Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“That was the general idea.” The line of his mouth softened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, their dark gleam holding no trace of remorse.

“That’s called kidnapping,” Sloan declared in mock reproval.

“No.” He shook his head, his smile fading as his gaze darkened on her with need. “It’s called love.”

To prove it, his head dipped toward her, his mouth settling on her lips, kissing them with a building hunger. Before he could give in to the urges pushing him, he pulled away, drawing in a long, steadying breath.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured and stepped back, breaking contact. “I’ll be downstairs. You can join me whenever you’re ready.”

“I won’t be long,” she told him.

Exiting the room, Trey headed for the staircase and ran lightly down it. When he reached the bottom, he swung toward the den.

One of the double doors stood partially ajar. He gave it a push and walked through. His mother stood in front of the massive stone fireplace, one booted foot resting on its raised hearth.

As usual, his grandfather sat behind the long desk. His thick hair was shot with silver, and his craggy face looked as creased and weathered as the old hand-drawn map on the wall behind him. Chase Calder had once been a tall, robust man with a muscular physique that rivaled Trey’s, but age had shrunk him, making his clothes hang loose on him.

Yet his mind was still as sharp as the dark eyes he turned on Trey. A smile softened his hard, bony features. He rocked forward in the big leather chair, dislodging the walking cane hooked on its armrest and sending it clattering to the floor. The cane offered mute evidence that he wasn’t as steady on his feet as he once had been.

“Cat said you were back.” His voice still possessed that familiar rumbling strength. “Where are you hiding that young lady I understand you brought with you?”

“Upstairs freshening up. She’ll be down shortly.” Automatically Trey walked around the desk and retrieved the cane, returning it to its hook over the armrest.

Thick, heavy brows came together, hooding his grandfather’s dark eyes as his gaze narrowed on Trey. “What’d you do to your head?”

Trey touched the bandage on his forehead. He had forgetten it was there. “I got kicked by a bronc.” He hooked a leg over a corner of the desk and rested a hip on it to face his grandfather. “So, how’d things go while we were gone?”

“No problems. But I didn’t expect there would be.” With barely a pause, he added, “Quint called earlier today and said to tell you hello.”

“Sorry I missed his call,” Trey said with true regret. “How are things going at the Cee Bar?”

“Other than some minor storm damage, everything is going well.”

Trey nodded. “That’s good. For a minute I thought Rutledge might be giving him problems again.”

“Rutledge isn’t going to cause Quint any trouble.”

His grandfather’s flat statement should have reassured Trey, but he caught the emphasis that had been placed on his cousin’s name.

“So you don’t think Rutledge will try to get his hands on the Cee Bar. Then why worry about the man at all?” Trey frowned his confusion.

“He doesn’t care about the Cee Bar anymore. I’m convinced of that,” Chase stated, a weariness stealing over his face. “If there’s anything he wants, it’s to get even for his son’s death. To do that, he’ll come after us.”

Trey listened, as he always did to his grandfather, but this time the older man’s reasoning struck him as faulty. “We aren’t responsible for Boone’s death. He came at Quint with a knife. It was self-defense—even the inquest ruled that.”

“Don’t count on Rutledge to look at it that way,” Chase warned. “Grief doesn’t listen to reason. His only child is dead. That leaves Rutledge with his pride and his money.”

“I can’t imagine him coming after us.” Trey shook his head in doubt. “Leastways, not here in Montana. I know he swings a wide loop in Texas, but that won’t count for much around here.”

“Don’t be too sure of that.” There was patience in the steady regard of his grandfather’s gaze. “There will always be someone around with nothing more against the Triple C than a resentment of its size. And Rutledge won’t come at us in the open. That isn’t his way. His tactics will be subtle—and as deadly as he can make them. I doubt he’ll make a move any time soon, figuring that we’ll forget about him if he waits.” He pointed a gnarled finger in emphasis. “You remember that. And if anything starts to go wrong, look behind the source and make sure Rutledge isn’t standing somewhere in the shadows.”

Lately when his grandfather got on a topic, he tended to preach on it. Trey sensed a sermon coming and resisted the urge to sigh. It was with relief that his ears caught the tread of light footsteps on the stairs. “That sounds like Sloan.” He swung to his feet and headed for the double doors. “I’ll bring her in so you can meet her, Gramps.”

As long, eager strides carried Trey from the room, Chase watched with a touch of envy, recalling the lost days when he had moved with the same ease. But he didn’t choose to comment on that.

“That boy has the ears of a wolf. I didn’t hear a thing.” His attention swung to Jessy, probing in its study of her. “This is the first time Trey’s ever brought a girl home, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, partially distracted by the mixed murmur of voices coming from the living room.