Calder Storm (29 page)

“This is a red-letter day, isn't it. I've always had the impression the Calders were never wrong about anything. I think I'd better sit down for this one.” Sloan perched herself on the edge of the bed, hands braced at her side, striking a slightly regal, if mocking, pose.

It took every ounce of will to keep his temper in check. “It's
possible that our people were a bit standoffish with you tonight. Care to know why?” Trey challenged.

“Oh, you've found an excuse for them, have you?” There was an unmistakable taunt in her wide-eyed look of innocence and interest.

“I'm going to take an educated guess and say that you bought Max Rutledge a Christmas present.”

“Naturally. I get him something every year. What of it?” She tossed the challenge right back.

“You might have mentioned it to me.” Trey couldn't keep the annoyance and frustration out of his voice.

“Why? I already know your opinion of him, and it isn't one I happen to share. It would have only started another argument, and I would have sent Max something whether you liked it or not.”

“But it would have been better if I was the one who took the gift down to the commissary and arranged for it to be shipped to him. When you showed up with it, word traveled like a shock wave across this ranch.”

“What did? You mean that I know Max?” She tipped her head at a perplexed angle.

“You're damn right!” Trey said with force. “Good God, Sloan, everyone on this ranch knows about the trouble he caused. And here you are, sending the man a package. As far as they're concerned, it's an act of betrayal.”

“That's ridiculous!” Sloan declared in outrage.

“Not to them, it isn't!” Trey paused a beat, reining in his temper. “You're right. I wouldn't have liked the idea of you sending him a present, but I wouldn't have stopped you. So why the hell did you have to mail it here? Why couldn't you have stopped at the post office in Miles City after one of your doctor's visits?”

“My God, Trey, you make it sound like I should be ashamed that I know him—that it's some dirty secret the world shouldn't know. And all because of the prejudice you and your family have for him. It's even infected the people who work for you. Do you know how revolting that sounds?” Sloan demanded in righteous
anger. “And if you think that I'm going to let a bunch of small-minded people dictate to me who I have contact with, you're wrong!”

“Dammit, Sloan, I'm only thinking of you. Before this happened everybody liked you. They had accepted you. Now you'll have to win their trust all over again. Loyalty to them isn't just a word; it's a way of life. In their eyes, you've crossed the line.” Trey saw the objection forming on her lips. “I'm not saying that's right or fair. It's just the way it is.”

Before Sloan could respond to that, the phone on the bedside table rang, an echo of it coming from the sitting room. She started to reach for it, then pulled her hand back.

“You might as well answer it. It's for you, anyway,” Sloan declared, then added caustically, “Probably that redhead from The Oasis.”

His half-narrowed gaze locked on her in shock. “Why are you bringing that up? We settled that weeks ago.”

The phone rang a second time. “Aren't you going to answer that?” Her chin lifted with the saccharine challenge, and the smile that followed had the same sweet coating. “That's right. I'm sitting here. It does make it awkward for you, doesn't it?”

Uttering a barely smothered imprecation, Trey crossed to the nightstand and snatched the receiver in mid-ring. “Yes,” he muttered, none too pleasantly.

“Is that you, Trey?” Cat's voice came across the line, full of uncertainty and question.

Trey released a long, silent breath and cast an irritated glance at Sloan. “Yeah, it's me.”

“It didn't sound like you. I—”

He never heard the rest as Sloan walked up and jerked the phone out of his hand. “Who is this?” Hot demand was in her voice.

“Sloan!” Cat said in surprise. “I was about to ask Trey if you were all right. When Jobe Garvey told me you'd gone to the house, I got worri—”

“I'm fine. Just tired. Here's Trey.” She shoved the phone back in his hand and turned away, all tense and frustrated, too much so to pay attention to whatever Trey said to his aunt.

Nerves raw, Sloan raked her fingers through her hair and sat back down on the bed as an overwhelming weariness swept through her. It only seemed to increase the helpless, lonely feeling that tied her up in knots. She never heard the rattle of the receiver settling back on its cradle.

Then Trey stood in front of her, tight-lipped and hard-eyed. “What the hell was that all about?”

“I've been getting calls lately,” Sloan answered stiffly. “Nobody answers when I pick up.”

“Good God, Sloan,” he said in disgust. “It's probably some telemarketer.”

“With laughter and music in the background? I doubt it.” Her voice was thick with scorn.

“Then I don't know who the calls are from,” Trey declared, “But they aren't from some woman, redhead or otherwise, wanting to talk to me. So get that idea out of your head.”

Sloan was unmoved by his denial. Men lied all the time about their extramarital affairs. But she didn't have the energy to throw that reminder in his face, so she didn't offer any response.

“Look.” Trey crouched in front of her, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. “You're used to being more active. Lately you've had too much time on your hands, and it's never good to sit and brood.” He attempted to sound reasonable, but his voice still had a hard edge to it. “I know the weather hasn't cooperated, but it's supposed to warm up for a few days. You need to get out, walk, get some exercise. It'll be good for you and the baby.”

“Yes, it would,” Sloan agreed and edged farther onto the bed. “I think I'll lie down and rest for a while. Will you turn out the light?”

“Sure.” He straightened when she stretched out flat on the bed and rested one arm across her forehead. “I'll be in the other room, watching some television, if you need me.”

Sloan nodded in acknowledgement. Trey flipped off the light on his way out of bedroom and pulled the door partially closed behind him. For a long time Sloan stared at the darkened ceiling. Everything boiled down to his word and her suspicions.

One of them was right. But which one? That was the question that kept drumming through her mind. That one and one another—did she really want to know the answer?

To love, she had to trust. Without trust, how long could any love last? That was a question Sloan had never asked herself. But it was at the bottom of all the others.

S
tars glittered in the Texas sky, but their brilliance was dimmed by the city lights of Fort Worth. In the exclusive River Crest district, strategically placed lights marked a sweeping driveway that led to one of the area's many mansions.

There was just enough chill in the January air to provide the perfect excuse for the female occupants of the arriving limos to don their favorite furs. Fully aware of how dramatic she looked in ermine, Tara had chosen an ermine jacket.

One side slipped, baring a white shoulder when she moved to exit the limo's rear door, then paused to address the chauffeur. “Remember—you are to be back here promptly in one hour. I won't need to stay longer than that.”

Privately she thought an hour was too long, but to leave sooner would be an insult to the Holcombes, her misguided but well-intentioned and well-heeled hosts.

Accepting the assistance of the liveried attendant, Tara stepped from the limousine and continued straight to the front door. The murmur of many voices, intermixed with the tinkle of crystal, greeted her when she walked into its spacious foyer. But an under
lying boredom was what Tara's experienced ears heard instead of the electric buzz that a successful party generated.

Aware that her arrival might be observed, Tara surrendered her wrap to the waiting maid with an unhurried grace, then made her way to the richly appointed living room where the bulk of the guests were gathered. Good manners dictated that she seek out her host and hostess first, but she used the winding journey to discreetly survey the other guests. As she expected, most were from the B list. In all honesty, Tara knew she wouldn't have attended the party herself if the charity it was to benefit hadn't been one of her pet projects. At such times sacrifices had to be made.

After chatting up her host and hostess, Tara collected a glass of champagne and went about the task of mixing and mingling. Turning from the first group, she caught a movement in her side vision and turned that way. For a split second, she went still at the sight of the wheelchair-bound Max Rutledge. He almost managed to look distinguished, with his grizzled hair and full black-tie regalia.

Hesitating only briefly, Tara approached him. “Max Rutledge, you old rogue.” She bent and kissed the air near his cheek. “I don't know why I'm surprised to see you here. Lately you've been keeping a very high profile—and an open wallet. It's amazing what a little spreading of the green will do to improve one's image, isn't it?” she cooed in a voice that was all Texas honey.

But Max only smiled with a hearty broadness. “Ah, Tara, still the stunning Texas vixen. How good to see you. The Holcombes said that you planned to come, but I had my doubts.” He cast a jaundiced glance at the gathering, and murmured, “I think it's been a night of disappointments for them.”

Tara couldn't disagree. “Poor Margaret. I did try to warn her that at this time of year all the right people were either yachting in the Mediterranean or skiing in Switzerland. Next time she'll listen.”

“I'm surprised you're in town,” he remarked.

“Actually, I leave tomorrow for St. Moritz, before going on to Monte Carlo.”

“Good. That means you'll be back in time for the blessed event.”

Tara released a short, amused breath. “What on earth are you talking about, Max?”

“Sloan's baby is due somewhere around the end of February. Had you forgotten?” He tipped his head back, studying her with mild interest.

The smallest frown flickered across her forehead. “You talk as if you know her.”

“Perhaps it's because I do. Almost from the day she was born, as a matter of fact.” Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes at the surprise Tara couldn't completely conceal. “Her late father and I were partners in a few business ventures.”

Recognition dawned. “She's that Davis,” Tara murmured. “You were named her guardian, weren't you?”

“I was,” Max confirmed. “And, yes, the Calders are aware of it. I take it they haven't mentioned it to you.”

Tara managed an elegant shrug of indifference. “Why should they? It's hardly important.”

“I agree.” Max nodded. “Sloan deserves her happiness. Although I was troubled to hear they're having marital problems. The first year of marriage always requires many adjustments, though.”

“It's probably nothing more than that foolishness about her work,” Tara guessed at once. “Once Sloan fully understands the obligations that will fall to her as Trey's wife, she'll put aside all this nonsense about a career in photography.”

“Trey objects to it, does he?” His idle tone masked his keen interest in her answer.

“Really, Max. What husband would be in favor of his wife being absent from home for long periods of time?” Tara chided.

“You're right. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“Tara,” A feminine voice called an instant before a slightly
tipsy blonde descended on her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be Switzerland.”

“I leave tomorrow,” Tara informed her.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Max reached for the controls on the wheelchair's armrest.

“Now, be generous with your check, Max,” Tara called after him as he rolled away. “It's for a worthy cause.

“And a worthy night,” he murmured to himself.

 

A strong Chinook wind swept over the rough-and-tumble roll of the Montana plains. Its warmth was a welcome relief from the freezing temperatures that had gripped the land for much of February. With calving season in full swing, its arrival couldn't have been more opportune.

As he made his final tug to tighten the saddle's cinch strap, Trey let his gaze skip beyond the corral fence to the section of range beyond it. These first hours of morning were the time when the cattle were up and about, seeking water and graze. A cow heavy with calf never strayed too far from either. Armed with that knowledge, the stock tank and hay bales at the South Branch camp were both located close to the calving sheds, making a check of the herd easier for those ranch hands unlucky enough to pull calving duty.

Thanks to a flu epidemic that had sidelined a good number of the Triple C riders, Trey was among those assigned to the chore. Behind him, saddle leather creaked as Laredo swung aboard his horse.

“Are you about ready?” Laredo kept a still hand on the reins.

“Yup.” Trey unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn and scooped up the trailing rein, then swung himself onto the seat, toeing his boots into the stirrups.

First to reach the fence gate, Laredo reached down and unlatched it, then pushed it open as he maneuvered his horse through the gap.

“I noticed the thermometer was tickling the forty-degree mark this morning,” Laredo held the gate for Trey. “It's going to feel downright balmy today.”

“True.”

The abruptness in his answer had Laredo running a speculating eye over him. But Trey's young, rugged features had that closed-up look, typical of a Calder determined to keep his thoughts to himself. For Laredo, that was telling in itself.

“As warm as it is, I thought Sloan might come along to get a look at the calving sheds.” Laredo gave the gate a push, swinging it shut after Trey rode through.

“She wanted to, but I talked her out of it. Too many have the flu bug here at South Branch, and she's too close to term to risk getting sick now.” Trey pointed his horse at a large, round bale some distance away where a half dozen cows were gathered, their sides ballooned by their advanced pregnancies.

“Sounds like you had to do some talking to convince her,” Laredo guessed as they approached the cows, keeping their horses at an unhurried walk, the strike of their hooves on the still-frozen ground making a dull clop.

A heavy breath spilled from Trey. “You got that right. She was upset with me anyway. She has a doctor's appointment at the end of the week. She wanted me to take her. Needless to say, she wasn't happy when I told her that I couldn't, not at calving time. I'll be damned glad when this baby's born. Maybe she'll stop being so testy then.”

“Been hard to live with lately, has she?” Laredo surmised.

“Yes and no. She gets some crazy ideas in her head sometimes, and nothing I say seems to make any difference.”

Trey didn't volunteer more information than that, but Laredo was certain he knew what kind of crazy notion Sloan had. “You mean like you're cheating on her.”

Trey abruptly reined up, his gaze shooting to Laredo, a dark anger in its depths. “Good God, don't tell me she's spouting off to others about it.”

“Not that I've heard.” Laredo halted as well.

“Then how did you know?”

“I picked it up in Blue Moon when I was there the other day. Rumor has it that you're seeing someone on the sly and it's causing problems at home.”

Trey made a small, disgusted movement of his head and kneed his horse forward again. “I'd like to know when I'm supposed to be doing this. I've been home every night for months,” he muttered.

“Easy. “Laredo relaxed the pressure on the bit, letting his mount move alongside Trey's gelding. “An afternoon here. An afternoon there.”

“You're serious,” Trey realized.

“That's the talk.”

A grimness settled around his mouth. “Let's hope Sloan doesn't hear it.” Yet it was something Sloan was smart enough to figure out by herself.

“It does make you wonder how the rumor got started, though,” Laredo remarked with seeming idleness.

Wise to his ways, Trey studied him. “Any ideas?”

“It seems the rumor started circulating not long after we learned about her connection to Rutledge. I suppose that could be another coincidence,” he added dryly.

“Tongues wag all the time. It doesn't mean anything.” Yet Trey couldn't totally dismiss his words.

“This time the tongues are drawing comparisons between you and your father—and the poor choice he made in his first wife.” Laredo paused, then spoke with a note of caution. “There are more Taras in this world that we'd like to believe.”

“You still think Sloan might be some tool of Rutledge's,” Trey muttered in irritation. “And I still say you're wrong.”

“Maybe I am. But something about all this doesn't smell right.”

“It isn't Sloan.”

“I hope to hell you're right. You two have enough troubles without throwing that into the mix.”

“The only problems we have are in her mind,” Trey stated flatly.

“Really? What about her career?”

Trey stiffened. “What about it?”

“Talk is that you're insisting she give it up.”

“I've never said a word to her about it.” That was the truth. Yet it didn't alter that vague resentment he felt nearly time he saw her with a camera. “It hardly matters, though, considering she'll soon have a baby to look after.”

“Makes me wonder where the Triple C would be if your mother thought like that. And you can't say you didn't know Sloan was a professional photographer when you married her.”

Amusement was in the look Trey gave him. “You can't seem to make up your mind about Sloan. One minute you're talking against her, and in the next you're taking her side.”

Laredo grinned. “Kinda sounds like I'm riding the same horse you are.”

The discussion, already near its end, came to a quick close when Trey spotted a cow standing well apart from her herd-mates. Her raised tail and anxious air were sure signs she was in the initial stage of labor, making her a prime candidate for the calving shed.

 

A few notches past its zenith, the sun was a big yellow ball of light in a freeze-dried sky. Below it, the two-lane highway stretched like a gray ribbon across a winter-brown landscape. Here and there, old snow could be seen clinging to the shady sides of its flanking ditches.

Only one vehicle sped along the road, heading north, a narrow shadow racing along the shoulder, keeping pace. Cat was behind the wheel with Sloan in the passenger seat. Music from a CD played softly over the Suburban's speakers, covering the silence. On this return trip from Sloan's doctor's appointment, all the topics of conversation had been exhausted.

For about the fifteenth time in the last fifty miles, Sloan shifted
in her seat, seeking a more comfortable position. The movement didn't go unnoticed by Cat.

Concern was in her face as she said, “Are you sure you don't mind if we stop at Fedderson's before we go home? I can always run back to town and pick up the shrimp Marsha's holding for me.”

“Honestly? I'd welcome the chance to stretch my legs after riding for two hours.” Sloan arched her back briefly, then shifted in the seat again.

“Stiff, are you?” Cat eyed her with sympathy.

“Stiff, sore, achy—you name it, I feel it.” The breath Sloan released was a grunted sigh. “These trips to the doctor just seem to get longer and longer. I wish his office was closer.”