by Janet Dailey
Stool legs scraped the floor near the long bar, Sebastian took little notice of it, or of the footsteps moving in the general direction of the pool tables.
One set of footsteps stopped, and a man’s voice spoke loudly, “Well, lookee there. If it ain’t that smart-mouthed Calder bitch.”
A burly, dark-haired man with a half-empty beer mug in his hand stood near the edge of the dance floor, a look of utter loathing in his expression. If either Laura or Boone reacted to the man’s remark, Sebastian didn’t see it.
Trey nudged his arm. “That’s Mitchell,” he murmured.
Sebastian made the connection to the abused woman instantly.
As if determined to get a rise out of the couple on the dance floor, Mitchell jeered, “What’re ya’ doing here? I thought you and your fancy man got your kicks barging into people’s houses uninvited.”
This time Laura retaliated. “If I find out you’ve hit your wife again, it’s the police who’ll be barging in.”
“That was an accident. You ask my wife; she’ll tell you,” Mitchell insisted with an indignant anger.
“Only because you’ll beat her again if she doesn’t,” Laura retorted, giving up any pretense of dancing.
Mitchell took a threatening step forward. “Listen, you stupid little bitch—”
“You don’t talk to her like that.” Boone moved into his path, a hand shooting out to shove Mitchell back.
In a sudden fury, Mitchell threw the contents of his mug in Boone’s face and laughed at the sight of Boone shaking his head and wiping the beer from his eyes. The laughter acted like a goad. Boone lashed out, a fist connecting with the side of Mitchell’s face, staggering him.
When Boone moved in, Mitchell swung the heavy mug at his head. The force of the impact knocked him sideways. Laura cried out, and Sebastian and Trey came out of their chairs as one. Dazed, Boone attempted to shake off the effects of the blow and barely managed to dodge a second swing of the beer mug.
Laura was all ready to throw herself at Mitchell when Trey grabbed the arm that wielded the beer mug, and Sebastian caught the other one. “That’s enough, Mitchell,” Trey warned.
“He started it,” Mitchell flared. “I was only defending myself.”
There was no chance for a response as Boone came at Mitchell, taking full advantage of the fact his arms were being held. He slammed a fist into his stomach. The instant, Mitchell doubled over, Boone unleashed an uppercut that snapped Mitchell backward.
Laura threw herself in front of Boone, gripping his upper arms in an attempt to hold him off. “What are you thinking?”
“He needs to be taught a lesson he won’t forget,” Boone growled in answer.
“Not this way,” she stated and threw a glance over her shoulder as Sebastian and Trey succeeded in lifting the semiconscious man onto a chair.
The commotion had drawn the owner from the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” he asked, but none too sure he wanted to know.
“Just a little misunderstanding. It’s over now,” Trey replied. “Get some whiskey.”
The owner hustled toward the bar while Mitchell’s beer-drinking buddy remained where he had been, halfway between the bar and the pool tables, quietly taking it all in.
“He’s all right, isn’t he?” Laura asked.
“He will be,” Trey said as Mitchell groggily lifted his head and raised a hand to his sore chin.
It took a second for his eyes to focus clearly. When they did, he searched out Boone. “That was assault. I’m gonna sue you Calders for every dime you’ve got. Don’t think I won’t”
“You just try it,” Boone snarled.
“Come on. I want to go home.” Laura made a determined effort to turn Boone toward the door.
“You go on home,” Mitchell taunted. “And stay the hell away from mine.”
Laura could feel the bunching of Boone’s muscles. “Darling, please,” she murmured insistently. “I want to get out of here.”
With obvious reluctance, Boone dragged his gaze from Mitchell and curved a protective arm around her. He escorted her to the door, tossed some bills on the counter to cover the cost of their meal, and opened the door for her.
PART THREE
Amid the fury and grief
The truth shines so bright.
A Calder gives her promise
To the only man who’s right.
Chapter Seventeen
The warmth of the summer night closed around her the minute Laura stepped outside. But it failed to relax the tension that screamed through her nerves. She stiffened slightly at the guiding touch of Boone’s hand on her back.
Neither said a word as they walked to the Suburban. Boone helped her into the passenger seat, closed the door, and circled around to the driver’s side to slide behind the wheel. Seconds after he started the engine, air blasted from the dashboard vents, the temperature of it gradually cooling.
All tight with anger, Laura faced the window and stared into the nothingness, an elbow propped on the door and curled fingers pressed to her mouth. Utility poles whipped by outside the window as the silence between them grew more oppressive.
Laura finally broke it, her voice taut with the effort to keep her temper in check. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Boone demanded. “Sit and say nothing like Dunshill, while some drunk calls you names? Sorry, I’m not made that way.” There was a flexing jump of a muscle along his jaw, but Laura was too angry to notice.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s the way you hit Mitchell when he was completely defenseless. That was vicious and uncalled for.”
A breath of disgust exploded from Boone. “Leave it to a woman to think like that. If you’d ever been in a fight, you’d know that when you’ve got a man down, you keep ’em down any way you can.” He slanted her a sharp look. “Who is this guy? What was that business of you being in his home?”
Tersely Laura provided him with a recap of the circumstances surrounding the one and only time she had been inside the Mitchell house. When she finished, this time it was Boone who demanded, “What the hell were you thinking? Nothing but trouble comes from involving yourself in somebody else’s domestic problems. That’s why we have police and social workers.”
It was a view she once would have echoed, but somewhere along the line doubt had crept in. “What kind of world would it be if everybody felt that way?” Laura said, voicing the question that was in her mind.
“That sounds like the kind of crap Dunshill would spout,” Boone said with contempt. “People like that are nothing but trash. I don’t want you associating with them anymore. I don’t care how well-intentioned the reason.”
For a tight-lipped moment, Laura said nothing. “You are going to be lucky if Mitchell doesn’t sue.”
“If he does, he’ll find out you don’t sue a Rutledge and get away with it.”
Sebastian and Trey returned to a darkened house. The silence of it pushed at them the minute they walked inside. Pausing in the entryway, Trey swept off his hat and listened a moment, then glanced at Sebastian.
“I had a feeling everybody might be in bed. My sister doesn’t get mad often, but when she does, she tends to stay mad for a while. And she wasn’t too happy when she left Harry’s.”
“It was an unpleasant scene.” Sebastian glanced in the direction of the second floor, his expression thoughtful. “No doubt Rutledge is of the opinion Mitchell provoked the attack and therefore justified it. As so often happens in the heat of battle, a man’s actions are more often dictated by instinct than good judgment.” It was an absent comment, his thoughts centering on Mitchell’s drinking and the potential repercussions on his wife.
“That’s the first time you actually sounded like a lawyer,” Trey said with amusement. “I think I’ll go raid the refrigerator and see if I can’t rustle up something to eat. Care to join me?”
“Thank you, but no. I think I’ll follow the example of the rest
of the family and retire for the evening.”
“See you in the morning, then.” Trey’s long strides carried him in the direction of the kitchen.
Sebastian made his way to the staircase at a slower pace. When he reached the top of the steps, his gaze automatically strayed to Laura’s bedroom door. A slit of light showed beneath it. He hesitated, then crossed to it.
Indecision held him motionless in front of it for several long seconds. There was only silence from within. He raised his hand and started to knock, then changed his mind and lowered it as footsteps crossed the living room below him.
Obeying the hush of the rest of the house, he moved silently away from her door. By the time he reached the bedroom, Trey was halfway up the steps, the white of a sandwich showing in his hand.
As Sebastian turned the doorknob to his room, Laura’s door sprang open. She stood within the doorframe, fully backlit, the silken texture of her night-robe glistening, creating a sensuous outline of her feminine shape.
For an instant she froze at the sight of Trey. “I thought—” Laura began. Then her gaze flew past him, straight to Sebastian. He turned from it and entered his bedroom. “Never mind,” she said to Trey and spun away from the door.
Trey cast a considering glance after Sebastian and crossed the few feet to her room. He paused at its threshold. “You okay, Sis?”
“Of course.” The curtness of her voice said something else.
He studied the stiff, tight way she held herself. “Are you still going to marry that guy?”
Laura flashed him an angry look, dark eyes snapping. “Shut up, Trey. Just shut up.” She grabbed the door and gave it a swing, shutting it in his face.
The morning sun was still low in the sky when Laura came down the steps the next day. The familiar thump of her grandfather’s cane came from the hallway that led to his ground-floor room in The Homestead’s west wing. The sound of it grew steadily nearer, signaling his approach. Laura had a warm smile ready for him when he hobbled into view.
“Good morning, Gramps.”
He paused in surprise. “You’re up early.”
“I don’t always sleep until noon.” Laura saw no reason to admit that her sleep had been less than restful. “Have you seen Boone?”
“He had breakfast with everybody about an hour ago, then commandeered the den.” He nodded in the direction of the room, its doors firmly shut in an apparent request for privacy. “Said he had some calls to make.”
“I see,” Laura murmured.
“There’s a pot of coffee waiting for me on the veranda,” Chase told her. “You’re welcome to grab a cup from the dining room and join me.”
Her hesitation was momentary. “I’ll do that.”
When they reached the entryway, they separated, Chase continuing outside while Laura crossed to the dining room. She found the housekeeper, Allie McGuire, busily clearing away the covered warming pans from the side table. She offered to fix Laura a hot breakfast. Laura declined in favor of a slice of toast slathered with jam.
Carrying both the empty coffee cup and the toast, Laura joined her grandfather, taking a seat in the twin to his rocker. “Where’s Sebastian this morning?” she asked while he filled her cup with coffee from the insulated carafe. “Did he go off again with Trey?”
“Not today, he didn’t. Said he wanted to walk off breakfast.” Chase’s glance made an idle sweep of the ranch yard. “He’s wandering around there somewhere.”
Laura nibbled on the jam-covered toast without really tasting it. A sip of coffee only seemed to add to the restlessness that had plagued her all night.
“I suppose you heard about the fight last night.” As much as she was loathe to discuss it, she also knew it was a subject that had to be confronted.
Chase rocked slowly back and forth. “Trey told me about it.”
“I can imagine what he said.” Irritation crept into her voice.
“Was it the truth?” The words held a challenge that didn’t match the conversational level of his voice.
Laura avoided a direct answer. “The truth is rarely black and white. I would certainly have thought less of Boone if he hadn’t objected to abusive language that was used in addressing me.”
“True.” The pace of his rocking never changed.
“You don’t think I should marry him, do you?” The tilt of her chin signaled her readiness for an argument.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Laura,” Chase replied evenly. “The only thing that matters is what you want.”
“There are worse faults a man can have,” she insisted.
“I expect there are.” He rocked a few more times. “Just out of curiosity, if you had to describe your fiancé to someone, what would you say about him?”
The unexpected question had Laura scrambling for a quick answer. “I don’t know. I suppose I would say that he’s the son of Max Rutledge from Texas—”
Chase didn’t let her get any further. “That’s an interesting way to begin. When most women talk about the men they plan to marry, they go on about how wonderful they are, how thoughtful and caring, or how funny and warm. They’re usually slow to mention who they are related to. It seems to me you only have one question you need to answer—whether it’s Boone Rutledge you’re marrying or the son of Max Rutledge. If it’s the latter, it doesn’t matter what happened last night.”
His words were like a slap in the face. Laura desperately wanted to hit back. It was infuriating to realize she couldn’t, because there was a little too much truth in his statement.
“But whatever you do,” Chase added, “just don’t close your eyes to what you might be getting into.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” But she wasn’t sure if she resented his suggestion that she didn’t or that she was making a mistake marrying Boone.
“Good.” He reached over and patted her hand, then settled back in the rocker. “Speak of the devil, here comes Sebastian now.”
Turning, Laura saw Sebastian sauntering toward the veranda, his hands casually thrust in his pockets, the sun at his back, its rays igniting the russet lights in his hair. A pain twisted through her. Refusing to acknowledge it, she pushed out of the rocking chair.
“I think I’ll go see if Boone has finished with his business calls,” she said in parting and crossed to the front door, reaching it as Sebastian started up the veranda steps.
Laura was halfway across the entryway when the housekeeper appeared in the dining room arch and halted at the sight of Laura. “That’s good timing,” Allie declared. “I was just coming out to get you. Jack Weldon’s on the phone. He asked to talk to you.”
Laura frowned. “I don’t know anyone named Jack Weldon.”
Allie MacGuire waved a hand. “Sure you do. He’s Harry’s son, the one that took over the bar when Harry passed.”
Laura’s frown deepened. “Did he say what he wanted?” She asked as the front door opened behind her and Sebastian entered.
“Not really. He mentioned something about the Mitchell woman.” Allie’s shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. “Do you want to talk to him, or shall I tell him you aren’t available?”
Sebastian answered for her, “She’ll take the call.”
“I’ll make that decision, thank you,” Laura flared at him.
Completely unmoved by her show of temper, Sebastian replied calmly, “Mitchell was still at the bar last night when Trey and I left. No doubt he was far from sober when he finally went home. We told her to go to Harry’s. Remember?” Laura wanted to deny that it was any concern of hers, but the image of the woman’s bruised and battered face came sharply back to her. Sensing the beginnings of agreement, he repeated to the housekeeper, “She’ll take the call.”
“I’ll use the extension in the living room,” Laura said by way of acknowledgement and moved in that direction, conscious of Sebastian shadowing her. She tried to ignore the physical awareness she had of him, without success.
In the living room she walked str
aight to the phone, picked up the receiver, and turned, angling her position to bring Sebastian into view. “This is Laura Calder.”
“Miss Calder, this is Jack Weldon . . . from Harry’s.” There was uncertainty in his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, but . . . Mitchell’s wife and kids are here. I don’t know how to say this, but . . . she claims you told her to come to my place.”
Laura’s mouth curved in a humorless smile at the blatant skepticism in his statement. “Yes, I did.”
Before she could ask if Gail Mitchell was all right, Jack Weldon said in a shocked tone of voice, “Sorry, I never realized you knew her.”
“Well, I do. Is she okay?” Laura asked while Sebastian watched her, intent on every word she said.
“She says she is, but her face doesn’t look it. That’s why I’m calling. She can’t stay here,” he rushed on. “I feel sorry for her; really, I do. That husband of hers is no prize. But I’ve got a business to run, and it ain’t a shelter for battered women. She just flat can’t stay here.”
“Where’s Mitchell?” Sebastian prompted.
Laura nodded and asked, “Where’s her husband? Do you know?”
“No. She claims he came home roarin’ drunk around, oh, thirty minutes ago. She said she quick locked all the doors, and while he was banging and swearing at the back, she and the kids snuck out the front.” There was a small pause. “Somewhere she got the idea in her head she could hide out here until he slept the worst of it off.” He didn’t come right out and ask whether Laura had told her that, but the implication was there. “But she just can’t. I don’t mean to sound hard-hearted, but she’s got to leave. You know as well as I do what a troublemaker that Mitchell is. Sooner or later he’s gonna find out she came here, and when he does, that’s gonna make him mad. I know you meant well when you told her to come here, but—”
“What’s the problem?” Sebastian asked in quiet demand, his question coming over the top of the bar owner’s words.