By meal’s end Chase was no closer to identifying the thing that troubled him about Boone. Chase knew he was getting too damned old, and his discernment wasn’t nearly as sharp as it once had been.
There was only one man, other than Laredo, whose judgment he trusted. Chase started to get up, then sat back down in his chair and did something he would never have done under any other circumstances.
“Logan, will you give me a hand here?” he said, careful to inject the right note of impatience for his supposed infirmity.
Seated closer, Trey immediately pushed back his own chair. “I’ll help you, Gramps.”
“No.” Chase waved him off. “You take the rest of them into the den. We’ll be there directly. It’s just going to take me a bit longer than you young folks.”
Even with Logan’s assistance, Chase made certain they were the last ones to move away from the table. It didn’t take Logan long to catch on to his delaying tactics.
“What’s the problem?” Logan pitched his voice low to keep it from carrying.
“Laura’s new beau,” Chase muttered, his gaze tracking the man exiting the dining room with his granddaughter. “The way he looks at her.”
“You mean, like she’s a prize to be won?”
“That’s it.” The fog cleared in his mind. There was heat in the man’s look, but no warmth or tenderness, Chase realized.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Logan told him. “If Laura hasn’t noticed it already, she will.”
“But will she care?”
It was a question without an answer, and Logan didn’t bother to attempt one.
“Tara’s to blame for this,” Chase grumbled, mostly to himself as they trailed after the others. “The first time she set foot in this house, I should have shown her the door. It would have saved this family a lot of grief—then and now.”
With Logan at his side, Chase thumped into the den with his cane. As he headed for his customary seat behind the big desk, he slid a glance around the room and immediately noticed both Laura and Boone were absent.
“Where’s Laura?” he asked no one in particular.
It was Tara who answered. “She and Boone went outside to enjoy the sunset.” She set a cup of coffee on the table next to Max Rutledge’s wheelchair. “Would you like some coffee, Chase? Or something stronger?”
“Coffee’s fine,” he said and continued on his way around the desk.
“Here you go, Dad.” Cat took the cup of coffee that Jessy had just poured and carried it to the desk.
“Is that the famous map of the Triple C Ranch that I’ve heard so much about?” Max gestured to the framed map hanging on the wall behind the desk. Age had yellowed the background of the hand-drawn map that identified the water courses, outlying camps, and various landmarks as well as the boundaries of the ranch.
Chase stopped to look at it. “My grandfather drew that more than a hundred years ago. The boundaries haven’t changed more than a few inches since that time.”
“Not many family ranches can make that boast these days,” Max declared.
“It’s no boast. It’s a fact.” Chase maneuvered himself in front of the oversized swivel chair, gripped the armrest, and lowered himself onto the cushioned seat.
“Naturally.” Max nodded briefly in a kind of respectful apology. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Rutledge.” Cat smiled affectionately at her father. “Dad’s gotten a bit testy lately.”
“She’s trying to make you believe I’ve turned into a crotchety old goat,” Chase declared.
“I am not,” Cat protested, then saw the teasing light in his eyes. “You are impossible, Dad.”
“So you’ve told me before.” His attention strayed to the window and the couple moving down the steps and striking out in the direction of the ranch buildings.
“I must say,” Max began, drawing Chase’s glance back to him, “I never expected to see a set of Texas longhorns this far north. That’s quite a pair you have hanging above the mantel. What are they, six feet across?”
“Closer to seven,” Chase replied. “They came off the old brindle steer that led every Calder herd north from Texas. Old Captain was always something of a legend back in those early days of the Triple C. It’s good to keep a reminder like that around.”
“I don’t imagine a lot of people know you Calders came here from Texas,” Max said with seeming idleness. “In fact, that ranch you own near the Slash R, it originally belonged to your family, didn’t it?”
Chase nodded. “My granddaddy Seth Calder settled the place.”
“The next time you go down there, you need to look me up,” Max told him. “Give me a chance to return some of your hospitality, one neighbor to another.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Chase acknowledged, “but I’m getting too old to make a long trip like that.”
“I know what you mean.” Max rubbed a hand over one of his bony, lifeless legs. “Traveling has gotten to be more of an ordeal with each passing year.”
“That’s why I stick close to home.” Chase sensed this conversation was leading to something; he just didn’t know what.
“It can’t be convenient being an absentee landlord, especially when there’s so much distance between the two ranches,” Max observed, providing Chase with his first solid clue. “If you ever decide you want to sell the C Bar, let me know. I’m interested in buying it.”
“Calder land is never for sale.” Chase was cool with his answer.
Max smiled in understanding. “I feel the same way about Rutledge land. I only mentioned buying it because I think it would make an appropriate wedding present.” He gave Chase a long, considering look. “Almost from the moment I met your granddaughter, I’ve never made it a secret that I’d like my son to marry her.”
For a moment Chase looked down at the blotter on his desk, smiled wryly, and exhaled an amused breath, then lifted his head to meet Max’s puzzled glaze. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“What for?” Max frowned in genuine bewilderment.
“When you offered to buy the C Bar, I assumed it was the abundant water resources on it that you wanted. I didn’t realize your motive was something more personal. For that, I apologize, Mr. Rutledge.”
“Call me Max,” Rutledge insisted. “After all, it’s likely we will be related one day soon.”
It was a thought that didn’t please Chase one bit.
Brushstrokes of crimson and orange streaked the western horizon and tinted the undersides of the scattered clouds. A soft breeze drifted off the river, the coolness of its breath wafting across Laura’s face as she strolled arm in arm with Boone toward the white-painted gazebo near the riverbank.
His glance wandered over the collection of picnic tables. “What’s this? Your own private park?”
“Something like that,” she admitted. “Situated the way we are, miles from anything that even remotely resembles civilization, there is little in the way of entertainment available. And what there is tends to be rustic.” Releasing his arm, she caught hold of an upright post and stepped onto the gazebo. “This is about the only place on the Triple C that is even slightly romantic.”
“And private.” Boone caught her wrist and bent her arm behind her back to draw her against him. “Do you realize this is the first time I’ve been alone with you since I arrived?”
Smiling, Laura gazed at him through the tops of her lashes. “Don’t count on it lasting,” she warned. “Any second kids can show up—to play hide-and-seek or hunt frogs.”
“They have to go to bed sometime, though.” He bent his head and nibbled on her neck.
The heavy scent of his cologne swirled around her, strong and citrusy. Unbidden came the memory of how quickly Sebastian had identified it on her skin. And Laura knew it wasn’t wise to have thoughts of Sebastian in her mind when she was in Boone’s arms. There was no choice; Boone would have to change colognes. Laura smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be all that difficult to accomplish. She would simply enlist Tara’s aid to arrange for his current bottle to be accidentally broken and a different one offered in its place.
“Personally,” she moved sinuously against him and let one hand glide up to his shoulder, then slipped the other one free from his loose grip, and curled it around his neck, “I think we should make good use of the little bit of privacy we have now. By tomorrow afternoon the ranch will be packed with people. Between the party tomorrow night and the auction the day after, it isn’t likely we’ll have a moment to ourselves.”
He raised his head, his dark eyes like a black fire as he pushed his hands into her hair and framed her face with them. “We’ll make time,” he told her with a kind of savage insistency in his voice.
But Laura knew it wouldn’t happen; she would see to that. “Let’s make use of this time instead.” She applied pressure to the back of his head, urging his mouth down to hers.
The rough hunger in his kiss was exhilarating. Laura gave herself up to it without inhibition, letting her body come awake to the arousing caress of his hands on her hips and back, molding her ever more firmly against him. She felt the rigid outline of him pressed against her stomach, the hardness of it leaving her in little doubt of his desire. But it had to be more than just sexual desire, something any woman could satisfy. It had to be more personal than that.
Instinctively she knew that marriage to Boone would never work if it came about solely through Max’s force of will. Such an event would result in Boone’s eventual resentment of her, possibly even hatred. She had to be the trophy he brought home, not the woman he’d married merely to satisfy his father.
As much as she might want to let him take her where he wanted to go, Laura knew she had to hold back, for a while longer anyway. His big hand molded itself over her breast, and she trembled with the longing she felt. It was almost with relief that she heard boyish tittering coming from somewhere close by.
With a reluctance that wasn’t feigned, she pulled away from his kiss and said huskily, “We have company.”
Boone threw an irritated glance at the two boys, dressed in straw cowboy hats and boots and clutching fishing poles and a worm can in their hands.
The distraction allowed her the opportunity to create a little more space between them. “We might as well walk back to the house,” she told him. “As long as we stay here, they’ll be stealing peeks.” When he looked at her with a kind of angry impatience, she reminded him, “I did warn you.”
In response, his fingers dug into her elbow. “Let’s go,” he muttered and propelled her out of the gazebo.
Chapter Eleven
P
rivate aircraft, everything from turboprops to executive jets, were parked wingtip to wingtip, taking up every available inch of apron area next to the Calder airstrip. In addition, much of the ranch yard had been turned into a parking lot to accommodate the host of Mercedes, BMWs, Jaguars, and other vehicles, proof, if any was needed, that the June sale had drawn a record attendance.
The well-heeled crowd drifted between the salering area inside the massive old barn and the shimmering white refreshment tent located just outside it, equipped with closed-circuit television to keep prospective buyers abreast of the latest horse coming up for bid. Max Rutledge had his wheelchair parked in front of the big screen, ash building up on the smoldering cigar between his fingers as he stared intently at the rider of the horse currently on the block.
It was a tradition that any horse deemed to be exceptional was shown by a member of the Calder family. It was Laura who rode the horse in the ring. They made an eye-catching pair, the horse’s coat a gleaming black and Laura dressed from head to toe in an off-white outfit studded with silver and turquoise.
Max was struck again by the class and elegance she exuded even in those rodeo queen clothes. He couldn’t look at her without thinking of the grandsons she could give him. Boone shifted in place beside him and tossed back a swallow of watered-down bourbon.
Max threw him a half-irritated look, started to speak, then hastily checked to make sure there was no one within close earshot.
“Are you making any progress with her?” he grumbled out of one side of his mouth.
“When have I had the chance?” Boone muttered back at him. “I haven’t had more than five minutes alone with her since we got here.”
“Mmm.” Max grudgingly had to acknowledge the truth of that. “We’ll have to do something about that.” The gavel fell, stopping the bidding on the black horse, and a scattering of applause from the barn reached them. Max stuck the cigar between his teeth and checked the sales catalog on his lap. “You’d better get in there. That filly we want is coming up right after this next yearling colt.”
When Laura rode the horse out of the ring, one of the ranch hands, Ken Garvey, waited outside the gate for her. “Good job,” he said, catching hold of the bridle’s headstall. “He went for a good ten thousand over our top estimate.”
“Blackie sold himself.” She dismounted and passed him the reins.
“After you showed what he could do.” He looked at her with an approving smile.
Praise was never idly handed out on the Triple C; it had to be earned. Laura accepted it with a simple, “Thanks,” and headed for one of the barn’s side exits.
Once outside, she paused to push the brim of her hat lower and shield her eyes from the sun’s bright glare, then started toward the tent. She hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when she ran into Tara.
“This is shaping up to be one of the most successful sales the Triple C has had to date,” Tara announced, her expression aglow.
“It is, isn’t it?” Laura agreed.
Tara’s tone turned a touch wistful. “I wish your father were here. He and I put together the very first auction the Triple C held.” She turned a loving look on the towering structure before them. “You should have seen this old barn before we started renovating it. There was a century of grime covering everything. It’s amazing how varnish can reveal the true beauty of those old hand-hewn timbers.”
“How true.” It was a story Laura had heard countless times in the past, but she never bothered to remind Tara of that. The auctions had always been a nostalgic time for Tara, and Laura knew that she was the only member of the family with whom Tara shared her recollections of those long ago days.
“Your father and I worked so well together. We were truly partners,” Tara recalled somewhat absently. “It was one of my happiest, most fulfilling times. I told Ty these auctions would turn into one of those not-to-be-missed events. And I was right.” Breaking free from her memories, she turned to Laura, her dark eyes bright and shining with triumph. “Did you notice? This time we even have some Hollywood celebrities in attendance?”
“They are hard to miss.”
“Their presence will only bring more people to the next one,” Tara stated with certainty. “You might suggest to your mother that prior to the next auction she contact some of the publicity agents for the major stars and see if she can’t encourage more to attend.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll do it.”
“By the way,” Tara said as she tipped her head toward Laura in a confiding manner, “the Texas crowd has been abuzz ever since you arrived at the party last night on Boone’s arm. And you can be sure they noticed the way Max practically dotes on you. You two are definitely the couple of the moment. It’s hardly surprising, though. With Boone so dark and you so fair, you make a striking couple.”
“I suppose we are,” Laura agreed, fully aware of the stir they created, and the way heads continued to turn every time she was with Boone.
“Believe me,” Tara declared, “you are going to start receiving a horde of invitations from Texas. But don’t accept a single one until you’ve spoken to me. It’s important that you be highly selective about which ones you accept, if any. It will only enhance the whole Calder mystique that’s out there.”
Laura frowned. “I don’t think I understand your reasoning.”
“Darling, if you should decide to marry Boone, people need to realize it’s a marriage of equals. And when the day comes that you and Boone throw a party of your own, they’ll come in droves.”
It was a tantalizing picture that Tara painted in her mind. With no effort at all, Laura could see herself in it. The practical side of her surfaced to remind Laura that standing here talking about it wouldn’t make any of it come true.
“Speaking of Boone,” she began, “is he still at the tent with Max?”
“As a matter of fact, I just passed him going into the barn.” Tara replied. “If you want, I’ll let Max know that’s where you are.”
“Thanks,” Laura said and moved away to retrace her steps to the barn.
The sudden loud blast of a horn stopped her, its harshness out of place amid the auction’s steady hum of voices. She threw a look around to identify the source. Her searching glance landed on an old blue pickup with scratched paint and dented fender parked off to the side, away from the expensive vehicles. She probably wouldn’t have thought much about it except that she saw a child’s head bob up in the cab, then turn and look out the rear window.
One glimpse was all Laura had before he disappeared from sight, scooting down in the seat, but she immediately recognized the little boy from the bar.
“Hey, Sis.” Trey walked up, leading a red roan filly. “What are you staring at?” he asked, turning to look.
“Do you see that truck? There’s a little boy in it. I swear he’s the same child that Mitchell guy was shoving around at Harry’s. What would Mitchell be doing here?”
“I think we should find out. It’s for sure he isn’t here to buy horses.” Eyes narrowed, Trey scoured the immediate vicinity, then shifted his attention to the rows of parked cars.
Laura spotted him an instant before Trey did. “There he is.” She nodded at the man, trotting into view from behind the caterer’s truck parked next to a second smaller tent used as a food prep station. His attire alone, faded jeans and a wrinkled plaid shirt, set him apart from the others in attendance.
“I see him,” Trey stated. “Looks like he’s headed back to his truck.”
“I wonder what he was doing over there.” Laura sent a curious glance in the direction of the caterer’s tent.
“We’ll know soon enough,” Trey replied.
Positioned as they were, Mitchell had to pass them to get to his pickup. Intent on the truck with the boy inside, the man didn’t notice Trey and Laura until he was a few yards from them. Immediately he slowed to a walk, something hot and wary leaping into his expression.
“What are you doing here, Mitchell?” Trey said in peremptory challenge.
The man sneered, “If it’s any of your business—”
Trey cut in, his voice cold and hard, “It is our business. You’re on the Triple C.”
Mitchell clamped his mouth shut for a long second, then jerked a thumb in the direction of the tents. “My wife’s workin’ out here today. I just stopped to find out what time she’d be gettin’ off. Now that I’ve found out, I’m leaving. Are you satisfied?” The sneer returned.
“As long as you’re leaving, we won’t stand in your way.” Trey continued to regard him with cool distrust.
Mitchell glared at him for a silent second, flicked a look at Laura, and stalked off. As he headed for his truck, Laura caught another glimpse of the boy stealing a peek out the rear window before he ducked out of sight again.
“Poor kid,” she murmured to Trey. “I can’t imagine anything worse than a child being left in the care of a brute like that.”
“Hey, Trey!” Someone called from the barn area. “The filly’s up next.”
Trey lifted a hand in reply, gathered up the reins, and grabbed hold of the saddle horn. “Keep an eye on him and make sure he really does leave,” he told Laura and swung into the saddle.
“Will do,” she promised.
When Trey reined the roan filly toward the barn, Mitchell jerked open the truck’s driver side door and threw a look at Laura. Rather than make it obvious that she intended to watch him, Laura headed toward the barn, taking an angle that kept the pickup in her side vision.
The pickup sputtered to life, belching dark smoke from its tailpipe with each rev of the engine. She was nearly to the barn before it reversed out of its parking spot and backed into a right turn that pointed it in the direction of The Homestead.
Keeping one ear tuned to the pickup’s idling engine, Laura entered the barn through a side door and worked her way through the scattering of prospective buyers standing along the wall until she reached the barn’s opened double doors. She stood to one side and looked out as the pickup rolled slowly forward on a path that took it unusually close to the row of parked vehicles. It was obvious to Laura that Mitchell was in no hurry to leave, and she wondered why.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you are going to like this next filly we have for you,” the auctioneer’s baritone voice came over the sophisticated sound system that had been set up in the barn. “She’s a three-year-old by Cougar’s Pride out of a fine San Peppy mare.”
Laura glanced toward the sale ring as Trey rode in on the horse, stopped in the center, and reined the athletic filly into a fast spin that had nearly everyone in the place sitting up a little straighter. Laura smiled, feeling a surge of pride, both in the filly’s talent and her twin’s skill in the saddle. Then she shifted her attention back outside to check on Mitchell.
The pickup had stopped. At the same instant that fact registered, Laura noticed a thin slip of a woman hurrying toward it from between the cars. She was dressed in the white top and black skirt of the catering staff and carried a sack in her hands. There was something furtive in the glance the woman threw over her shoulder.
The minute she reached the pickup, she hurriedly stuffed the sack through the opened window, pressed her fingertips to her lips, and transferred the kiss to the little boy in the passenger seat, darted another worried look over her shoulder, and hurried back to the catering truck. Simultaneously the pick-up roared away from the site.
It was only a guess, but Laura thought it was a fairly accurate one that the sack had been full of food, no doubt the same as that being served in the refreshment tent. Her mouth moved in a wry smile as Laura realized the Mitchells would have plenty to eat tonight, courtesy of the Calders.
With the mystery of Mitchell’s presence solved, she shifted her attention to the sale ring, where the bidding was under way. The auctioneer’s rapid and rhythmic chant filled the barn. She scanned the crowd and located Boone standing near the rear.
The initial bidding was fast and spirited as Laura picked her way through the mix of spectators and buyers. One of the spotters pointed to Boone. At a nod from him, the price jumped two thousand dollars.
“You know your horseflesh,” Laura murmured when she reached Boone’s side. “I think she’s the best of the lot.”
“My father agrees with you.” He automatically curved an arm around her waist, more in a statement of ownership than affection, and nodded again, raising the last bid by another two thousand.
Aware of the knowing looks they received, Laura leaned lightly against him and spread the flat of her palm over the front of his shirt and the iron-hard muscles beneath it. She made no further comment, choosing to feign an interest in the bidding. When the hammer fell, the top bid was Boone’s.
His success brought a round of congratulations and good-natured back-slapping from those close by them. It faded with the entry of the next horse into the sale ring.
Tilting her head back, Laura smiled up at Boone. “I hope you read the fine print in the sales agreement.”
“Why?” Wariness leaped into his eyes.