This Calder Sky (44 page)

Seeing him every day and watching him with Ty, it was getting harder and harder to summon her old dislike and have it come with the fierce intensity of before. On the nights she couldn't sleep, she would lie in bed and deliberately compare Chase to Phillip: Phillip, with his fine manners, impeccable dress, and courtly charm, versus Chase, with his blunt authority, rough clothes, and raw earthiness. With Phillip, she had been emotionally safe. With Chase, she wasn't.

The long horseback rides in the afternoons functioned to fill time and get away from the Calder influence of the house. She never admitted it was hard exercise she sought so she would be tired enough in the evenings to fall asleep. Dressing every night for dinner was an attempt to keep alive the link to her past marriage, when it was the custom, not a desire to impress Chase.

Rain threatened off and on all day, keeping her in the house. So Maggie concentrated her efforts on fixing a special dinner that evening. She had sought out Tucker at the cook-shack and asked him to slice a prime-rib roast from one of the carcasses kept in the big cooler for ranch consumption. All the accompanying dishes
she chose had been favorites of Phillip's—from the broiled grapefruit appetizer to the baby peas and pearl onions in a light cream sauce. Even the dress she wore had been one he had particularly liked, a silk dress of a bold peacock-blue with a green-colored design.

At the end of a day's work, Chase always showered before sitting down to dinner. As a concession to her habit of dressing for the evening meal, he usually wore a white shirt, but it was open at the throat and the cuffs were rolled back to reveal flat, wide wrists and hair-roughened forearms. Ty copied him.

It was the same that evening when the pair entered the dining room. Chase barely glanced at her as he noticed the table, set with good china, wine goblets, and the heavy silver candleholders. He moved to the chair at the head of the table, raising a questioning eyebrow in her direction.

“What's the occasion?” he asked.

“No occasion,” she insisted coolly, then went to the kitchen to bring out the grapefruit appetizer.

Maggie was fully aware that while Ruth Haskell had been a very good cook, she was unimaginative. Her meals had always been variations of the same thing: soup, beef, potatoes, vegetables, and dessert. So when Maggie set the broiled grapefruit half in front of Chase, she observed the faint surprised lift of his eyebrow, but he made no comment about the change in fare. He didn't even say whether he liked it or not, which vaguely irritated her. Nor did he remark on the salad, made with fresh spinach she had picked from Ruth's garden. The dressing was made from a recipe Maggie had gotten from Phillip's cook. No appreciation was expressed for the variety she had managed to inject into their diet, or her cooking skills.

The prime rib had turned out perfectly—juicy, rare, and tender. When she served Chase his main course, he stared at it. “This meat isn't done.”

“Of course it is. Prime rib is supposed to be served rare.” She glanced at her son. “Would you pass the horseradish sauce, please?”

As Ty started to reach for the silver sauceboat, Chase stated, “I prefer my meat well done. Would you take it back into the kitchen and finish cooking it?” The question was an order.

“I will not!” She refused sharply because she had gone to such effort to have everything turn out perfectly, including the prime rib.

Folding his napkin beside his plate, Chase pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Maggie frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“If you won't cook it, I will,” he said, then walked toward the kitchen, carrying his plate.

She stared after him for a stunned instant. Then she was on her feet, angrily hurrying after him. She reached the kitchen as he forked his prime rib onto the broiler pan and put it in the oven.

“Do you realize how much trouble I went to tonight?” Her voice trembled with her effort to control her temper. “I worked so hard to make everything come out just right, and you're ruining it!”

“You should have remembered I like my beef well done.”

“You like? You have absolutely no taste!” Her jaw was clenched tight. “You would have been happy with steak and potatoes.”

His hands were on his hips as he regarded her. “I had a feeling all this was leading up to something. Why else would there be this display of gourmet skills?”

“As if you have ever tasted anything but burned steaks,” she taunted.

His gaze narrowed. “For your information, I've had better broiled grapefruit in Dallas, and the dressing for the salad had too much vinegar.” His criticism stopped her short. “I don't object to variety. And I don't object
to the unusual. But the next time you want to show off, don't do it with your nose in the air, thinking you are the only one who knows what is good. And don't forget—I like my meat well done!”

She whirled away from him, stinging from his remarks because they were true. She had wanted to prove he knew nothing about fine cuisine. She had wanted the chance to be condescending, patronizing. She had wanted to be better than he was, so he would be less worthy of her notice. She had wanted him to be the country bumpkin, while she was the lady. But now she was the one coming away from the encounter smarting.

As she entered the dining room, she met Ty on his way out, the plate with his slice of prime rib in his hand. “Where are you going with that?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I've never eaten prime rib when it was well done. I thought I'd try it.”

“But you always like it rare,” she protested. This seemed the final defection.

“I've never had it any other way, so how do I know it's the only way I like it?” he reasoned.

And Maggie was helpless to argue against that. She ate her rare beef alone, while her husband and son waited in the kitchen for their meat to cook to well done.

The bay gelding pulled at the bit, dancing sideways in its eagerness to reach the barns, but Maggie held it down to a fast walk as they entered the ranch yard. She saw Tucker wave to her from the back door of the cookhouse and motion that he wanted to speak to her. She reined the protesting horse toward him, the bay unwilling to be turned away from the bars and the waiting grain.

“Hi.” She stopped the horse and swung out of the saddle when she reached Tucker. A brisk ride had brought color to her cheeks and rumpled the black hair curling out from under her hat.

“Culley sent word that he wanted to meet you at four o'clock by the east gate of the north range.” Tucker wasted no time passing on the message. “Take the keys to my truck. It's the green one. You'll just have time to make it. I'll take care of your horse.”

A quick glance at her watch confirmed his statement, and she handed him the reins to her horse and took the keys he offered. The full impact of the message didn't
hit her until she had turned onto the ranch road that branched to the north. Culley asked to meet her on the north range—where she and Chase used to meet, Calder property. And Chase had warned him not to set foot on his land.

Her toe pressed the accelerator down and the speedometer needle swung to fifty-five. She was suddenly frightened by the risk her brother was taking, deliberately defying Chase … as her father had defied his father's warning. A dust cloud plumed behind the speeding truck as she raced along the road.

When she approached the north range, the sight of a horse and rider cantering across an open stretch slowed her down. For an instant, Maggie thought the slender rider was her brother, and she knew another moment of fear that he was riding so openly across Calder land. Then she recognized Buck Haskell. Thankfully, he was riding in the opposite direction from the east gate. She breathed a sigh of relief.

There was no sign of Culley when she reached the designated meeting place. She climbed out of the truck and glanced at her watch. She was five minutes late. Had he left when she didn't show up on time? She hoped so.

Tall poles flanked both ends of the gate, standing high to mark where the fence gate was located so a rider could aim for it while he was still some distance away. Maggie climbed to the second highest rail to see if Culley was still in sight and used the tall pole at one end to keep her balance.

A shrill whistle came from the trees near the winding river. Maggie looked to her right and saw the horse and rider standing in the shadows. Culley waved his hat to her. She swung a leg across the top rail, finding a toehold on the same board from the opposite side. Quickly she brought the other leg over and hopped to
the ground. She hurried quickly across the open ground to the trees.

“What are you doing here, Culley? I saw Buck Haskell riding south of here. If he finds you—”

“Don't worry about him.” He brushed aside her concern. “He's long gone, headed for the ranch.” There was a rashness about him; she could see it in his eyes. “I knew you'd come.”

“You sent for me. Of course, I came.” She tried to calm down her own jittery nerves before she attempted to reason with him and convince him to leave before somebody discovered them.

“You may be married to Calder, but your family is still important to you.” He said it fiercely, as if needing the reassurance of her loyalty.

“You are important to me. Except for Ty, you're the only family I have.”

He grabbed her shoulders again, as he had done that night at the house, and looked deep into her eyes. “Why do you stay there? Why don't you come home where you belong?”

“I can't leave my son. Ty is only fifteen. Culley, he needs me.”

“But he's no good. He's a Calder. Leave him, Maggie. Leave him before it's too late. You've got to get away from there. I don't want you getting mixed up with this.”

“Mixed up with what? What are you talking about?” She frowned, worried by the intensity of his voice.

There was an impatient shake of his head at the interruption of her questions. “You've got to trust me, Maggie. Didn't I do the right thing when I sent you away from here before?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then trust me now,” he urged. “I know Calder married you, but he doesn't care about you. He only
did it because he wanted his son. He already has a mistress in town, so what does he want with you? I tried to tell Sally that he would hurt her, but she wouldn't listen to me—just like you wouldn't listen to me a long time ago. But I was right. You've got to listen to me now, Maggie. He'll hurt you. When all this starts, he'll turn on you.”

Everything about her brother was quick and restless, his mood swinging from angry demand to lame pleas in the span of a few seconds. This wild fluctuation alarmed Maggie, although she tried not to show it.

“I'm listening to you,” she assured him. “But why don't you trust me, Culley? You keep telling me I'll get hurt when all this starts, but you won't tell me what's going to happen. How come you won't trust me?”

“I can't tell you, don't you see?” A vein stood out sharply on his forehead as he continued urgently. “Until you're off his ranch for good, I can't take the chance that Calder might find a way to make you talk. You've got soft living in the city, Maggie. You're used to being wrapped in cotton wool and treated like a lady. You've forgotten how to be a woman out here.”

“I may have forgotten a few things”—like the binding promise inherent in a man's word, or how strong the basic needs are between a man and woman—“but I'm not soft, Culley.”

The hard lines loosened around his mouth, permitting a fleeting smile. “Maybe not. But you've got to leave this place. We're finally going to get even with the Calders for hanging our pa. We've got a plan.”

“We? Is Tucker in on this?” There was surprise in her voice, because she had believed Tucker had put all that away.

He gave her a bright glance, turning sly. “There's no way to get to Calder from the outside. But from the inside, his belly is exposed. We'll get him this time. But
you've got to leave before it all starts happening. There isn't much time.”

“When will it start?” she asked.

“Soon,” was all he would say. “You have to leave, Maggie. I want you away, where you'll be safe. You think because he married you that everything will be all right, but it won't be. It never will be until Calder is in his grave.”

“Culley—” She was suddenly very frightened—frightened for him and frightened for Chase. Yet, in her heart, she couldn't believe that her brother intended to kill Chase. It had only been a figure of speech. Not even in his wildest moment would he be capable of such a violent act. “Culley”—she started again in a more controlled voice, veering away from the subject—“I saw Doc Barlow in town the other day.” She lied, because it was Chase who talked to him. “He mentioned that he planned to stop out and see you some evening. Did he come by?”

“Yeah.” He released her. Maggie's shoulders tingled where he had gripped them so hard. “He stopped by last week, said I looked tired and overworked and wanted me to come to his office so he could examine me. He claimed there were pills he could give me to help me rest better at night.”

“There are,” Maggie insisted.

“I thought you'd understand.” He looked at her grimly. “I don't want to rest until I've settled the score with Calder.” He walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle. “Don't stay there, Maggie. I can't look out for you the way I should when you're there.” He turned his horse and rode into the trees, ducking a low-hanging branch.

That night, she barely had time to change for dinner before Chase arrived home. She said very little during
the meal and ate even less. The urge was strong to tell Chase of her meeting with Culley, to warn him, but there was her brother to consider. Maybe he hadn't meant anything he said. Maybe he'd just been talking. Outwardly, she looked very calm and quiet, but inside she was a mass of uncertainty. How could she stop her brother when she didn't know what he was going to do, or even if he was going to do anything?