Calder Storm (14 page)

“You did warn me that your belongings had arrived from
Hawaii.” Tara cast a dismissive glance at the heavy cardboard boxes. “Is this all you shipped?”

Inwardly bristling a little, Sloan managed a cool smile. “No. But there isn't anything in these particular boxes that I need right away.”

“Then you need to have one of the hands carry them up to the attic for you,” Tara stated with a a disdainful look at the room's furnishings, “along with everything else in here. It's just as I told you, Gar—the room needs to be totally redone.”

“Not necessarily totally,” Sloan corrected quickly.

“Even if there is a piece or two you can use, why should you?” Tara reasoned. “After all, this is my gift. So don't you listen to her, Gar,” she admonished, a coy smile curving her red lips. “Money is absolutely no object, not where my late husband's son is concerned.”

An absent sound of acknowledgment came from his throat as he paused next to the free-form sculpture, lightly touching it with his fingertips. “This is an unusual piece.”

“Yes, it is.” On that, Sloan could agree.

“Do you collect modern art?” His questioning glance made a probing study of her.

“No. It's a wedding gift.”

“A generous one,” he said and immediately lost interest in it as he wandered over to one of the windows and looked out. “Quite a view.”

“It is,” Tara agreed. “But the room is absolutely flooded with light during the daytime. You'll need to install heavily lined drapery to block the glare.”

“No,” Sloan spoke up quickly and firmly. “I like the light.”

Tara turned, an eyebrow briefly arching, then lowering. “I forgot. You're a photographer by profession, aren't you? It's all about light for you.”

Mixed in with the words of understanding was a note of condescension. Sloan stiffened, instantly taking exception to it. But
before she could fire back a retort, Mr. St. Clair showed his diplomatic side.

“And harsh light is always screened,” he inserted smoothly.

“But never blocked.” Sloan wanted that clear.

Undeterred that her suggestion had been rejected, Tara eyed the windows in a reassessing fashion. “Plants would certainly thrive with all this natural light in the room—and provide you with a hint of the tropics you left, Sloan,” she said, then explained to the designer, “She moved here from Hawaii.”

“That doesn't mean I'm interested in turning this into a tropical retreat filled with rattan and wicker covered in the colors of the sea,” Sloan challenged to quickly dispel that notion.

“Naturally you wouldn't,” Tara agreed smoothly. “But you could focus on the Oriental aspect with a lot of dark woods and rich reds and gold. Or choose something with a Hemingwayesque flair to it. I can just see that gorgeous four-poster bed that Ty and I used, draped with gauzy fabric to simulate mosquito netting—”

“No, absolutely not,” Sloan broke in. “Trey would hate that.”

“My dear child,” Tara murmured with great indulgence and a pitying smile. “Of course we have to consider Trey's likes and dislikes, but ultimately the decor needs to be what you want. After all, you're the one who'll be living in it day in and day out, not Trey. Other than spending an hour or two here in the evening, he won't be here at all, just you and these walls. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

“In my case, it's different,” Sloan replied, not the least bit concerned. “My work keeps me busy.”

“Then you plan to continue your career, do you?” The possibility seemed to amuse Tara.

“Naturally.”

“Is Trey aware of that?”

“Of course.” But Sloan was forced to admit, if only to herself, that the subject hadn't been discussed; it was something she had simply taken for granted.

“Interesting,” Tara murmured with a touch of drollness.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sloan found it increasingly difficult to keep her temper in check.

“Nothing really,” Tara replied with feigned innocence. “It's just that the Calders have always been very old-fashioned in their thinking when it comes to women.”

Sloan smiled with considerable pleasure. “I think you've forgotten that Jessy runs the Triple C.”

One shoulder lifted in a dismissive and graceful motion. “She's little more than a figurehead. Chase still calls the shots around here.”

As much as Sloan wanted to refute that claim, she knew she was far from knowledgeable on the subject. A claim of ignorance could no longer be made when it came to Tara, however; Sloan knew exactly why no one in the family could stand her. The woman was absolutely maddening and insufferable.

Seeking to break off the exchange with Tara, Sloan turned to the designer. “Would you like to see the bedroom now?”

“In a minute.” He was crouched next to a baseboard, using his fingers to push back the carpet pile at its edge. “Am I wrong to assume that, like the rest of the house, there is hardwood flooring underneath the carpet?”

“It seems likely, but I don't personally know that,” Sloan admitted.

Not to be ignored, Tara interposed, “Carpeting is completely out of style. Even if this one wasn't so old and tacky, I would urge you to get rid of it. Everyone these days wants wood or stone floors.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Her own preference was for hardwood flooring, but Sloan wasn't about to admit that to Tara, convinced it would only encourage the woman to offer more suggestions.

The designer straightened to his feet and turned a direct look on Sloan. “There was a mention earlier that you are a photographer. Will you be wanting a desk or small office area here in the sitting room?”

“No. I want our living quarters to be a comfortable place where both of us can relax and forget about work. Comfort is the key word,” Sloan added, as much for Tara's benefit as the designer's. “Not style or elegance.”

He responded with a distracted nod and motioned to the connecting door. “The bedroom's through here, right?”

“Yes.” Sloan immediately walked over and opened the door to show him into the room.

Whether out of common courtesy or a recognition of the money source, St. Clair allowed Tara to precede him. With one all-encompassing glance she took in the entire room. “I wonder what ever became of that grand king-sized bed Ty and I slept in,” she murmured to no one in particular. “This room just cries for it.”

Wisely, Sloan made no comment. Silence seemed to be the best tactic to use in dealing with the woman.

More time was spent exploring the master bedroom and its adjacent bath, assessing the available storage currently provided, and discussing lighting issues. After his initial inspection of the premises was complete, the designer stated his need to take precise measurements of each room, the size and location of its windows and doorway, as well as the location of all electrical outlets and light sources. Sloan offered to assist him, but he assured her he was used to managing on his own.

“You would just be in the way,” Tara insisted before Sloan could form a protest. “Besides, this will give you and me a chance to get better acquainted. There was little opportunity at all for us to chat before the wedding.”

As far as Sloan was concerned, a tête-a-tête with Tara held no appeal. Seeking to avoid it, she suggested, “Let's go downstairs and leave Mr. St. Clair to work in peace. I know Cat wanted to see you.”

Any hope of pawning Tara off on Trey's aunt was dashed when Sloan found the note Cat had left stating that she had taken Chase to visit an aging and ailing ranch hand. As a result, Sloan found herself in the living room with Tara, pouring coffee for two.

Seeking to steer the conversation to safe topics, she plied Tara with questions, mostly about Trey's childhood. It worked for a while.

Then Tara settled back against the sofa cushions, a little finger raised as she stirred her coffee and studied Sloan with a kind of feline contemplation. “It's probably very wise of you to continue with your photography work. Heaven knows, this ranch provides few diversions unless you're a cow. But you do realize that the day will come when that won't be possible.”

“You mean when Trey and I start our family,” Sloan guessed. “Naturally I'll have to cut back on my work while our children are small.”

“That's not quite what I meant,” Tara corrected. “I was thinking more in terms of the time when Trey takes over the ranch. As his wife, you'll need to take on greater responsibilities. I know this ranch seems very insular, but its success is affected by decisions made outside its boundaries, whether by the government in Helena or Washington. You will soon discover that this ranch has a steady stream of politicians, lobbyists, and other powerful people stopping by each year. As the wife of a Calder, you will be expected to play a vital role, one that goes far beyond a mere hostess. And of course, there is always the private livestock auction held here at the ranch. The place is absolutely swarmed by the rich and famous. At times, it is no easy task keeping all those egos stroked, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

“I can see that.” Deliberately noncommittal, Sloan took a sip of her coffee while using those few seconds to absorb this image of her future Tara had painted.

“I feel it's important that you know these things—and the role you'll be obliged to play,” Tara continued. “After all, it's virtually the equivalent of a full-time job, certainly more than Trey could possibly handle. It's one thing to be his wife, but it's essential that you be his partner. I'm sure you can see that.”

“Of course,” Sloan replied, careful to say no more.

“Now don't be daunted by the thought of all the entertaining
you'll be required to do,” Tara admonished lightly. “I've had tons of experience at it. Teaching you the ins and outs of it all will be a simple matter.”

“Thank you. I promise I'll remember that when the time comes,” Sloan replied with as much good grace as she could muster, then looked up with gratitude when she heard the front door open and the familiar tap of Chase's cane in the entryway.

When Chase thumped into view, he nodded briefly at Tara and went directly into the den. But Cat, thankfully, joined them, the vibrant force of her personality having an immediate impact.

“What are you two doing down here?” she asked in surprise. “I thought you'd still be upstairs.”

“Garson shooed us out so he could take his measurements,” Tara explained, then smiled at Sloan. “Sloan and I have just been sitting here, having an old-fashioned feminine gabfest.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't here. It sounds like fun.” Cat sat on the sofa, angling herself toward Tara. “You are staying for lunch, aren't you? You'd better say yes, because I fixed a lobster salad, and I know it's your favorite.”

“I wouldn't want to impose—”

“Nonsense. You do it all the time,” Cat teased. “Besides, you know we always fix more food than we can eat on the off chance we have unexpected guests. So how long will you be staying up here this time?”

As easily as that, Cat steered the conversation to Tara and a discussion of her schedule and mutual friends. Sloan was relegated to the role of a listener, which she much preferred.

Both Trey and Jessy were absent from the table at noon. Sloan strongly suspected that they had correctly assumed Tara would be on hand and chose to avoid her company. She couldn't honestly blame them. Sloan still was finding it difficult to relax in Tara's company. She was too unsettled by their conversation in the living room and their sparring exchange upstairs.

The feeling didn't go away even after Tara and the designer left. After seeing them out, Sloan went to the kitchen to help Cat
with the lunch dishes. Cat had the dishwasher half loaded. She sent Sloan a bright glance. “So, how did it go?”

“He said he'd be back the end of next week with design suggestions and samples,” Sloan replied, barely containing a sigh.

“That's good—and definitely sooner than I thought it would be. But I was actually referring to Tara. You looked like you were doing your best to bite your tongue when I walked into the living room earlier.”

“Truthfully?” Sloan challenged.

Cat reacted with a full-throated laugh and waved a hand. “Say no more. Tara can be a royal pain at times.”

“I'm just surprised she didn't go through my closet and point out all the clothes I have that don't carry the right labels,” Sloan half-muttered.

“I take it she shared her opinions on how she thought your rooms should be done.”

“Trey had warned me she would, so I was ready for that.” Sloan turned on the faucets and rinsed some of the serving dishes. “Now we'll just have to wait and see what Garson St. Clair suggests.”

“Don't tell me that's what your little ‘gabfest' was all about? Lessons in room decor?”

“Actually, it wasn't. Tara was lecturing me about my role as the wife of a Calder, and all the entertaining I'll be expected to do.”