Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

Only one vehicle sped along the road, heading north, a narrow shadow racing along the shoulder, keeping pace. Cat was behind the wheel with Sloan in the passenger seat. Music from a CD played softly over the Suburban’s speakers, covering the silence. On this return trip from Sloan’s doctor’s appointment, all the topics of conversation had been exhausted.

For about the fifteenth time in the last fifty miles, Sloan shifted in her seat, seeking a more comfortable position. The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Cat.

Concern was in her face as she said, “Are you sure you don’t mind if we stop at Fedderson’s before we go home? I can always run back to town and pick up the shrimp Marsha’s holding for me.”

“Honestly? I’d welcome the chance to stretch my legs after riding for two hours.” Sloan arched her back briefly, then shifted in the seat again.

“Stiff, are you?” Cat eyed her with sympathy.

“Stiff, sore, achy—you name it, I feel it.” The breath Sloan released was a grunted sigh. “These trips to the doctor just seem to get longer and longer. I wish his office was closer.”

“It was a lot more convenient when we had the clinic in Blue Moon, but we all knew it was bound to close sometime,” Cat agreed, then smiled in encouragement. “At least you received a glowing report from Doctor Wilson. He told me he hadn’t seen two healthier patients than you and the little guy.”

Sloan absently rubbed her side. “One more week,” she murmured on a wistful note. “I just hope he comes on time. One of the other women there told me she went three weeks past her due date.”

“Calder babies usually arrive on time,” Cat assured her with a touch of pride.

The near boast was like a scrape across nerves that were already raw. For a moment, Sloan almost surrendered to the urge to tell Cat how sick to death she was of hearing how great the Calders were. If they were so perfect, why hadn’t her husband taken her to the doctor instead of going off to some calving shed—assuming that was really where he was. But she said nothing and looked away when she noticed the massive stone pillars wings that marked the east entrance to the Triple C Ranch.

Again, music filled the silence that fell between them. Sloan kept her attention focused out the side window, without ever seeing the utility poles and fence posts that raced by. The seemingly never-ending discomfort soon had her changing positions again.

It was with relief that she felt the Suburban slow its headlong pace and saw the buildings of Blue Moon. When Cat braked to make the turn into the combination gas station, grocery store, and post office, Sloan made a quick check of the vehicles parked in front of The Oasis. There were only two, and neither had the Triple C insignia on its doors. Sloan couldn’t decide whether she was glad or sorry, but she’d been torn like that for weeks now—full of doubts and suspicions, yet wanting desperately to believe they were unwarranted.

Reaching around her protruding stomach, Sloan unbuckled her seat belt the instant the Suburban rolled to a stop in front of Fedderson’s. After riding so long in the heated vehicle, the coldness of the outside air was a bracing shock when she climbed out. She stood for a moment, breathing it in, a hand resting lightly on her back while she stretched muscles stiff and sore from the ride.

At a much slower pace, she followed Cat into the store. The proprietress, a slightly built brunette, was behind the counter, chatting with another customer. When she saw Cat walk in, she quickly excused herself and emerged from behind the counter.

“I’ve got your shrimp in back,” she told Cat. “They aren’t as big as the ones Ross usually gets. If you want to pass on them, I’ll understand.”

“They should be fine.”

“Take a look at them first to be sure,” Marsha urged.

“Okay,” Cat agreed and glanced at Sloan. “I won’t be long.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Sloan told her and wandered over to a display of handcrafted items near the counter. She didn’t have any real interest in them but used them as an excuse to keep moving and ease some of the cramping of her muscles.

Almost immed

iately she felt herself under the scrutiny of the customer still standing by the cash register. She was a sandy-haired woman, a year or two younger than Sloan, her dark blue parka unbuttoned to reveal the tan cable knit sweater she wore with a pair of jeans. The instant Sloan glanced her way, the woman seemed to take it as invitation to speak.

“You’re Trey’s wife, aren’t you?” Curious hazel eyes studied her with an almost avid interest.

“Yes,” Sloan confirmed.

“You probably don’t remember me. I’m Annie Walters. We met last November outside church. My boyfriend Gil is the calf-roper that used to compete with Trey in jackpot events.”

“Of course.” Sloan pretended to remember the encounter, but it was little more than an extremely vague recollection that included no memory of faces. “How are you?”

“Just fine.” As if feeling the need to keep the conversation going, the young woman volunteered, “I was just over to The Oasis, grabbing a bite of lunch, and they told me Ross had brought some shrimp back on his last trip. So, like you, I thought I’d swing by and get some—although I’m so stuffed from lunch that the thought of food doesn’t haven’t a lot of appeal. They have the best soup at The Oasis today. Beef pepperpot, I think they called it. It was delicious. You oughta try it.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she got a panicked look. “Sorry. That’s probably the last place you want to go. Forget I said anything.”

That was an impossibility, and they both knew it. Too hurt and too angry to speak, Sloan stared at Annie, who guiltily ducked her head and picked up the sack on the counter.

“I’d better get going before this shrimp thaws. Tell Marsha I’ll talk to her later.” She moved quickly to the door.

Her departure from the store coincided with Cat’s return to the front with the owner. Wrapped in her own little world of pain and fury, Sloan never said a word to either and never heard the words they exchanged while the sale was rung up.

On the way back to the Suburban, Sloan was careful not to look directly at Cat when she asked, “Do we have to go straight back to the ranch? I’m a little hungry. A cup of soup might tide me over until dinner. Annie was just telling me how delicious the soup was at The Oasis.”