by Janet Dailey
After an only momentary hesitation, Cat shrugged. “There’s no big rush to get home. I think I’ll forgo the soup, though, and have a slice of pie.”
Only one other customer was in The Oasis when Sloan and Cat entered it, and he was an old-timer, sitting at a back table, nursing a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. Darkly tinted windows allowed little of the sunshine to filter inside, leaving the place dimly lit in both the bar and eating areas. There was no clank and clatter from the slot machines, and the jukebox was silent.
Pausing a few feet inside the door, Cat scanned the interior and murmured to Sloan. “This used to be such a bright and cheerful place when Sally owned it. Now it’s—” She checked the rest of her comment when she noticed the new owner emerging from the bar’s shadows to approach them.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Donovan greeted them. “At this hour, you have your choice of tables. Would you like menus?”
“No, thanks,” Sloan answered for both them.
“Have a seat then.” He gestured to the tables. “Your waitress will be right with you.”
Cat nodded an acknowledgement and led the way to a table situated at a midway point between the front door and kitchen. The entire time Sloan’s gaze never stopped moving, searching in every dark corner. For what? She wasn’t sure. But it was goaded by the high tension that screamed through her, demanding answers.
Her gaze continued its watchful dart as she sat at a table and slipped off her coat, letting it drape over the back of her chair. High heels made a sharp, clicking sound on the wooden floors. Certain it came from the bar area, Sloan looked in that direction.
A cold anger swept through her when she saw a redhead sauntering toward them, dressed in a jumpsuit of metallic blue spandex that hugged every line and curve of her body. The front of it was partially unzipped to reveal the deep cleavage created by her ample breasts. Sloan’s catty side immediately dismissed them as implants.
There was an air of supreme nonchalance about the redhead when she paused at their table and divided her glance between the two of them. “What can I get you ladies?” Her pouty red lips twitched with a smile as if secretly amused by the term.
Looking at the woman, Sloan saw nothing but red—in more ways than one. Everything about the waitress screamed sex, from the tumble of titian hair and overdrawn scarlet lips to the slinky, skintight outfit and staggeringly high heels.
“Do you have any banana cream pie?” Cat asked.
“Sure.” The redhead stood hip-locked, a play of amusement still in evidence.
“I’ll have a slice of that and a glass of water,” Cat ordered.
With an effort, Sloan managed to find her voice. “A cup of soup, please.”
“Cream of broccoli or beef pepperpot?” The redhead fixed her gaze on Sloan, something smug and knowing in her expression.
“The pepperpot.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Milk.”
“I’ll bring it right out,” the redhead promised and made an unhurried turn away from the table. Hips swaying, she angled for the free-swinging kitchen door.
Chair legs scraped the floor as Cat pushed back from the table. “My hands smell like shrimp. I’ll wash them before I get that pie. I won’t be a minute.”
Sloan responded with an absent nod, tension coiling through her nerves. Mere seconds after Cat left the table, the redhead sashayed out of the kitchen, a serving tray negligently balanced on her right palm. Again her gaze made an amused skim of Sloan when she approached the table.
Halting next to Sloan’s chair, the redhead reached in front of her, first to place a glass of water, then a napkin-wrapped setup at the place Cat had occupied. Sloan kept her gaze rigidly fixed on the table area in front of her, refusing to look up. But she couldn’t avoid seeing the scarlet-nailed hand that kept passing across her vision—or the gleam and glitter of the diamond bracelet that draped the redhead’s wrist. Instinctively Sloan knew it wasn’t a piece of costume jewelry.
Suspicion was running too thick to allow Sloan to ignore it. “That’s a lovely bracelet you’re wearing.”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Keeping the hand extended in front of Sloan, the redhead turned her wrist to let the diamonds flash in the low light. “They’re real diamonds, too. Not CZs. My guy gave it to me.”
“How nice,” Sloan murmured, tasting bile.
Regret was in the sigh the redhead expelled. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like. He tries to make up for it with little things like this.”
“I wouldn’t call that so little.” A cold fury tightened Sloan’s jaw.
“It sure isn’t.” Her red lips had a feline curve to them as she set a glass of milk before Sloan. “When’s the baby due?”
“Soon.” The single word was all Sloan you could manage.
“I’ll bet it can’t be soon enough for you.” The redhead slid a setup onto the table. “You must be feeling really fat and miserable.”
Infuriated by the insulting comment, Sloan looked up, but the redhead was already walking off, the loud tap of her stiletto heels masking the sound of Cat’s returning footsteps.
Sloan barely glanced at Cat when she sat down at the table. Instead she reached for the milk glass, wrapping both hands around it in a stranglehold, and fervently hoped that Cat wasn’t in one of her chatty moods. Sloan doubted that her nerves could tolerate a round of idle conversation.
But Cat simply went about the task of unrolling her silverware and arranging the napkin on her lap with a calmness that made Sloan want to scream, especially when she was torn between wanting to throw everything within reach and getting up and walking out the door. But either action would require an explanation. One of the first lessons Sloan had learned in her life was never to let anyone know how deeply she’d been wounded.
Again the swinging door to the kitchen rocked open and the redhead emerged, this time with their food order on her tray. As Sloan watched her approach, inwardly seething, a little voice inside her head demanded to know how much more proof she wanted? Did she intend to subject herself to the humiliation of actually catching the redhead in Trey’s arms?
Wise up, the voice ordered. Why show loyalty to a man who abuses it?
The final jab came when Sloan was reminded that she was surrounded by people who didn’t trust her. She wasn’t even sure why they tolerated her. Then the baby moved, and Sloan knew the reason. The only reason.
She never registered the sight of the redhead setting the cup of soup in front of her, but there it was, with a spoon nestled on its plate. Nothing had ever looked less appetizing. Still, Sloan picked up the spoon and dipped it into the soup. It was tasteless on her tongue. After two spoonfuls, she gave up the exercise and laid the spoon on the table while leaning back in her chair.
Observing the action, Cat glanced over in question. “Is something wrong with the soup?”
“It’s a little too spicy,” Sloan lied and pressed a hand against one of the tightly banded muscles in her back.
“Are you feeling all right?” Again, concern filled Cat’s expression.
“I’m fine. My back just hurts.”
“You’re sure it isn’t labor pains? When I had Quint, that’s the way mine started.”
“I don’t think so,” Sloan replied, then almost laughed. “But how would I know? I’ve never had a baby before.”
All uncertainty vanished some ten minutes later when the first contraction twisted through Sloan. The Triple C’s east entrance was in sight. But Cat didn’t slow to make the turn.
“There’s probably plenty of time,” she told Sloan. “But I think we’ll play it safe and drive straight to the hospital.” One-handed, she fished the cell phone out of her purse and held it out to Sloan. “You’d better call Trey and let him know. I have his cell number on speed-dial. Just press four.”
Rebellion formed at the prospect of speaking to him. Sloan had to force herself to take the phone from Cat and place the call. After a dozen rings
with no answer, she broke the connection. An ugly bitterness wound through her as she wondered what occupied Trey so thoroughly that he couldn’t be bothered to answer the phone. And she found herself wishing that she had checked to see if his truck was parked behind The Oasis, out of sight.
Afternoon sunlight pressed against the windows of the calving shed, but dust-coated panes diffused much of its brilliance. Inside, all the lights were on. Somewhere straw rustled, stirred by the hooves of a restless animal, and a cow lowed in mild distress.
In one of the shed’s many maternity stalls, a two-year-old heifer rolled an anxious eye at Trey as he released his hold on the pull chains and worked to push the calf a short distance back into the birth canal. Succeeding at that, he went about the task of rotating the calf half a turn. A trickle of sweat ran along his temple despite the coolness in the air.
“Hey, Trey.” Old Jobe Garvey hobbled up to the stall. “Chase is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”
Trey never glanced up. “Tell him I’ve got a heifer with a hip-locked calf. I’ll have to call him back.”
“I’ll tell him.” Jobe shuffled off.
After the calf was turned, Trey picked up the chains again and tried again to walk the calf out, alternately pulling on first one chain, then the other. Intent on his task, he never heard Jobe come back.
“Chase said your wife’s on the way to the hospital to have your baby,” Jobe announced with a touch of personal pleasure.
The news kicked through Trey, bringing a heady rush that had him expelling a short, exultant laugh. That and the grin on his face marked his only reaction. He didn’t look around for someone to take his place on the pull chains. He already knew that no one else was available.
“He also said you were to swing by The Homestead and get her suitcase ’fore you head to the hospital yourself,” Jobe added.
“Thanks.” Trey relaxed the pressure on the chains as the calf’s hips finally slipped through the young cow’s narrow pelvic area. “Better roust somebody from the night crew to take my place.”
Thick layers of straw cushioned the calf’s fall. Trey knelt beside it and made certain its mouth and nose were clear of any mucous, then removed the obstetrical handles from the calf’s forelegs. He stayed long enough to make certain the young cow was going to accept her offspring before heading for his truck.
His clothes reeked of the calving shed. He showered and changed after he reached The Homestead, then Sloan’s suitcase in hand, climbed back into the truck and started for the hospital, some three hours away.
Cat was waiting in the lobby when he walked in. The smile on her face and the sparkle in her green eyes told him the news even before she spoke.
“As of”—she paused to check her watch—“eighteen minutes ago, you are now the father of a healthy eight-pound, seven-ounce boy.”
He temporarily checked the rise of feeling within. “How’s Sloan? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. They both are,” Cat assured him. “They’ll be taking her to her room shortly. You go ahead. I’ll call home to let them know.”
Eagerness was in his stride as Trey made his way to the hospital’s maternity section and the private room that had been assigned to his wife. Within minutes Sloan was wheeled into it. He was moved by how pale she looked. The winter months had taken much of the golden tan from her skin, but this pallor, he knew, came from exhaustion.
“Hi, Momma,” he murmured and covered her lips with a warm kiss that elicited only a feeble response. “I came as quick as I could.”
There was something darkly resentful in the look she gave him. “I called, but you didn’t answer.”
“I guess I didn’t hear the phone ring. It was in my coat pocket. I probably wouldn’t have answered, though. I was in the middle of pulling a calf. Gramps called, and old Jobe brought the news that you were on the way here. As soon as I got the little heifer calf safely into the world, I stopped by The Homestead to get your suitcase and take a shower. I knew they’d never let me into the delivery room, as filthy as my clothes were. But you didn’t wait for me to get here.”
“No,” Sloan admitted, finding some comfort in the knowledge that this time Trey had been where he said he would be. But it changed nothing in her mind.
“Are you doing all right?” His work-roughened fingers smoothed an odd strand of hair off her brow. “You look tired.”
Sloan readily accepted the excuse he offered. “I am. Have you seen him?” The mere thought of her son evoked a powerful tenderness within her, more profound than anything she had ever known.
“Not yet,” Trey replied. “The nurse said they’d be bringing him shortly.”
Cat walked into the room just as the nurse transferred the blanket-wrapped infant into Trey’s arms. The expression on Trey’s face when he gazed at his baby son made Cat pause. He looked incredibly proud and incredibly humble both at the same time. It was a sight that tugged at her heart.
Some slight movement betrayed her presence, drawing Trey’s glance to her. A father’s smile broke across his face. “Come say hello to your new great-nephew, Jacob Matthew Calder.”
PART THREE
The storm has exploded
over Calder land.
Now he has no choice
But to take a hard stand.
Chapter Twenty
Little Jacob Calder remained the center of attention as visitors streamed in and out of the room for much of the next day. Most were friends of the family, there to welcome the newest addition to the Calder family. To Sloan’s relief, none seemed to notice when she contributed little to the conversations.
The rare times when she found herself alone with Trey, she had only to plead tiredness and a desire to rest, and Trey would wander off to the cafeteria for some coffee, leaving Sloan free to make phone calls and put her hastily devised plan into motion.
In the early morning hours of the third day, her attending physician came by just as Sloan had privately signed the release orders she had arranged for herself. She wasted no time changing into her street clothes and requesting that her son be brought to her so she could leave.
The nurse looked at her with a bewildered frown. “Aren’t you going to wait until your husband gets here?”
Prepared for the question, Sloan replied smoothly. “He’s staying at a motel here in town. I thought I’d surprise him.”
“But—what about all these bouquets and stuffed toys?” the nurse protested.
“Why don’t you distribute them among your other patients,” Sloan suggested.
She wasn’t able to persuade the nurse to ignore hospital policy that dictated she be wheeled to the door. Which meant she had to suffer through another delay while a wheelchair was located and brought to her room.
After an interminable wait, she finally climbed into the rear passenger seat of a waiting taxi, her precious son in her arms. But she didn’t draw an easy breath until the driver pulled away from the hospital entrance.
Exactly twenty-five minutes past eight o’clock, Trey walked past the nurse’s station, carrying an infant carrier by its handle. With his attention focused on the open door to Sloan’s room, he never noticed the surprised looks he received.
As he approached the room, an aide wheeled out a cart, packed solid with floral arrangements. Trey stepped aside to let her pass.
“Can I help you?” She eyed him curiously.
“I’m here to get my wife and son.” His glance skipped past her into the room, stripped of its balloons, flowers, and cuddly toys. But it was the empty bed that made him check the room number.
“What’s her name?” the aide asked in an attempt to he helpful.
Trey answered automatically while he was still trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Sloan Calder.”
“Mrs. Calder?” the young girl repeated in surprise. “Why, she’s already left.”
Features that had initially appeared youthful and ruggedly handsome, hardened into something forbidding. �
��You must be mistaken.”
The aide drew back. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not. She’s gone.”
The sound of approaching footsteps, whisper-soft in their tread, intruded, and the aide was released from the pinning glare of Trey’s cold eyes when it sliced to the nurse moving toward them.
“Good morning, Mr. Calder.” The greeting gave a touch of normalcy to a moment that was anything but. “Is there a problem with the flowers? Your wife did leave instructions that she wanted to share them with the other patients.”
“Where is she?” Trey demand curtly. “Where’s my son?”
Surprise left the woman momentarily speechless and a little flustered. “I believe they left right before I came on duty, probably thirty or forty minutes ago. If I’m not mistaken, Tessa—Nurse Hutchins—accompanied them to the lobby.”
“Where’d they go?”
Confusion and concern came together in the woman’s expression. “They didn’t arrive at your motel?”
“Would I be here if they had?” Trey countered, his voice low and rough.
“I suppose not,” the nurse admitted. “It’s just that Tess—Nurse Hutchins—mentioned that your wife said something about wanting to surprise you. Naturally she assumed the taxi was going to take her to your—”
Trey walked off before she could complete the sentence, swift strides carrying him toward the lobby. The nurse sent an anxious glance after him.
“I wonder what happened to Mrs. Calder,” the aide murmured. “Do you think we should call the police?”
After a moment’s hesitation, the nurse made a small negative shake of her head. “I don’t think so. At least—not yet,” she added and hurried after Trey.
Even at a running walk, she didn’t catch up with him until he reached the lobby. Oblivious to her calls for him to wait, he never slowed until she caught his arm. Halting, he swung around to face her, bristling with impatience.