This Calder Sky

by Janet Dailey

  Calder was opening wide a set of double doors to his left, and Angus realized their discussion was not going to take place in the spacious living room before him. He turned to follow Webb into the library. There was a cavernous fireplace with the wide, sweeping horns of a longhorn steer mounted above the mantelpiece, and furniture covered with genuine leather. Bookshelves held bound volumes of works ranging from the masters to animal husbandry. Behind a huge desk, a framed map hung on the wall, yellowed with age and outlining the boundaries of the Triple C. Angus stared at it as Calder walked behind the desk to sit in the stuffed armchair.

  “It’s the first map of the ranch,” Calder explained, noting Angus’ interest in it. “Almost a century old now.”

  Angus was choked again by the feeling that it was wrong for one person to own so much. It festered inside him, an infected wound that poisoned him. The map, the house, the man—all made him feel small.

  “What was it you wanted to speak to me about, Angus?” Calder inquired, so calmly, so authoritatively.

  “My daughter, Maggie. Your son forced himself on her. He found her swimming in the river and took advantage of her.” He rushed his words, the heat building in his voice. “It’s a fact. She told me so herself, so there’s no use in you denying it.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to call your daughter a liar,” Calder replied smoothly. “My son is a healthy young male, and your Maggie is just coming into womanhood. I wouldn’t deny it’s conceivable that there might have been a liaison between the two of them.”

  He’d expected an argument, a flat denial that a Calder would do such a thing. His anger was temporarily without direction until his mind played back Webb’s statement in which nothing was admitted and no blame assumed.

  “Your son isn’t going to get away with ruining my little girl. I’m here to see to that,” he stated. “It doesn’t matter how you want to twist it. What he did amounts to statutory rape. She’s fifteen, under age. He can go to prison for that.”

  There was the briefest pause, during which Webb Calder regarded him steadily. “I’m sure you have considered that if you press charges, your daughter would have to appear in court. Her testimony would be public record. It’s unfortunate, but only too true, that in cases where rape is charged, it’s the girl who suffers the loss of her reputation. No father wants to see his daughter publicly shamed.”

  The shame would touch all of them. A trial would have this whole part of the state talking. Wherever any of them went, people would whisper behind their backs and point. It was something that Angus had thought about over and over again. His face became mottled with frustration because Calder knew they would suffer more than he and his son.

  “Your son took my little girl and used her for his own pleasure. I’m not letting him get away with it,” Angus insisted in a tight voice. “I demand that he do the right thing by her.”

  An eyebrow shot up in challenging surprise, a studied action that seemed to imply Angus wasn’t too bright. “I hope you aren’t suggesting marriage, Angus, because that would be a bigger mistake than the one they made. Your daughter is much too young to be any man’s bride, and my son isn’t ready to settle down in married life. I know you are trying to ensure that your daughter doesn’t suffer any loss of respect, but for parents to force their children to marry because of a single indiscretion would be wrong. She would be unhappy with my son, and I know that’s something that as her father you want to avoid.”

  Angus hated Webb for being so damned levelheaded and practical. He shifted in his chair, aware that he was being made to look like a fool and helpless to know how to change it. He clung to the one thought that burned steadily within him.

  “He isn’t going to get by with what he did. He’s got to pay for it,” Angus repeated in steadfast determination.

  “If I had a daughter”—Webb Calder leaned forward in his chair and casually rested his arms on the desk to study him—“and if I believed something of this nature had happened to her, I’m sure I would be feeling the same sense of outrage that you are. I would insist on some form of retribution, too. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect compensation—a settlement for damages, if you will.”

  “Are you saying that you want to buy me off?” Angus challenged with narrowed eyes, his pride stung by the offer. “Do you think money can erase my daughter’s memory of what happened out there by the river?”

  A faint smile touched Calder’s mouth, hinting at shrewdness. “I’m certain there is no dollar figure that would be adequate compensation. It’s merely a gesture of goodwill. You and I are reasonable men, Angus. It would benefit neither of us to have this story spread around, creating gossip and scandal. The wise thing is to settle the matter as best we can. What other alternative do we have?” He looked across the desk, waiting for a suggestion. Unable to meet the directness of that gaze, Angus wavered. None of his threats had seemed to touch this man. All of them had been brushed aside. He’d not even had the satisfaction of making the man squirm

  Before the silence became awkward, Calder reached for a pen. “Why don’t I write out a bill of sale to you for, say, twenty-five head of prime stock—your choice—and mark it paid in full?” He reached for a piece of paper.

  Watching Calder, Angus’ mind raced. If he left this ranch empty-handed, without even the satisfaction of knowing he’d put Calder in a difficult position, then he’d accomplished nothing but to make a fool of himself. He wasn’t even able to truthfully brag that he’d put Calder on the spot. His bluff had been called. Something had to be salvaged from this. It wasn’t Calder’s place to be dictating the terms of a settlement; it was his. Calder had already started to write.

  “Make it fifty head of my choice,” Angus demanded.

  Lifting his head, Calder gave him a steely glance. “Fifty head it is,” he agreed, and Angus wondered if he should have demanded more—a hundred, maybe. He cursed himself for settling too cheaply. Calder owned two hundred times that number, maybe more. But something in that hard, cold stare kept Angus from upping the ante. The palms of his hands felt clammy as Calder reverted his attention to the bill of sale he was writing, the pen scratching across the paper in bold strokes.

  When it was written, Calder offered it to him, forcing Angus to rise from his chair to reach for it. Looking at the bill of sale, he was burned again with the knowledge that he’d sold too cheap. It sounded like a lot to him because he had so little, but it didn’t even make a dent in Calder’s pocket. He hadn’t made Calder pay—he’d been bought. He felt puny and sick inside.

  Webb reached for the telephone on his desk and picked up the receiver, dialing a number. He glanced once at O’Rourke, observing the bitter regret in the man’s expression. It was always that way whenever a buyer met the asking price; the seller always wondered if he couldn’t have gotten more.

  The ringing line was answered. “This is Calder.” Webb identified himself and didn’t wait for a response. “Is Nate there?” At the affirmative answer, he said, “Tell him I want to see him at The Homestead.”

  Hanging up the phone, Webb pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up. O’Rourke continued to stare at the bill of sale, not immediately noticing that he had risen until he walked from behind the desk. Then he pushed quickly to his feet.

  “Nate Moore is one of my foremen.” Webb walked toward the entry hall. O’Rourke followed him. “He has an excellent eye for cattle—a very experienced man, well qualified. I’m sure you’ll find him very helpful. You know him, don’t you?” He opened the front door and motioned for O’Rourke to go first.

  “I’ve talked to him a few times … in town.” It was a terse answer, an enlargement on exchanged greetings and comments about the weather.

  “Of course.” Webb nodded as he guided the man to the top of the porch steps. Nate’s lean shape was just crossing the yard. “Here he is now.”

  As the ramrod approached the steps, his glance flicked to the shorter man, then darted sharply to his boss, silently specula
ting. But he merely nodded a greeting to both men.

  “You wanted to see me?” The question was put to Webb Calder.

  “Yes. I’ve just sold O’Rourke some cattle—fifty head of his choosing. I thought it would be best if you arranged to show him the herds and set up a delivery time.”

  “We can look at the herds tomorrow morning around nine, if that suits you?” Nate turned to O’Rourke.

  “Nine … nine o’clock is fine.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  “As for delivery, we can truck them over, or you can drive them through to your place—whichever you prefer.” The foreman shrugged.

  “I’ll let you know in the morning,” Angus grumbled in ill temper as he folded the bill of sale and tucked it in his pocket.

  “I’ll meet you at the barns at nine o’clock.” Nate named the meeting place.

  O’Rourke nodded and flashed a dark look at Calder before descending the steps and striking out for the battered pickup truck parked in the yard. Both Nate and Webb watched Angus go.

  “He doesn’t look pleased with the bargain,” Nate observed in a deliberately low voice.

  “Nobody ever is,” Webb replied, then turned to enter the house, dismissing the foreman by his action.

  Nate lingered, then shoved off to return to the barns. In one way or another, females were always at the heart of a man’s troubles. Every man made a fool of himself over one at some time or another. Nate was just glad he’d never been fool enough to marry one. He liked being free to come and go as he pleased, with no one nagging him about where he was going or when he’d be back. The Triple C provided him with all the family he needed.

  When dinner was over, Chase and Webb took their coffee into the den, leaving Ruth to clear the table. Chase walked to the ornately carved walnut bar in a corner of the room and unstoppered a decanter of brandy.

  “Do you want some in your coffee?” He half-turned to glance at his father.

  “Not tonight.” Webb refused and studied his tall, broad-shouldered son. “O’Rourke came to see me today.” Chase had started to set the decanter down, but the statement stopped the movement in mid-action. After an instant’s delay, it was carried through.

  “What about?” Chase broke the ensuing silence but didn’t turn around.

  Silently, Webb admired the way his son kept himself contained. It wasn’t good if someone could read a person’s thoughts by his expression. An iron hold on the rest of his emotions would come in time. The boy was still young.

  “He claimed you forced your attentions on his daughter,” Webb replied. “Do you deny it?”

  “No.” He continued to face the bar, stirring his coffee.

  Webb liked the bluntness of the answer, its absence of an excuse and lack of any disrespectful reference to the girl. It showed breeding and the assumption of full responsibility for what transpired.

  “Did you make any promises that I should know about?”

  Again, it was a straightforward “No.” The immobility was broken by a surge of rippling energy that turned Chase around in tight-lipped anger. “O’Rourke had no right to bring you into this. He should have talked to me.”

  “It’s been settled.”

  “Settled? How?” Chase shot the questions at his father, a sharp ring of demand within them.

  “I gave him a bill of sale for fifty head of cattle.”

  “Fifty head. And he accepted that?”

  “Yes.”

  Chase half-turned his head away, his mouth curling in disgust. “I would have had more respect for the man if he’d tied me to a pole and whipped me. Why didn’t he come over here and beat the hell out of me?”

  “It’s what I would have done in his place. I’m not so sure I shouldn’t do it, anyway,” Webb stated grimly. “It’s natural for a man to sow his wild oats, but he shouldn’t do it in young, virgin fields.”

  “That’s occurred to me more than once these last few days,” Chase agreed on a breath of self-derision. He set the untouched cup of brandy-laced coffee on a side table. “I’m going for a walk and get some air.”

  Chapter VII

  The closest town to the Triple C headquarters was a wide spot in the road called Blue Moon. It was a standing joke that the town was so named because something exciting happened there only once in a blue moon. The gas station was also the grocery store and post office. There was a café next to what was once a roadside inn with rooms for travelers, but the inn was now a saloon-bar, called “Jake’s Place,” complete with a private gaming room in the back. The upstairs rooms were where Jake’s “nieces” did their business. The café next door did a good trade, mostly because the owner, Bob Tucker, was reputed to be the best damned cook in the state of Montana.

  In addition to those commercial buildings, there was a combination dry-goods-and-hardware store, an abandoned grain elevator, and a house that had been converted into a clinic where Doc Barlow came twice a week to see his patients. Beyond that, there were half a dozen houses for the thirty-odd residents of Blue Moon.

  A pickup truck marked with the Triple C brand rumbled off the highway and bounced over the rutted ground, churning up a cloud of dust as it was braked to a stop in the parking area between the gasoline-grocery store and the saloon. Buck Haskell swung out of the passenger’s side of the cab, his boots hitting the ground before Chase opened the driver’s door.

  “Tucker better have some blueberry pie left!” Buck declared. “I’ve been tasting it for the last ten miles.”

  “You’ve been telling me that for the last ten miles, too,” Chase said, dryness rustling his voice.

  “Hey, Chase, you got any cigarettes on you?” Buck slapped the empty breast pocket of his shirt. “I’m out.”

  “All I have is a pack of cheroots.”

  “Wait for me. I’m going to run in the store and get some.” Buck started toward the grocery store while he forced his hand inside the pocket of his snug-fitting Levi’s for the money.

  Chase leaned against the tailgate of the pickup to wait for him, tipping his hat to the back of his head, a faint smile showing in his expression. The door to the grocery slammed twice—once when Buck went in, and immediately afterward, when someone came out. Chase glanced around with idle interest.

  The sight of Maggie O’Rourke was like a clean, wild wind rushing through him. In these last two weeks, he had managed to push her from his mind, but seeing her again erased those two weeks of forgetting. Her flowing black hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a faded blue scarf. She was wearing blue jeans and boots and a white blouse of sorts. He couldn’t see much of it because of the two large grocery sacks she held in her arms. A slight frown marred the smoothness of her forehead as she looked into the sun. Chase realized she hadn’t noticed him yet. He straightened from the tailgate, readjusting his hat to sit squarely on his head, and stepped forward.

  “Hello, Maggie,” he said quietly.

  She stopped, her gaze running to him. Some emotion flickered in her eyes before her expression became blank. “Hello, Chase.” She didn’t falter over his name or appear self-conscious at seeing him again. “How have you been?” It was a polite question and he noticed how her lips lay together, full in the center.

  “Busy.” He dragged his gaze from her mouth. “Let me carry one of those sacks for you.”

  She hesitated an instant before surrendering one into his hands. The white blouse she wore was too small. The fullness of her young breasts made the front gape between the buttons. She shifted the other sack in front of her to hide it.

  “We’ve been busy, too.” She started walking again and Chase shortened his stride to walk with her, carrying the sack in the crook of his arm. “You’d be surprised how much extra work there is when you acquire an additional fifty head of cattle.” Her voice was stiffly proud, like the way she was carrying herself.

  “What is that remark supposed to mean?” A faint irritation ran through him at her tone.

  She gave him one of those slanting looks that he was
beginning to associate with her. “It means I’m not some tramp whose favors can be bought with fifty head of cattle. Maybe what I did was wrong, but it doesn’t mean I’m bad.”

  “Maggie, you weren’t wrong. I was.” He took the blame. “The gift of the cattle was a way of saying ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “Well, I’m not.” Her lips were pressed firmly together. “I didn’t think Pa would make trouble for you. I mean, he talked a lot about it, but I never thought he would actually try it. When I think about him going to your father and telling him what we did, that’s what makes me feel like …” They were passing the inn when she paused and cast a quick glance at the upstairs windows. “… one of Jake’s ‘nieces.’”

  “You’re not supposed to know about them.” His mouth twitched almost into a smile, amused by her directness.

  “You mean I’m not supposed to let anybody know that I know about them. Everybody does,” she returned dryly, “and only pretend that they don’t.”

  “You shouldn’t feel like one of them,” he insisted. “I know my father doesn’t think of you that way.”

  She stopped beside the passenger’s door of a battered pickup and turned to look at him. “What do you think about me, Chase?”

  “I think you are a remarkable and very beautiful young girl.” Looking into her candid green eyes, he felt the pull of her presence tugging at him. This time he resisted the urge to take her into his arms.

  “Beautiful? In this?” She looked down at her clothes with a glance that was wryly skeptical. Then she sobered. “I guess you’re just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to. I know what people think about my pa … and the rest of the O’Rourkes, too. Pa always blames someone else for his troubles. But I don’t want you to think that I blame you for what happened. I knew what I was doing. I know you said you’d see me, but after the trouble Pa caused, I want you to know that I’m not expecting you to come around.”