Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

Eyebrows raised, Laredo reminded him, “There was only one hostile voice at this table, and it didn’t come from any of us.”

“The way all of you ganged up on her, what did you expect?” Trey challenged before going after Sloan. With long strides, he caught up with her just as she placed a hand on the stairway’s newel post. The instant Sloan felt the touch of his hand she went rigid.

“Let me guess—they have more questions.” Her voice wavered.

Trey guessed she was close to tears, but she refused to turn and look at him. “I wouldn’t know. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

“You mean, after being interrogated like a criminal?” This time her voice did catch on a near sob.

“In your shoes, I’d probably be as angry and upset as you are. But try to look at it from their side—”

“How can I when ‘their side’ makes no sense at all? Uncle Max has never done anything to them. It’s ridiculous that they think he did.”

Like the rest of his family, Trey knew Max Rutledge had created all the trouble at the Cee Bar; Boone had been nothing more than his puppet. But any attempt to convince Sloan of that would only lead to another argument, and she was upset enough as it was.

“You just need to give them some time, Sloan,” he said, knowing himself that the family would judge his wife based on her present and future actions, not her past associations. That was the way things were done on the Triple C—that was the Calder way.

“Please, I know they are your family, but right now I just want to be alone for a while.”

Trey wasn’t certain that it was a wise decision for her to be alone. At the same time he was reluctant to insist that she return to the dining room.

“If that’s what you want,” he finally said. “How about if I bring up a tray for you later?”

“I don’t care. That’s fine.” She moved away from him, climbing the stairs.

Watching her, Trey saw the hand she placed under her protruding stomach. Her chin was up and her back was ramrod straight, but he was struck by how alone and vulnerable she looked. It was a sight that aroused all his protective instincts. He abruptly turned from the staircase before he could give in to the urge to go up those stairs with her.

Reluctantly, he retraced his steps to the dining room. As he approached the archway, he heard the comment Cat

made.

“I always wondered why Sloan never talked much about her past. Maybe now we know.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair conclusion to draw, Aunt Cat.” Calm and a little cool, Trey crossed to his chair and sat down. “When you reminisce, it’s usually about the good times. Sloan had no family, no home, no roots. That doesn’t exactly make for pleasant memories.”

“I think we have discussed this topic enough for one evening,” Chase stated. “Let’s eat before the food gets any colder than it already is.”

But Laredo wasn’t ready to let go of the subject. “What do you think we should do about this?”

Calmly, Chase lifted a slice of roast beef onto his plate before deferring the question to his daughter-in-law. “What’s your answer to that, Jessy?”

“We do nothing.” Showing the same calm, Jessy reached for the meat platter’s serving fork. “Sloan is family. Until she proves otherwise, that’s the way she will be treated.”

“We only have her word about this,” Laredo reminded her.

“And the word of a family member is accepted.”

Nothing was as simple as that, and Trey knew it. Their level of trust in Sloan had been changed, and only time would correct that. But he wasn’t sure how Sloan would handle it, and there was little he could do other than stand beside her. The rest was up to Sloan.

Better than anyone, Trey knew how sensitive and proud Sloan was. He couldn’t help being concerned that she wouldn’t tolerate the situation very well.

Chapter Seventeen

A steady fall of snowflakes drifted past the windowpane, creating an ever changing pattern of white dots against the gray-black night. Staring out the window, Sloan saw none of this. All trace of her earlier tears had been scrubbed from her face, but resentment continued to simmer, as evidenced by the tightly folded arms across her front and the dig of fingers into her sweater sleeves.

Never had she been more innocent, yet made to feel guilty—and for no reason other than that Max Rutledge had once been her guardian. The entire Calder family seemed obsessed by him. She was convinced their suspicions were totally ludicrous.

But every time Sloan replayed the conversation at the table—not a conversation, she corrected herself, an interrogation—the mental tape always stopped on the question from Laredo for which she had no adequate answer. There was only one person who could supply it.