Calder Storm (10 page)

A lamp on the bedside table was already on when Sloan opened the door. She took note of the shiny satin spread on the bed, the plushly cushioned armchair in the corner, and the door to an adjoining bathroom, then turned, watching as Trey set her black carry-on bag on the floor and straightened to face her. Suddenly she was acutely aware of everything about him. The room that had seemed so big and spacious now felt small.

“I never asked which room was yours.” She recalled the number of doors that opened into the second-floor corridor.

“Down the hall—unfortunately.” His big hands cupped her shoulders. “Right now I'm wishing that we'd stayed at the hotel tonight.”

The note of longing in his voice kindled her own. “I guess we should have thought of this before.”

“Actually, I did, but I didn't want to run the risk that you might change your mind about coming to the ranch.”

Smiling, Sloan swayed into him, her hand sliding onto the muscled wall of his stomach. “Now I'm here—with no way to leave.”

“That was the general idea.” The line of his mouth softened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, their dark gleam holding no trace of remorse.

“That's called kidnapping,” Sloan declared in mock reproval.

“No.” He shook his head, his smile fading as his gaze darkened on her with need. “It's called love.”

To prove it, his head dipped toward her, his mouth settling on her lips, kissing them with a building hunger. Before he could give
in to the urges pushing him, he pulled away, drawing in a long, steadying breath.

“You're addictive,” he murmured and stepped back, breaking contact. “I'll be downstairs. You can join me whenever you're ready.”

“I won't be long,” she told him.

Exiting the room, Trey headed for the staircase and ran lightly down it. When he reached the bottom, he swung toward the den.

One of the double doors stood partially ajar. He gave it a push and walked through. His mother stood in front of the massive stone fireplace, one booted foot resting on its raised hearth.

As usual, his grandfather sat behind the long desk. His thick hair was shot with silver, and his craggy face looked as creased and weathered as the old hand-drawn map on the wall behind him. Chase Calder had once been a tall, robust man with a muscular physique that rivaled Trey's, but age had shrunk him, making his clothes hang loose on him.

Yet his mind was still as sharp as the dark eyes he turned on Trey. A smile softened his hard, bony features. He rocked forward in the big leather chair, dislodging the walking cane hooked on its armrest and sending it clattering to the floor. The cane offered mute evidence that he wasn't as steady on his feet as he once had been.

“Cat said you were back.” His voice still possessed that familiar rumbling strength. “Where are you hiding that young lady I understand you brought with you?”

“Upstairs freshening up. She'll be down shortly.” Automatically Trey walked around the desk and retrieved the cane, returning it to its hook over the armrest.

Thick, heavy brows came together, hooding his grandfather's dark eyes as his gaze narrowed on Trey. “What'd you do to your head?”

Trey touched the bandage on his forehead. He had forgetten it was there. “I got kicked by a bronc.” He hooked a leg over a cor
ner of the desk and rested a hip on it to face his grandfather. “So, how'd things go while we were gone?”

“No problems. But I didn't expect there would be.” With barely a pause, he added, “Quint called earlier today and said to tell you hello.”

“Sorry I missed his call,” Trey said with true regret. “How are things going at the Cee Bar?”

“Other than some minor storm damage, everything is going well.”

Trey nodded. “That's good. For a minute I thought Rutledge might be giving him problems again.”

“Rutledge isn't going to cause Quint any trouble.”

His grandfather's flat statement should have reassured Trey, but he caught the emphasis that had been placed on his cousin's name.

“So you don't think Rutledge will try to get his hands on the Cee Bar. Then why worry about the man at all?” Trey frowned his confusion.

“He doesn't care about the Cee Bar anymore. I'm convinced of that,” Chase stated, a weariness stealing over his face. “If there's anything he wants, it's to get even for his son's death. To do that, he'll come after us.”

Trey listened, as he always did to his grandfather, but this time the older man's reasoning struck him as faulty. “We aren't responsible for Boone's death. He came at Quint with a knife. It was self-defense—even the inquest ruled that.”

“Don't count on Rutledge to look at it that way,” Chase warned. “Grief doesn't listen to reason. His only child is dead. That leaves Rutledge with his pride and his money.”

“I can't imagine him coming after us.” Trey shook his head in doubt. “Leastways, not here in Montana. I know he swings a wide loop in Texas, but that won't count for much around here.”

“Don't be too sure of that.” There was patience in the steady regard of his grandfather's gaze. “There will always be someone
around with nothing more against the Triple C than a resentment of its size. And Rutledge won't come at us in the open. That isn't his way. His tactics will be subtle—and as deadly as he can make them. I doubt he'll make a move any time soon, figuring that we'll forget about him if he waits.” He pointed a gnarled finger in emphasis. “You remember that. And if anything starts to go wrong, look behind the source and make sure Rutledge isn't standing somewhere in the shadows.”

Lately when his grandfather got on a topic, he tended to preach on it. Trey sensed a sermon coming and resisted the urge to sigh. It was with relief that his ears caught the tread of light footsteps on the stairs. “That sounds like Sloan.” He swung to his feet and headed for the double doors. “I'll bring her in so you can meet her, Gramps.”

As long, eager strides carried Trey from the room, Chase watched with a touch of envy, recalling the lost days when he had moved with the same ease. But he didn't choose to comment on that.

“That boy has the ears of a wolf. I didn't hear a thing.” His attention swung to Jessy, probing in its study of her. “This is the first time Trey's ever brought a girl home, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, partially distracted by the mixed murmur of voices coming from the living room.

“What's your impression of the girl? You've met her?”

Her expression softened, a slight curve to her wide lips. “I don't think we have to worry. I didn't get any sense at all that she was like Tara.”

“That's good.” If Chase noticed the careful way she referred to her late husband's first marriage and avoided any direct mention of Ty himself, he never showed it. It was rare that he ever mentioned his son by name or voiced any of the grief that lingered even these many years since his death. Chase had been raised in the Western tradition that dictated such feelings were not for public display, but to be kept to oneself.

Catching the sound of two sets of footsteps approaching the
den, Chase picked up his cane and levered himself out of the chair. Ignoring the protest of his arthritic joints, he hobbled around to the side of the desk just as the couple entered the den.

After the introductions were made, Chase listened with only half an ear while Jessy asked about the drive and whether the room was satisfactory. He was too busy observing the pair, especially the way Trey kept a possessive hand on the girl's waist, the special glow in his eyes, and the big smile he wore, the width of it rivaling the ranch boundaries. A reflection of it could be seen in the girl as well, but a bit reserved. Yet, that was to be expected given her situation of being thrust among strangers and new environs.

For a moment Chase envied the two of them for that exultant rush of young love with all its heady flavors and sweet sounds. He remembered the excitement of that feeling and the way his fancies had wanted to shout it to the stars.

Once all the usual pleasantries were exchanged, Sloan remarked on the wide sweep of horns mounted above the fireplace mantel. “Those almost make me think I'm in Texas.”

“It's right that you should think that way,” Chase told her, “considering they belonged to a true Texas longhorn—a big brindle steer called Captain. He led the first cattle drive my grandfather made, traveling from Texas all the way to the spot where I'm standing.”

He went on to tell her about the subsequent drives that were made to stock the ever expanding ranch with cattle—with Captain leading the way in all of them. Then he directed her attention to the framed map on the wall, the one his grandfather had drawn, delineating the ranch's boundaries and the location of various landmarks, watercourses, and out-camps. The paper itself had long been yellowed with age, but the markings on it had been made by a strong, bold hand more than a century and a quarter ago; as a consequence, they were still clear and sharp.

Cat arrived with coffee and a platter of sandwiches. Everyone insisted they weren't hungry, but the sandwiches managed to dis
appear. The talk continued nonstop, most of it generated by Cat. Chase participated in less and less of it as a weariness settled over him. He caught himself nodding off and darted a quick look around to see if anyone else had noticed. Giving in to the tiredness, he reached for his cane.

Cat's sharp eyes observed the action. “Going to call it a night, Dad?”

“You young people have a lot more energy and stamina than I have,” Chase said by way of an answer. “But when you get to be my age, you'll need your rest, too.”

Amidst the chorus of “good nights” that followed his announcement, Cat rose from her chair, gathering up the empty coffee pot. “I'll walk out with you. I need to refill the pot anyway.”

Chase grunted a response to that and waited until they were outside the den before he spoke. “I can get my own self into bed, so don't be thinking I'll need your help.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Cat denied, but he didn't believe a word of it. “She seems like a nice girl, doesn't she?”

“Who?” Out of orneriness, Chase pretended he didn't know who his daughter was talking about.

“Sloan, of course. As if you didn't know.” She threw him a chiding look, then looked toward the den. “I do hope she's as bright and level-headed as she seems. It's so obvious Trey is head-over-heels in love with her.”

On that score, Chase couldn't disagree.

T
he following morning, right after breakfast, Trey took Sloan on a shopping trip to the commissary and outfitted her in appropriate ranch attire, from the straw Resistol hat on her head to the tough Justin boots on her feet. In the days that followed, she had plenty of occasions to wear them as she accompanied Trey just about everywhere he went, lending a hand to whatever task he was about. What she lacked in skill, she made up for with effort.

On a ranch the size of the Triple C, Sloan soon learned that the work was never-ending. There were colts to be halter-broken, fences to be mended, stalls to be cleaned, daily chores to be done, cattle to be checked, parts to be delivered, sick or injured animals to be doctored, water supplies and range conditions to be monitored—all of which was just a small sampling.

Twice she rode along with Trey when he drove to one of the half-dozen outlying camps that formed a circle around the ranch headquarters, dividing its vastness into manageable districts. The trips gave Sloan a glimpse of the private road system that linked all the various parts of the ranch.

Always there was the land, stretching from horizon to horizon.
The dominating expanse of sky overhead gave it a flat look, but it was riddled with benchlands and breaks, cut-banks and coulees, as Sloan discovered when she rode over it with Trey.

And Trey seemed to know every inch of it and the things that lived on or under it. When Sloan made some passing comment about the curly, matted grass beneath their horses' hooves, Trey identified it as buffalo grass. Like the taller blue joint, it was native to the area and more nutritious for the animals than any other kind of grass. Renowned for its hardiness, it was resistant to heat and drought. There was no brag in his voice when he explained that the grass was the source of the ranch's wealth; it was a simple statement of fact.

Except for the huge irrigated hayfields along its south boundary, most of the land within the Triple C fences had never been touched by a plow. It was much the way it had been when the first Calder rode over it.

Day's end always brought them back to The Homestead, where the family gathered for the nightly meal. The dinner conversation invariably centered on ranch business, though Sloan was never made to feel left out. Afterward nearly everyone lent a hand clearing the table, but Cat always shooed Sloan out of the kitchen, refusing any further help and insisting she go off somewhere with Trey.

Sometimes they cuddled on the couch to watch a movie or went for a long walk. One night they made love on a blanket beneath a cottonwood tree with only the stars to witness their union. Another evening, Cat dragged out the family album with its pages of photographs and regaled Sloan with stories of the rowdy and rambunctious boy Trey had been.

For a while, time seemed to stand still. Then, suddenly, there was little of it left. As they made the long walk from the old barn to the front steps of The Homestead, the knowledge rested heavily on Trey that this time tomorrow Sloan would be on a plane flying to Hawaii. Tension coiled through him.

Beside him, Sloan swept off her hat and shook her hair free of
its confining band. “What a day,” she said with a sigh. “I was beginning to think you were never going to get that calf out of the mud. It was lucky you heard that cow bellowing. The calf might have died if you hadn't found him. But,” she added, “I guess that's why you make regular checks of the pasture.” She flashed him a smile.

“Yup.” The one-word answer was all he could manage. Too many important things needed to be said for more time to be wasted on small talk. “Are you glad you came? You never have said.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it.” Sloan was emphatic about that.

Still not satisfied, Trey asked, “Then you weren't bored?”

Laughter came from low in her throat. “When did I have time to be bored?”

“Not much, I guess,” he admitted. “Just the same, some people find all this open space a bit monotonous.”

“I suppose,” she agreed on a thoughtful note. Then her expression lifted and a soft marveling light entered her eyes. “But there's something about the lonely grandeur of this land that grips your heart.”

A new ease flowed through him, unraveling the previous tension. There was a buoyancy to his stride as they reached the front steps. “I guess you'll be heading straight upstairs to take a shower before supper.”

“A long, hot one,” Sloan confirmed. “At least I'm not as stiff and sore as I was after the first time you took me riding.”

He grinned. “We'll make a horsewoman out of you yet.”

A teasing smile deepened the corners of her mouth. “Your grandfather warned me that this land has a tendency to make people dream big. He was right.”

“Speaking of Gramps,” he said, his thoughts already turning to look ahead as they climbed the steps in unison, “I need to talk to him before I clean up.”

Just as he expected, he found Chase in the den, ensconced in
the big leather chair behind the desk. Trey closed both double doors behind him, ensuring their privacy. The significance of his action wasn't lost on Chase.

He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing with sharpened interest. “This must be important.”

“It is,” Trey replied and then said his piece in plain words.

When he finished, Chase cocked his head to one side. “Are you asking my opinion?”

“No sir.”

Chase studied the quiet resolve etched in his grandson's expression and nodded. “That tells me you're sure of your decision.”

“I've never been more sure of anything in my life.” It was a simple statement, made with no attempt to impress Chase with its certainty. But then Trey hesitated, regret showing. “I know I'm asking a lot, but—”

Chase cut him off in mid-sentence. “It's yours.”

“Thanks.” Gratitude and affection mixed together in the look Trey gave his grandfather.

 

Knowing glances were exchanged when Trey suggested to Sloan that they go for a walk at supper's conclusion. Everyone knew it was Sloan's last night. It was understandable that the couple would want to spend it alone together.

Hands tucked in the pockets of his denim jacket, Trey stood at the top of the front steps, but he made no move to descend them. Sloan paused beside him, slipping a hand through the crook of his arm and drawing close. The gesture was a natural one that spoke of the ease she felt in his company. Like him, she faced the night scene before them.

A rising moon silvered the ranch yard with its light while overhead the black sky was alive with stars. Along the river, the trees made intricate dark shapes against the silvered grassland beyond them. A flurry of snorts and hoofbeats came from the corral by the barn. Then all was quiet again.

“It's a bit chilly tonight. I'm surprised we can't see our breath.” Sloan blew one out in a testing fashion to see if she could.

“The wind's out of the north.” But Trey was more conscious of the warmth of her body pressed along his side than with the coolness of the air.

“So,” she said in a subtly prompting fashion, “are we going for that walk?”

“Not yet.” His gaze shifted to her, his head turning slightly. He sensed that he would never tire of looking at this incredible woman with her sun-streaked hair and midnight blue eyes. In many ways, she was a contradiction—strong and self-contained, yet vibrant and alive without artifice.

“That's fine with me.” Supreme contentment was in her expression.

The moment of waiting was passed. Trey turned, angling his body toward her and touching the flawless skin on her cheek to draw the fullness of her attention. “There's something I want to ask you, Sloan,” he said. “And ‘no' isn't going to be an acceptable answer.”

“Don't.” There was a pained look in her eyes as she placed her fingers to his mouth. “As much as I don't want to, I have to leave tomorrow. I can't stay any longer. Try to understand that.”

In answer, he caught hold of her hand and pressed a kiss in its palm, then lifted his head to claim her gaze. “I do understand, and that isn't what I was going to ask you.”

“You weren't?” she said in surprise. “Then what?”

“Marry me.” It was more of a statement than a question, yet Trey waited for her answer, watching the chase of emotions across her face—disbelief, delight, and, ultimately, doubt.

“It's so soon, Trey,” she began.

“For you, maybe. But not for me. I want you to be my wife. A week from now, a month from now, a year from now isn't going to change that.” With no hesitation, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a diamond ring. “This belonged to my grandmother, Maggie O'Rourke Calder. I think it's right that my wife wear it.”

The ring was a snug fit; he had to work a little to slip it on her finger. Not a sound came from Sloan the whole time. But the moonlight showed him the tears that shimmered in her eyes. Love was like a tight ache in his chest.

“Those better be happy tears.” There was a huskiness in his voice that hadn't been there before as he experienced the first flicker of uncertainty about her answer.

With a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and sob, she flung her slim arms around his neck. In the next breath, her lips were all over his, breathing their sweetness into his mouth while she murmured over and over again, “Yes, yes, yes.”

He crushed her to him, driven by the need to bind her close and claim what she had given him. Blood hammered hot and fast through him. When he finally lifted his head, he was trembling with the powerful force of his feelings.

“I love you so damned much.” There was a disturbed heaviness to his breathing and a thick-lidded passion in his dark eyes.

Sloan thrilled to both of them. “And I love you. I never thought I could feel this happy, but I do,” she murmured, then mused idly, “Sloan Calder. I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.” He stole another kiss. “I hope you aren't planning on a long engagement.”

“Until two minutes ago, an engagement wasn't anywhere in my plans.” Her eyes sparkled as brightly as the diamond in her ring.

Trey studied her upturned face. “And now that it is?”

“No longer than necessary, I suppose,” Sloan said with a vague shrug, then fired a sharp glance at him, a touch of worry showing. “The wedding. We don't have to have a big one, do we?”

“Not as far as I'm concerned.” He bent his head and nibbled her neck, breathing in the fresh scent of her skin. “In fact,” Trey murmured near her ear, “it's become something of a tradition that the ceremony takes place here at The Homestead in the den. It's where all the Calders have been married since the Triple C came into existence.”

The single exception was his father's first marriage to Tara that eventually ended in divorce, but Trey didn't bother to mention that.

Sloan agreed readily. “It sounds simple, and that suits me just fine.”

“Are you sure?” At the moment he would have roped the moon and hauled it out of the sky if that was what she wanted.

“Positive.” She nodded once in emphasis. “After all, what would be the point of having a big, lavish affair? I don't have any family, and there is only a handful of friends that I would even invite.” She paused, her gaze straying toward the house. “What will your family think when we tell them? We've barely known each other a week.”

“Why don't we find out?” Trey suggested.

“Now?” Sloan questioned in surprise.

“Can you think of a better time?” Trey smiled in challenge and steered her toward the front door.

Nerves. Her stomach fluttered with them the instant she set foot inside the house. Until that moment Sloan hadn't realized how very much she wanted the approval and acceptance of Trey's family. Yet, even if they were withheld, she didn't regret the decision she had made.

The minute they walked into the living room where everyone had gathered, they were the center of attention. Laredo was the first to acknowledge their presence.

“That has to be the shortest walk on record,” he remarked dryly.

Chase looked straight at Sloan's left hand, then lifted his gaze to Trey, a warm smile creasing his leathery face. “I see you talked her into it. Congratulations.”

“What are you talking about, Dad?” Cat frowned. But Jessy didn't have to ask. She saw the proud, possessive way her son looked at the girl. An emotion as old as time made a brilliant light in his dark eyes. And she remembered when his father had once gazed at her in that same way.

“Sloan has agreed to marry me,” Trey announced without taking his eyes off her.

Laredo rolled to his feet and thrust out his hand. “I can't say I'm surprised, considering you told me last Sunday you were going to marry her. Congratulations.” He gripped Trey's hand in a firm shake and slapped him on the shoulder with the other, then shifted his attention to Sloan and winked. “I have the feeling he's the lucky one in this match.”