This Calder Sky (50 page)

“Hey, cut that out!” he shouted. “Are you trying to get me thrown?”

The tobacco-cheeked cowboy just grinned and slapped his hand again. It was harder the second time, the ensuing pain forcing Ty to let go of the saddle horn. Ty was burning-mad, but his hands were full trying to control the iron-jawed horse that had started bucking. Although he was determined not to be bucked off, he hadn't fully regained his balance, so he had to keep grabbing for leather to avoid being thrown. Each time he did, the rope lashed out to slap the offending hand.

Maggie had seen Ty's horse balk at the creek crossing. At first she thought the other rider was staying close to help him. It was only after the third or fourth time that she realized the rider was slapping Ty's hand away from the saddle horn. All her maternal instincts surged as she called Chase's attention to what was happening.

“Do you see what he's doing to Ty?”

Chase barely glanced in the direction of all the commotion, exhibiting little interest in his son's situation. “It's just some harmless hazing, Maggie.” He dismissed it as unimportant and angled his horse toward another section of the stream.

“You aren't going to let them do that, are you? He's your son!”

“Just ignore it.” The directive was firm and final.

“You can ignore it, but I won't,” she snapped and started to rein her horse away from him, but he grabbed the reins, stopping her horse.

His brown eyes were hard as they bored into her. “Stay out of it, Maggie. I mean it. If you intervene, Ty will look like a fool in front of the men.”

“Then you do something!” she demanded.

“It may look cruel to you. You're a woman. But the boys and their hazing are teaching him some lessons he needs to learn.”

“They don't have to be taught that way.” She rejected the code of toughness, a code she had forgotten in the intervening years she had been away. She no longer saw the value of it, especially not when her son was the object of the hazing.

“If he can't take the hazing, he won't be any good running this ranch. He has to have the respect of the men. Without that, he'll fail. This is nothing compared to some of the things he'll have to face when he's older. Believe me, Maggie, I know what I'm talking about. I've been through it.”

The argument became moot as Ty regained control of his horse, bringing the bucking to a stop and riding it across the stream. His success brought an end to the hazing, but the incident had created a rift between Maggie and Chase.

That evening Maggie saw the red welts on Ty's right hand and seethed again that Chase had permitted him to be treated in such a manner. When she had finished the evening dishes and returned to the living room, Chase was in the den and Ty was on his way upstairs for an early night. She cornered her son on the landing, determined to find out his feelings.

“What is it, Mom?” he asked impatiently. “I'm really tired. Can't it wait?”

“I—” She studied his listless, exhausted look, the leanness of his chest and shoulders that physical labor had turned into hard muscles. “I just wanted to know if you are happy here.” She offered him the chance to confide in her.

Indecision and uncertainty raced through his expression as he returned her searching look. Suddenly her manly fifteen-year-old son appeared no older than eight and confused by the adult world. Just as suddenly, the impression was gone as his features hardened in a way that reminded her of Chase.

“Yes, I am.” He turned to ascend the stairs.

That glimpse of another contradicting feeling made her persist. “Then you want to stay here?”

“More than ever,” Ty stated and climbed the steps. “Good night, Mom.”

“Good night,” she echoed, aware that Ty had denounced his need for her moral support, intending to fight his battle alone. He was growing up fast, just as she had at fifteen. It wasn't what she had wanted for him.

When Chase finished his paperwork a little after ten o'clock, the rest of the downstairs was dark. Only the stairwell light had been left on. He hesitated, then started up the steps.

Sitting at the vanity table, Maggie heard him climbing the stairs and picked up the hairbrush to begin running it through her dark hair again. She didn't look up when he entered the room. Her hair crackled with static electricity. She listened to the sounds of Chase undressing and heard the bedsprings squeak under his weight.

“Are you coming to bed?”

His question snapped her silence. “Men always think that will solve everything,” Maggie retorted and ran the brush more briskly through her hair.

“What can you solve sitting there brushing your hair?” he countered.

Her hand returned the brush to the vanity top with a quick thud as Maggie rose and hugged her arms in front of her chest. She crossed the room, avoiding the bed where he was sitting in his undershorts.

“It isn't going to work,” she announced, then realized it was a statement that required explaining, and she continued in a quick, hard rush. “For you, everything revolves around this ranch. You don't care that a whole world exists outside of it. It isn't the same for me—or Ty. I've become used to a different life—attending the theater or a symphony or going to a museum. I haven't missed those things yet, but I will.”

“When you do, then we'll fly to New York or Dallas or Denver, spend a weekend.” Chase watched her, aware that she was skirting the real issue of Ty and the incident this afternoon. “This ranch isn't a prison, Maggie. I usually take several trips a year. Granted, it's usually ranch business that takes me away, but we can combine business with pleasure. You're taking a steer and trying to make a bull out of it. There is no validity in that argument, so you might as well say what is really on your mind.”

She turned to meet his calm, challenging look. “Very well.” She faced him without backing down. “When Ty finishes school, I want him to go on to college.”

His mouth thinned. “This ranch will give him a better education than any university—with majors in animal husbandry, agriculture, accounting, land management, and human psychology. Four years on the Triple C will make him better equipped for the future than any college graduate would be.”

“I want him to have a college degree,” she stated, unmoved by his argument. “I don't want him to be like you when he grows up—callous and caring more about
this ranch than anything else.” Chase was hurt that she could actually think that was true. Yet that wasn't the point to be debated.

“You know it will only make things harder for him, don't you?” But he could see that she didn't. He sighed heavily. “All right, we'll compromise. If Ty wants to go to college, I won't try to stop him or change his mind.” When he saw her hesitation, Chase added, “You don't expect me to agree when I believe college would be wrong for him. But I promise, I will stand aside and let it be his own decision. We'll work it out, you and I.”

She knew he was referring to their marriage in general, and she felt the sudden pull of his love, softening all her resolve. “Sometimes I really believe we can,” she murmured.

“Now, are you coming to bed?” His gaze roamed over her nightgown-clad form, conscious of the mature shape it revealed, but more interested in what it concealed.

There was lightness in her challenging response. “What do you think that will solve?”

“Come here and I'll show you.” Chase reached out for her hand and pulled her to the bed. Before they sprawled together across the mattress, the nightgown came off, as well as his shorts. While his roaming hands were awakening her flesh, his hungry mouth was seeking her lips.

“The light.” She reminded him it was still on.

“All the better to see you, my love,” he insisted, drawing back to view her nakedness, eager to discover all her mysteries. “You have a body any man would enjoy making love to, but it doubles my pleasure to watch you.”

“Yes.” She understood the added sensation as she observed the play of his muscles along his shoulder and arm when his hand cupped one of her breasts. “Love
me, Chase.” She was shaken by the greatness of her need.

“Always.” Then his kiss was filling her mouth as his weight settled heavily onto her slight figure.

Two mornings later, Chase and Ty had just sat down to eat the breakfast Maggie had fixed when the meal was interrupted by Nate. He paused in the doorway of the dining room to remove his hat. Outside, dawn was turning the sky orange and pink.

“Sit down and have some coffee, Nate,” Chase invited, but an uncomfortable feeling threaded through him at the old cowboy's still expression. The sensation entered places where primal instincts dwelled. He sensed trouble, the way a dog bristles at a silent shadow.

“Yes, sit down, Nate.” Maggie seconded the invitation. “I'll bring you a cup.” She started to rise from her chair, but the foreman refused with a single shake of his head.

“No, thank you, ma'am.” He didn't enter the room, but remained in the doorway. “Can I speak to you privately, Chase?”

Chase pushed his chair away from the table and moved with the swiftness of a man accustomed to action as he joined the retreating cowboy in the foyer. Maggie knew something was wrong, but she didn't understand what it was. She could hear the low murmur of their voices, the conversation very brief. After she heard the front door open and close, it was a full second before she realized there were two sets of footsteps leaving the house. She rushed to the door, yanking it open to see Chase striding away from the porch with Nate.

“Chase, where are you going? You haven't had breakfast.” Her demand for an explanation was cloaked in a wifely excuse.

When he turned, his face told her nothing, his thoughts hidden behind the mask Western men wear. “I'll grab a bite at the cookhouse.”

“Has something happened?” She started to cross the porch to follow him.

“Nothing I can't handle. You stay at the house.” It was an emphatic order.

Maggie's mouth opened to protest, but Chase was already moving away, taking her obedience for granted. The command made her unease stronger as she watched him crossing the ranch yard, until it finally drove her off the porch after him. She didn't know what it was that he was attempting to keep from her, but she intended to find out.

When he disappeared inside the stud barn, she quickened her steps. She noticed there were others hurrying to the same place, yet no sounds were coming from inside—nothing to indicate a stallion fight. Maggie paused inside the open barn door to let her eyes adjust to the interior darkness. Chase was standing near an open stall, a steely tension about him. She moved closer to look inside, anticipating the sight of an ailing stallion.

Soft morning sunlight streamed through a stall window, glistening over the tawny coat of the buckskin stallion, Cougar. Her eyes widened as she realized the silent animal was frozen in a rearing posture. How? Then she saw how and her horrified gasp was audible, despite the hand that she clamped over her mouth. A knotted rope was around its neck, tied to an overhead barn beam. The horse had been hanged.

The sight of it was blocked by a pair of wide shoulders. A pair of hands clasped the soft flesh of her arms as she swayed in shocked revulsion. Her horrified gaze met Chase's. He was visibly gritting his teeth at her pinched-white face.

“I told you to stay at the house,” he reminded her in groaning regret that she hadn't.

“Did Culley—” A sob choked her voice, cutting off the question.

Then Chase was turning her away, giving her into someone else's care. “Take Maggie up to the house, Buck, and see that she stays there. Ty, go get Ruth. I don't want your mother to be left alone.”

Maggie caught a glimpse of her son inside the open barn door as Buck led her out. Her mind was racing with too many resurrected fears and memories and she barely heard any of the murmured words Buck offered. She wasn't interested in talking to him about the stallion being hanged. She didn't want to talk to anyone about it or make any speculations aloud until she had spoken to Chase, alone.

She saw him at lunch, but Ty's presence didn't give her a chance to speak freely. In front of their son, they pretended ignorance of any motive that would lead someone to hang the stallion. The morning scene in the barn preyed on her mind all day.

In the middle of the afternoon, Chase walked into the cookhouse. Tucker's large bulk was leaning against a counter, an elbow leaning on the worktop. A bibbed apron was around his protruding middle. He didn't appear surprised to find Chase entering his kitchen domain.

“There's coffee in the pot.” There always was, but Tucker waved toward the metal urn, just the same. “I've been expecting you.”

Chase helped himself to a cup, using one of the mugs off the shelf. “I suppose you heard about that old buckskin stud of my father's.”

“I heard it was hanged.” Tucker nodded, his small eyes observing Chase as he lit a long, thin cigar. “Heard about the calf, too. I figured sooner or later
you'd be coming ‘round to talk to me. I tell you right now that I didn't have anything to do with it, and I don't know anything about it.”

“If you did, you wouldn't tell me,” Chase guessed, sliding the man a glance through the smoke trail of his cigar.

“No, I don't suppose I would,” he admitted. Then he asked, “How's Maggie? I heard she saw it.”

But his question was ignored. “When was the last time you saw Culley?”

“It's been a while.” His eyes narrowed, appearing even smaller.

Chase sipped at the murky black coffee, hot and strong. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You and the O'Rourkes used to be as thick as thieves.” He used the phrase deliberately.

“Yeah.” It was a growling agreement. “You can think what you like about me, Calder, and the kind of man I am, but I'd never do anything that might cause Maggie pain. It wasn't a pretty sight she saw. Knowing what you're thinking, she's gotta be hurting inside.”