Rachel laughed and gave him a playful shove. “Sit down,” she said and he didn’t hesitate, pulling out the chair at the end of the table. He set his hat next to him, brim up and reached for a cookie, but before he took a bite he shot Freedom a questioning look. She answered with a quick nod. Caleb smiled and took a large bite.
“I saw that,” Rachel whispered, loud enough for the rest to hear as she set a mug of coffee in front of him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Now how about you men take yourselves down to the barn and let us womenfolk have a nice catch-up? You can show Hunter how that new foal is coming along.”
Caleb rose as quickly as he’d sat down and pocketed a cookie into his coat as he did so. He motioned to Hunter with a nod of his head. “Think Foster is down there. Good a time as any for a visit.”
Hunter grabbed a couple of cookies of his own and his mug of coffee. Freedom made a good brew and while drinking it would likely make the next pot he made taste even worse in comparison, he couldn’t pass it up.
As they made their way down toward the barn, the sun worked hard to warm the earth, but the strength of its rays was no measure against winter’s intent. Snow would come soon; Hunter could smell it in the air. This was likely one of the last times he would make it up to the Circle S until spring if they received a lot of snow. As beautiful as the Colorado winters were, he found them lonely. Caleb, Rachel and their brood were the closest thing to family he had. He didn’t include Vernon in the mix. He was blood, but he wasn’t family. Being cut off from the Becketts for the worst of the winter months made for a long season.
Hunter shoved his free hand in his pocket and hunched against the cold. Traveling through the woods had protected them from the worst of the wind, but the Circle S was nestled into a valley closer to the mountains and the wind now swooped and swirled around them.
“Feels like it’s going to be a cold winter.” Caleb lifted the collar of his sheepskin coat up around his neck. “You might want to find yourself someone to keep you warm for the duration.”
Hunter slid a glance to his friend. “Is that Rachel and her matchmaking talking?”
“No, that’s experience talking.”
“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?”
“Everyone’s lookin’ for someone. Just a matter of finding the right someone for you.”
Hunter couldn’t argue with the man on that. If ever there had been a loner born and bred, it was Caleb Beckett. Now he was happy and settled into family life as if he’d been waiting for it his whole life.
Hunter knew the feeling. And he knew Caleb had the truth of it. Problem was he’d already found his someone and he’d let her go. It would be an uphill battle on a slippery slope to convince her to come back. He’d have to tread carefully.
As they stepped into the barn and closed the sliding doors behind them, an older man, stooped and slow moving, wandered out from the tack room. His eyes lit up when he saw Hunter. “Well look what Old Man Winter blew in!” Foster’s raspy chuckle echoed off the stalls. Caleb’s paint, Jasper, stuck his head out as Foster approached and the old man reached into his pocket and fed him a carrot, giving him a scratch on the nose as the horse munched.
“How you been, Foster?”
“Good, good. Can’t complain. Nobody would listen no how if I did.” Another laugh. “Caleb says you gots Bill stayin’ with you. How’s that wildcat doin’? Givin’ you any grief?”
“He’s doing fine. Made himself right at home in his cell. He’s refusing counsel though, which has me a bit concerned. I thought you might be able to help me, tell me what you remember from seven years ago. I know McLaren already talked to you—”
“McLaren?” Foster shook his head. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a dog’s age. But I ain’t never had a conversation with him ’bout what went on seven years ago.”
“What?” The conversation he’d had with McLaren flashed through his head like an oft-told story. He clearly remembered him mentioning he had spoken to Foster specifically. “Are you sure?”
“I know I’m getting up there in years, but I’m as sure as a man gets. The old noggin ain’t given up on me yet.” Foster tapped his gnarled mass of white hair.
“Why would McLaren lie?” He asked the question but didn’t expect an answer. It was his turn to shake his head. “You mind if I ask you about it now?”
“Ohh-wee,” Foster said, walking past the two men to the stacked bales of hay closer to the doors. He waved one of the barn cats aside and waited until the tabby scurried away before he sat down, his knobby hands resting on his knees. “That was a long time ago.”