Calder Storm (32 page)

“It's plain the two of them planned this together,” Chase concluded, then released a troubled sigh. “I'm surprised she didn't leave you some kind of note—just to throw some salt on the wound.”

“She did.” Trey pulled the crumpled sheet from his jacket pocket and tossed it to him. “She had the cab driver bring it to the hospital and added a fifty-dollar tip to make sure he waited until he saw her plane take off.”

Chase reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve his magnifiers, only to discover they weren't there. With no hesitation, he handed it to Jessy. “Read it aloud.”

“My God,” Jessy murmured when she saw what it said, and she directed a commiserating glance at her son. “‘My lawyer will be in touch.' And it's signed ‘Sloan.'”

“That's cold and to the point,” Chase declared on a grim note.

“Is that what you're going to do?” Laredo made a sideways study of Trey. “Wait for her lawyer to call?”

“Like hell I am!”

 

With navigation lights blinking in the dusk of day's end, the helicopter settled gently onto the Slash R's private helipad, strategically located near the main house. Harold Bennett stood well back from the aircraft, but not far enough to escape being buffeted by its powerful downdraft.

As the helicopter's engine was cut, slowing the rotation of its blades, a specially designed lift was rolled to the cabin door. It was a rare occurrence for Harold to observe his employer's arrival from the ground. Any other time he would have been aboard the helicopter with Rutledge. But the day's events had dictated otherwise.

In short order, Rutledge was lowered to the ground in his wheelchair, a briefcase on his lap. Harold moved to meet him when Rutledge sent his chair speeding toward him.

As always, Rutledge didn't waste time with pointless greetings. “I ordered extra security. Have they arrived?”

“Yes sir. Two are on duty at the main gate. Another one's stationed in the ranch yard. They've got three vehicles on the road and two men with dogs patrolling the house yard.”

“Have there been any problems? Any phone calls?”

“None, sir,” Harold replied, allowing a faint smile to show.

“Good.” Rutledge nodded in approval, some of that charged tension leaving him. “What about Sloan? Is everything all right there?”

“Yes sir. She was understandably tired and stressed by the time she got here. Other than that, she and the baby are doing fine and settling in nicely.”

“And you're sure they've got everything they need,” Max challenged.

“If they don't, I don't know what it would be,” Harold told him. “The nursery is stocked with every baby item there is, and Sloan has a whole new wardrobe. If I overlooked anything, it's a phone call away.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the nursery, feeding the baby.” Behind them the wheelchair hoist was rolled away from the helicopter, and the cabin door was shut and locked in preparation for liftoff.

“It's time I saw this Calder heir.” Rutledge's mouth curved in anticipation, but Harold knew better than to mistake it for a smile. It wasn't the prospect of seeing the infant that put that gleam in Rutledge's eye; rather, it was the knowledge that the child was in his house.

The pilot waited until the pair was nearly to the house before he throttled up the engine. The roar of it once again filled the air, disturbing the stillness of the warm spring evening. Like a great lumbering dragonfly, the chopper rose slowly, made a slight sideways dip, and swooped upward.

With a hand at the controls, Max steered the wheelchair down the wide corridor, designed, as was every inch of the house, for easy wheelchair access. The door to the newly created nursery stood open, but Max brought the wheelchair to a stop within its frame. Sloan sat in a rocking chair, gazing adoringly at the infant in her arms, one finger stroking a soft cheek.

Max rapped twice on the door. “May I come in?”

“Uncle Max.” A smile spread across her face in welcome. “Of course you can. In fact, your timing couldn't be better. Jake just finished his bottle. I was about to put him back in his crib so he could sleep.”

“He weathered the flight all right, then.” Max rolled his chair into the room.

“He fussed a lot on the plane,” Sloan admitted. “I'm sure the changes in cabin pressure hurt his ears. But he's fine now.”

“And you, are you all right, too?” Head cocked at a considering angle, he studied her with a show of gentle concern.

“I will be,” she asserted.

“Spoken with the grit of a Davis,” Max stated, emphasizing his approval with a single nod of his head.

“Thanks.” There was something almost shy in the smile Sloan gave him, but her following comment told him it was born of uncertainty. “I just hope I've done the right thing.”

“You have. We all make mistakes. The weak close their eyes to them and pretend everything will be all right in time. The strong admit them and take steps to correct them—just as you have done. I'm not saying it won't be painful,” Max added. “But a swift, clean break is the best.”

“That's what I keep telling myself,” Sloan murmured, but a sadness stole into her expression

Harold Bennett paused in the doorway and rapped lightly to gain their attention. “I wanted to check on our little guy and see how he's doing,” he said when they looked up. He nodded at the empty baby bottle sitting on the table next to her chair. “He drank all his formula, did he? That's a good sign.”

“He was hungry.” Sloan looked at her son with pride and smiled. “Now he's sleepy.”

While she was distracted, Max made eye contact with his personal nurse and signaled for him to get the baby. Harold nodded and advanced into the room.

“Let me put him to bed for you.” Halting at her chair, he stretched out his arms to take the infant, wrapped in a blue receiving blanket.

“You're spoiling me, Harold.” Sloan surrendered her son to him.

“You've had a long day, too, and you need your rest as much as this one does,” Harold replied in his best professional voice.

When he turned to carry the baby to his crib, Max spoke up, “May I hold him a moment first?”

Harold managed to contain his surprise. Recovering quickly, he smiled. “Of course.” He carried the infant to his employer and placed him in his arms, careful to make sure there was support for the baby's head, then stepped back to watch, certain Max wouldn't want to hold the child for long.

“My, my, look at all that hair,” Max declared in a marveling voice. “Why, he's going to need a haircut in another month.”

“He does have a lot of hair, doesn't he?” Sloan leaned closer, smiling with pride.

Max declined to comment on its dark color, unwilling to make any reference to the Calders, indirectly or otherwise. “It's been a long time since there was a baby in this house. I had forgotten how small they are, and how innocent. A new, young life is just what this old, tired heart of mine needed. Thank you for bringing him here, Sloan.”

A quick shake of her head dismissed his thanks. “After all you've done—sending the plane and having all this waiting for us—I'm the one who needs to thank you.”

“Nonsense,” Max declared without looking up from the infant, then feigned a small start of surprise. “Why, I do believe he just yawned. I guess he is sleepy.”

Quick to take the cue, Harold stepped forward to relieve him of the infant. “Newborns need their sleep.”

“Of course they do,” he agreed and looked at Sloan. “I instructed Vargas to set out some hors d'oeuvres in the living room. We'll go there and continue our talk so we won't disturb your son.” As expected, he saw the beginnings of a protest in Sloan's expression and smiled in understanding. “Don't worry. Harold will keep an eye on him for you.”

Showing a new mother's reluctance to be separated from her child, Sloan followed Max into the living room. Max pretended not to notice the uneasy glance she sent in the direction of the nursery before she took a seat.

He made no attempt to resume their conversation until the house servant had delivered their drinks, a lemonade for Sloan and a bourbon and water for Max. “I can't tell you how much I wish you and baby were here under different circumstances. I had great hopes that your marriage would be a happy one.”

Sloan immediately stiffened with a kind of bitter anger. “It wasn't to be—not unless I wanted to be one of those who pretended she didn't know there was another woman. But I can't and I won't.”

“Well, in all honesty, I can't say I was surprised when you told me Trey was stepping out on you.” His sigh had a trace of disgust in it. “Given the history of that family, I suppose it was inevitable.”

“You're referring to the affair Trey's father had with Jessy,” Sloan guessed at once. “I heard all about that. After meeting Tara, though, I could understand why he did it.” Pausing, she made a wry grimace. “It's funny, but I feel sorry for Tara now. No one at the ranch liked her. Like me, she was never accepted into the family in anything but name.”

“And like you, Tara was too strong a woman to quietly endure that kind of humiliation. That wasn't always the case in the Calder family, from what I've learned.” Max deliberately didn't elaborate on that comment, confident that Sloan would take the bait.

She did. “What do you mean?”

He began with an apology. “Forgive me, Sloan, but when you first indicated there was some trouble in your marriage, I became concerned and did some checking into the Calders. After all, like most people, I only knew them by their reputation as giants in ranching. I never had reason to delve into their personal lives until this started.”

“What did you learn, Uncle Max?” A glitter of anger was in her eyes, the kind that said Sloan was ready to believe anything he told her.

“I'm afraid the Calder men don't fare well as shining examples,” Max warned. “For instance, are you aware that Trey's father was born out of wedlock, and it wasn't until some fifteen years after the fact, when Chase found himself in need of an heir, that he bothered to acknowledge him as his son? He married the mother merely to avoid the stigma of ‘bastard' being attached to his son. And it seems that Chase's father wasn't much better. He was shot and severely wounded after being caught with another man's wife. There's even some question about the true relationship between the Triple C founder, Benteen Calder, and Lady Elaine Dunshill. The family would like you to believe she was his mother, but it seems more likely that she was his mistress.”

“I didn't know any of that,” Sloan admitted with a dazed and half-angry frown.

“I'm sure the family tries to keep its indiscretions hushed up. But I'm told such behavior becomes a kind of mind-set that passes from one generation to the next until it's regarded as not only acceptable but expected. It will probably be a shock to them that you objected so strongly to the idea of your husband seeing another woman. In their eyes, it's simply what men do.”

“Not in mine, it isn't.” All taut and indignant, Sloan pushed out of the chair and crossed to the window. She stood there, rubbing her arms in agitation.

Max allowed the silence to stretch for a bit, then pretended to muse, “As old-fashioned as the Calders are, I can't help but think
that if your marriage hadn't broken up over this, the split would have come over your career. Photography is something you love, and I can't see you giving it up. I suspect it was only a matter of time before it became a source of contention between you.”

“That's what Tara said,” Sloan recalled, “when she wasn't lecturing me about the duties I needed to assume as the wife of a Calder.”

“No doubt Tara was speaking from her own experience, wouldn't you say?” Max suggested.

Sloan turned back to him, uncertainty flickering through her expression. “I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“I'm told Tara spent a good deal of time away from the ranch. I'm sure a part of her wonders if she hadn't been gone so much, maybe her husband wouldn't have become involved with Jessy. Perhaps her advice was meant as a warning not to make the same mistake she believes she made.”

“Probably,” Sloan agreed. “But it doesn't change anything. Any man who expects me to give up my career for him doesn't really love me, because it's part of who I am.”

“Someday you'll meet a man who will see that,” Max stated. “Unfortunately, the Calders are too selfish and self-centered. Everything has to be done the way they want it.”

“The Calder way. My God, how many times have I heard that phrase?” Sloan muttered thickly.

“You're free of them now, so you don't have to be concerned with that anymore.”

A heavy sigh broke from her, “I'd give anything if that were true. But I know it's only beginning.”

He caught the blend of worry and dread in her voice. “Now that begins, doesn't it? The fear that he'll try to take the baby away from you.”