Authors: Janet Dailey
Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #General, #Contemporary, #Western Stories, #Suspense Fiction, #Domestic fiction, #Montana, #Ranch life, #Women Ranchers - Montana, #Calder family (Fictitious characters), #Women ranchers
Calder Promise (2 page)
The friction between father and son was obvious, and Laura suspected it was long standing. Considering that her own relationship with her mother was far from perfect, Laura could sympathize with Boone.
Seeking to smooth away the awkwardness of the exchange and its undertones of bitterness, Laura issued a practiced laugh, a soft and tinkly sound, and sent a twinkling glance at Boone. “Ahh, isn’t the generation gap a pain?”
Gone was that sexy flirting of a man who had made a habit of directing it at any attractive woman within range of his vision. In its place was a searing warmth that made Laura wonder if she was the first to ever be the recipient. She experienced a little surge of triumph as she felt him slipping around her finger.
“A royal pain,” Boone agreed, regarding her with a new and more intimate interest.
Laura didn’t need to glance at the man in the wheelchair to be aware that he was observing the two of them with a good deal of satisfaction.
“There you are, Laura,”
The femininely soft drawl was instantly familiar. Laura turned, watching as Tara Calder moved toward them with her typical gliding grace. She was struck again by the woman’s incredible beauty, a beauty that was stunning and absolutely ageless. Tara’s only concession to her advancing years was a dramatic streak of white in her otherwise midnight dark hair. Whether the streak was nature’s doing or mere artifice, not even Laura knew.
“I looked everywhere for you. What on earth are you doing out—” Tara broke off the question the instant she noticed the wheelchair-bound man. “Max Rutledge. I don’t believe it.” Altering her course, she crossed to his side, first bending to air-kiss his cheeks, then crouching down next to him, the fullness of her gown’s skirt poofing about her. “I certainly never expected to run across you here in Rome. I won’t bother to ask how you are. You’re looking as robust as ever.”
“I look like hell, but you are still the most charming liar I have ever known,” Max declared in a voice that was dry and mocking.
Tara laughed, low and musical, and briefly pressed a hand on his arm. “My daddy told me a long time ago that when you come across something sour, just pile on a lot of sugar.” With a fluid move, she stood erect and turned to Boone. “My, but you have grown into a handsome rogue, Boone. How do you manage to put up with this grumpy old bear?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Max inserted, but Tara gave no sign that she had heard his somewhat caustic remark.
Boone dismissed her question with a noncommittal, “You can’t pick your parents.” He warmly clasped her hand, enveloping it in both of his. “You are as beautiful as ever, Tara.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a demure dip of her head, then withdrew her hand and divided her glance between father and son. “Tell me, how did the two of you manage to lure my ward into the courtyard?”
“Sheer luck, I think,” Boone replied as he directed an intimate, warm look at Laura.
“I suspect the luck is all Laura’s.” Tara drifted closer to her self-proclaimed ward, then addressed Laura in pseudo-confiding manner. “You do realize that you are in the company of two of the world’s most sought after bachelors, not to mention that you are practically neighbors—at least in a manner of speaking.”
“Really?” Laura said with some surprise. “Do you own land in Montana?”
“Good Lord, no. It’s too damned cold up there,” Max stated with force.
“Actually,” Tara began, “I was referring to the Rutledge family ranch. The Slash R can’t be far from the old Calder homeplace in Texas that Chase bought from Hattie before they were married, and especially after he bought so much of the adjoining land.” She looked to Max for confirmation.
“We have a boundary in common,” he acknowledged.
“If I had known we had such attractive neighbors,” Boone inserted, smiling at Laura, “I would have paid a visit long ago.”
“Actually I’ve only been to the C Bar a couple of times, and that was when I was much younger,” Laura said.
“Chase bought it for purely sentimental reasons,” Tara recalled, “after learning that the C Bar was his grandfather’s birthplace. For a good many years, he and Hattie used it as a winter retreat to escape the Montana cold, but I don’t think he’s been back since Hattie passed away five years ago. Truthfully, I don’t think he’s physically capable of making the trip any more. It’s hardly surprising, considering Chase is in his eighties.”
“If he ever decides he wants to sell the place, tell him to give me a call. It would be easy enough to incorporate the ranch into my spread,” Max declared.
“I’ll let him know,” Laura promised, although she doubted her grandfather would be interested in selling.
Losing interest in the subject, Tara changed it. “So what brings you two to Rome? Is it a business or pleasure trip?”
“Business, of course,” Max retorted. “And don’t bother asking what kind. It’s my business and none of Dy-Corp’s.”
“Now, Max,” Tara said in a chiding tone. “You know I have nothing to do with running my daddy’s corporation.”
“Not officially,” he agreed dryly, “but you know the right strings to yank when you want something done. There’s a lot of truth in that old saying, the fruit never falls far from the tree. You’re E.J. Dyson’s daughter, all right. Unfortunately, Boone is his mother’s son—all looks and no brains. He’d rather play than work.”
Boone smiled away the criticism. “It’s always bothered him the way I manage to make time for a little pleasure on any business trip. And having two such beautiful women as dinner companions definitely makes this trip a pleasure.” Even though he included Tara in his remark, his attention was centered on Laura.
“You’re being too kind,” she told him in mock protest.
“Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Boone assured her.
“Speaking of dinner, when the hell are they going to serve it?” Max demanded in a sudden surge of impatience. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until the middle of the damned night to eat.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the musical tinkle of a set of chimes drifted out from the ballroom. “You’re in luck, Max,” Tara said. “I believe that’s the signal that dinner is served.”
“High time, too,” he muttered, as Boone moved to the back of his chair to assist him.
After reentering the ballroom, the foursome joined the flow of the other guests idly making their way to the hall. With the wheelchair rolling along under its own power, Boone left his father’s side to join Laura.
“How long will you be staying in Rome?” he asked. “I don’t believe you said.”
“A day or two, at least. We’ve been toying with the idea of going to Tuscany for a few days, or maybe to the coast. We have a very flexible schedule, totally subject to the whim of the moment. And you, will you be staying long in Rome?”
“Unfortunately no. Just two more days here, then it’s on to London.”
“What a shame. England’s on our list, but not until later.”
“There’s nothing to stop you from making more than one visit, is there?” Boone asked in light challenge. “You did say your schedule was subject to the whim of the moment.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” The teasing smile she gave him was playfully noncommittal. With a man like Boone Rutledge, Laura suspected it would never be wise to seem too eager for his company.
“Yes, you did.” He leaned fractionally closer, his voice lowering to a volume intended for her hearing alone. “I can promise you dinner, alone, at an intimate little restaurant I know with a great view of the Thames.”
As they reached the wide doorway into the hall, Laura threw him a laughing look. “Ahh, but can you promise me a misty London fog—” She suddenly collided hard with another guest, the sudden impact surprising a small outcry from her. A pair of hands gripped her upper arms, preventing Laura from being knocked completely off balance. She couldn’t say how, but she knew in that instant they didn’t belong to Boone.
“Hey, watch where you’re going.” Boone’s indignant voice came from very near.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
It was the second voice, male and distinctively British in its accent, that prompted Laura to lift her head. “No. I . . .” The words died in her throat when she found herself face to face with a fair-haired stranger with hazel eyes, flecked with beguiling glints of gold. The air between them seemed suddenly charged with a white hot current of electricity. Laura felt the tingle of it through her entire body, snatching at her breath and scrambling her pulse.
Something flickered across the stranger’s lean, angular features, erasing the look of concern and replacing it with a deep, heady warmth.
“Hel-lo,” he said, giving each syllable a dazed and dazzled emphasis.
“What happened, Laura? Did you forget to look where you were going?” The familiarity of Tara’s affectionately chiding voice provided the right touch of normalcy.
Laura seized on it while she struggled to collect her composure. “I’m afraid I did. I was talking to Boone and—” she paused a beat to glance again at the stranger, stunned to discover how rattled she felt. It was a totally alien sensation. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t felt in control of herself and a situation. “And I walked straight into you. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies necessary,” the man assured her while his gaze made a curious and vaguely puzzled study of her face. “The fault was equally mine.” He cocked his head to one side, the puzzled look deepening in his expression. “I know this is awfully trite, but haven’t we met before?”
Laura shook her head. “No. I’m certain I would have remembered if we had.” She was positive of that.
“Obviously you remind me of someone else then,” he said, easily shrugging off the thought. “In any case, I hope you are none the worse for the collision, Ms.—” He paused expectantly, waiting for Laura to supply her name.
The old ploy was almost a relief. “Laura Calder. And this is my aunt, Tara Calder,” she said, rather than going into a lengthy explanation of their exact relationship.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he murmured to Tara, acknowledging her with the smallest of bows.
“And perhaps you already know Max Rutledge and his son, Boone.” Laura belatedly included the two men.
“I know
of
them.” He nodded to Max.
of
them.” He nodded to Max.
When he turned to the younger man, Boone extended a hand, giving him a look of hard challenge. “And you are?”
“Sebastian Dunshill,” the man replied.
“Dunshill,” Tara repeated with sudden and heightened interest. “Are you any relation to the earl of Crawford, by chance?”
“I do have a nodding acquaintance with him.” His mouth curved in an easy smile as he switched his attention to Tara. “Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately no,” Tara admitted, then drew in a breath and sent a glittering look at Laura, barely able to contain her excitement. “Although a century ago the Calder family was well acquainted with a certain Lady Crawford.”
“Really. And how’s that?” With freshened curiosity, Sebastian Dunshill turned to Laura for an explanation.
An awareness of him continued to tingle through her. Only now Laura was beginning to enjoy it.
“It’s a long and rather involved story,” Laura warned. “After all this time, it’s difficult to know how much is fact, how much is myth, and how much is embellishment of either one.”
“Since we have a fairly long walk ahead of us to the dining hall, why don’t you start with the facts?” Sebastian suggested and deftly tucked her hand under his arm, turning her to follow the other guests.
Laura could feel Boone’s anger over the way he had been supplanted, but she didn’t really care. She had too much confidence in her ability to smooth any of Boone’s ruffled feathers.
“The facts.” She pretended to give them some thought while her sidelong glance traveled over Sebastian Dunshill’s profile, noting the faint smattering of freckles on his fair skin and the hint of copper lights in his very light brown hair.
Despite the presence of freckles, there was nothing boyish about him. He was definitely a man fully grown, thirty-something she suspected, with a very definite continental air about him. He didn’t exude virility the way Boone Rutledge did; his air of masculinity had a smooth and polished edge to it.
“I suppose I should begin by explaining that back in the latter part of the 1870s, my great-great-grandfather Benteen Calder established the family ranch in Montana.”
“Your family owns a cattle ranch?” He glanced her way, interest and curiosity mixing in his look.
“A very large one.”
“How many acres do you have? I don’t mean to sound nosy, but those of us on this side of the Atlantic harbor a secret fascination with the scope and scale of your American West.”
“So I’ve learned. But truthfully we don’t usually measure in acres. We talk about sections,” Laura explained. “The Triple C has more than one hundred and fifty sections within its boundary fence.”
“You’ll have to educate me,” he said with a touch of amusement. “How large is a section?”
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