by Janet Dailey
Chapter Nineteen
Stars glittered in the Texas sky, but their brilliance was dimmed by the city lights of Fort Worth. In the exclusive River Crest district, strategically placed lights marked a sweeping driveway that led to one of the area’s many mansions.
There was just enough chill in the January air to provide the perfect excuse for the female occupants of the arriving limos to don their favorite furs. Fully aware of how dramatic she looked in ermine, Tara had chosen an ermine jacket.
One side slipped, baring a white shoulder when she moved to exit the limo’s rear door, then paused to address the chauffeur. “Remember—you are to be back here promptly in one hour. I won’t need to stay longer than that.”
Privately she thought an hour was too long, but to leave sooner would be an insult to the Holcombes, her misguided but well-intentioned and well-heeled hosts.
Accepting the assistance of the liveried attendant, Tara stepped from the limousine and continued straight to the front door. The murmur of many voices, intermixed with the tinkle of crystal, greeted her when she walked into its spacious foyer. But an underlying boredom was what Tara’s experienced ears heard instead of the electric buzz that a successful party generated.
Aware that her arrival might be observed, Tara surrendered her wrap to the waiting maid with an unhurried grace, then made her way to the richly appointed living room where the bulk of the guests were gathered. Good manners dictated that she seek out her host and hostess first, but she used the winding journey to discreetly survey the other guests. As she expected, most were from the B list. In all honesty, Tara knew she wouldn’t have attended the party herself if the charity it was to benefit hadn’t been one of her pet projects. At such times sacrifices had to be made.
After chatting up her host and hostess, Tara collected a glass of champagne and went about the task of mixing and mingling. Turning from the first group, she caught a movement in her side vision and turned that way. For a split second, she went still at the sight of the wheelchair-bound Max Rutledge. He almost managed to look distinguished, with his grizzled hair and full black-tie regalia.
Hesitating only briefly, Tara approached him. “Max Rutledge, you old rogue.” She bent and kissed the air near his cheek. “I don’t know why I’m surprised to see you here. Lately you’ve been keeping a very high profile—and an open wallet. It’s amazing what a little spreading of the green will do to improve one’s image, isn’t it?” she cooed in a voice that was all Texas honey.
But Max only smiled with a hearty broadness. “Ah, Tara, still the stunning Texas vixen. How good to see you. The Holcombes said that you planned to come, but I had my doubts.” He cast a jaundiced glance at the gathering, and murmured, “I think it’s been a night of disappointments for them.”
Tara couldn’t disagree. “Poor Margaret. I did try to warn her that at this time of year all the right people were either yachting in the Mediterranean or skiing in Switzerland. Next time she’ll listen.”
“I’m surprised you’re in town,” he remarked.
“Actually, I leave tomorrow for St. Moritz, before going on to Monte Carlo.”
“Good. That means you’ll be back in time for the blessed event.”
Tara released a short, amused breath. “What on earth are you talking about, Max?”
“Sloan’s baby is due somewhere around the end of February. Had you forgotten?” He tipped his head back, studying her with mild interest.
The smallest frown flickered across her forehead. “You talk as if you know her.”
“Perhaps it’s because I do. Almost from the day she was born, as a matter of fact.” Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes at the surprise Tara couldn’t completely conceal. “Her late father and I were partners in a few business ventures.”
Recognition dawned. “She’s that Davis,” Tara murmured. “You were named her guardian, weren’t you?”
“I was,” Max confirmed. “And, yes, the Calders are aware of it. I take it they haven’t mentioned it to you.”
Tara managed an elegant shrug of indifference. “Why should they? It’s hardly important.”
“I agree.” Max nodded. “Sloan deserves her happiness. Although I was troubled to hear they’re having marital problems. The first year of marriage always requires many adjustments, though.”
“It’s probably nothing more than that foolishness about her work,” Tara guessed at once. “Once Sloan fully understands the obligations that will fall to her as Trey’s wife, she’ll put aside all this nonsense about a career in photography.”
“Trey objects to it, does he?” His idle tone masked his keen interest in her answer.
“Really, Max. What husband would be in favor of his wife being absent from home for long periods of time?” Tara chided.
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Tara,” A feminine voice called an instant before a slightly tipsy blonde descended on her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be Switzerland.”
“I leave tomorrow,” Tara informed her.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Max reached for the controls on the wheelchair’s armrest.
“Now, be generous with your check, Max,” Tara called after him as he rolled away. “It’s for a worthy cause.
“And a worthy night,” he murmured to himself.
A strong Chinook wind swept over the rough-and-tumble roll of the Montana plains. Its warmth was a welcome relief from the freezing temperatures that had gripped the land for much of February. With calving season in full swing, its arrival couldn’t have been more opportune.
As he made his final tug to tighten the saddle’s cinch strap, Trey let his gaze skip beyond the corral fence to the section of range beyond it. These first hours of morning were the time when the cattle were up and about, seeking water and graze. A cow heavy with calf never strayed too far from either. Armed with that knowledge, the stock tank and hay bales at the South Branch camp were both located close to the calving sheds, making a check of the herd easier for those ranch hands unlucky enough to pull calving duty.
Thanks to a flu epidemic that had sidelined a good number of the Triple C riders, Trey was among those assigned to the chore. Behind him, saddle leather creaked as Laredo swung aboard his horse.
“Are you about ready?” Laredo kept a still hand on the reins.
“Yup.” Trey unhooked the stirrup from the saddle horn and scooped up the trailing rein, then swung himself onto the seat, toeing his boots into the stirrups.
First to reach the fence gate, Laredo reached down and unlatched it, then pushed it open as he maneuvered his horse through the gap.
“I noticed the thermometer was tickling the forty-degree mark this morning,” Laredo held the gate for Trey. “It’s going to feel downright balmy today.”
“True.”
The abruptness in his answer had Laredo running a speculating eye over him. But Trey’s young, rugged features had that closed-up look, typical of a Calder determined to keep his thoughts to himself. For Laredo, that was telling in itself.
“As warm as it is, I thought Sloan might come along to get a look at the calving sheds.” Laredo gave the gate a push, swinging it shut after Trey rode through.
“She wanted to, but I talked her out of it. Too many have the flu bug here at South Branch, and she’s too close to term to risk getting sick now.” Trey pointed his horse at a large, round bale some distance away where a half dozen cows were gathered, their sides ballooned by their advanced pregnancies.
“Sounds like you had to do some talking to convince her,” Laredo guessed as they approached the cows, keeping their horses at an unhurried walk, the strike of their hooves on the still-frozen ground making a dull clop.
A heavy breath spilled from Trey. “You got that right. She was upset with me anyway. She has a doctor’s appointment at the end of the week. She wanted me to take her. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy when I told her that I couldn’t, not at calving time. I�
��ll be damned glad when this baby’s born. Maybe she’ll stop being so testy then.”
“Been hard to live with lately, has she?” Laredo surmised.
“Yes and no. She gets some crazy ideas in her head sometimes, and nothing I say seems to make any difference.”
Trey didn’t volunteer more information than that, but Laredo was certain he knew what kind of crazy notion Sloan had. “You mean like you’re cheating on her.”
Trey abruptly reined up, his gaze shooting to Laredo, a dark anger in its depths. “Good God, don’t tell me she’s spouting off to others about it.”
“Not that I’ve heard.” Laredo halted as well.
“Then how did you know?”
“I picked it up in Blue Moon when I was there the other day. Rumor has it that you’re seeing someone on the sly and it’s causing problems at home.”
Trey made a small, disgusted movement of his head and kneed his horse forward again. “I’d like to know when I’m supposed to be doing this. I’ve been home every night for months,” he muttered.
“Easy. “Laredo relaxed the pressure on the bit, letting his mount move alongside Trey’s gelding. “An afternoon here. An afternoon there.”
“You’re serious,” Trey realized.
“That’s the talk.”
A grimness settled around his mouth. “Let’s hope Sloan doesn’t hear it.” Yet it was something Sloan was smart enough to figure out by herself.
“It does make you wonder how the rumor got started, though,” Laredo remarked with seeming idleness.
Wise to his ways, Trey studied him. “Any ideas?”
“It seems the rumor started circulating not long after we learned about her connection to Rutledge. I suppose that could be another coincidence,” he added dryly.
“Tongues wag all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.” Yet Trey couldn’t totally dismiss his words.
“This time the tongues are drawing comparisons between you and your father—and the poor choice he made in his first wife.” Laredo paused, then spoke with a note of caution. “There are more Taras in this world that we’d like to believe.”
“You still think Sloan might be some tool of Rutledge’s,” Trey muttered in irritation. “And I still say you’re wrong.”
“Maybe I am. But something about all this doesn’t smell right.”
“It isn’t Sloan.”
“I hope to hell you’re right. You two have enough troubles without throwing that into the mix.”
“The only problems we have are in her mind,” Trey stated flatly.
“Really? What about her career?”
Trey stiffened. “What about it?”
“Talk is that you’re insisting she give it up.”
“I’ve never said a word to her about it.” That was the truth. Yet it didn’t alter that vague resentment he felt nearly time he saw her with a camera. “It hardly matters, though, considering she’ll soon have a baby to look after.”
“Makes me wonder where the Triple C would be if your mother thought like that. And you can’t say you didn’t know Sloan was a professional photographer when you married her.”
Amusement was in the look Trey gave him. “You can’t seem to make up your mind about Sloan. One minute you’re talking against her, and in the next you’re taking her side.”
Laredo grinned. “Kinda sounds like I’m riding the same horse you are.”
The discussion, already near its end, came to a quick close when Trey spotted a cow standing well apart from her herd-mates. Her raised tail and anxious air were sure signs she was in the initial stage of labor, making her a prime candidate for the calving shed.
A few notches past its zenith, the sun was a big yellow ball of light in a freeze-dried sky. Below it, the two-lane highway stretched like a gray ribbon across a winter-brown landscape. Here and there, old snow could be seen clinging to the shady sides of its flanking ditches.
Only one vehicle sped along the road, heading north, a narrow shadow racing along the shoulder, keeping pace. Cat was behind the wheel with Sloan in the passenger seat. Music from a CD played softly over the Suburban’s speakers, covering the silence. On this return trip from Sloan’s doctor’s appointment, all the topics of conversation had been exhausted.
For about the fifteenth time in the last fifty miles, Sloan shifted in her seat, seeking a more comfortable position. The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Cat.
Concern was in her face as she said, “Are you sure you don’t mind if we stop at Fedderson’s before we go home? I can always run back to town and pick up the shrimp Marsha’s holding for me.”
“Honestly? I’d welcome the chance to stretch my legs after riding for two hours.” Sloan arched her back briefly, then shifted in the seat again.
“Stiff, are you?” Cat eyed her with sympathy.
“Stiff, sore, achy—you name it, I feel it.” The breath Sloan released was a grunted sigh. “These trips to the doctor just seem to get longer and longer. I wish his office was closer.”
“It was a lot more convenient when we had the clinic in Blue Moon, but we all knew it was bound to close sometime,” Cat agreed, then smiled in encouragement. “At least you received a glowing report from Doctor Wilson. He told me he hadn’t seen two healthier patients than you and the little guy.”
Sloan absently rubbed her side. “One more week,” she murmured on a wistful note. “I just hope he comes on time. One of the other women there told me she went three weeks past her due date.”
“Calder babies usually arrive on time,” Cat assured her with a touch of pride.
The near boast was like a scrape across nerves that were already raw. For a moment, Sloan almost surrendered to the urge to tell Cat how sick to death she was of hearing how great the Calders were. If they were so perfect, why hadn’t her husband taken her to the doctor instead of going off to some calving shed—assuming that was really where he was. But she said nothing and looked away when she noticed the massive stone pillars wings that marked the east entrance to the Triple C Ranch.
Again, music filled the silence that fell between them. Sloan kept her attention focused out the side window, without ever seeing the utility poles and fence posts that raced by. The seemingly never-ending discomfort soon had her changing positions again.
It was with relief that she felt the Suburban slow its headlong pace and saw the buildings of Blue Moon. When Cat braked to make the turn into the combination gas station, grocery store, and post office, Sloan made a quick check of the vehicles parked in front of The Oasis. There were only two, and neither had the Triple C insignia on its doors. Sloan couldn’t decide whether she was glad or sorry, but she’d been torn like that for weeks now—full of doubts and suspicions, yet wanting desperately to believe they were unwarranted.
Reaching around her protruding stomach, Sloan unbuckled her seat belt the instant the Suburban rolled to a stop in front of Fedderson’s. After riding so long in the heated vehicle, the coldness of the outside air was a bracing shock when she climbed out. She stood for a moment, breathing it in, a hand resting lightly on her back while she stretched muscles stiff and sore from the ride.
At a much slower pace, she followed Cat into the store. The proprietress, a slightly built brunette, was behind the counter, chatting with another customer. When she saw Cat walk in, she quickly excused herself and emerged from behind the counter.
“I’ve got your shrimp in back,” she told Cat. “They aren’t as big as the ones Ross usually gets. If you want to pass on them, I’ll understand.”
“They should be fine.”
“Take a look at them first to be sure,” Marsha urged.
“Okay,” Cat agreed and glanced at Sloan. “I won’t be long.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” Sloan told her and wandered over to a display of handcrafted items near the counter. She didn’t have any real interest in them but used them as an excuse to keep moving and ease some of the cramping of her muscles.
Almost immed
iately she felt herself under the scrutiny of the customer still standing by the cash register. She was a sandy-haired woman, a year or two younger than Sloan, her dark blue parka unbuttoned to reveal the tan cable knit sweater she wore with a pair of jeans. The instant Sloan glanced her way, the woman seemed to take it as invitation to speak.
“You’re Trey’s wife, aren’t you?” Curious hazel eyes studied her with an almost avid interest.
“Yes,” Sloan confirmed.
“You probably don’t remember me. I’m Annie Walters. We met last November outside church. My boyfriend Gil is the calf-roper that used to compete with Trey in jackpot events.”
“Of course.” Sloan pretended to remember the encounter, but it was little more than an extremely vague recollection that included no memory of faces. “How are you?”
“Just fine.” As if feeling the need to keep the conversation going, the young woman volunteered, “I was just over to The Oasis, grabbing a bite of lunch, and they told me Ross had brought some shrimp back on his last trip. So, like you, I thought I’d swing by and get some—although I’m so stuffed from lunch that the thought of food doesn’t haven’t a lot of appeal. They have the best soup at The Oasis today. Beef pepperpot, I think they called it. It was delicious. You oughta try it.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she got a panicked look. “Sorry. That’s probably the last place you want to go. Forget I said anything.”
That was an impossibility, and they both knew it. Too hurt and too angry to speak, Sloan stared at Annie, who guiltily ducked her head and picked up the sack on the counter.
“I’d better get going before this shrimp thaws. Tell Marsha I’ll talk to her later.” She moved quickly to the door.
Her departure from the store coincided with Cat’s return to the front with the owner. Wrapped in her own little world of pain and fury, Sloan never said a word to either and never heard the words they exchanged while the sale was rung up.
On the way back to the Suburban, Sloan was careful not to look directly at Cat when she asked, “Do we have to go straight back to the ranch? I’m a little hungry. A cup of soup might tide me over until dinner. Annie was just telling me how delicious the soup was at The Oasis.”