This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

“There’s no need.” She turned to countermand his order. “I’m not staying.”

“Bring them in, Charley,” he repeated evenly.

She faced him again with cool composure. “I’ll only be here long enough to get Ty. Then I’m leaving.”

“Fine.” He inclined his head in implied acceptance and stepped aside, inviting her into the house. Leaving the door open for Charley, Chase moved toward the den, listening to the tap-tapping of Maggie’s heels on the tiled floor as she followed him. He let her walk past him into the room while he closed the double doors to ensure their privacy. “There is hot coffee in the service on the coffee table.”

After her gaze had made a sweeping search of the room without finding Ty, Maggie turned back to confront Chase. “Where is my son?”

“He went with Nate this morning for his first glimpse of an actual roundup.” Chase poured two cups of coffee from the silver service. “Cream or sugar?”

“You know I was coming for him.” Irritation emanated from her like an electric force field, charging the air around her. Chase felt it without having to look at her.

“But I didn’t know when,” he reminded her.

She half-pivoted, showing him her profile. There was a filled-out completeness to her body that reached out to him and stirred all his male desires. She had to know she was a picture for his hungry glance, arousing memories of when he’d seen more of those shapely legs than the black skirt slit at the knee revealed. He leaned back in the armchair, holding his cup.

“How soon will Ty be back?”

“Tonight.” He sipped his coffee and avoided meeting her accusing eyes.

“You did this deliberately. Why?” She looked at him, taking in the hard vitality that stamped his features. He had matured into a powerful figure of a man, character lines adding to, rather than detracting from, his looks. His mouth quirked in that hard, familiar way she remembered.

“To give us time to talk in private. Why else?”

“We have nothing to discuss,” she insisted coldly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have my child?” Chase finally addressed the issue that they had been avoiding.

“Ty is my child. Your part in his conception was purely incidental.” Her gaze was averted, her voice stiff and her head held high.

“Do you still hate me, Maggie?” He watched her glance come around to him.

“Hate is a passionate word. Despise or loathe would be more suitable.” That was one thing her marriage to Phillip had done for her. It had removed that poisonous seed of hate that could have twisted her. “My husband was a loving, compassionate man. He taught me to forget what I couldn’t forgive.”

“The day I came to you—the last time I saw you, it was to tell you that I was truly sorry about your father. At the time, I wasn’t aware that you knew the entire story.” He could see she was closing her mind to him, not wanting to recall anything. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it must be said.”

“Why? My father is dead and buried.”

“And we have a son, so you will listen whether you want to or not,” Chase replied with no break in his voice. “I understand what my father’s reasons were for his actions, but I had no knowledge of his intentions when we rode into the yard that day. Right up to the point where they put the rope around Angus’ neck, I thought he planned only to scare him. When they—” His mouth closed for a moment before he continued. “I couldn’t have saved him, Maggie. His neck was already broken.” He paused again. “Even after all this time, I can’t say that my father was wrong. Your father’s hatred of us was an obsession. You know that, Maggie, probably better than I do. In a sense, it was a mercy killing, because eventually your father would have destroyed not only himself, but you and Culley, too.”

“Are you finished?” She looked at him and Chase couldn’t tell if she had understood anything he’d said.

“With that subject, yes.” He glanced at his watch. “Ruth will be putting lunch on the table.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Setting his cup down, he stood and walked over to take her arm in a firm grip. “Make an effort,” he said dryly. He could feel the high tension flowing from her, but she didn’t resist the pressure of his guiding hand.

He didn’t attempt to make conversation during lunch, but let a silence lay over the table, instead. At first, Maggie picked at the food on her plate until the quiet atmosphere aroused her appetite, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. Relaxed and replete from the meal, she leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Chase held a slim cigar halfway to his mouth.

“No, not at all. I enjoy the aroma of a good cigar,” she replied diffidently.

“It’s a rare breed of woman who likes the smell of cigars.” He held a match to the tip and puffed on the tapered end.

“Phillip often smoked a cigar after dinner.” Unconsciously, her voice softened in fondness so she didn’t understand the suddenly tightened line of his mouth.