Calder Storm (31 page)

Rebellion formed at the prospect of speaking to him. Sloan had to force herself to take the phone from Cat and place the call. After a dozen rings with no answer, she broke the connection. An ugly bitterness wound through her as she wondered what occupied Trey so thoroughly that he couldn't be bothered to answer the phone. And she found herself wishing that she had checked to see if his truck was parked behind The Oasis, out of sight.

 

Afternoon sunlight pressed against the windows of the calving shed, but dust-coated panes diffused much of its brilliance. Inside, all the lights were on. Somewhere straw rustled, stirred by the hooves of a restless animal, and a cow lowed in mild distress.

In one of the shed's many maternity stalls, a two-year-old heifer rolled an anxious eye at Trey as he released his hold on the pull chains and worked to push the calf a short distance back into the birth canal. Succeeding at that, he went about the task of rotating the calf half a turn. A trickle of sweat ran along his temple despite the coolness in the air.

“Hey, Trey.” Old Jobe Garvey hobbled up to the stall. “Chase is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

Trey never glanced up. “Tell him I've got a heifer with a hip-locked calf. I'll have to call him back.”

“I'll tell him.” Jobe shuffled off.

After the calf was turned, Trey picked up the chains again and tried again to walk the calf out, alternately pulling on first one chain, then the other. Intent on his task, he never heard Jobe come back.

“Chase said your wife's on the way to the hospital to have your baby,” Jobe announced with a touch of personal pleasure.

The news kicked through Trey, bringing a heady rush that had him expelling a short, exultant laugh. That and the grin on his face marked his only reaction. He didn't look around for someone to take his place on the pull chains. He already knew that no one else was available.

“He also said you were to swing by The Homestead and get her suitcase 'fore you head to the hospital yourself,” Jobe added.

“Thanks.” Trey relaxed the pressure on the chains as the calf's hips finally slipped through the young cow's narrow pelvic area. “Better roust somebody from the night crew to take my place.”

Thick layers of straw cushioned the calf's fall. Trey knelt beside it and made certain its mouth and nose were clear of any mucous, then removed the obstetrical handles from the calf's forelegs. He stayed long enough to make certain the young cow was going to accept her offspring before heading for his truck.

His clothes reeked of the calving shed. He showered and changed after he reached The Homestead, then Sloan's suitcase in hand, climbed back into the truck and started for the hospital, some three hours away.

Cat was waiting in the lobby when he walked in. The smile on her face and the sparkle in her green eyes told him the news even before she spoke.

“As of”—she paused to check her watch—“eighteen minutes ago, you are now the father of a healthy eight-pound, seven-ounce boy.”

He temporarily checked the rise of feeling within. “How's Sloan? Is she all right?”

“She's fine. They both are,” Cat assured him. “They'll be taking her to her room shortly. You go ahead. I'll call home to let them know.”

Eagerness was in his stride as Trey made his way to the hospital's maternity section and the private room that had been assigned to his wife. Within minutes Sloan was wheeled into it. He was moved by how pale she looked. The winter months had taken
much of the golden tan from her skin, but this pallor, he knew, came from exhaustion.

“Hi, Momma,” he murmured and covered her lips with a warm kiss that elicited only a feeble response. “I came as quick as I could.”

There was something darkly resentful in the look she gave him. “I called, but you didn't answer.”

“I guess I didn't hear the phone ring. It was in my coat pocket. I probably wouldn't have answered, though. I was in the middle of pulling a calf. Gramps called, and old Jobe brought the news that you were on the way here. As soon as I got the little heifer calf safely into the world, I stopped by The Homestead to get your suitcase and take a shower. I knew they'd never let me into the delivery room, as filthy as my clothes were. But you didn't wait for me to get here.”

“No,” Sloan admitted, finding some comfort in the knowledge that this time Trey had been where he said he would be. But it changed nothing in her mind.

“Are you doing all right?” His work-roughened fingers smoothed an odd strand of hair off her brow. “You look tired.”

Sloan readily accepted the excuse he offered. “I am. Have you seen him?” The mere thought of her son evoked a powerful tenderness within her, more profound than anything she had ever known.

“Not yet,” Trey replied. “The nurse said they'd be bringing him shortly.”

Cat walked into the room just as the nurse transferred the blanket-wrapped infant into Trey's arms. The expression on Trey's face when he gazed at his baby son made Cat pause. He looked incredibly proud and incredibly humble both at the same time. It was a sight that tugged at her heart.

Some slight movement betrayed her presence, drawing Trey's glance to her. A father's smile broke across his face. “Come say hello to your new great-nephew, Jacob Matthew Calder.”

L
ittle Jacob Calder remained the center of attention as visitors streamed in and out of the room for much of the next day. Most were friends of the family, there to welcome the newest addition to the Calder family. To Sloan's relief, none seemed to notice when she contributed little to the conversations.

The rare times when she found herself alone with Trey, she had only to plead tiredness and a desire to rest, and Trey would wander off to the cafeteria for some coffee, leaving Sloan free to make phone calls and put her hastily devised plan into motion.

In the early morning hours of the third day, her attending physician came by just as Sloan had privately signed the release orders she had arranged for herself. She wasted no time changing into her street clothes and requesting that her son be brought to her so she could leave.

The nurse looked at her with a bewildered frown. “Aren't you going to wait until your husband gets here?”

Prepared for the question, Sloan replied smoothly. “He's staying at a motel here in town. I thought I'd surprise him.”

“But—what about all these bouquets and stuffed toys?” the nurse protested.

“Why don't you distribute them among your other patients,” Sloan suggested.

She wasn't able to persuade the nurse to ignore hospital policy that dictated she be wheeled to the door. Which meant she had to suffer through another delay while a wheelchair was located and brought to her room.

After an interminable wait, she finally climbed into the rear passenger seat of a waiting taxi, her precious son in her arms. But she didn't draw an easy breath until the driver pulled away from the hospital entrance.

 

Exactly twenty-five minutes past eight o'clock, Trey walked past the nurse's station, carrying an infant carrier by its handle. With his attention focused on the open door to Sloan's room, he never noticed the surprised looks he received.

As he approached the room, an aide wheeled out a cart, packed solid with floral arrangements. Trey stepped aside to let her pass.

“Can I help you?” She eyed him curiously.

“I'm here to get my wife and son.” His glance skipped past her into the room, stripped of its balloons, flowers, and cuddly toys. But it was the empty bed that made him check the room number.

“What's her name?” the aide asked in an attempt to he helpful.

Trey answered automatically while he was still trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Sloan Calder.”

“Mrs. Calder?” the young girl repeated in surprise. “Why, she's already left.”

Features that had initially appeared youthful and ruggedly handsome, hardened into something forbidding. “You must be mistaken.”

The aide drew back. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not. She's gone.”

The sound of approaching footsteps, whisper-soft in their tread, intruded, and the aide was released from the pinning glare of Trey's cold eyes when it sliced to the nurse moving toward them.

“Good morning, Mr. Calder.” The greeting gave a touch of normalcy to a moment that was anything but. “Is there a problem
with the flowers? Your wife did leave instructions that she wanted to share them with the other patients.”

“Where is she?” Trey demand curtly. “Where's my son?”

Surprise left the woman momentarily speechless and a little flustered. “I believe they left right before I came on duty, probably thirty or forty minutes ago. If I'm not mistaken, Tessa—Nurse Hutchins—accompanied them to the lobby.”

“Where'd they go?”

Confusion and concern came together in the woman's expression. “They didn't arrive at your motel?”

“Would I be here if they had?” Trey countered, his voice low and rough.

“I suppose not,” the nurse admitted. “It's just that Tess—Nurse Hutchins—mentioned that your wife said something about wanting to surprise you. Naturally she assumed the taxi was going to take her to your—”

Trey walked off before she could complete the sentence, swift strides carrying him toward the lobby. The nurse sent an anxious glance after him.

“I wonder what happened to Mrs. Calder,” the aide murmured. “Do you think we should call the police?”

After a moment's hesitation, the nurse made a small negative shake of her head. “I don't think so. At least—not yet,” she added and hurried after Trey.

Even at a running walk, she didn't catch up with him until he reached the lobby. Oblivious to her calls for him to wait, he never slowed until she caught his arm. Halting, he swung around to face her, bristling with impatience.

“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 re
verberated 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.”

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.”