Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

She smiled in amusement. “You make it sound like there’s something to tell.”

“I was thinking in terms of your inheritance.”

“There wasn’t any reason to discuss it. I think I mentioned that a trust had been established after my parents died, but that was about it. We certainly never sat around comparing portfolios, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Which, Sloan suspected, he was. With Max, everything was always about business and making money. Those were the only two subjects that interested him.

“I don’t suppose you would,” he admitted, but in a distracted way. “This probably isn’t the time to bring this up, but in your father’s stead, I feel duty bound to insist that there be a prenuptial agreement signed, one that would protect your separate properties. I’m sure the Calders would be in favor of that. I understand it’s become very common these days to have one. After all, no one ever enters into a marriage thinking it will end in divorce, but statistics tell you otherwise. That’s why it’s important for you to make sure your inheritance never gets tied up in some bitter property dispute.”

In her heart, Sloan resented the idea of a prenuptial agreement, but her mind argued that it was unquestionably the sensible thing to do. “Is that something Cal Hensley can handle?” she asked.

“If not, there’ll be someone in his firm who can.”

“I’ll call him first thing in the morning,” she promised.

“Do that. Because if you truly intend to get married within a month, this isn’t something you want to leave to the last minute.”

“I recognize that.”

“But you don’t like it. I can hear it in your voice. I suppose I sound like a heartless old bastard to you. Here you are all excited about getting married, and I’m talking about protecting your money. But your father left you a lot of it. You’ve always tried to ignore that, but the fact remains that you’re a very wealthy woman in your own right.”

“You never let me forget it, Uncle Max,” Sloan replied without rancor. “And I promise I’ll phone in the morning.”

“You’re telling me to shut up, aren’t you?”

She laughed, low and throaty. “Yes.”

“Let me just add that you’ve made a good match. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Just the same, I’ll be calling you every week until I hear that you’ve got that prenup signed.”

“I’ll tell Cal to run it past you before he sends it to me.”

“Good idea.” With that, Max said his good-byes and hung up the phone.

Night’s shadows pressed against the windows of the Slash R ranch house, turning their glass panes into mirrors that cast dark reflections of the room’s Texas-chic furnishings. But Max took no notice of them, his back to the windows, his brow furrowed in hard thought.

He never glanced up when Harold Bennett, his valet and personal nurse, paused beside the desk and placed a glass of bourbon and water in front of him. “Did I hear correctly, sir?” Harold asked, as always careful to keep the appropriate degree of respect in his voice. “Is Sloan getting married?”

Hard eyes shot him a brief look. “She’s engaged. It remains to be seen whether she actually marries.”

The statement rang of portent, too much for Harold to ignore. Hesitating, he frowned in question. “Sir?”

For a moment he thought no explanation would be forthcoming as Max picked up the drink and swirled the ice in the glass. “She’s engaged to Trey Calder. Ironic, isn’t it?” His mouth twisted with black humor.

“Very,” Harold said, too stunned to do anything but agree. “What are you going to do, sir?”

“Let things play themselves out, of course.” Amusement gleamed coldly in his eyes. “See whether it becomes necessary to send an expensive wedding present.”

“Of course,” the valet murmured, confused by his employer’s apparent acceptance of the idea.

“That’ll be all for now, Bennett.” Max dismissed him with a waving flick of his fingers. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to retire.”

Harold nodded an acknowledgment and withdrew from the room. But this was one time when he wished he could crawl into his employer’s mind and see how that crafty intellect worked. He knew it would be a thing to behold.

Thunderheads made a dark blotch against the southern horizon. Observing them, Laredo noted that if anything, their line was narrowing. It was raining somewhere, though not on Calder land.

His attention shifted back to the short, thick branch in his hand, already partially stripped of its bark. With another stroke of the knife, Laredo sliced away more of it as he sat on the veranda’s edge, his feet dangling over it and one shoulder negligently propped against a pillar.