by Janet Dailey
“Maybe you should check at the other motels in town,” she suggested earnestly. “It’s possible she went to the wrong one.”
Without even a nod of acknowledgement, he turned back and started across the lobby again, taking no notice of the heavyset man in a billed cap standing at the information desk. But the gray-haired volunteer manning the desk saw him and waved an envelope in the air.
“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Calder,” she called. “Ken just brought this in for you.”
One glimpse of the envelope in her hand and Trey changed course, crossing to the desk. He took the envelope from her outstretched hand and ripped open the flap.
“It’s a good thing I caught you before you left, “the woman declared brightly. “Oh, it would have been forwarded on to you, of course, but as slow as mail is these days, who knows how long it might have taken?”
Inside was a single sheet of plain paper, folded in half. Trey snapped it open. The message was one sentence long. My lawyer will be in touch. It was signed Sloan.
Trey’s fingers curled into the paper, stopping short of wadding it into a ball. He turned the full bore of his attention on the man in the billed cap.
“Are you the one who brought this?” His voice was tight with challenge.
“Yeah.” The man’s shoulders moved in a small, so-what shrug.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Mrs. Calder,” he replied. “She asked me to leave it here at the hospital after I dropped her off at the airport. That’s my cab out there.” He waved a hand in the direction of the sedan idling outside the entrance.
Clouds rolled across the Montana plains, pushed by a fast-moving cold front. Their thick layers blocked the late afternoon sunlight from the land, casting a premature darkness over the Triple C headquarters. Smoke curled from one of The Homestead’s chimneys, its gray trail blending into the skyscape.
Inside the big white house, the snap and crackle of flames in the den’s fireplace dominated the stillness. On this afternoon, Chase had bypassed his chair behind the desk and chosen instead to sit in a wing-backed one near the fire, angled to expand his view of the area directly outside the house.
One liver-spotted hand gripped the head of his cane, and the other patted the armrest in a show of impatience. With all his senses trained on the sights and sounds beyond the glass panes, Chase was quick to catch the distinctive rumble of an approaching vehicle.
Using his cane for leverage, he pushed himself out of the wing-backed chair and stumped over to the window. But the minute his sharp eyes identified Laredo as the driver, he turned from the window in disgust and clumped back to the desk.
When a search of a top drawer proved fruitless, Chase released a cranky bellow. “Cat! Get in here!”
Three sets of footsteps responded to his summons, but Cat was the first to enter the room ahead of Laredo and Jessy. “What is it? What’s wrong?” The questions tumbled from Cat in an alarmed rush.
“Where’d you hide my damned cigars?” he demanded.
“Your cigars?” Cat repeated in disbelief.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” he demanded, all testy.
In a huff, Cat crossed to the desk and flipped open the lid of the small wooden humidor that sat atop it. “Your cigars are right where you put them this morning. If you had bothered to look instead of carrying on like the sky was falling, you would have seen them.”
Chase grunted a nonresponse and plucked a cigar from the box. “Are you going to smoke that now?” Cat frowned.
“Damn right. If I can’t hold that new great-grandbaby of mine, then, by God I’ll smoke a cigar to him.” He turned a scowling look on Jessy. “What’s taking Trey so long to get here? I thought Sloan and little Jake were supposed to leave the hospital this morning.”
“That’s what Trey said last night,” Jessy admitted. “But there are any number of reasons why they aren’t here yet. For all we know, the doctor might have been late getting to the hospital to sign her out. I’m sure they’ll be arriving soon.”
“They’d better be. I’m tired of waiting.” Chase propped his cane against the desk to free his hands and proceeded to light his cigar, taking quick puffs to draw the flame to its tip.
Laredo wandered over to the drink cart. “How about a shot of whiskey to go with that cigar, Chase? It might make the waiting easier.”
“Not unless you’re having one. Drinking alone is a bad habit for a man my age to get into.” With the smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, he hobbled back to the wing-backed chair and lowered himself onto its seat.
“In that case, I’ll join you.” Laredo removed the stopper from the whiskey decanter and slid a questioning glance at Jessy. “How about you?”
“I think I’d rather have coffee,” she said.
“That’s probably wise,” Laredo agreed with a teasing grin. “Grandmas shouldn’t have whiskey on their breath.”
“Or great-aunts, either,” Cat inserted. “I’ll get the coffee, Jessy.”
When Cat left the den, Chase removed the cigar from his mouth and directed a look at Jessy. “How have our numbers been running in the calving sheds?”
“So far the live births are one hundred percent, although Shadow Rock Camp had one calf that’s too weak to nurse, so they’re bottle-feeding it. We checked the records, and that same cow lost her calf last year, so she’s one we probably want to cull.”
At the drink cart, Laredo listened to the run of conversation behind him while he poured whiskey into two glasses and added a splash of water and ice to his. As he put the stopper back on the decanter, his glance strayed to the window and stayed there when he saw the Suburban pull up to the house. He started to alert the others of Trey’s arrival, then checked himself when he noticed the absence of any passengers.
But it was the cold set of Trey’s expression when he emerged from the vehicle and the look of tightly caged energy in the way he crossed to the steps that prompted Laredo to say in warning, “I think we’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?” Chase reared his head back. “What kind of trouble? Where? What are you talking about?”
Laredo didn’t have to answer as the slam of the front door reverberated through the house, followed by the sound of hard-striding footsteps coming straight to the den. Laredo had the advantage of knowing it was Trey before he walked in, his sheepskin-lined jacket hanging open and his dress black Stetson pulled low on his forehead.
“Trey.” Chase’s expression brightened like a child at Christmas, then clouded with confusion when he realized Trey was alone. “Where’s Sloan and little Jake? Why aren’t they with you?”
Without bothering to answer, Trey crossed to the drink cart and jerked the stopper out of the decanter. His hat brim shadowed much of his face, but Laredo was close enough to see the glitter of banked savagery in his eyes.
“Dammit, boy, you answer me,” Chase thundered.
“Remember last spring, Gramps?” Trey poured three fingers of whiskey into a glass, jammed the stopper back on, and snatched up the drink, then turned to face his grandfather. “You warned us that Rutledge might want to get even. He has. An eye for an eye. My son for his.”
Jessy’s mouth opened in a wordless protest, and she took an instinctive step toward Trey, then sensed that physical contact was something he would reject. Chase’s only reaction was to lean slowly back in his chair.
“I think you’d better tell us what happened,” Chase stated calmly.
Trey tossed back a hefty swallow of whiskey, but if it burned on the way down, Laredo observed no indication of it in Trey’s expression. Instead there was a look of cold resolve in his dark eyes that Laredo had only seen in one other man, and that was Chase Calder.
“When I arrived at the hospital this morning, I was told Sloan had left with our son thirty minutes earlier. After calling in favors, twisting a few arms, and greasing some palms, I learned that she boarded one of Rutledge’s private jets. According to the flight plan, its destination was Fort Worth.�
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His response was a clear, concise statement of the facts without embellishment or emotion. But Laredo was more impressed that Trey hadn’t assumed anything; he had dug for the facts.
“I managed to get a look at the phone charges from the hospital. Sloan placed two long-distance calls to an unlisted number in Texas. The first three digits are the same as the Cee Bar’s number.”
“It’s plain the two of them planned this together,” Chase concluded, then released a troubled sigh. “I’m surprised she didn’t leave you some kind of note—just to throw some salt on the wound.”
“She did.” Trey pulled the crumpled sheet from his jacket pocket and tossed it to him. “She had the cab driver bring it to the hospital and added a fifty-dollar tip to make sure he waited until he saw her plane take off.”
Chase reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve his magnifiers, only to discover they weren’t there. With no hesitation, he handed it to Jessy. “Read it aloud.”
“My God,” Jessy murmured when she saw what it said, and she directed a commiserating glance at her son. “‘My lawyer will be in touch.’ And it’s signed ‘Sloan.’”
“That’s cold and to the point,” Chase declared on a grim note.
“Is that what you’re going to do?” Laredo made a sideways study of Trey. “Wait for her lawyer to call?”
“Like hell I am!”
With navigation lights blinking in the dusk of day’s end, the helicopter settled gently onto the Slash R’s private helipad, strategically located near the main house. Harold Bennett stood well back from the aircraft, but not far enough to escape being buffeted by its powerful downdraft.
As the helicopter’s engine was cut, slowing the rotation of its blades, a specially designed lift was rolled to the cabin door. It was a rare occurrence for Harold to observe his employer’s arrival from the ground. Any other time he would have been aboard the helicopter with Rutledge. But the day’s events had dictated otherwise.
In short order, Rutledge was lowered to the ground in his wheelchair, a briefcase on his lap. Harold moved to meet him when Rutledge sent his chair speeding toward him.
As always, Rutledge didn’t waste time with pointless greetings. “I ordered extra security. Have they arrived?”
“Yes sir. Two are on duty at the main gate. Another one’s stationed in the ranch yard. They’ve got three vehicles on the road and two men with dogs patrolling the house yard.”
“Have there been any problems? Any phone calls?”
“None, sir,” Harold replied, allowing a faint smile to show.
“Good.” Rutledge nodded in approval, some of that charged tension leaving him. “What about Sloan? Is everything all right there?”
“Yes sir. She was understandably tired and stressed by the time she got here. Other than that, she and the baby are doing fine and settling in nicely.”
“And you’re sure they’ve got everything they need,” Max challenged.
“If they don’t, I don’t know what it would be,” Harold told him. “The nursery is stocked with every baby item there is, and Sloan has a whole new wardrobe. If I overlooked anything, it’s a phone call away.”
“Where is she now?”
“In the nursery, feeding the baby.” Behind them the wheelchair hoist was rolled away from the helicopter, and the cabin door was shut and locked in preparation for liftoff.
“It’s time I saw this Calder heir.” Rutledge’s mouth curved in anticipation, but Harold knew better than to mistake it for a smile. It wasn’t the prospect of seeing the infant that put that gleam in Rutledge’s eye; rather, it was the knowledge that the child was in his house.
The pilot waited until the pair was nearly to the house before he throttled up the engine. The roar of it once again filled the air, disturbing the stillness of the warm spring evening. Like a great lumbering dragonfly, the chopper rose slowly, made a slight sideways dip, and swooped upward.
With a hand at the controls, Max steered the wheelchair down the wide corridor, designed, as was every inch of the house, for easy wheelchair access. The door to the newly created nursery stood open, but Max brought the wheelchair to a stop within its frame. Sloan sat in a rocking chair, gazing adoringly at the infant in her arms, one finger stroking a soft cheek.
Max rapped twice on the door. “May I come in?”
“Uncle Max.” A smile spread across her face in welcome. “Of course you can. In fact, your timing couldn’t be better. Jake just finished his bottle. I was about to put him back in his crib so he could sleep.”
“He weathered the flight all right, then.” Max rolled his chair into the room.
“He fussed a lot on the plane,” Sloan admitted. “I’m sure the changes in cabin pressure hurt his ears. But he’s fine now.”
“And you, are you all right, too?” Head cocked at a considering angle, he studied her with a show of gentle concern.
“I will be,” she asserted.
“Spoken with the grit of a Davis,” Max stated, emphasizing his approval with a single nod of his head.
“Thanks.” There was something almost shy in the smile Sloan gave him, but her following comment told him it was born of uncertainty. “I just hope I’ve done the right thing.”
“You have. We all make mistakes. The weak close their eyes to them and pretend everything will be all right in time. The strong admit them and take steps to correct them—just as you have done. I’m not saying it won’t be painful,” Max added. “But a swift, clean break is the best.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Sloan murmured, but a sadness stole into her expression
Harold Bennett paused in the doorway and rapped lightly to gain their attention. “I wanted to check on our little guy and see how he’s doing,” he said when they looked up. He nodded at the empty baby bottle sitting on the table next to her chair. “He drank all his formula, did he? That’s a good sign.”
“He was hungry.” Sloan looked at her son with pride and smiled. “Now he’s sleepy.”
While she was distracted, Max made eye contact with his personal nurse and signaled for him to get the baby. Harold nodded and advanced into the room.
“Let me put him to bed for you.” Halting at her chair, he stretched out his arms to take the infant, wrapped in a blue receiving blanket.
“You’re spoiling me, Harold.” Sloan surrendered her son to him.
“You’ve had a long day, too, and you need your rest as much as this one does,” Harold replied in his best professional voice.
When he turned to carry the baby to his crib, Max spoke up, “May I hold him a moment first?”
Harold managed to contain his surprise. Recovering quickly, he smiled. “Of course.” He carried the infant to his employer and placed him in his arms, careful to make sure there was support for the baby’s head, then stepped back to watch, certain Max wouldn’t want to hold the child for long.
“My, my, look at all that hair,” Max declared in a marveling voice. “Why, he’s going to need a haircut in another month.”
“He does have a lot of hair, doesn’t he?” Sloan leaned closer, smiling with pride.
Max declined to comment on its dark color, unwilling to make any reference to the Calders, indirectly or otherwise. “It’s been a long time since there was a baby in this house. I had forgotten how small they are, and how innocent. A new, young life is just what this old, tired heart of mine needed. Thank you for bringing him here, Sloan.”
A quick shake of her head dismissed his thanks. “After all you’ve done—sending the plane and having all this waiting for us—I’m the one who needs to thank you.”
“Nonsense,” Max declared without looking up from the infant, then feigned a small start of surprise. “Why, I do believe he just yawned. I guess he is sleepy.”
Quick to take the cue, Harold stepped forward to relieve him of the infant. “Newborns need their sleep.”
“Of course they do,” he agreed and looked at Sloan. “I instructed
Vargas to set out some hors d’oeuvres in the living room. We’ll go there and continue our talk so we won’t disturb your son.” As expected, he saw the beginnings of a protest in Sloan’s expression and smiled in understanding. “Don’t worry. Harold will keep an eye on him for you.”
Showing a new mother’s reluctance to be separated from her child, Sloan followed Max into the living room. Max pretended not to notice the uneasy glance she sent in the direction of the nursery before she took a seat.
He made no attempt to resume their conversation until the house servant had delivered their drinks, a lemonade for Sloan and a bourbon and water for Max. “I can’t tell you how much I wish you and baby were here under different circumstances. I had great hopes that your marriage would be a happy one.”
Sloan immediately stiffened with a kind of bitter anger. “It wasn’t to be—not unless I wanted to be one of those who pretended she didn’t know there was another woman. But I can’t and I won’t.”
“Well, in all honesty, I can’t say I was surprised when you told me Trey was stepping out on you.” His sigh had a trace of disgust in it. “Given the history of that family, I suppose it was inevitable.”
“You’re referring to the affair Trey’s father had with Jessy,” Sloan guessed at once. “I heard all about that. After meeting Tara, though, I could understand why he did it.” Pausing, she made a wry grimace. “It’s funny, but I feel sorry for Tara now. No one at the ranch liked her. Like me, she was never accepted into the family in anything but name.”
“And like you, Tara was too strong a woman to quietly endure that kind of humiliation. That wasn’t always the case in the Calder family, from what I’ve learned.” Max deliberately didn’t elaborate on that comment, confident that Sloan would take the bait.
She did. “What do you mean?”
He began with an apology. “Forgive me, Sloan, but when you first indicated there was some trouble in your marriage, I became concerned and did some checking into the Calders. After all, like most people, I only knew them by their reputation as giants in ranching. I never had reason to delve into their personal lives until this started.”