Calder Storm (9 page)

“I have an early morning flight. Eight or nine, I think. I'd have to check my reservations.”

“Is it mandatory that you have to leave tomorrow? Could you push your departure back a few days?”

“I don't suppose a day or two delay would mess up my schedule very much. Why?”

“It just seemed to me that since you were this close, it would be a shame not to spend a few days at the Triple C.” He seemed to choose his words carefully, giving them a casual sound, yet there was an intensity to his gaze that was far from casual. “I'll be driving back right after everything winds down here. You can ride with me.”

Her first impulse was to agree, but her practical side surfaced. “What about my rental car?”

“We can turn it in now, then swing by the motel so you can pack and check out, and still make it back here in time for the first events.”

“I suppose we could,” Sloan murmured while making her own mental calculations.

Trey misread her hesitation. “Look,” he began, a gravity in his features and a stark need in his eyes. “It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life. I'm not going to let you get away from me now.”

“I want this to be real, too—something that can last,” she admitted. “But nothing ever has for me.”

“That's because it was never right until now.” The shine in his eyes and the certainty in his expression were dazzling.

“I want to believe that, Trey.” But experience made her wary.

“Believe it,” he stated with a warm firmness and cupped a hand under her chin, framing and tilting it up.

A deep tenderness ran through his kiss, creating an intimacy beyond mere passion. Life, in all its vitality, seemed to fill her with its heady glow. He was solid and strong. The smell, feel, and touch of him livened all her senses.

They were slow to separate. A breath feathered from her that was not a sigh but a reaction to the glory she had glimpsed.

“You still haven't given me an answer.” Trey stood close, close enough that her body tingled with its awareness of him. “Are we going to turn your car in?”

“We are.” The decision made, Sloan was determined not to look back.

“Then let's get it done.” Trey wasn't about to give her any chance to change her mind.

 

Roughly an hour later Trey loaded her bags in the pickup and headed back into the motel. Sloan turned away from the registration desk, creasing the receipt in precise folds, when he entered the lobby. But the sound of a familiar voice coming from the hall drew his attention away from Sloan's approach.

“All set,” she told him and slipped the receipt into one of the vest's pockets.

“Just a minute.” He lightly took her arm and turned her back toward the desk. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

He felt the touch of her curious glance, but his own gaze focused on the hall entrance as his mother walked into view, followed by Laredo.

“It'll be good to get home,” Jessy said to Laredo, then noticed Trey in the lobby. The beaming look on his face and the propri
etary way he tucked a hand under the arm of the woman beside him immediately shifted her attention to the brunette.

Tawny streaks lightened the dark color of her hair. She was slimly built and tall—almost as tall as Jessy herself. The clean line of her features and the flawless quality of her skin gave her an impression of beauty, but it wasn't the breathtaking kind that so often blinded men. Jessy took some comfort from that.

Automatically she altered her course away from the desk to approach her son. “I was about to check out. Did you drop off your room key?”

“I took care of that earlier,” Trey confirmed, then turned a soft, warm glance on the woman beside him. “Mom, I'd like you to meet Sloan Davis. I invited her to spend a few days at the ranch with us. Sloan, this is my mother, Jessy Calder. And that's Laredo Smith behind her.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Calder.” Sloan was quick to extend a hand in greeting, yet there was just a trace of self-consciousness in her demeanor that betrayed an otherwise undetectable vulnerability. “I hope it won't be too inconvenient for me to come on short notice.”

“Not at all. Company is always welcome on the Triple C—on short notice or no notice at all. Trey knows that.” She spoke the absolute truth. “And please call me Jessy. Everyone does.”

“Thank you.”

Laredo stepped forward, touching his hat in greeting. “It's good to meet you at last, Ms. Davis. I guess you know Trey hasn't had anything else on his mind since he met you.”

The man's wide smile made it impossible for Sloan to take any offense at his comment, yet the reference to her relationship with Trey made her a little uncomfortable, mostly because she wasn't used to total strangers making personal remarks.

Trey, on the other hand, was completely unfazed by it as he curved his arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her. “I know a good thing when I see it.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Sloan replied and exchanged a quick glance with Trey.

“You should,” Laredo replied. “I meant it as one.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll call Cat and make sure she has a guest room ready when you arrive,” Jessy said to Trey, then clarified, “You are driving back tonight, aren't you?”

He nodded. “As soon as the last rider touches the ground.”

“Laredo and I will be leaving before that,” she told him and smiled at Sloan. “I'll see you later tonight at The Homestead.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Sloan echoed.

Trey touched her arm. “We'd better go if you want to grab something to eat before the action starts.”

“Of course.” Sloan let Trey draw her away.

“Be careful on the road,” his mother offered in parting.

“Always,” Trey responded with his usual answer to the admonishment.

It wasn't until they were outside in the pickup that Sloan's curiosity got the better of her. “What did your mother mean when she said she would see us later at The Homestead? I thought the ranch was called the Triple C. Or is The Homestead just your name for it?”

“It's the name for the house where we live.” Trey turned the ignition key and started the engine. “It was built on the site of my great-great-grandfather's original homestead claim, and it's gone by that name ever since.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I suppose I am,” Sloan admitted. “I guess I never thought of ranchers as homesteaders. And I certainly would never have suspected that the Triple C Ranch started as a one-hundred-and-sixty-acre claim.”

“The ranch has a long history behind it. You'll have to get Gramps to tell you about it. He knows all the old stories.” Trey
pulled out of the motel parking lot. “Did you want to go to a restaurant or grab something to eat at the fairgrounds?”

“The fairgrounds,” she answered without hesitation and absently touched the camera that hung from her neck.

He saw the movement in his side vision and knew without being told that she wanted to be on hand when the first chute opened so she and her camera could capture the action. It was a pairing that always left him the odd man out.

It was her work. A dozen times that afternoon Trey told himself that he respected that. The pride she took in it and the satisfaction she got from it were obvious. But that didn't make it any easier for Trey to stand on the sidelines and watch while she moved from one vantage point to another, always intent on getting the next shot.

Horse after horse went out of the chutes, some bucking respectably, a few bolting into a dead run, others crow-hopping halfheartedly, and a small number successful in dumping their riders. None of it held Trey's attention.

Impatient and restless, he gravitated to the alleyway behind the chutes. He spotted Tank standing off to one side, buckling on his chaps. Johnny was there as well, an Ace wrap girdling his right knee.

Joining them, Trey nodded at the wrapped knee. “What happened to you?”

“Caught it on the chute when I went out on that last damned horse,” Johnny muttered. “Twisted the hell out of it.”

Tank grinned. “He's worried about losing the ride money if his knee isn't strong enough to make his last horse. 'Course, I said I'd take his ride for him.”

“And the money for it, too,” Johnny added sourly.

“You aren't going to let a sprained knee keep you from riding, are you, Johnny?” Trey taunted, the bite in his voice coming from his pent-up frustrations.

“Damned right I'm not,” he retorted. “And you can put money on that.”

“I wouldn't get any takers,” Trey replied, already losing interest in the exchange.

“Where you been keeping yourself, Trey? It's the first time I've seen you around the chutes all afternoon,” Tank remarked.

“That's a danged fool question to ask.” Johnny snorted in disgust.

“Why?” Tank gave him an innocent look, then glanced at Trey. “You're still trailing after that Hawaiian girl, are you? I thought you'd already scored with her last night?”

Mouth thinning, Trey made an educated guess as to the source of Tank's information. He could too easily imagine the kind of talk Kelly had spread after seeing him come out of Sloan's room this morning.

“Lay off, Tank.” His voice was low with warning.

But it was a cowboy's nature to keep poking when he found a sensitive spot. And Johnny and Tank were both dyed-in-the-wool cowboys.

“Did she teach you the hula?” Johnny asked with an almost gleeful grin.

Tank snickered. “If she did, I bet her hips were doing the talking, not her hands.”

Anger that had simmered below the surface exploded with a rush. Trey whirled on Tank, lashing out with a fist that Tank didn't quite manage to duck. It clipped his jaw and propelled him sideways into a pen.

Johnny limped to his assistance. “What the hell's the matter with you, Trey? He was just giving you a hard time. He didn't mean any harm.”

“Just keep your mouth off of her.” The harshness of his temper still vibrated in his voice.

“You could've said so.” Tank held on to his jaw and worked it from side to side.

“I did, but you didn't listen. “Already regretting his loss of temper, Trey offered his hand in apology. “Sorry. No hard feelings.”

After a slight hesitation, Tank took hold of it. “That was a helluva quick way to get a man's attention.”

“It was,” Trey admitted, then added. “You might as well know that she's coming back to the ranch with me for a few days. The Crawfords said you could ride with them.”

Johnny gave him a surprised look, eyebrows raised. “So that's the way the rope flies.”

“That's the way of it.” The steady regard of his gaze never wavered. Johnny was the first to look away, with a slight downward tuck of his chin.

“Hell, we didn't know, Trey,” Tank began. “I mean, a girl from Hawaii—”

Johnny cut in, “You talk too much, Tank. Why don't you shut up and think about that horse you've got comin' up.”

“Guess you're right,” Tank murmured, throwing another glance at Trey before the two of them moved off toward the chutes.

Trey didn't follow. Instead he located Sloan atop one of the chutes trying to get a picture of the activity in the next one.

He didn't have to be told that talk would fly now. By the time they arrived at the ranch, news of Sloan would have flashed to its farthest corners—and likely beyond. In some ways, that suited Trey just fine since it would eliminate the need to explain who she was and why she was there. Everyone would know he had staked claim to her.

T
he setting sun slipped below the western horizon, leaving the sky awash with swirling streamers of crimson and salmon. Its colors tinted the wide-open plains while evening shadows crept into the hollows, accenting their rolling pitch.

Reaching forward, Trey flipped on the pickup's headlights, throwing new illumination on the two-lane highway that tracked across the emptiness. The road looked deserted except for a pair of red taillights far ahead of him. Now and again, he caught the reflection of headlights in the rearview mirror, but that had been the extent of the traffic so far.

Sloan sat next to him, their hips and legs touching, her shoulder tucked against his side. The contact made him aware of her every movement. As a consequence, his glance slid to her when she shifted forward to peer around him at the western sky.

“What a gorgeous sunset,” she murmured. “Just look at all that color.”

“It's caused from too much dust in the air. We haven't had the kind of spring rains we needed, so it's dry everywhere around here.” In the fading twilight, he spotted a cross fence a few hun
dred yards ahead and pointed to it. “That's the Triple C's south-boundary fence coming up.”

“Already?” she said in surprise.

Trey chuckled at her anticipation of their imminent arrival. “Don't get excited. We've still got a long ways to go yet. It's another fifty miles to the east gate, and forty miles after that to The Homestead.”

“That far!” she marveled and settled back in the seat, automatically nestling against him. “I've always heard the Triple C was a big ranch. That's a hard concept to grasp, but I'm beginning to.”

“Gramps would tell you it takes a big chunk of land to fit under a Calder sky.” Trey smiled, remembering all the times he'd heard the comment.

Sloan made a sidelong study of his profile. Its ruggedness was purely masculine and roughly handsome. “Tell me about the people I'll meet when we get to The Homestead.”

“Let's see,” he said, gathering his thoughts. “You've already met my mother. She'll be there, of course. She runs the ranch now that Gramps has stepped down. And I've already told you about Gramps. You'll like him. The ones who don't are those who've had the misfortune of tangling with him.”

“Your mother mentioned someone named Cat,” Sloan prompted.

“That's my aunt, Cathleen Calder Echohawk, but everyone calls her Cat. She moved back to The Homestead this past winter when Gramps had pneumonia, and she's stayed on to look after him.”

“Isn't she married?”

“Widowed.” His expression sobered. “Logan was the local sheriff. He was killed last year.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, sensing from Trey's tone that his death had been a shock.

“Logan was one of a kind—sheriff, ex-Treasury agent, and a rancher. He had a small spread on the Triple C's north boundary.”

“Did they have any children?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “A son. Quint is five years
older than I am. Growing up, I wanted to do everything he did, go everywhere he went. We've always been as close as brothers.”

“Does he work at the Triple C, too?”

“He runs our operation down in Texas.” He slanted her a twinkling look, his smile deepening. “He just got married this spring, which means there have been two weddings at The Homestead in the last year.”

“Who was the first?” Sloan asked, slowly acquiring a picture of his life and the people in it.

“My sister, Laura.”

“Will I meet her tonight?”

“No, she lives in England.” He paused a moment, then concluded, “That's just about everybody, except for Rachel Niles. She's married to one of my mom's brothers and gives Aunt Cat a hand with the cooking and housework.”

An indigo color bathed the sky ahead of him, darkening it with the beginning of night's mystery. “It's your turn now. Other than you were born in Louisiana and lost both of your parents, you've hardly talked about yourself.”

“You left out that I'm a photographer and I live in Hawaii,” she teased lightly.

“Besides that,” he said in a chiding tone.

“Believe it or not, that just about sums it up.”

He responded with a doubting shake of his head. “I don't buy it. Come on. Where did you grow up? How old were you when you lost your parents?”

A tension ran through her, born of a reluctance to talk about her childhood. Yet she sensed Trey would insist on getting answers.

“Six.”

An instant of stillness followed her response. “You were six years old, or you lost them six years ago?”

“I was six years old.” Stiff with pride, she stared straight ahead, avoiding the sharp, stunned look he gave her. “But don't worry. I wasn't shuttled off to a bunch of foster homes or anything like
that. As their sole beneficiary, I ended up with a very sizable trust that more than took care of my every need. I was old enough to go to a boarding school and summer camps. Actually, I preferred it, because nobody else had parents there, either—except sometimes on the weekends.”

“What about the holidays?” The question was quietly worded, without any demand in it.

Darkness invaded the pickup's cab, and Sloan welcomed its cover even though her expression never lost its dispassionate quality. “Those first years I usually spent with my father's business partner and his family. He was the administrator of my trust, and his wife had always wanted a little girl. But after Aunt Barbara died—she wasn't any relation to me; I just called her that. Anyway, after she died, I didn't go there much. Sometimes I'd stay at a friend's house or with one of the teachers.” She paused a beat. “That's the whole story. And it wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. In fact, I've had a very good life, regardless of how it looks to anyone else.”

“Life knocks all of us in the teeth, sometimes more than once.” His voice had a smile in it. “My grandfather always says that the strong ones get up afterwards, and the weak lie there and whine.”

Sloan looked at him in amazement. In the past, people had responded to her story with either clucks of sympathy or encouraging platitudes. But never admiration and approval.

“Thank you,” she said in utter sincerity.

“For what?” His head turned, the dashboard lights playing over his questioning look.

“Understanding.”

“You mean, that life can be rough at times, and all you can do is ride it out?”

Sloan laughed softly. “Is that more of your grandfather's cowboy philosophy?”

“Probably.”

“I'm definitely going to like him.” She rested her head on his shoulder, using it as a pillow.

“I know you will.”

Silence settled between them, the companionable kind that felt no need for words. Just being together was enough. Sloan couldn't recall ever being that comfortable with anyone before.

Night was on the land when they turned into the ranch's east entrance. Other than the twinkling of a few stars, the pickup's twin beams were the only light to be seen, and they were trained on the straight road before them, giving Sloan few glimpses of the terrain that flanked it.

She wasn't sure when she noticed a faint lightening of the horizon directly in front of them. As the miles went by, the impression of light grew stronger. It reminded Sloan of a city-glow visible at a distance.

Finally she gave in to her curiosity. “It looks like lights up ahead, but I know we aren't coming to any town. What is it?”

“Triple C headquarters.” An amused smile tugged at his mouth. “Just about everybody who comes here the first time makes some remark about it resembling a small town. In a way, I guess it is. We have our own commissary that doubles as a kind of general store, complete with movie rentals, a gas station, first-aid dispensary, and a central mail area. We even have our own fire station. When you add to that the usual assortment of ranch buildings, housing for the hired men and their families, a cook shack, and a bunkhouse, it is just about the equivalent of a small town. But it's all there out of necessity. Blue Moon is the closest thing that passes for a town, and it's roughly fifty miles away. It's not a drive you want to make every day, so we try to be as self-sufficient as we can.”

“You don't have any other choice,” she said in realization. This new grasp of the ranch's isolation raised more questions about such things as education, utilities, and maintenance, and Trey patiently answered all of them, explaining that most families home-schooled their young children, identifying the tradesmen they kept on staff, and telling her about the wells and disposal systems in use. None of which were things she would have normally associ
ated with a cattle ranch, but they spoke to the size and scale of the Triple C.

As the lights ahead grew brighter, Sloan sat forward, eager for her first sight of the ranch's headquarters. But the moment it came into view, her eyes were drawn to the towering white house that stood apart from the rest of the buildings. Lights blazed from the porch that ran the length of it, illuminating the series of massive columns that marched across its front.

“Is that what you call The Homestead?” she asked Trey.

“It is.” He pointed the pickup at it.

“The name's a misnomer,” she declared.

He flashed her a grin. “Expecting something a bit more rustic, were you?”

“To be honest, yes. I thought it would be something big and sprawling—an oversized ranch house. I certainly never expected to see something that resembles a southern plantation here in Montana.”

“Don't forget, the Calders originally came from Texas.” Trey parked the truck near the wide sweep of steps leading to the porch and switched off the engine. “There were plenty of cotton kings there in its early days.”

“True,” Sloan admitted and climbed down from the cab.

By the time she walked around to the driver's side, Trey had retrieved their luggage. Automatically Sloan took charge of the oversized leather case with her camera and gear.

“I've got the rest of it.” He motioned for her to precede him. As she started up the steps, she noticed a pair of old-fashioned wooden rockers off to her left. Seeing her interest in them, Trey explained, “Gramps likes to sit out here on warm days.”

Before Sloan could respond, the front door opened and a petite woman stood on the threshold, the porch light shining on her midnight-dark hair, styled in a youthful short cut.

“You must be Sloan. We've been expecting you.” Her smile was warm with welcome as she thrust out a hand in greeting. “Welcome to the Triple C. I'm Trey's Aunt Cat.”

“Yes. He told me all about you.” But Sloan thought Trey had failed to mention what a vibrant and beautiful woman she was.

Amusement sparkled in the woman's green eyes. “But not that I favor my mother in looks instead of the Calders, right?” she guessed.

Sloan laughed softly in admission. “He did leave out that detail.”

“Calder men don't think of such things,” Cat replied as if in friendly warning. “Come in.”

When the older woman stepped back, Sloan walked through the doorway, followed by Trey. The wide entryway opened to a sprawling living room with a hall leading off it.

“Is Gramps still up?” Trey asked as his aunt closed the door behind him.

“He's in the den with your mother, going over ranch business. They shouldn't be much longer.” Cat's voice betrayed the faintest trace of exasperation. “I'll hurry them along and let them know you're here. In the meantime why don't you take Sloan to her room so she can have a chance to freshen up after that long drive. I thought she could have Laura's.”

“It's this way,” Trey said to Sloan, nodding in the direction of the big oak staircase that emptied into the living room.

Sloan looked about with interest as she crossed to the stairs. The living room had a masculine sparseness about it, with heavy old furniture and lots of leather—missing were the usual decorator's touches. The sturdy pieces of furniture showed their age, just as the blackened rock around the fireplace's maw did, yet everything had a comfortable lived-in quality that appealed to her, mostly by its lack of pretension.

“Tired?” Trey asked when they started up the stairs.

“Not really,” she denied with a dismissing shake of her head, then raised a curious face to him. “Why?”

“I just wondered. You haven't said much.” A rueful smile immediately quirked his mouth. “Although I admit, Aunt Cat never gives anybody much of a chance to get a word in.”

“When you told me about her, I think I imagined someone quiet and matronly,” Sloan admitted.

“That's definitely not my aunt.”

“She mentioned that she takes after your grandmother.”

“When you put photographs of them side by side, it's hard to tell they are two different women. Sometimes Gramps even slips and calls her Maggie.” He pointed to a door near the top of the steps. “Your room is right there.”