Lone Calder Star (Calder Saga Book 9)

by Janet Dailey

  The slight emphasis on the last word was designed to cut, and it did. Her wince was small, but it was there.

  Quint pivoted away from her and went back inside, shedding his windbreaker at the door and jamming it onto the wall hook. There was no lingering, no glancing back for any signs of regret from Dallas. He walked straight from the door to the living room.

  In the recliner, Empty snorted and stirred, awakened by the sharp sound of Quint’s strides. “What time is it?” he mumbled, throwing a dazed and sleepy look around the room.

  “A little after nine.” Quint’s pace slackened only slightly as he continued across the room.

  “Making an early night of it, are you?” Empty surmised.

  “Might as well.” But fatigue had nothing to do with the decision. Pain and anger and a dozen other emotions roiled too close to the surface. Quint didn’t trust himself to see Dallas again that night.

  “Think I will, too.” Empty lowered the footrest. “Where’s Dallas?”

  “Out on the porch.” Quint’s answer was curt, but it left no mark on Empty.

  His mind was on other things as he pushed out of the chair and noted Quint’s disappearance into the hallway with an absent glance in that direction. The stiffness in his joints gave him a hobbling gait when he crossed to the living room’s front door. His gnarled fingers closed around the knob and swung the door open, letting in the soft, steady sound of falling rain.

  It was a moment before his eyes adjusted to the shadowed darkness of the porch and located Dallas standing near the rail. “Quint and me are calling it a night. You’ll need to lock up when you come in.”

  “I will.”

  The low-voiced answer reached him. As Empty gave the door a closing push, he caught the reflection of multicolored lights on a windowpane and pulled it open again. “Don’t forget to unplug the tree lights, too,” he added.

  Her response was muffled, yet it had an affirmative ring that satisfied Empty. This time he closed the door tight and shuffled off to his bedroom.

  Lightning flashed outside Quint’s bedroom window, briefly illuminating its interior. Quint lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with one arm flung across the pillow under his head, and the bedcovers pulled halfway up his bare chest. His jaw was clenched against the annoying and incessant drip of water from the eaves.

  A troubled sigh came from him. He tried closing his eyes again, but his mind wouldn’t rest. In irritation, Quint rolled onto his side, his glance sliding to the luminescent face of the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. Its hands were positioned at eight minutes after midnight.

  “So much for an early night,” he muttered and gave the pillow a punch, using more force than necessary to bunch it under his head.

  Thunder rumbled long and low, almost muffling the faint scrape of a releasing door latch. But his nerves were strung too fine, sharpening his senses too keenly for Quint to miss it. With a quick, turning lift of his head, he glanced at the door and watched it swing inward.

  For a split second he stared at the woman’s shape in the doorway, backlit by the glow from the bathroom’s night-light. An oversized T-shirt stopped near midthigh, revealing a familiar pair of long legs.

  Something leaped inside him, but he’d already been burned once tonight. Quint sat upright, the covers slipping down to his hips.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded in a low, half-angry voice.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Dallas’s voice was soft and hesitant.

  But Quint found no satisfaction in knowing that sleep had been equally elusive for her. “Unless you’ve made up your mind, you’d better turn around and leave right now.”

  It was a warning, generated by the raw desire that ripped through him at the sight of her briefly clad body, when it was obvious she was wearing nothing underneath that thin cotton shirt.

  “I have. That’s why I’m here.” Dallas closed the door behind her and crossed to the side of the bed where he was, the fabric falling in a soft drape from the pointed roundness of her breasts. “Quint, there’s something you need to know.”

  But it was the dip of the mattress under the weight of the knee she placed on it and not her words that snapped the thing that had held Quint motionless.

  He reached out and pulled her onto the bed with him. “There isn’t anything I need to know.” He pressed her back onto the sheets, his body following to pin her there. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her head moved in protest, a plea in her eyes.

  “No, you don’t understand.” All the hunger and torment of being without her rose up inside Quint as his hand spread itself across her rib cage just beneath the swell of her breasts. “I love you. There’s nothing you can say or do that will ever change that.”

  “I wish I could believe that,” Dallas whispered.

  The doubt in her voice momentarily froze him, forcing him to question the assumptions he had made. “Tell me one thing, Dallas, do you love me?”

  “Yes, b—”

  The single word was all he needed to hear. His mouth came down to smother the unnecessary ones in a kiss rough with need. There was an instant when he thought she was going to resist him. Then her arms wound around him, her hands pressing and urgent in their caress.

  Gone was the steady calm that had always ruled him, its place taken by something primitive and demanding. Her lips parted under the insistence of his, allowing him to mate with her tongue. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  The T-shirt’s thin material became an irritating barrier, denying him the sensation of skin against skin. A hand tunneled under its hem and rolled it up while it explored the smooth bend of a hip, the quivering flatness of her stomach, and the button-hard peak of a round breast. The need surfaced to take it into his mouth and taste it.

  But with the first dragging movement away from her lips, he encountered the shirt’s bunched cloth. Impatient hands pushed at it even as hers reached down to pull it off.

  Then there was nothing between them, nothing to block the heat of her body from burning its impression along the length of him. The contact with it, the motion of it, wanting and eager, banished all else from his consciousness except the knowledge that her need matched the fierceness of his.

  The hot urgency of it turned them both wild as they hungrily sought all the pleasure that can exist between a man and a woman. Time stood still, without a yesterday or tomorrow—only this night, this moment, together.

  There was no patience, no gentleness. The strain of waiting, wondering, wanting, allowed no room for it. There was only the desperate hunger that drove each of them relentlessly and ruthlessly with its urgent demands.

  As wave after wave of awesome pleasure shuddered through Quint, an awareness swept through him that one night would never be enough to satisfy his desire for this woman. For that he would need a lifetime.

  Filled with a high sense of ease, Quint pulled in a long contented breath as he lay in a loose-limbed sprawl on the bed, one arm hooked around Dallas. She was curled against him, using his chest for a pillow. The heat and the weight of her along his length felt right, the way a night in bed should be.

  He idly studied the shadow patterns on the ceiling, slow to absorb anything beyond feeling Dallas against him and remembering the satisfaction they had shared. Even as he listened to the steadying sound of her breathing, he noticed the absence of that annoying drip of water from the eaves.

  “I think the rain’s stopped,” he murmured.

  She stirred, her head lifting fractionally as if to listen, then settled back against him, snuggling closer, a soft sound of agreement coming from her throat.

  His arm tightened to keep her close while his hand made slow strokes over the firm flesh along her waist and hip.

  Quint had lived too close to the land for too many years for his mind not to wander to the rain, so crucial to all ranchers.

  “I wonder how much we got,” he mused idly.

&nbs
p; “However much it was, it isn’t enough,” she replied, echoing his absent tone.

  A smile burst across his face, and he rolled toward her, the movement shifting her head onto the pillow.

  “Are you sure you’re talking about the rain?” he asked, a provocative amusement dancing in his eyes.

  Her answering laugh was low and breathy. “That’s definitely a leading question.”

  “I know.” Quint bent his head to nuzzle at the already kiss-swollen curves of her mouth.

  Her hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw and tunneling into the thickness of his black hair. “I know I didn’t actually say the words before, Quint,” she murmured, their breaths mingling. “But I do love you.”

  It was the note of regret in her voice that prompted Quint to tease her. “You almost sound sorry about that.”

  Her head moved in denial. “I’m sorry about a lot of things, but loving you isn’t one of them…no matter what happens.”

  “There you go—borrowing trouble again,” Quint said in light reproval. “Don’t we have troubles enough right now?”

  She drew back from his kiss, a wariness in her expression. “Like what?”

  “Like getting enough of you.”

  A glow softened her whole face. It was a look that told Quint everything he needed to know. He covered her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that ignited more flames.

  Quint made love to her again, but this time with all the finesse and tenderness that had been lacking in the first.

  Quint forced his eyes open, not at all sure what had awakened him. Before he could identify it, his attention became riveted on the woman’s shape pressed spoon-fashion along his length, the round breast that his hand familiarly cupped, and the stray strands of hair tickling his chin.

  From the hallway came the muffled sound of a door closing. Quint stole a glance at the alarm clock. With regret, he drew his hand away from her breast and levered himself onto an elbow.

  Tempted by the bare curve of her shoulder, he nibbled lightly on it and murmured, “I hate to tell you this, but it’s morning. Time to wake up.”

  There was a sleepy lift of her lashes, accompanied by a faint sound of protest. Then awareness sank in, and she shifted onto her back, one hand making an idle cruise up his arm, her mouth curving in a drowsy smile of remembrance and contentment.

  “It can’t be morning already.” Her voice was husky and low, slurring a little with leftover sleepiness.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Quint confirmed with reluctance.

  Her smile faded and her gaze drifted down to his chest. “There’s something I need to tell you, Quint.”

  “I think it’ll have to wait. Empty’s up and stirring about,” Quint explained. “In another few minutes he’ll discover the coffee isn’t made and check to see why you aren’t up.”

  Alarm skittered through her expression, the look reinforced by the sound of water running in the bathroom. “I’ve got to get up.”

  Lending impetus to her words, Dallas rolled away from him and scrambled out of bed. A scouring search quickly located her sleep shirt. She scooped it up and hurriedly pulled it over her head, but not before Quint had a chance to enjoy the unobstructed view of her.

  She threw a last smiling and somewhat self-conscious look at him before crossing to the door. But any thought Dallas had of slipping into her bedroom unobserved vanished when she stepped into the hall and encountered her grandfather exiting the bathroom.

  There was an instant narrowing of his eyes, first on her, then on the door to Quint’s room before they fastened on her. A certain grimness claimed his expression.

  “That’s the way it is, is it?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

  Dallas answered it just the same. “Yes.” She made no attempt to defend or justify her actions.

  He studied her for a long, assessing second, then turned and gave a short and sharp decisive nod of his head. “It’s time I had a talk with that boy.”

  She caught hold of his arm. “Grandpa, don’t.”

  Empty turned in surprise, unable to recall the last time she had called him that. He was even more surprised to see that her eyes had the anxious and uncertain look of a little girl.

  “What’s wrong, Dallas?” he asked in concern.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s just that…I’d like to get a couple things straight with Quint first. When I do, there may not be any reason for you to talk to him.”

  Empty was old-fashioned enough in his ways that there were some things that he plain didn’t want to know. Even though her explanation was far from informative, he didn’t press for specifics.

  “I’ll wait,” he said and continued across the hall to his bedroom door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The microwave beeped, signaling the end of its timed cycle. A quick check of the pancakes on the griddle confirmed they weren’t ready to flip. Leaving them, Dallas crossed to the microwave and removed a jug of maple syrup, careful not to glance in Quint’s direction.

  She already knew he was talking on the phone to Jessy. This was one time when she refused to listen and glean what information she could from his side of the conversation. It was a matter of tuning out the sound of his voice and tuning in the chirp of the birds outside the window and the noisy clumpings coming from the porch, noises that her grandfather made removing boots muddy from morning chores. For the most part she succeeded.

  Back at the stove, Dallas turned the pancakes and transferred the sausage patties onto a plate covered with a paper towel to absorb their excess grease. As she carried the plate to the table, her grandfather walked in his stocking feet, toting the egg bucket.

  He set the bucket on the floor and sliced a glance at Quint as he paused to shed his hat and coat. “Who’s he talking to?” As usual Empty made no attempt to lower his voice.

  “Jessy,” Dallas told him. “Better wash up. Breakfast is ready. Will two pancakes be enough?”

  “Should do it,” Empty agreed and went to the sink to wash up.

  But the running water failed to drown out the sound of Quint’s voice. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow after the semi pulls out. Let me know if he runs into any delays.”

  The response was obviously in the affirmative. After a final parting word, Quint hung up and walked over to the kitchen table, arriving just as Empty did.

  “Sounds like you found an outfit to haul the cattle,” Empty surmised, taking a seat. “Who’d you end up hiring?”

  As she retrieved the platter of pancakes, kept warm in the oven, Dallas longed to cover her ears to shut out Quint’s answer, then smiled, realizing it no longer mattered if she heard it.

  “The same company who ships most of the cattle for the Triple C,” Quint replied.

  “A Montana outfit,” Empty said in approval. “Rutledge will have a hard time getting to them. Are you going to sell the cows up there, too?”

  Free of inner tension, Dallas brought the pancakes and sausage to the table and set them near her grandfather. Returning the smiling glance Quint directed her way suddenly became easy.

  “We won’t be selling them,” Quint announced. “We’ll ship them up to the Triple C instead.”

  “That’s bound to get old Rutledge’s goat when he hears about it,” Empty declared. “It’s for dang sure that it won’t sit well with him. If you’d tried selling the cattle, you know he would have been looking for a way to make that sale hurt your pocket.”

  Dallas was briefly tempted to relay this information to Boone, just for the pleasure of knowing this was one move they couldn’t use against Quint.

  With an utterly free conscience, she asked, “When will the truck arrive?”

  “Around midday tomorrow.” Quint forked a stack of pancakes onto his plate. “Which means we’ll make our gather and sort today. That way the ones we’re shipping north will only have to be penned overnight. Thanks to Rutledge we have enough hay to feed them,” he added, his gray eyes twinkling with the irony of that.


  Empty grinned. “I never quite looked at it that way, but you know—you’re right.” Empty picked up the jug of syrup and drowned his pancakes in it. “Where are you figuring on starting this gather?”

  “We’ll start with the south pasture and sort as we go. Much of that area was burned so we should make short work of it.” He slid a warmly intimate glance at Dallas. “Think you’re up to a long day in the saddle?”

  She smiled at his ever so subtle reference to the previous night. “I can handle it as easy as you.”

  Quint chose not to comment on that. “We won’t be breaking for lunch so you’d better throw together some cold sandwiches after breakfast. Empty and I will get the horses saddled and ready.”

  Last night’s rain had softened the parched ground, making it muddy in the low areas where the runoff had collected. No clouds lingered to mar the blue of the wide sky, but there was a touch of coolness in the fresh-smelling breeze.

  Quint noticed little of it, his attention focused on the eight head of cattle, mostly heifers, trotting through the open gate into the west pasture. Dallas waited for them at a discreet distance from the gate, her presence on horseback applying an oblique pressure to turn them north.

  When the last cow showed signs of balking, Quint pushed his horse forward to drive the animal through the gate, then rode through himself, preceded by his shadow. He glanced back at Empty and waited for him to draw abreast.

  “I’ll ride over and see what I can find on the other side of the river,” Quint told him with a nod toward the tree-lined banks a hundred yards from them. “You check out this side.”

  Empty responded with an acknowledging nod, and Quint split away from him, pointing his horse toward the river and lifting into an easy lope. He noted with approval that Dallas had already moved her horse after the loosely bunched cattle, maintaining their northward drift.

  Ahead of him, the river made a sweeping curve. Quint followed it until he came to a place where the bank sloped gently to the water’s edge and a well-worn path identified it as a favored crossing point of the cattle. Reining in, he slowed his horse to a walk and swung it onto the cattle trail.