by Janet Dailey
With the Santa outfit safely stashed in the tack room, Trey slipped back into the throng. His searching eyes spotted Sloan standing next to one of the serving tables, its array of food already showing signs of being well grazed. He worked his way to the food area and came up behind her, curving an arm along the back of her waist and sliding a hand familiarly against her decidedly rounded stomach. Her glance skipped briefly to him, then reverted to the happy, chaotic scene before them.
Crushed bows, torn ribbons, and scraps of brightly colored wrapping paper were strewn all over the floor. The toddlers played among it all, indifferent to their presents, while the older ones scrambled to show off their gifts to others.
“Looks like Santa made some kids very happy, don’t you think?” An easy smile curved his mouth, warmed by the looks of pleasure on so many young faces.
“He always does,” Sloan murmured with little feeling.
Almost on cue, Trey felt the sharp kick of the baby in her womb despite the heavy sweater she wore. “I think one little guy disagrees.” The sensation of it stirred through him, reawakening all those new, tender feelings that were part pride and part awe. He smiled down at Sloan. “Just think. In a couple years, our son will be out there ripping and roaring with the rest of them.”
“Let’s let him be born first.”
Trey caught the faint but slightly irritable note in her voice and ran an inspecting glance over her. “Tired?” he guessed.
“A little.” Nothing in her expression indicated to him what Sloan was thinking or feeling. It wasn’t the first time in the last few days that he’d felt shut out.
Patience had become his motto. It wasn’t something that came easy to him, yet Trey had decided it was best to overlook her odd moods rather than try to find their source. Operating on that principle, he ignored her current one. “By the way,” he began, hoping to improve things with a compliment, “Cat told me that you helped pick out the presents for the children—and wrap them. I’m glad you’re lending a hand with some of family duties.”
“I suppose you would like me to do more.”
From the cool way she gave him, Trey sensed he had said something wrong. “Only if you feel up to it, of course.”
“Of course,” Sloan echoed the phrase, but dryly.
Clamping down on his impatience, he asked, “Are you feeling all right, honey?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long day.” Like all her other answers, the sentences were short and clipped, the kind that didn’t encourage further conversation.
Still he tried. “There goes Johnny and Kelly.” Trey nodded in the direction of the couple, making their way to one of the side doors. “Want to bet that he waits till Christmas to pop the question.”
“Really?”
“Don’t you want to know why?” he prompted.
“Why?” But her tone was indifferent to his answer.
“Knowing how tight Johnny is with a dollar, he’ll figure that if he gives her a ring for Christmas, he won’t have to buy her a present.” But his attempt at humor fell flat, failing to draw even a ghost of a smile from Sloan. He glanced at the smiling pair exiting the barn via its side door, all bundled up against the nip of a December evening. Trey had a feeling he knew their destination. On impulse, he glanced at Sloan. “Want to slip out of here?”
Her head snapped around to him, her face aglow for the first time. “Will it be all right?”
“Sure. I’ll get your coat and hat.”
Within minutes, Sloan was swaddled in her heavy parka, a stocking cap on her head, and a scarf wound around her neck. Trey buttoned up his own jacket and tugged on his lined gloves.
“Better put your mittens on. It’s cold outside,” he warned as he escorted her to the closest door. Obediently, she dug them out of her pocket and pulled them on.
Outside most of the snow that had fallen earlier in the month had melted, but enough remained to leave a thin crust of dirty white in protected areas. Trey kept a supporting hand on Sloan’s arm as they made their way across the frozen and rutted ground between the parked vehicles.
Beyond the row of trucks stood a horse team hitched to an old wagon, mounded with fresh hay. One of the heavy-coated horses shifted in place, setting the bells on its harness to jingling. Old Jobe Garvey sat in the driver’s seat, his back to the couples already nestled close together in the hay. Trey was quick to spot Kelly and Johnny getting ready to climb aboard.
“When was the last time you were on a hayride?” he asked Sloan.
“When I was twelve at summer camp. Why?” she asked, then spotted the wagon and guessed the reason. “Is this why we came out? I thought we were going to the house.”
“If you went on a hayride when you were twelve, it was probably with a bunch of giggling girls. This one is adults-only,” he told her. “The kids got their ride this afternoon. Come on, you’ll enjoy it.”
When he started to guide her toward the wagon, Sloan drew back. “No, I’d—I’d just be uncomfortable.”
“No you won’t. Not with all that hay to cushion you.”
“I’m not talking about the ride.” Her voice had a low and angry pitch to it. “It’s the others. They don’t want me on it.” She turned to face away from the wagon as if to keep from being overheard.
Dumbfounded by her statement, Trey frowned. “What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous.” But, like her, he kept his voice down.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way everyone treated me today? Why do you think I was standing by myself while you were playing Santa?” Her voice trembled with the effort to keep all the roiling emotions inside. Truthfully, Trey hadn’t thought a thing about it, but he didn’t admit that. “No one was openly rude to me. It was much more subtle than that.”
“You’re going to have to explain what you mean,” he said on a near sigh.
“It’s simple—nobody would talk to me. Oh, they’d smile, say hello, wish me a Merry Christmas, but after that nothing. And when I’d walk up to any of them, they were quick to find somewhere else they needed to be, leaving me standing by myself.”
Almost from the moment Sloan had stepped on the ranch, she had been warmly received by the Triple C family. Recalling how quickly everyone had taken to her, Trey found her claim difficult to believe.
“You’re imagining things, Sloan,” Trey muttered in annoyance.
“No, I’m not.” She bit out the words. “Even when I was with you, no one ever addressed a single remark to me. They spoke to you. For all the notice they took of me, I could have been a block of wood.” Resentment laced her expression as she looked back at the barn. “I felt like a pariah in there.”
Over the course of the afternoon Trey had talked to nearly everyone at the party. Trying to recall who had addressed whom—or hadn’t—was impossible for him. But he hadn’t paid any attention, either; there was too much going on.
“I’m sure nobody meant anything by it.”
“That’s not the impression I got,” Sloan retorted. “I’m going to the house. You can do what you want.”
Without waiting for his reply, she set out for The Homestead. Trey stared holes in her back, almost angry enough to let her make the walk by herself. Before he could start after her, Johnny wandered over, his head turned to watch Sloan.
“I thought you two were gonna come on the hayride with us,” he said, nodding at Sloan’s retreating back.
“Sloan didn’t feel like it.”
“Is she feeling okay?” The question came from Kelly as she reached Johnny’s side and linked arms with him.
“She gets tired easily these days.” Trey glanced Kelly’s way and encountered a pair of eyes that seemed to say she knew something he didn’t. “So how’s nursing school going?”
“Good.” Hesitating, she darted a look at Johnny, then began, “Trey—”
Johnny immediately broke in, “Sure sorry you two aren’t coming with us. It’d be fun.”
“Maybe next year.” Tr
ey stole a glance at Kelly, his curiosity aroused by Johnny’s deliberate interruption.
Not to be denied, Kelly said quickly, “Johnny thinks I should keep my mouth shut. But the whole ranch is buzzing about your wife.”
“What about Sloan?” All his defense mechanisms kicked in, smoothing all expression from his rugged features.
“Last Wednesday she brought a package to the commissary that she wanted mailed. It was addressed to Max Rutledge. I thought you should know that,” Kelly stated firmly while Johnny nudged at a frozen clod of dirt with the toe of his boot.
The information came as a surprise to Trey, but it helped a few odd pieces fall into place. “I imagine she was sending him a Christmas present.” He was careful to inject a casual tone.
“To Max Rutledge?” Kelly stared at him in disbelief. “After all the trouble he caused you? I’ve heard about the Christmas spirit, but that’s carrying it a little too far, don’t you think?”
“Max was her legal guardian after her parents were killed,” Trey explained matter-of-factly.
“And you knew this when you married her?” Kelly looked incredulous.
“We don’t always get to choose the people in our lives,” Trey replied smoothly, dodging the question as best he could while he shifted in the direction of The Homestead. “I’d better go check on Sloan. Have fun on the ride.”
He walked off, giving neither a chance to ask more questions. But he had no doubt that the answers he had given would circulate to every adult on the ranch before the night was out. Yet their attitude toward Sloan was unlikely to undergo much change. Because of her connection to Rutledge, they’d draw back and wait to see if she was worthy of their trust and respect—especially the older ones with memories of Tara.
And there wasn’t a single thing he could do to change that. Only Sloan could—in time.
The house had a silent and empty feel to it when he walked in, the kind that said no one was home. Stripping off his gloves, Trey caught a glimpse of Sloan halfway up the oak staircase, the rubber soles of her boots making no sound on its wooden treads. Her parka was hanging on the rack, the stocking cap and wool scarf partially stuffed in a side pocket. Trey hung his own jacket next to hers, tucked the gloves in a pocket, and balanced his hat on top of it all, then headed for the stairs.
There was nothing silent about his hard-soled boots as he climbed the steps to the second floor. The door to the master suite stood open. With all of his senses tuned toward the rooms, Trey heard the faint grunts of exertion that preceded the thunk of a boot hitting the floor.
Sloan was standing, fur-lined boots in hand, when Trey entered the sitting room. There was a becoming flush to her cheeks, either from the brisk walk on a chilly night, the physical effort required to remove her boots, or a combination of both.
“You didn’t have to come.” Sloan gave him a look of cool indifference. “I can take care of myself. I have for years.”
Her words were like a straight-armed shove intended to push him away; they were difficult to ignore. But he managed it.
“I found out something that I thought you might want to know,” he began.
“And what would that be?” Showing little interest in his reply, Sloan carried her boots into the bedroom.
Trey had no choice but to follow. He stopped in the doorway and waited until she emerged from the walk-in closet, empty-handed. “It seems that this time maybe I was wrong.”
“This is a red-letter day, isn’t it. I’ve always had the impression the Calders were never wrong about anything. I think I’d better sit down for this one.” Sloan perched herself on the edge of the bed, hands braced at her side, striking a slightly regal, if mocking, pose.
It took every ounce of will to keep his temper in check. “It’s possible that our people were a bit standoffish with you tonight. Care to know why?” Trey challenged.
“Oh, you’ve found an excuse for them, have you?” There was an unmistakable taunt in her wide-eyed look of innocence and interest.
“I’m going to take an educated guess and say that you bought Max Rutledge a Christmas present.”
“Naturally. I get him something every year. What of it?” She tossed the challenge right back.
“You might have mentioned it to me.” Trey couldn’t keep the annoyance and frustration out of his voice.
“Why? I already know your opinion of him, and it isn’t one I happen to share. It would have only started another argument, and I would have sent Max something whether you liked it or not.”
“But it would have been better if I was the one who took the gift down to the commissary and arranged for it to be shipped to him. When you showed up with it, word traveled like a shock wave across this ranch.”
“What did? You mean that I know Max?” She tipped her head at a perplexed angle.
“You’re damn right!” Trey said with force. “Good God, Sloan, everyone on this ranch knows about the trouble he caused. And here you are, sending the man a package. As far as they’re concerned, it’s an act of betrayal.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sloan declared in outrage.
“Not to them, it isn’t!” Trey paused a beat, reining in his temper. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked the idea of you sending him a present, but I wouldn’t have stopped you. So why the hell did you have to mail it here? Why couldn’t you have stopped at the post office in Miles City after one of your doctor’s visits?”
“My God, Trey, you make it sound like I should be ashamed that I know him—that it’s some dirty secret the world shouldn’t know. And all because of the prejudice you and your family have for him. It’s even infected the people who work for you. Do you know how revolting that sounds?” Sloan demanded in righteous anger. “And if you think that I’m going to let a bunch of small-minded people dictate to me who I have contact with, you’re wrong!”
“Dammit, Sloan, I’m only thinking of you. Before this happened everybody liked you. They had accepted you. Now you’ll have to win their trust all over again. Loyalty to them isn’t just a word; it’s a way of life. In their eyes, you’ve crossed the line.” Trey saw the objection forming on her lips. “I’m not saying that’s right or fair. It’s just the way it is.”
Before Sloan could respond to that, the phone on the bedside table rang, an echo of it coming from the sitting room. She started to reach for it, then pulled her hand back.
“You might as well answer it. It’s for you, anyway,” Sloan declared, then added caustically, “Probably that redhead from The Oasis.”
His half-narrowed gaze locked on her in shock. “Why are you bringing that up? We settled that weeks ago.”
The phone rang a second time. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Her chin lifted with the saccharine challenge, and the smile that followed had the same sweet coating. “That’s right. I’m sitting here. It does make it awkward for you, doesn’t it?”
Uttering a barely smothered imprecation, Trey crossed to the nightstand and snatched the receiver in mid-ring. “Yes,” he muttered, none too pleasantly.
“Is that you, Trey?” Cat’s voice came across the line, full of uncertainty and question.
Trey released a long, silent breath and cast an irritated glance at Sloan. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“It didn’t sound like you. I—”
He never heard the rest as Sloan walked up and jerked the phone out of his hand. “Who is this?” Hot demand was in her voice.
“Sloan!” Cat said in surprise. “I was about to ask Trey if you were all right. When Jobe Garvey told me you’d gone to the house, I got worri—”
“I’m fine. Just tired. Here’s Trey.” She shoved the phone back in his hand and turned away, all tense and frustrated, too much so to pay attention to whatever Trey said to his aunt.
Nerves raw, Sloan raked her fingers through her hair and sat back down on the bed as an overwhelming weariness swept through her. It only seemed to increase the helpless, lonely feeling that tied her up in knots. She never he
ard the rattle of the receiver settling back on its cradle.
Then Trey stood in front of her, tight-lipped and hard-eyed. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I’ve been getting calls lately,” Sloan answered stiffly. “Nobody answers when I pick up.”
“Good God, Sloan,” he said in disgust. “It’s probably some telemarketer.”
“With laughter and music in the background? I doubt it.” Her voice was thick with scorn.
“Then I don’t know who the calls are from,” Trey declared, “But they aren’t from some woman, redhead or otherwise, wanting to talk to me. So get that idea out of your head.”
Sloan was unmoved by his denial. Men lied all the time about their extramarital affairs. But she didn’t have the energy to throw that reminder in his face, so she didn’t offer any response.
“Look.” Trey crouched in front of her, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. “You’re used to being more active. Lately you’ve had too much time on your hands, and it’s never good to sit and brood.” He attempted to sound reasonable, but his voice still had a hard edge to it. “I know the weather hasn’t cooperated, but it’s supposed to warm up for a few days. You need to get out, walk, get some exercise. It’ll be good for you and the baby.”
“Yes, it would,” Sloan agreed and edged farther onto the bed. “I think I’ll lie down and rest for a while. Will you turn out the light?”
“Sure.” He straightened when she stretched out flat on the bed and rested one arm across her forehead. “I’ll be in the other room, watching some television, if you need me.”
Sloan nodded in acknowledgement. Trey flipped off the light on his way out of bedroom and pulled the door partially closed behind him. For a long time Sloan stared at the darkened ceiling. Everything boiled down to his word and her suspicions.
One of them was right. But which one? That was the question that kept drumming through her mind. That one and one another—did she really want to know the answer?
To love, she had to trust. Without trust, how long could any love last? That was a question Sloan had never asked herself. But it was at the bottom of all the others.