by Janet Dailey
With a strange feeling of déjà vu, Chase told him the story of Captain, the brindle steer, and the long cattle drive that had brought the first Calder to this land. Listening with rapt attention, Ty managed to devour the plateful of sandwiches and three glasses of milk, while Chase had only one. When Chase got up to show him the old map on the wall, Ty cut himself a wedge of cake.
“Where did my mother live?” Ty kept one hand cupped under the cake to catch the crumbs.
Chase pointed out the location of the Shamrock Ranch in relationship to the Triple C headquarters. “It sits here.”
“It’s a lot smaller than the Triple C, isn’t it?” he questioned.
“Yes.” Chase was reluctant to discuss the O’Rourkes, and the impression was transmitted to Ty in the shortness of his answer.
“Are there … bad feelings between you and Mom?”
“I doubt if she likes me very much,” Chase admitted.
“How do you feel?” Ty frowned at him anxiously, trapped somewhere in the middle.
“I …”—Chase turned away to walk back to his leather chair—“… have no ill feelings toward her.” Absently, he rubbed his left forearm where his shirtsleeve covered the long, diagonal scar.
Ty sensed there was more. “What happened to break you and Mom up?” He remembered his father had said earlier that it had been beyond their control. His father’s closed expression made him uneasy—that, and the long, measuring look he was receiving.
“That”—a lazy veil seemed to fall over his father’s features, dispelling the impression as he rose from the chair—“is another long story, and it’s getting late. I’ll show you which room will be yours. You must be tired.”
“Yeah,” Ty admitted. “I haven’t slept in a bed for two days. Mostly, I slept bouncing around in a truck cab.”
“You’ll sleep tonight, then.”
Chase paused in the living room while Ty retrieved his backpack, then led him up the stairs to the bedroom that had been his father’s. All the rooms were kept in readiness for guests, so there were plenty of towels in the bathroom and clean sheets on the bed. When he was satisfied that Ty was settled in, Chase took a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket and handed it to him.
“Write down your mother’s telephone number,” he instructed.
“You aren’t going to call her?” Ty protested with an anxious frown. “Not for a few days yet, please?”
“You know she’s worried about you.” The statement held a subtle criticism.
“Yeah, but—” He pressed his mouth together grimly. “She’ll just want me to come home. And I don’t want to go home.”
“I’ll handle that,” Chase stated. “You just give me her phone number and I’ll talk to her.”
“Okay.” Ty wrote down the number and handed the pad and pencil back to him. “Be sure to tell her I’m all right.”
“I will.” Chase moved to the door, opened it, and paused. “Some advice for you to sleep on. City life breeds weakness into a man. Out here we don’t have any traffic lights telling you when to stop and when to go, when to walk or when to wait. There aren’t any streets with arrows telling you that you have to go one way. In the city, everything is orderly—soft—governed by a woman’s idea of the way it should be. Out here, it’s still a man’s country, where you’re expected to keep your word and never ask for favors. It will be harder on you, not just because you are new to our ways. People are going to expect more from you because you’re my son, so”—Chase smiled faintly because the next words were so familiar to him—“you’re going to have to work harder, be smarter, and fight rougher than any man in the state. If you haven’t got what it takes, then you’re better off to go back to California and be with your mother, because otherwise this land will break you. You might want to think on that these next few days.”
“Yes, sir.” It was a sobered sound, tinged with just a hint of skepticism.
Chase smiled, bemused, because he’d always believed his father had exaggerated a lot, too. “Good night, Ty.”
“Good night.”
Returning to the den, Chase sat down in the chair behind the desk and reached for the phone, dialing the number Ty had given him. It was answered on the third ring.
“Gordon residence.” It was a woman’s voice, stiff and haughty, not Maggie’s.
“I want to speak to Elizabeth Gordon,” Chase requested.
“I believe she has retired for the evening. This is her sister-in-law, Pamela Gordon. May I help you?”
“Would you check to see if she has? Tell her I’m calling in regard to her son.”
“Ty? Have you found him? Is he all right?” The woman threw a flurry of anxious questions at him.
“Tell Mrs. Gordon that I want to speak to her.” He stressed the last word to make it clear he would speak to no one else.
“Just a moment.” There was a clunk of the telephone receiver being laid down. In the background, he could hear the woman calling to “Elizabeth.” Chase waited, fingering the slip of paper with the phone number on it.
The sleeping pill Maggie had taken in an effort to get some rest after so many sleepless nights worrying about Ty made her uncoordinated. She felt groggy when she came to the phone and pressed a hand to her forehead to eliminate the dullness.
“This is Elizabeth Gordon.”
Her voice had changed slightly, a variation in the accent, but it stirred his memory. For an instant, the years rushed away and he could see her green eyes, green as the lush Calder grass, and her hair black as midnight. His hand tightened on the phone, as if to bring her closer to him.
“Hello, Maggie.”
No one ever called her that anymore except Culley. It didn’t sound like him, yet telephones sometimes distorted people’s voices. Maggie clutched the receiver with both hands. “Culley? Thank God, you called. I tried to call you, but the operator said your phone had been disconnected and I—Ty has run away. I think he’s—”
“Maggie, this is Chase,” he interrupted. “Ty is here with me. He wanted you to know he was all right.”
She recognized his voice the minute he started speaking again. The floor seemed to rock under her feet. There was that same gentle persuasive quality in it. She was thrown into confusion, and the drugging effect of the sleeping pill didn’t help her to sort through it quickly.
“I want him home … with me.” On that point, Maggie wasn’t confused. “Put Ty on the next plane home. I’ll pay the fare.”
“No.”
“Chase, I want my son.” Her voice trembled on a warning note.
“If you want him, you’ll have to come get him.”
“No.” She wouldn’t go back there. “Ty is a minor—a runaway. If you don’t send him back, I’ll notify the authorities and they’ll come get him and bring him home to me.”
“You’ve been away a long time, Maggie. I think you’ve forgotten how much territory this Calder sky covers. I am the authority here. If you want him, you’ll have to come yourself. You know where to find us.”
Chase hung up the receiver, fully aware he had lived up to her bad image of him, but this had to be sorted out. And he preferred to do it face to face. He leaned heavily back in his chair and stared at the phone, wondering how much she had changed in the last fifteen years. Was she still as beautiful as she had been as a young girl? Had she kept her figure? Or lost it carrying their son? Wearily, he rubbed his eyes.
By dawn the next morning, Chase had showered, shaved, and dressed. Before going downstairs, he stopped at Ty’s room and opened the door. The boy was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, his mouth lolling open. The newness of knowing he had a son continued to amaze and delight him.
He knocked loudly on the opened door. “Time to get up, Ty!” Chase watched the teen-ager push himself groggily up on his elbows and frown as he looked around, trying to remember where he was.
“What time is it?” Ty combed a sleepy hand through his hair, trying to shake himself awake.
&n
bsp; “Five o’clock.”
“In the morning!!” With a groan, he collapsed face down on the bed.
“We get up early around here.” Chase moved out of the doorway to the stairs. There weren’t any lights, either, to make a boy get out of bed. He had to learn to do it himself.
Ruth had just set his plate of steak, eggs, and hashed browns on the dining room table when a sleepy-eyed Ty stumbled into the room. Chase introduced them. Ruth made an embarrassing fuss over him, her eyes misting over with tears when she murmured that she wished Webb had lived to see his grandson. Then she hurried off to the kitchen, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“What did my Mom say when you called her last night?” he asked when they were alone.
Chase deftly avoided making a direct answer. “She’ll be flying up today or tomorrow. It will depend on how soon she can get reservations.”
“She’ll want me to go back with her,” Ty said glumly.
“I’ll handle it.” Chase repeated the calm response he had made the night before.
When Ruth brought Ty his plate of steak, eggs, and hashed browns, he stared at it. “I don’t know if I can eat all that this early in the morning.”
Chase lifted a shoulder in an expressive shrug that said it was up to him, but he said, “It’s a long time until lunch.”
Ty was making a good dent in it when Buck walked in. Chase was finished and had leaned back to enjoy his third cup of coffee. He saw the puzzled look Buck gave the boy.
“Ty, I want you to meet Buck Haskell, one of my top foremen and a good friend.” He introduced Buck and watched Ty lay down his silverware to stand courteously to shake hands. “Buck, this is my son.”
“Your … what?” Buck shot him a look that was sharply incredulous. “But where … who …”
“Maggie is his mother.”
“Maggie O’Rourke?” At Chase’s nod, Buck dragged in a deep breath and blew it out. “Well, if that don’t beat all!” His face was oddly blank, a hint of exasperation in his voice. Then he was looking at Chase and grinning. “It seems a little foolish to say congratulations at this late date.”
Chapter XXVIII
It was nearly noon on the following day when Maggie arrived, driving a rented car. Since no one else knocked before entering The Homestead, Chase knew it was her before he opened the door. He met her cool, green eyes, then skimmed her slender figure, clad in a flattering black suit trimmed in white. Certain things he remembered about her, like her pride and strong will, were in evidence in her stiff carriage.
He glanced beyond her, his gaze settling on a ranch hand passing the house. “Charley, bring Mrs. Gordon’s luggage in from the car.”
“There’s no need.” She turned to countermand his order. “I’m not staying.”
“Bring them in, Charley,” he repeated evenly.
She faced him again with cool composure. “I’ll only be here long enough to get Ty. Then I’m leaving.”
“Fine.” He inclined his head in implied acceptance and stepped aside, inviting her into the house. Leaving the door open for Charley, Chase moved toward the den, listening to the tap-tapping of Maggie’s heels on the tiled floor as she followed him. He let her walk past him into the room while he closed the double doors to ensure their privacy. “There is hot coffee in the service on the coffee table.”
After her gaze had made a sweeping search of the room without finding Ty, Maggie turned back to confront Chase. “Where is my son?”
“He went with Nate this morning for his first glimpse of an actual roundup.” Chase poured two cups of coffee from the silver service. “Cream or sugar?”
“You know I was coming for him.” Irritation emanated from her like an electric force field, charging the air around her. Chase felt it without having to look at her.
“But I didn’t know when,” he reminded her.
She half-pivoted, showing him her profile. There was a filled-out completeness to her body that reached out to him and stirred all his male desires. She had to know she was a picture for his hungry glance, arousing memories of when he’d seen more of those shapely legs than the black skirt slit at the knee revealed. He leaned back in the armchair, holding his cup.
“How soon will Ty be back?”
“Tonight.” He sipped his coffee and avoided meeting her accusing eyes.
“You did this deliberately. Why?” She looked at him, taking in the hard vitality that stamped his features. He had matured into a powerful figure of a man, character lines adding to, rather than detracting from, his looks. His mouth quirked in that hard, familiar way she remembered.
“To give us time to talk in private. Why else?”
“We have nothing to discuss,” she insisted coldly.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have my child?” Chase finally addressed the issue that they had been avoiding.
“Ty is my child. Your part in his conception was purely incidental.” Her gaze was averted, her voice stiff and her head held high.
“Do you still hate me, Maggie?” He watched her glance come around to him.
“Hate is a passionate word. Despise or loathe would be more suitable.” That was one thing her marriage to Phillip had done for her. It had removed that poisonous seed of hate that could have twisted her. “My husband was a loving, compassionate man. He taught me to forget what I couldn’t forgive.”
“The day I came to you—the last time I saw you, it was to tell you that I was truly sorry about your father. At the time, I wasn’t aware that you knew the entire story.” He could see she was closing her mind to him, not wanting to recall anything. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it must be said.”
“Why? My father is dead and buried.”
“And we have a son, so you will listen whether you want to or not,” Chase replied with no break in his voice. “I understand what my father’s reasons were for his actions, but I had no knowledge of his intentions when we rode into the yard that day. Right up to the point where they put the rope around Angus’ neck, I thought he planned only to scare him. When they—” His mouth closed for a moment before he continued. “I couldn’t have saved him, Maggie. His neck was already broken.” He paused again. “Even after all this time, I can’t say that my father was wrong. Your father’s hatred of us was an obsession. You know that, Maggie, probably better than I do. In a sense, it was a mercy killing, because eventually your father would have destroyed not only himself, but you and Culley, too.”
“Are you finished?” She looked at him and Chase couldn’t tell if she had understood anything he’d said.
“With that subject, yes.” He glanced at his watch. “Ruth will be putting lunch on the table.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Setting his cup down, he stood and walked over to take her arm in a firm grip. “Make an effort,” he said dryly. He could feel the high tension flowing from her, but she didn’t resist the pressure of his guiding hand.
He didn’t attempt to make conversation during lunch, but let a silence lay over the table, instead. At first, Maggie picked at the food on her plate until the quiet atmosphere aroused her appetite, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. Relaxed and replete from the meal, she leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Chase held a slim cigar halfway to his mouth.
“No, not at all. I enjoy the aroma of a good cigar,” she replied diffidently.
“It’s a rare breed of woman who likes the smell of cigars.” He held a match to the tip and puffed on the tapered end.
“Phillip often smoked a cigar after dinner.” Unconsciously, her voice softened in fondness so she didn’t understand the suddenly tightened line of his mouth.
“You do realize that Ty wants to stay here.”
Maggie was off guard, unprepared for this statement, so she reacted sharply. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s coming home with me.”
There was something lazy
and dangerous about the way he looked at her. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you take him?”
The coffee cup was shoved onto the table as Maggie rose. It was the very thing she had been afraid of—that if Chase ever knew he had a son, he would try to take him from her. She crossed her arms, rubbing them, as if fighting off a chill.
“I’ll fight you before I’ll ever let you take him from me, Chase Calder,” she warned. “I’m not Maggie O’Rourke anymore, a nobody. I’m Elizabeth Gordon, a wealthy widow whose husband had a lot of influential friends. We’re on equal terms now, so you can’t just brush me aside.”
“Is that what you want, Maggie? An ugly custody battle?” he challenged in a voice that held the ragged edge of anger. “Shall we fight over which of us would be the better parent? Which has more to offer him? Do you want to play a cruel game of tug-of-war with Ty?”
“No, it isn’t what I want, but I have very little choice in the matter if you choose to make an issue of it!”
“I’m not making an issue of it. You are, by insisting that he return home with you,” Chase replied, once again in control.
“You don’t think I’m going to let him stay?”
“He’ll run away again if you take him back,” he warned her quite calmly. “Eventually you’ll alienate him. In three more years, he’ll be eighteen—free to live where he wants.”
“You surely don’t think I’ll give him up? Just walk away and let you have him?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“Marry me.”
Maggie stared at him in open-mouthed shock. “You can’t be serious!” She finally managed to laugh at the idea.
“But I am. Don’t worry.” His mouth quirked dryly. “I’m not nursing any grand passion for you. My interest in marrying you is solely based on Ty. First, it will legitimize his birth. I want no son of mine being called a bastard.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Maggie suggested sarcastically.
“Since I wasn’t informed of his existence—or even his expected existence—it is as timely as I can make it,” Chase countered. “Secondly, I want to ensure that Ty is legally recognized as my heir. The Triple C is his birthright, and I intend to take whatever steps are necessary to see that he gets it.”