This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

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 o

f 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?

Chase walked onto the porch, dusting off his clothes with his hat. A series of minor irritations that day had left him in a foul mood. Not that he had been in the best of moods this last week. Maggie had been giving him the silent treatment, barely talking at all.

Inside the house he paused, listening, but no sound greeted him. It was early. Maggie was probably still out riding. He’d like to know where she went on her rides … and who she met—if it was her brother, or someone else. She had stopped mentioning what the conditions were in the particular section of range she had ridden, which is what made him suspect she had something else on her mind while she was out there.

The unanswered questions, the half-formed suspicions sat in his mind, working on him, until every other thought he had was about her. He had told her from the beginning that she was free—that she could come and go as she pleased; the marriage was a mere formality to ensure his claim on Ty, so he had no grounds to demand an accounting of her activities when she was away from him. The possibility that she was meeting a man other than her brother awakened feelings in him that were akin to jealousy.

With telephone calls to make, he entered the den, but he walked to the bar instead of the desk and poured a straight shot of whiskey. He bolted half of it down, starting a backfire that he hoped would burn out the smoldering coals of his jealousy. He sprawled in a leather chair, leaning his head back to stare at the stone fireplace. He lit a long cheroot and nursed it between his lips. Had any of his ancestors endured marriages with separate bedrooms? If a man couldn’t keep his wife home, he wasn’t much of a man. But he’d given his permission.

All taut energy lay inside him, with no release, all the frustrations of wanting without the right to possess, because he’d given it away. He downed the rest of his drink and rolled to his feet with an animal-like tension. After taking one step toward the bar, Chase stopped. Getting drunk wasn’t the answer. He shoved the glass onto a tabletop and pivoted. Work. Fill his mind with other thoughts. Exhaust his body until it was unaware of any physical need but sleep.

He walked to the desk to make those phone calls and stopped short with his hand on the back of the swivel chair. All the color drained from his face. Lying in the middle of the desk was a miniature noose made from white string. It was exact in detail, right down to the nine wraps that formed the hangman’s knot.

How had it gotten there? Who had put it there? Who would know the significance? Only a handful, and most of that number Chase could dismiss. That left only three—Maggie, Culley and Tucker. Maggie was his wife, but she couldn’t be eliminated from the list. A cold rage filled him. Once he had believed her innocent of the rustling, but she had known about it—taken part in one raid.

The front door closed, and he turned his head toward the sound. He heard the footsteps—light, even-paced strides. It was Maggie. He’d listened to her walk often enough during his evenings working in the den. He walked to the open double doors.