Calder Pride

by Janet Dailey

  “Close to ten thousand. I got a can with another twenty thousand buried at the southeast corner of the barn.” Lath paused in his counting of the money and grinned up at him. “You don’t think I spent all that time in prison without some seed money waitin’ for me when I got out.”

  “You mean…you have nearly thirty thousand dollars?” Rollie had trouble absorbing that.

  “And this gun deal comin’ up is gonna net me another five.” He raised an eyebrow in open mockery. “Do you still want me to leave you out of the deal?”

  Almost woodenly, Rollie walked over to the can, needing to touch the bills and make sure they were genuine. “You made all this from selling guns,” he murmured, awestruck.

  “Nope. This is only what I managed to save. I did me some livin’ with the rest.”

  Rollie frowned. “If you had all this, why didn’t you send Ma some when she was needin’ it?”

  “I couldn’t get to it, not without taking the risk of those Treasury boys following me and seizing it like they did just about everything else I had. ’Sides, even if I had, we both know she would have plowed the money back into the damned farm. This way’s better.”

  “Jeezus, we’re rich,” Rollie murmured, lovingly fingering the bills. “I can quit my job—”

  “Not so fast, little brother.” Lath pulled the canister away from him and stuffed the excess bills back inside, pocketing the rest. “You gotta keep that job. One of us has to be makin’ an income people can see. That was another mistake I made the last time, flashing more money than I could account for. This time, I’m gonna look poor, live poor, and drive poor, and let people think I’m spongin’ off my hardworkin’ little brother. In a year, maybe two, I’ll have enough that we can blow this place, buy us some new identities, and show Ma the good life.”

  Seeing all the money turned Rollie into a believer. He watched Lath shove the canister into the black shadows under a shelf. “You aren’t going to leave that there, are you?”

  “It’s okay for now. Later I’ll be buryin’ it right inside the cellar door.” He laid an arm across Rollie’s shoulders in a confiding gesture. “I’m tellin’ ya that so you’ll have it for Ma in case I run into any trouble. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He was suddenly and deeply moved by the trust Lath was showing in him. He had been the little brother and called the little brother for so long that he’d always felt inadequate. Now, Lath trusted him, and he felt somehow bigger, stronger, more competent.

  “I knew I could count on you.” Lath slapped his back. “Come on. Let’s go get cleaned up. We’re both about as rank as an old man’s dirty laundry.”

  It wasn’t until he was out of the shower that Rollie remembered the news he’d heard in town. He padded into the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his hips and water still dripping from his long hair. His mother was at the sink, peeling potatoes to add to the roast in the oven. Lath sat on the kitchen counter, a beer in his hand, watching her.

  “I forgot to tell you—I saw Reverend Pattersby in at Fedderson’s getting gas. You’ll never guess where he was going.”

  “To hell?” Lath grinned.

  Emma pressed a hand to her mouth, smothering a girlish titter. “Lath, you’re awful.”

  “No, it was better than that. He was heading out to the Triple C. Echohawk’s marrying Cat Calder, and Pattersby’s performing the ceremony.”

  Lath pushed off the counter, surprise digging a deep furrow across his forehead. “Echohawk is marrying the Calder girl?”

  “That’s what Pattersby said.”

  “I never heard any talk about him seeing her,” he mused aloud.

  “He’s marrying a tramp, that’s what he’s doing.” At the sink, the paring knife flashed with new fury, sending strips of potato peelings flying into the air. “Her and that little bastard of hers.”

  Rollie had saved the juiciest tidbit for last. “There’s some that are speculating Echohawk is the kid’s father.”

  “Wouldn’t that be interesting.” Lath arched an eyebrow, then took a thoughtful swig of beer and gazed off into the middle distance.

  “It’d be just like Calder to hold a shotgun wedding.”

  A short, heavy breath of disgust came from the sink area. “A wedding won’t change the fact that she isn’t fit to be called a mother, Calder or no,” Emma declared, her thin body stiff with outrage. “If there was any justice in this world, she woulda known the pain of somebody takin’ her son from her long before now.”

  Rollie scoffed, “Come on, Ma. She’s a Calder. Such a thing will never happen.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, little brother.” A hint of slyness crept into Lath’s smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Rollie asked, with an interest he wouldn’t have had a week ago.

  Still smiling, Lath kept his own counsel and tipped the bottle to his mouth, downing another long swallow of beer.

  Cat stood motionless in front of the tall cheval mirror, her fingers clasped around a pearl necklace. A tap at her bedroom door broke across her thoughts. Looking into the mirror once more, she raised the strand of pearls to her neck and checked to make certain her expression revealed none of the wild jittering of her nerves, then called, “Come in.”

  The mirror reflected her brother’s image when the door opened. “Is Reverend Pattersby here? I thought I heard a car drive up.”

  “He’s downstairs.” Ty came up behind her, his dark eyes meeting the green of hers in the mirror.

  “I’m almost ready.” She fumbled with the clasp, then gave up before her already thin nerves snapped. “Would you fasten this for me? I seem to be all thumbs.”

  “Sure.” He took the two ends from her, the work-roughened backs of his fingers brushing against the skin of her neck while Cat held the weight of her long hair up and away from it. “These are Mother’s pearls, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” She touched the front of them. “I always planned to wear them on my wedding day.”

  She didn’t bother to add that she had always thought she would be marrying Repp. The memory of it clouded her eyes for a moment before she pushed it away and ran an assessing glance over her reflection. The dress she had chosen to wear was made of crepe de chine. The muted shades of teal and lavender draped and floated around her slender, curved figure. The design was simple and elegantly understated, but the effect was much more romantic than she would have liked. Given a choice, Cat would have grabbed something out of the closet and called it good enough. But the dress, like the ceremony, was for Quint’s benefit.

  “Cat.” Ty’s hands shifted to the rounded points of her shoulders. “It isn’t too late to change your mind. If you do, I’ll stand with you.”

  She thought about it for all of two seconds, then gave a small, sideways shake of her head. “No. I’ve agreed to this.”

  When she would have moved away from him, his hands tightened to stop her. “Cat, there is only one thing worse than making a mistake, and that’s refusing to admit it. Ask me. I know.”

  Turning to face him, Cat struggled to show him a calmness she didn’t feel. “I promise you this, Ty. If I discover this is an awful mistake, you’ll be the first one I’ll tell.”

  “You’d better.” Despite the serious gleam in his eyes, his mouth quirked in a smile that disappeared under a corner of his mustache. “That’s what big brothers are for, you know.”

  “I’m counting on that.” From the hallway came the clatter of feet running up the stairs, a familiar sound that was distinctively Quint’s own. “It sounds like Dad has sent up reinforcements to hurry me along.”

  This time Ty didn’t try to hold her when Cat moved away from him. A second later, Quint pushed the door open and said, in a loud stage whisper, “Mom, everybody’s waiting for you.”

  Seeing him clad in his dress pants, white shirt, and clip-on tie, his hair slicked in a neat side part, Cat knew her choice of dress had been right. Five years old or not, she did
n’t underestimate his powers of observation. If she had chosen less than her best, he would have noticed and wondered.

  “Go tell them I’m coming,” she said.

  “Okay.” Off he dashed with the message, leaving the bedroom door ajar.

  Turning, Cat ran smoothing hands over the bodice of her dress, her nerves all raw and edgy again. She inhaled a quick, steadying breath. “Shall we?” she murmured, her glance ricocheting off Ty as she moved toward the door.

  The ceremony was to take place in the den. There would be no flowers, no glow of candlelight, no horde of guests, no bridal bouquet, no wedding march, no veil for the groom to lift, no cake to cut, no pelting rice on the newlyweds. The lack of all that should have made it easier. It didn’t.

  As she approached the set of double doors, Cat fought the urge to slow her steps. Entering the room, her glance went first to Quint, noting the look of pleasure that leaped into his eyes when he saw her. But it was the sight of Logan standing next to her father that halted her.

  He was dressed in a dark suit, impeccably tailored to fit his wide shoulders without a wrinkle. The dark color of it pointed up the blackness of his hair and intensified the smoke-gray of his eyes. The suit changed his image, gave power and polish to his lean and chiseled features. The result was dangerously gorgeous.

  Cat recalled Logan’s mentioning to Quint that he had worked for the government, a world where a suit and tie were common dress for a man. She was reminded again of how little she knew about him.

  Ty shifted closer to her, touching her arm and murmuring in concern, “Cat.”

  She walked forward with a falsely confident step, conscious of Logan’s eyes on her all the way. Deliberately ignoring him, Cat fixed her gaze on the minister.

  After a brief exchange of greetings, Reverend Pattersby inquired, with an avidly interested glance at each of them, “Shall we begin?”

  “Please.” Never in her life had Cat been so eager to get something over with as she was this. Anything to end this uneven thudding of her heart.

  The minister opened his book, intoning the familiar words, “Dearly beloved…”

  Facing him, with Logan standing close enough that their arms brushed, Cat knew why a bride normally carried a bouquet. It gave her something to do with her hands.

  The problem was eliminated a moment later as her father stepped forward, asserting his right to give her in marriage and placing her hand in Logan’s, The warm, solid strength of Logan’s easy grip ignited new quivers of awareness.

  When it came time to recite her vows, Cat made the mistake of looking up. “I, Cathleen Elizabeth Calder”—his compelling gray eyes wouldn’t let her look away—“take thee, Logan Andrew Echohawk…”

  She hated the breathy quality of her voice, the suggestion of emotion in it. She blamed it on nerves and the strain of the moment. “…forsaking all others, till death do us part,” she finished and saw the quick, hard gleam of satisfaction darken his eyes.

  It was his turn now, and his voice was strong with conviction as he made his vows to her. She could almost believe that he meant every word of them.

  “Will there be an exchange of rings?” Reverend Pattersby asked in a soft undertone.

  “Yes.” Logan produced a matching pair of plain gold bands from his suit pocket.

  Cat stiffened in instant protest. More vows—she didn’t want to make any more meaningless vows. Tense with anger, she went through all the motions and said all the right words, then bowed her head in prayer, relieved that it was nearly finished.

  “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister proclaimed, then added the usual encouragement, “You may kiss the bride.”

  Trained to observe every small, subtle shift of expressions, Logan saw the flicker of resentment in Cat’s eyes before she moved to kiss him. He felt the cool impersonal brush of her closed lips and discovered a new meaning for the term lip service. Irritated by it, he cupped his hand behind her neck, not letting her draw back, and brought his mouth against hers with warm, nuzzling pressure.

  Her lips softened under the coaxing stimulation of kiss. It was the response he’d been seeking. But he found he wanted more than that.

  Before he could take the kiss deeper, the minister coughed delicately. Logan lifted his head and saw with satisfaction the dazed light in her eyes. Abruptly she turned her head from him, but not before he saw the glimmer of fear that replaced that look.

  It stopped him. Fear was the last emotion he wanted to arouse in her.

  During the brief, and slightly awkward, round of congratulations that followed, Logan spotted Quint, hanging back from the group. He called him forward and lifted him into his arms.

  “Are we a family now?” Quint asked.

  “We sure are,” Logan replied.

  “Is that why you kissed her?”

  Cat stiffened beside him. His glance slid over her, noting the smoothness of her expression. “It’s one of the reasons,” Logan replied.

  As soon as the license was signed and witnessed, a light supper was served in the dining room. Reverend Pattersby did full justice to the fare that was offered, which was more than Cat was able to do. To her relief, he refused an after-dinner cup of coffee, insisting that he needed to be on his way. Seizing the excuse to escape, Cat offered to accompany him to the door. The quick lift of his eyebrow advised her that Reverend Pattersby regarded it as a highly unusual thing for a bride to do. The eyebrow fell when Logan came up behind her, seconding the offer.

  Together they walked him to the door. Closing it behind him, Cat turned, sliding a glance off Logan. “At least, that’s over.”

  He nodded a silent agreement. “Where are your suitcases? I might as well get them loaded in the truck.”

  “My suitcases?” she repeated, then sighed in irritation. “Don’t you think a honeymoon is carrying this farce a little too far?”

  “It would be, but that wasn’t my intention.” His gaze narrowed on her in sudden suspicion. “You haven’t packed, have you?”

  “Why should I?” she countered.

  “Because we’ll be going home shortly.”

  “Home,” she echoed in shock. Even when she realized the meaning of his words, she resisted it. “This is home. I’ve already fixed up one of the guest rooms for you—”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Cat rushed. “What possible difference could it make where we live?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I have a ranch, Cat. That means I have chores and responsibilities there. If I have to drive back and forth, plus commute to my job, there wouldn’t be any time left to spend with my son. Or had you thought of that?”

  “No. I just assumed—nothing was ever said—it never occurred to me we would live anywhere else.”

  He expelled a long sigh. “It seems we both made some wrong assumptions. We should have discussed it, I guess.”

  “I’ll talk to Dad,” she said, certain there would be a way around this. “We can arrange for one of our men to look after your—”

  “No,” Logan broke in, sharp and decisive. “It’s my ranch and my responsibility. I don’t need your father’s help with it. And I’m not about to accept simply because you want to stay here—in your father’s house.”

  “But it’s my home—and Quint’s home,” Cat argued.

  “Not anymore. Not for a year,” he added, reminding her of the agreement they had made.

  In the face of that, there was no argument Cat could make. “It will take me some time to pack.”

  “For now, just take what you and Quint will need tonight. In the morning, you can come back and pack the rest of your things.”

  “Very well,” she accepted the logic of his suggestion.

  But a half-formed fear gnawed at Cat all the way to her room. It wasn’t until she saw her bed that she understood the reason for it. She felt safe here, safe from this marriage she had made. Here in this house, she would have had the distraction of family. They would have s
erved as a buffer to keep Logan at a distance. Conversation would have been easy.

  Sharing a house, just the three of them, was a whole different story. Meals, bedtimes, morning, nights, constantly in each other’s company—how on earth was she going to do it?

  Quint stood in the seat between them, all eyes when the pickup pulled into the ranch yard. Sunset flamed across the western sky, casting its rosy hue over the buildings and the single-story house.

  “Is this your ranch?” Quint asked.

  “This is it.” Logan swung the pickup toward the house.

  “It isn’t very big, is it?”

  “Not as big as your grandfather’s, but it’s big enough for one man to handle—if he has some help.”

  Quint jumped on that. “I can help.”

  “I’m counting on that.” Logan flashed him a smile and switched off the engine.

  “Is there some work you need me to do now?” Quint followed Logan, climbing out the driver’s side after him, not once glancing in Cat’s direction when she opened the passenger door.

  “Not tonight, but in the morning, you can help me throw some hay to the horses.” He lifted the two overnight bags out of the back of the truck and handed one to Quint. Quint struggled a bit with the weight of it when he set out after Logan.

  Cat trailed behind them, staring at the house. It was a homey, rambling affair, with a long front porch complete with a pair of rocking chairs, meant to be used on warm summer evenings. But compared to The Homestead, it was small. She knew it would be impossible not to be aware of someone in the next room.

  Ahead of her, Quint dragged his bag up the porch steps, then stopped and looked back. “Are you coming, Mom?”

  “Yes.” She quickened her steps.

  A hinge squeaked a loud protest when Logan opened the screen door.

  “I’ve been meaning to oil that,” Logan said, propping the door open with his body and setting the bag at his feet, then digging in his pocket for the house key.

  Watching him, Quint cocked his head at a curious angle. “How come you lock it?”

  Logan sent an amused look over his shoulder, then glanced at Cat as she climbed the three steps to the porch. “I lived in the city too long, I guess.”