by Janet Dailey
Pausing beside her, Chase observed her half-worried look when she gazed after Quint. “You should be glad that he’s looking forward to moving in here.”
“I thought he’d miss the Triple C more,” Cat released a long breath of disappointment. “I guess this is still an adventure to him.”
“He also knows he still has his own room at The Homestead, and that he’s welcome to come stay in it any time he wants.”
“I guess.”
Chase glanced at his watch. “It’s two o’clock now. By the time we get back and get the horses loaded, we should pull in here a little after four.”
“I’ll watch for them,” Cat promised.
She waited until they drove out of the yard before she turned back to the house. A chipped cement block propped the screen door open. As she started to shove it aside, the telephone rang in the house. Leaving the block in place, she hurried to answer it.
“Circle Six Ranch.” Silence followed. Frowning, Cat tried again. “Hello. Hello?” There was a click on the line. A moment later she heard the distinctive hum of the dial tone.
Shrugging it off as a wrong number, Cat hung up the kitchen extension and went back to the living room. Her glance fell on the pile of hangered clothes draped across the platform rocker. Another stack lay on the sofa. Since it was an obvious and easy place to start, she grabbed up a handful of Quint’s shirts and pants, carried them into his room, and hung them in the closet.
From there, she made a detour into the spare room to make sure its closet was empty. It wasn’t. There were a dozen shirts, an equal number of jeans and slacks, three suits, and two sets of uniforms hanging on its rod.
“Aren’t you the clotheshorse, taking up two closets,” Cat muttered under her breath. “I can fix that.”
She snatched the shirts off the rod and charged into the hall straight to his bedroom. She yanked open the closet door, determined to cram the shirts in with his other clothes.
The closet was empty.
Dumbfounded, Cat stared at the bare shelves and clothes rod, every inch wiped clean of dust. She turned slowly from it, her glance straying to the walnut-stained bureau. Crossing to it, she pulled out a drawer. Empty.
Still carrying the shirts, she went back to the spare room, skirted the neatly stacked boxes and stopped in front of the oak dresser. Almost hesitantly she opened one of the drawers and looked inside at the folded undershirts and white briefs. A second drawer held socks and two sets of thermal underwear. Sweaters and sweatshirts were in a third.
Cat didn’t bother to look any farther. There could be only one reason Logan had moved all of his clothes in here—he planned to sleep in this room. Which meant he had intended for her to have the other bedroom.
She remembered the vase of flowers—and promptly sat down on the nearest box. Had the bouquet been nothing more than a thoughtful gesture on his part? More than that—why had she been so ready to think the worst? Cat shied away from the answer to that.
Very carefully, she hung his shirts back in the closet, taking pains to shake out any folds so they wouldn’t end up wrinkled, then left the spare room, closing the door behind her. Still mulling over the implications of the discovery, she walked slowly back to the living room. She looked thoughtfully at her clothes, hesitated, then gathered up an armful and carried it into the bedroom she had previously regarded as Logan’s.
After hanging up the clothes on hangers, Cat tackled the luggage and boxes, separating hers from Quint’s and carting them to their respective rooms. Before unpacking any of them, she stopped to fix the roast for their evening meal.
In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator door, then noticed the radio on the counter next to it and flipped it on. Ten minutes later she was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes and absently singing along with the radio.
“She ain’t only purty to look at, she can sing, too.”
Startled by the drawled comment, Cat whirled around. Alarm shivered through her, turning her dry-mouthed when she saw Lath Anderson lounging in the kitchen doorway, an arm idly braced against the casing, his hat tipped to the back of his head.
Recovering, she demanded, “How did you get in here?”
“The door was standing open. I took that as an invitation to come in,” he said with a taunting grin. Too late Cat remembered she had left both doors propped open. “That ain’t a very smart thing to do. It tends to let the flies in.”
One buzzed around him. He watched it a moment, then his hand flashed, snaring it out of the air. The lightning speed of it carried a warning all of its own.
“See what I mean?” He dropped the dead fly on the floor and ran his hand down the side of his jeans in a cleaning motion.
“What is it you want here, Lath?” She had a partially peeled potato in one hand and the paring knife in the other. She tightened her hold on the knife.
“Someone told me you had married Echohawk.” He sauntered into the kitchen. “But I had to see it for my own eyes. Kinda sudden, wasn’t it?”
“It happens that way sometimes.”
“It was one of them—your eyes meet and before you know it, you can’t keep your hands off each other—was it?” His leisurely pace kept bringing him closer.
“More or less.” Cat wondered whether Lath knew that he blocked her from both the living room and the side door to the utility room. She had the uneasy feeling that he did. She was suddenly furious with herself for not moving away from the sink when she first saw him, instead of allowing herself to be trapped.
His glance wandered around the kitchen. “Where’s the kid?”
“With his grandfather. They should be pulling in any minute with another load of our things,” Cat lied, well aware it would be a good hour or more before they returned.
Lath’s eyes laughed at her, as if somehow he knew the truth. “How’s he like his new daddy?”
“He likes Logan just fine. Look, I’m really busy now. Why don’t you come back another time?” If she hadn’t been so leery of turning her back to him, she would have resumed peeling the potatoes.
“Yeah, I see you’re fixing dinner.” He paused to peer into the long enamel roasting pan on the counter. “Is that Calder beef there?”
“I wouldn’t know.” She was curt, wanting him gone and uncertain how to accomplish it.
Lath looked past her into the sink, eyeing the raw vegetables still sitting in the colander. “Potatoes, carrots, onions. Looks like it’s gonna be a real tasty meal. How does a fella go about wanglin’ an invitation to supper?”
“You aren’t welcome here, Lath.”
Shaking his head, he feigned a hurt look, his hands hooking themselves on the hips of his low-riding jeans. “Now, that ain’t a very neighborly attitude to take. An’ we are neighbors, you know. I live just up the road a few miles. Ma didn’t like it in town, so Rollie rented the old Simpson place.”
“How nice for your mother.”
“Yeah.” His glance drifted down to the front of her T-shirt, his eyes stripping her. “University of Texas, huh?”
Revolted by the almost physical touch of his gaze, Cat worked to keep her breathing slow and even. “I think you should leave. Right now.”
“That’s a pity, ’cause I was just thinkin’ about stayin’.” His eyes continued their downward focus. “Is that all Echohawk gave you—just that plain gold band?” Lath gestured toward the ring with a small lift of his hand.
Cat made the mistake of glancing at her wedding ring. In a flash, his hand snaked out and plucked the potato from her gasp as easily as he had snatched the fly moments ago. Grinning, Lath tossed the potato in the air a couple times, then took a crunching bite out of the peeled end.
“I always did like raw potatoes,” he said between chews. “Course, they’re better with some salt on ’em.”
Not trusting him, Cat retreated a step, moving sideways along the sink counter. “Get out of here, Lath.” She held the knife in a low, threatening position, her fingers tightly circled aroun
d it.
“If I don’t, you ain’t thinkin’ about cuttin’ me with that puny little knife, are you? ’Cause if you are, I’ll tell you right now that ain’t the way you hold a knife in a fight.”
“Just get out.” This time she kept her eyes on him and ignored the gesturing flick of his hand.
“You aren’t scared of me, are ya, little kitty-Cat.” Grinning cockily, Lath moved another step closer.
Cat retreated again, then sensed the closeness of the corner area and stopped. His grin lengthened as he began tossing the potato again.
Cat had the eerie feeling he was only toying with her.
“Feeling trapped, are you?”
“Stay away from me,” she warned.
“Catch.” Lath flipped the potato at her face.
Instinctively she blinked and pulled back from it. In that split second, his fingers closed around the wrist of her knife hand. Before she could strike out, he twisted her arm behind her back, turning her and slamming her against the counter, bending her forward over it and pinning her there with his hips. Cat tried to kick back at him and banged her knees into the cupboards. With her free hand, she groped the air behind her, trying to grab him. But he was out of reach.
Chuckling, he increased the pressure of his hips, wanting her to feel the hard outline of his erection. “Kinda hard to fight somebody when they’re behind ya, ain’t it?”
“Damn you, let me go!” She fought the terror that clogged her throat, a terror that came from discovering she was utterly helpless.
“Better quit that squirming. You’re getting me all excited.”
Cat froze, terror striking deep, but the instant he started grinding his hips against her in a suggestive way, she grabbed at the edge of the cupboard above her head and pushed with all her strength, straining to get the needed leverage to throw him back. He simply jerked her imprisoned arm higher, drawing a pained cry from her.
He kept up the pressure until her fingers released their grip on the cupboard and fell back to the counter. Even after he eased off, her shoulder continued to throb from the wrenching. She hunched from it, battling tears.
Her reprieve was short-lived as his hand slid under her T-shirt and wormed its way around to her breasts, pushing up her bra to release them. When she tried to grab at his hand, he simply twisted her arm again.
“Oh, baby, you got a great set of jugs,” Lath murmured, fondling them roughly. Revulsion rose like bile in her throat. “I’ll bet Echohawk loves wallowin’ in ’em at night.”
“You’ll go to prison for this.” Cat all but spat the words.
“I could,” he agreed in a smiling voice and rubbed himself against her. “But only if you talk. And you ain’t the kind that would tell. As proud as you are, you’d die of shame before you’d get up on a stand and say all the things I did—especially when I get up there and tell them how you teased me, showin’ me your breasts and flauntin’ your body, sayin’ that you wanted a little brother to go with your other bastard baby. It’d be too humiliatin’ for a Calder, wouldn’t it?”
Cat was all too afraid he was right, that a trial would be more degrading than her pride could stand. When she felt his fingers tugging at the snap of her jeans, she vowed he would not take her without a fight.
As she began to gather herself for it, the distinctive double click of a lever-action rifle sounded above the radio music.
“Let her go now,” came the low-growled threat.
At the first sound, Lath had wheeled off of her, his grip on her wrist loosening enough that with a quick jerk, Cat was free of it. Both feet were once more on the floor. On shaky legs she staggered backward, clutching at the counter. But Lath only had eyes for the old man holding the cocked rifle on him.
“Get away from him, Cat,” Culley ordered.
“Don’t go doin’ somethin’ stupid, O’Rourke.” Lath held up a cautioning hand. “You’d be shoo tin’ an unarmed man. That’s murder one.”
“But you’d be dead, and that would suit me just fine.” Culley’s finger caressed the trigger.
“But think of the mess she’d have to clean up.”
“Let him go, Culley.” Cat gripped the side of the refrigerator, unable to look at Lath, her skin still crawling from the sensation of his hands, his body.
“After what he done to you—”
“He didn’t do anything,” she insisted, fighting the feeling that she had been violated just the same.
“Now, you listen to the little lady,” Lath urged, his eyes cool and watchful.
“You were fixin’ to, weren’t ya?” Culley said in an ugly snarl.
“But he didn’t,” Cat repeated, angry now. “Let him go. I just want him out of here. Now.”
A long second dragged by. “All right, you heard her—git,” Culley ordered. “And if you come ’round here again, I won’t be listening to her. I’ll be shooting on sight.”
Lath sidled toward the door, some of his cockiness returning. “I’ll remember that. And I’ll remember you, old man,” he added softly.
To her relief, Culley followed him out of the kitchen all the way to the front door. When she heard it close, Cat sagged onto a kitchen chair, her stomach rolling. She almost laughed when she saw the paring knife in her hand. But it was a sob that came out.
A floorboard squeaked, the only warning she had that Culley was returning. Cat struggled to pull herself together, not wanting him to see how horribly unnerved she was. Looking up, she saw him watching her with worried eyes.
“Your timing couldn’t have been better.” She managed a wan smile.
“I saw him snooping around outside. When he slipped in the house, I didn’t figure he was up to any good.” Culley paused. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“My shoulder’s a little sore, that’s all.” A commercial came on the radio. Irritated by it, Cat got up and turned off the radio. The action made her aware of the bra riding up above her breasts. With her back to Culley, she reached under her T-shirt and pulled it down.
“You don’t look all right.”
“I’m fine, really,” Cat insisted again, then admitted, “I’m just a little shook up. He frightened me.” She rubbed her hands over her arms, still fighting that crawly, dirty sensation.
“You want me to call Logan?”
“No!” The answer was explosively quick and definite.
“You aren’t figurin’ on tellin’ him, are you?”
“What would be the point? There’s nothing he can do,” Cat argued. “Anyway, it’s over. Nothing happened.”
“Just the same, he should know about it.”
“No. He’d start asking questions, demanding details, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.” She swung on him. “Swear to me you won’t tell him, Uncle Culley.”
He hesitated, plainly not liking it. “If that’s the way you want it, I won’t tell him what happened.”
“Not a word. Not a single word. I have your promise on that?”
Culley nodded. “You have my promise.”
Relief shuddered through her. Cat ran a hand over the top of her hair, her fingers snagging in the plaits of her French braid. “How could I have been so stupid to leave those doors propped open? It was dumb. So very dumb.” She began to pace.
Watching her, Culley shifted his weight to the other foot. “Want me to put on some coffee?”
Cat glanced at the sink counter, remembering. “No. No, I don’t want any coffee.” She could still see him there. Smell him. Feel him. She bolted from the kitchen, unable to remain another second.
Culley followed her into the living room, watching as she moved about, all raw nervous energy, opening one box, looking in another, picking one up and setting it down two feet away, accomplishing nothing. It worried him.
“Maybe you should sit down, Cat.”
“I can’t.” She kept her back to him, head down. “What time is it?”
He pulled out his pocket watch and checked. “A little after th
ree.”
“Dad will be here with Quint soon. I should take a shower and get cleaned up before they get here.” Her hands moved over her body as if she was already washing it. “Will you stay, Uncle Culley?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, here in the house.” Her eyes clung to him in silent appeal.
“Sure, if that’s what you want. But Lath’s gonna know I’ll be hanging around. He won’t be coming back.”
“Just the same, I’ll feel better.” Cat moved toward the hallway.
Culley waited until he heard the shower running, then went to the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing the sheriff’s office. “I need to speak to Echohawk. Tell him it’s O’Rourke calling.…It’s personal. Just put him on the phone.…Yeah, Logan. There’s been some trouble. You better get home right away. Cat needs you.…I don’t have no time to explain. Just get here.”
He hung up, his mouth curving in satisfaction. Shifting his grip on the rifle, he walked back to the living room. From the bathroom came the sound of running water. Crossing to a front window, Culley leaned a shoulder against the casing and watched for Echohawk.
O’Rourke was on the front porch waiting for him when Logan pulled into the ranch yard. One look at the rifle cradled loosely in O’Rourke’s arms had Logan piling out of the patrol car, his glance ransacking the entire area.
In three strides, he was, at the steps, demanding, “What happened here? Where’s Quint?”
“He’s okay. He’s with Calder. They’ll be here in another thirty minutes or so with the kid’s horse.” He jerked his head toward the house. “Cat’s inside. She’s the one who needs you.”
“Is she hurt?”
O’Rourke shook his head. “Scared.”
“Why? What happened?”
His expression took on a closed look. “I gave her my word I wouldn’t tell you. You’ll have to ask her.”
Logan’s mind raced over the myriad of possibilities. But experience had taught him not to jump to any conclusions. It was better to let the facts speak for themselves. He also knew he was going to have trouble with objectivity on this one.