This Calder Sky (33 page)

No one had tried to talk her out of marrying Phillip. Her aunt had hesitated only an instant until she observed how happy and contented Maggie looked and had immediately given them her blessing. Pamela was the only one who had misgivings about their marriage, but for an entirely different reason from Phillip's concern for their difference in ages. As Maggie had gradually discovered, Pamela was essentially self-centered, accustomed to a doting brother. While she was overjoyed at the prospect of Ty living in the same house with her, Pamela didn't care for the idea that she might have to compete with another woman for her brother's attention. It had required a bit of tact on Maggie's part to assure her there was no cause for concern. Now it was her future sister-in-law who was organizing all the details for the wedding, which was to be a simple affair, nothing grand or elaborate.

Naturally, Maggie had informed Culley of her impending marriage and written to him about her fiancé. There were some things she hadn't told him, some things he wouldn't have understood. A large part of the attraction she had for Phillip came from the positive father image he represented. Maggie couldn't explain that to her brother. Their own father had never been someone she could look up to, admire, or respect. Angus O'Rourke had never assumed the responsibility of looking after his daughter; in fact it had been the other way around. She knew Phillip would always look after her and be concerned about her interests, as well as his own. He would be there to lean on when she needed someone's support, yet at the same time, Phillip would allow her to be independent, her own person, as a father should.

It was a many-faceted relationship. Maggie had written to Culley only that part of it that he would
understand. She read through her brother's reply again.

July 12

Dear Maggie,

Congratulations on your engagement. I hope Phillip makes you very happy. From the things you said about him in your letter, it sounds like he will. I wish I could meet him, but right now I don't see how I can make it to your wedding.

Things aren't going too good here. It hasn't rained since April. The ground is all cracked and hard. The one creek has already gone dry and the grass is burning up. If it doesn't rain pretty soon, I'm gonna have to start feeding my winter hay to the cattle so they'll have something to eat. Just about everybody is hauling water—except the Calders, of course. They got plenty of water. They're doling it out to the rest of us like it was candy, giving us just enough to keep us from dying, but not enough to satisfy our thirst.

I'm glad you got away from here, Maggie. There aren't any rich doctors around here to marry, just a lotta dust and heat. I can't be there, but I wish you all the best.

Your brother,
Culley

She let the paper settle onto her lap once more and remembered the way the sun could scorch a Montana sky. She heard footsteps in the grass approaching her lawn chair. Maggie looked up and smiled a welcome when she saw Phillip walking toward her.

“Hello.” He stopped beside her chair and bent to lightly kiss her mouth. His glance fell on the letter in her lap. “What's this? A love letter?” He teased her
with a smile as he pulled another lawn chair closer and sat down.

“Yes, from my brother.” She folded it along its creases and returned it to the envelope. “He won't be able to come to the wedding. September is a busy time on the ranch.”

This wasn't the first time Phillip had observed how quiet and introspective she became after receiving a letter from her brother. He guessed they often opened old wounds. He glimpsed a trace of disappointment in her expression.

“I know how much you were hoping your brother would come. Maybe if we postponed the wedding until October or November—” Phillip wasn't allowed to complete his offer.

“No.” Her refusal was firm. “Everything is already arranged. We're going to be married in September.”

He didn't attempt to discuss it with her, lightening his mood, smiling and saying, “Good.” He reached inside his summer-light suit jacket and removed a half-dozen travel brochures from its inner pocket. “Because I've just come from my travel agency. How does a September honeymoon in Paris sound to you?” He passed her the brochures and reservations. “I thought you might like to practice your French.”

“Paris?! Phillip, it's marvelous!” She leaned over to kiss him, then began looking eagerly through the brochures. “I've always dreamed of going there.”

“Then I'm twice as glad I chose it.”

“So am I.” She reached out to slip her hand into his and let it remain to link them together. With a mother's watchful eye, she noticed Ty stalking an imaginary foe near the flowerbeds. “Ty, don't get into the roses!” she called out the warning. The little boy paused, then began slinking in another direction. “He's getting to the age where I never know what he's going to be doing next. I expect any time for him to start swinging out of
the trees, playing Tarzan,” she murmured with a slight shake of her head.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about Ty,” Phillip said.

“What has he done this time?” She smiled.

“It's nothing he's done, Elizabeth,” he assured her. “It's what I want to do. I'd like to adopt him. I've always wanted a son.”

There was a husky quality to her voice when she replied to his statement. “Ty couldn't choose a better man to be his father.”

“I'll call my lawyers tomorrow and see about putting the adoption procedures into motion. Hopefully by September, the three of us will legally be one family.”

“I'd like that very much.” Her hand tightened its hold on his.

Ty hollered a greeting to someone and Phillip glanced around to see Cathleen wheeling his sister across the lawn toward them. “You two look like an old married couple, sitting there holding hands like that,” Pamela observed. “I hope you don't mind if I join you.”

“Of course not.” Maggie was diplomatically quick to welcome her.

It was a very small wedding. One of Phillip's associates, a friend, acted as his best man, and Pamela was Maggie's maid of honor. Since Culley wasn't there to give her away, she and Phillip walked to the altar together to exchange vows and receive the marriage sacrament, while Cathleen and Ty looked on.

The reception was held outdoors on the lawn of the Gordon home with about fifty friends in attendance. Pamela had arranged for it to be professionally catered, complete with uniformed staff. There was champagne, an assortment of hors d'oeuvres including caviar, and the traditional wedding cake. It was all on a small but
lavish scale, complete with a photographer to record the event.

During a rare moment when they were alone, a little apart from the throng of well-wishers, Phillip sipped at his glass of champagne and quietly studied his young bride. “Are you happy, Elizabeth?”

“Yes.” Her answer was soft and positive, reaffirming what his eyes saw. “Only one possible thing could make me happier than I am this minute. I wish Culley was here. It would have been nice if he could have met you.”

“I can have our reservations changed to include a stopover in Montana. It wouldn't be at all difficult to arrange.”

“No.” It was a very definite answer. She slipped her hand inside the crook of his arm. “This is a happy time for us. I don't want anything intruding on it that might change that.”

He smiled an acceptance of her decision and wondered if he would ever know the full truth of her past. She had gone through so much in her young life. It had all happened back there in Montana. He was beginning to realize that she needed the stability he could provide. She needed it as desperately as he loved and needed her.

PART V
 

A sky of growing,
A sky of pain,
This sky that sees a
New Calder reign.

The grass rustled like dry straw under his horse's hooves. The land looked baked and parched from sizzling sun and lack of rain. Chase squinted his eyes against the slanting afternoon sunlight. Overhead there was nothing but a sky full of bright blue. His mouth thinned at the sight of a cow grazing instead of lying in the shade ruminating. He didn't like to see that this late in the day, because it meant there wasn't enough graze.

The water supplies of the hill ranches around the Triple C had already gone dry, their grass burned up. The Triple C had shared as much of its water as it could with its neighbors. It still had water, but the lush Calder range was reaching a critical stage. They were going to have to round up the yearling steers early this fall before they began to lose weight. That was what the small neighboring ranches should have done earlier to save their grass and water, but they had kept holding on, certain it would eventually rain. But it hadn't. And the other ranchers didn't have the resources to hold out as long as the Triple C.

The blare of a truck horn caused Chase to pull up his horse and turn in the saddle. It sounded as though someone was holding his hand on the horn. A pickup bounced into view, racing pell-mell across the wild range land. Chase recognized Stumpy behind the wheel; he was waving to him frantically. Reining his horse around, Chase sent it forward at a lope to intercept the pickup.

“What is it?” His horse swung its rump around as the truck brakes squealed to a stop.

“Get in.” Stumpy reached across to open the passenger's door. “The boss is hurt.”

Chase wrapped the reins around the saddle horn as he swung out of the saddle and turned his mount loose. He didn't bother to ask any questions until he was inside the cab. Stumpy took off before he had the door shut.

“What happened?” If Chase's father was hurt, that meant badly injured, and his mind was running through all the possibilities.

“The pickup rolled. He was thrown out, but it landed on him.” Stumpy Niles had his foot to the floor and both hands on the wheel to keep it from being jerked out of his grip as the truck sped over the rough ground.

Chase snapped his gaze to the driver, shock slicing through him. “How bad is he hurt?”

“His chest was crushed.” Stumpy never took his eyes from the land in front of them, but his profile revealed a grim expression. “He was asking for you.” There was a pause as he slowed the pickup and shifted gears to stop at the fence gate.

Climbing out of the cab, Chase ran forward to open the gate so Stumpy could drive through. He was swearing under his breath and absently wondered why man always resorted to profanity in situations where he felt helpless and impotent. As soon as the tailgate of
the pickup was clear of the gate, Chase closed it and hurried to rejoin Stumpy in the cab.

When they arrived at the scene a good twenty minutes later, a half-dozen mounted riders had pulled the pickup off his father with the help of a handful of men on the ground. They were coiling the white nylon ropes that had been tied to the truck. Chase spied Nate kneeling beside his father's prone figure on the sloping bank of a ditch.

The silence among the men was deafening as Chase climbed out of the cab. Nate straightened and stepped back when he approached, giving Chase his first glimpse of his father's ashen face and his caved-in chest. He fell on his knees beside him, his arms half-reaching, wanting to do something to ease the pain his father had to be suffering. Eyes opened, eyes the same brown color as his own, but the light in them was dimming.

“They found you, son. Thank God.” The rasping voice was interrupted by a cough that spilled blood from the corner of his mouth and drained more color from his face.

Chase clenched his teeth to bite off the anguished groan before it could be released. Whipping off his hat, he gently and carefully lifted his father's head and pillowed his hat under it. Then he wiped away the blood with his handkerchief.

“Don't try to talk, Dad.” His voice was taut, squeezed out to keep it steady. He glanced up at Nate. “We'll rig up a bed for him in the back of Stumpy's truck. Make sure someone has the plane running at the airstrip.” Nate just looked at him sadly for a long second, then turned to walk a few yards away, where the rest of the men had gathered.

“It's no use, son.” But the strength in the hand that gripped Chase's arm seemed to refute that statement.
No man that strong could die. “I can hear my ribs grating together like a bunch of broken china. I'll drown in my own blood before you can get me to a doctor,” his father insisted. There was a terrible rattle with each short, painful breath he took.

“You just hang on, Dad,” Chase urged, refusing to give up.

The brown eyes closed in denial, then opened to stare longingly at Chase. “It's all yours now.” Webb searched his son's face with profound sorrow. “You're too young, only twenty-seven. You needed a few more years of seasoning.” His fingers tightened on his son's arm. “They'll see that and come after you. You know that?”

“Yes, Dad.” There was that mysterious “they” again. His arm was being squeezed so hard circulation was being cut off. It was impossible to believe that anything could kill this man. His father had always seemed indestructible.