled electric washing machine on the screen porch off the kitchen. But who was doing the laundry remained a question. Except for his mother, Mason had yet to see a woman about the place. Was Sidney, the elderly butler, also doing the wash?
It would be worth his time to learn more about the household routine and the person or persons doing the work around the place. If he planned to be moving crates of bootleg liquor, he would need absolute secrecy. But he would also need to maintain the appearance of a normal, working ranch.
Maybe what he needed was a secret place, away from the house and outbuildings, to carry on his business. He recalled finding the entrance to a cave near the south boundary. He’d discovered it as a boy, but after hearing animal sounds from inside, he’d run away and never returned to the spot.
The place was worth checking again. But until he got control of the money from the ranch account, his hands would be tied.
As he parked in the shed and climbed out of the Model T, his mother’s big mastiff came around the house. Its old age was evident in its gait and its white-haired muzzle, but Mason knew that it still had teeth. Seeing him, it stopped a stone’s toss away and growled a warning. Then, as if in pure contempt, it lifted its leg on the front tire of the car before trotting away.
Mason cursed. Damned dog. He didn’t even know its name or the name of its departed brother, but his mother had loved those two ugly mutts. Probably more than she’d ever loved him.
Reminding himself to have a look at the Model T’s engine before driving the auto again, Mason entered the house through the kitchen door. He found Sidney at the counter, cutting crustless egg salad sandwiches into precise triangles.
“Have you eaten, Mr. Dollarhide?” the elderly butler asked. “I’ll be glad to make an extra sandwich or two. Your mother likes to lunch late. Tea time, she calls it.” The old man was more relaxed and talkative here than in Amelia’s presence, where he behaved more like an actor cast in the traditional butler’s role.
“Thanks, but I’m fine for now.” What Mason really wanted was dinner in town with one of Jake’s rare beefsteaks. And maybe a big slab of apple pie for dessert. But his advance from the bank was all but gone.
“We’ve got some bottled sarsaparilla in the icebox,” Sidney said. “Now that you’re home, maybe you can talk Mrs. Dollarhide into buying one of those new electric refrigerators. I’ve seen them in town. They do a dandy job of keeping things cold. I hear that Webb Calder ordered a whole truckload of them for the Triple C.”
Webb Calder again—a man rich enough to own anything he wants. Airplanes and even refrigerators.
A man like that was easy to hate.
“Tell me what my mother did with the money from the bank account, and I’ll buy you a new refrigerator tomorrow. Hell, I’ll replace the whole kitchen.”
The old man shook his head. “Even if I knew—and I don’t—I would never betray Mrs. Dollarhide’s confidence. I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
Mason stepped aside as the dog padded into the kitchen. Passing Mason, it snarled, showing jagged fangs. It passed through Mason’s mind that he could threaten to shoot the dog if his mother didn’t give him access to the money. But Amelia was smart enough to recognize a useless threat. As things stood, he had two choices—win his mother’s trust, which would take time, or find the money himself.
The surest approach would be to try both.
The dog went to a bowl of table scraps in the corner of the kitchen and chuffed down the food. “We used to feed him on the back porch,” Sidney said. “But the coyotes started stealing his food. He was too old and slow to catch them.”
“My mother had two dogs when I was here before,” Mason said, making conversation. “What happened to the other one?”
Sidney arranged the sandwiches on a china plate. “He just got old. We found him dead on the porch one morning last year. Your mother was fit to be tied. She mourned him like he was her own child. She even buried him in the family cemetery, next to the place she’s laid out for herself.”
“What about this dog? Weren’t they brothers?”
“That’s right. I don’t suppose old Brutus here will last much longer. Mrs. Dollarhide had both their names carved into the headstone—Brutus and Cassius, like in Shakespeare’s play.” He picked up the plate, adding a napkin and a glass of cold tea, which he balanced between his large, immaculate hands. “I’m glad you’ve come back, Mr. Dollarhide. Your mother’s a strong woman, but she’s getting on, and she needs you to step in and manage the ranch. You can see how it’s all gone downhill, most of the cattle sold, the pastures gone to weed, the fences and sheds falling down. You’ll have your work cut out for you.” He gave Mason a sharp glance. “I do hope you plan to stay around this time.”
The old man would know, of course, that Mason had been in prison. What the words implied was the hope that he didn’t plan any illegal activities that would land him behind bars again. But what the butler didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And Mason had learned his lesson. This time he would do everything right.
* * *
After the air show, Ruby and her father had flown back to the outskirts of Miles City, where there was a small airport with a runway and a secure enclosure for the plane. They’d taken a taxi back to the Olive Hotel in town, where they’d left their extra luggage at the desk.
Ruby would’ve been happy to settle for a light supper in her room, a warm bath, and an early bedtime. But Art had other plans. His new “business associates” would be meeting him at dinner. Ruby would need to be there, too.
As she bathed, pinned up her unruly curls, and slipped into her one good dress—a second-hand pale green crepe with a dropped waist and pleated hemline—Ruby couldn’t shake a deep sense of foreboding. Her father was excited about the chance to win them both a better life. But the men they’d be meeting didn’t care about that. All they wanted was to use Art for their own illegal purposes. If things went wrong, they would turn their backs and leave him to his fate.
She knew better than to try and change Art’s mind. All she could do was be there, support him, and try to keep him safe. There were times when she felt more like his parent than his child. This was one of them.
She surveyed her reflection in the cheap mirror that was mounted on the back of the door. She’d bought the dress from a second-hand store in Kansas City. Even used, it had been expensive, but the fit was perfect, the color a nice contrast with her dark eyes and auburn hair. Her only jewelry was a fine gold necklace with a tiny airplane pendant. Art had bought it in a pawn shop and given it to her for her last birthday. Her kidskin slippers were so old that they fit her feet like gloves. Her only makeup was the barest touch of lipstick.
A memory of the day flashed through her mind—the tall stranger gazing down at her, his jade green eyes hard, as he insisted on paying extra to have her take him on his flight. She’d almost killed them both, and afterward he’d treated the whole adventure as a lark. A man without emotion. She hadn’t liked him. All she wanted was to put the experience behind her, especially the look he’d given her before he’d walked away. But those careless green eyes continued to haunt her.
Ruby forced her thoughts back to the present. Her father wanted her to help him make a good impression tonight. She knew that she’d be putting on an act for his sake. She forced herself to smile at her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth looked convincing enough. But her eyes were like a captive animal’s, restless and wary, brimming with distrust.
A rap from the outside of the door blurred her reflection in the mirror. “Are you ready, Ruby? They’ll be expecting us downstairs.” Her father’s voice rang with optimism. Ruby suspected he might’ve had an illegal drink to bolster his confidence.
“I’m ready,” she said, reaching to unfasten the chain lock on the door.
“Then let’s be on our way,” he said. “This could be the night that changes both our lives forever.”