Calder Storm (34 page)

Before Sloan had a chance to respond, Anna Grunwald inserted, “These two gentlemen have accompanied me strictly as observers. I am the one you will have to satisfy.” The firmness in her statement carried an undertone of warning.

“What is it you wish to know, Mrs. Grunwald?” Sloan pretended she was unaware of the purpose of the woman's visit.

“I have been shown official records that indicate you recently gave birth to a child,” the woman began.

“A son, yes.” Sloan nodded.

“Where is your son now?”

“Asleep in his crib.”

“Here in the house, I assume.”

“That's correct. Why do you ask?” Sloan tipped her head, feigning curiosity.

“Merely to verify that this is the residence in which the child is now living. Now, if you will be good enough to show me where he is,” the woman stated with a no-nonsense lift of her head.

“Of course. The nursery is this way. Please follow me.” Her glance strayed to Trey, but his own gaze was fastened on the matronly woman in the wine-colored suit. Sloan couldn't help feeling a little stung that he had yet to look at her as she pivoted sharply to lead the way.

But Trey had no need to look at her. Never in his life had he been more aware of her presence than he was at the moment. Her perfume trailed in the air behind her, enveloping him in her scent. The warm cadence of her voice struck deep and strong to vibrate through him. And he didn't have to look to remember the taste of her lips or the feel of her body beneath his hands.

Yet, despite all the ways that she was familiar to him, she was the still the stranger who had plotted with Rutledge and taken his
son from him. Being this close to Sloan, it was something Trey had to constantly remind himself of; there was Sloan, and then there was his illusion of her. They had turned out to be two very separate things.

Ahead of him, Sloan turned into a room that opened off the wide corridor. He saw Anna Grunwald halt two steps inside the room. “And who are you?” he heard her challenge someone. It was a second before Trey located the man she addressed. He was at one of the small bureaus, stowing something in one of its drawers.

Sloan made the introductions. “This is Mr. Harold Bennett. He's a registered nurse, employed by Mr. Rutledge.”

“Anna Grunwald.” The woman thrust out a hand.

Trey stopped listening to the exchange the instant he caught sight of a tiny fist waving in the crib. Automatically he moved toward it, his chest tightening with the knowledge that the hand belonged to his son. But Sloan was closer, reaching the baby before he could.

Halting, he watched while she bent over the crib and crooned softly. The softness in her expression and the love shining from her eyes was the same look she wore in the hospital when she'd held their son. Anger pushed through him, the kind born of pain and all that had been lost to him.

“You must be feeling proud of yourself right now.” Trey kept his voice pitched low, for her hearing only.

Stormy blue eyes threw him a glare. “What do you mean?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Trey countered. “You saw to it that Max got his revenge. My son for his.”

“Max had nothing to do with this.” Her voice trembled with heat.

“Right,” he mocked. “It was just a coincidence that you flew straight here—and on his plane.”

“He helped me, and that's all he did,” Sloan insisted.

“You stick to that story. Someone will believe it,” After a pause, Trey added, “I have to hand it to you, Sloan. You're a helluva an actress. You actually had me convinced you loved me.”

“You are such a hypocrite.” Disgust riddled her words.

“Are you talking about me or yourself? It must be you,” Trey said, answering his own question. “Taking off with my son was no last-minute decision. It was something you planned.”

“What other choice did I have?” Her voice grew even quieter with the anger she held in check. “We both know if I had told you I was leaving, you never would have let me take Jake.”

“You're damned right. I wouldn't have liked it, probably even have argued against it. But I would have put my son's needs first. That doesn't mean I wouldn't have insisted on seeing him as often as possible. I know what it's like to grow up without a father.”

“Do you think I'm so heartless that I would have refused to let you see Jake? Why do you think I left you that note saying my attorney would contact you? It was to arrange visitation rights for you. There's no reason why we can't work out some sort of joint custody.”

“Did Max tell you to suggest that—hoping I'd back off? Well, it won't work. Because I know he'll do anything and everything to make sure my son never leaves this house. Jake is his key to everything the family owns, and Max knows it.”

“That is a lie!” Sloan said with force, drawing the attention of the others in the nursery.

“Don't pretend to be naive, Sloan,” His words cut. “It's true, and you know it.”

“Now, now.” Anna Grunwald was quick to intervene, bustling to the crib area. “We will have no fighting here. I thought that was agreed, Mr. Calder. Or do I have to ask you to leave?”

“My apologies, Mrs. Grunwald.” Trey dipped his head to her in a show of respect. “It was a difference of opinion that became a bit heated. I regret that, and assure you it won't happen again.”

“I intend to see that it doesn't,” The woman stated, then lifted her head in a listening pose. “Do you hear that?” The thickly walled house failed to completely muffle a staccato drone. “It sounds like a helicopter.” She turned a questioning look on Sloan.

But it was Bennett who responded. “Mrs. Calder has a meeting
scheduled with her attorney. I expect that's Mr. Haynes arriving now.”

“Perhaps he'll bring a note of civility.” Mrs. Grunwald divided her glance between Sloan and Trey, alert to the crackling undercurrents that ran between them. “Excuse me.” She nudged Sloan out of the way, taking her place next to the crib. “Aren't you a sweet baby,” she declared, all warm and grandmotherly.

To Sloan's relief, Trey moved away from the crib. Yet distance did little to relieve the apprehension she felt. It hurt to remember the way he had twisted everything, making it seem that she was the one in the wrong when nothing could be farther from the truth.

The drone of the helicopter reached its peak, then lessened for a short stretch of minutes. Again the roar of it invaded the house as it lifted off the heliport, once more taking to the air. The noise of it had yet to fade when an Armani-suited Yancy Haynes strode into the nursery.

Introductions were made all around, and the two attorneys exchanged hail-fellow greetings that spoke of past encounters. Then Yancy Haynes moved to Sloan's side, effectively dividing the room into two camps, with Anna Grunwald as the only bridge.

“I hope you have assured yourself, Mrs. Grunwald, that the baby couldn't possibly have better care.” Yancy Haynes smiled with confidence, then made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Here we have a room designed for an infant, complete with a registered nurse, not to mention, of course, the absolute devotion of his mother.”

Without acknowledging his comment, the woman turned a gentle look on Sloan. “You certainly have a very beautiful and healthy-looking baby boy.”

“Thank you.” Her expression softened with a mother's pride.

“Am I allowed to hold him?” There was a trace of challenge in Trey's question.

“You're his father. Of course you may,” Anna Grunwald replied, then fixed a firm look on him. “But if you attempt to remove him from the premises, I will see that you are stopped.”

“Don't worry,” Trey assured her dryly. “I would never try.”

Sloan felt anything but easy when Trey gathered up their blanket-wrapped son from the crib. She saw that fiercely tender and fiercely possessive look on his face and knew he would fight to gain custody of Jake. In his warped reasoning, he would see it as wresting control of the baby from Max. And this attitude of his made it virtually impossible to arrive at any fair resolution.

Some twenty minutes later, Anna Grunwald brought her official visit to an end, thanking Sloan for her time and patience. Sloan wasn't sure how much of the latter she had left. She only knew that her nerves were worn thin by the time she escorted the trio to the door. Even then she didn't feel safe until she had closed the door on Trey. She leaned against it, shaking a little on the inside.

Yancy Haynes studied her with shrewd eyes. “I'm sorry I couldn't get here in time to be with you when they arrived. But you seemed to have handled yourself very well.”

“Thank—” The doorbell rang, it's chime jangling nerves that were raw. Sloan turned with a start and backed away from the door, a panic rising with the thought that it was Trey on the other side. She wasn't sure she could face him again.

The attorney stepped forward and opened the door. Standing outside was a uniformed sheriff's deputy with youthful face that looked totally nonthreatening.

“I need to see Mrs. Calder, sir.” The request was made with grim regret.

Curious, Sloan walked back to the door and stood next to her lawyer. “What is it?”

“You're Mrs. Sloan Calder?” he asked.

“That's right,” she confirmed.

“It's my duty to serve you with this.” He handed her a sealed envelope and walked off.

For a stunned second, Sloan stared at the envelope in her hand. Before she could react, Yancy Haynes relieved her of it.

“Better let me have a look at this.” He turned and headed to
ward the living room, ripping open the envelope and removing the document within.

Sloan hurried after him. “What is it?”

“Your husband works fast,” he murmured, partly to himself. “I had intended to tell you this afternoon that you should anticipate being served with this in the next few days.”

“Served with what?” Sloan demanded, running out of patience with his roundabout way of avoiding an answer. She didn't need to be coddled, and she resented that he thought she did.

“A custody hearing has been set for next week in Montana,” he told her. “You are ordered to appear before the judge with your son.”

“Why Montana? Why can't that be done here in Texas?” she said in protest.

“Since you haven't been a Texas resident for the last six months, federal law gives jurisdiction to Montana,” he explained, then smiled. “Naturally I'll file for a postponement.”

“Naturally,” Sloan echoed in a murmur.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Calder, and we'll get down to this unfortunate divorce business.” He gestured to one of the living room chairs and remained standing until she took a seat. He sat down on the sofa, placed his briefcase on the coffee table, and opened it. “Mr. Hensley was kind enough to provide me with a copy of your prenuptial agreement.” He removed a folder and flipped it open. “I almost forgot. He asked me to give you this as well.” He passed her a sheaf of papers, paper-clipped together. “It's a document that names your son as your new beneficiary. As I understand, he's already discussed this with you.”

“Yes, he has,” Sloan confirmed.

“If you want, you can go ahead and sign it. I'll see that Hensley gets it. I tend to agree with him. It is something that should be done as soon as possible.” He supplied her with a ballpoint pen.

After a quick skim of its provisions, Sloan signed it and passed it back.

 

When Max returned to the ranch that evening, he was no more concerned about the new turn of events than Yancy Haynes had been. “A custody hearing is just what we want,” he assured Sloan, then smiled wryly. “Next week doesn't allow us much time to prepare, I admit, but Haynes will get it postponed.”

“I was so sure Trey and I could agree to come to some kind of joint arrangement. But today—” Sloan felt a chill when she remembered the accusations Trey had made.

“Did something happen today?” His head lifted with quickening interest.

“I always knew the Calders were paranoid about you, Uncle Max. I told you how they reacted when they learned about my connection to you,” Sloan reminded him. “Trey said something today that made me realize the Calders are absolutely convinced this is some evil plot by you to get revenge for Boone's death. Trey even said you had taken his son as payment for your own. He thinks that ultimately, through Jake, you intend to take control of everything the Calders own.”

“What nonsense,” Max scoffed.

“But it's real to them,” Sloan explained. “That's what is so terrifying. You can't reason with them.”

“It's that western attitude of theirs. Probably comes from the days of the old cattle barons. Shoot first and ask questions later. Violence has always been a way of life for the Calders.” Reluctance was in the look he gave Sloan. “You might as well know that my son wasn't the first man to die at the hands of a Calder.”