Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“There’s a lot of water on the floor,” Sally warned. “Be careful you don’t get wet or slip.”

While he made a few more turns with the wrench to make sure the coupler was tight, Sally fetched a rag mop and began sopping up the pooling water on the linoleum floor. When he’d finished, Chase stood back and supervised her mopping of the floor.

“You missed a spot.” He pointed to an area that still had a water sheen.

“Just what are you doing in the kitchen?” Sally swiped the mop at the spot, then leaned on the long handle. “Other than giving orders, I mean.”

He chuckled at her question. “I came back to have you throw a couple of thick steaks on the grill.”

“Two?” she repeated. “First Ty comes in and orders two beers, and now you’re ordering two—” She stopped, the significance finally registering. “Are you and Ty together?”

He nodded as he sought out the quiet pleasure that ran through her expression. “I realized I hadn’t talked to my son in a long while. I don’t know whether it’s because we’re both away from the ranch or not, but there doesn’t seem to be as much tension. I—” Chase stopped himself, realizing he should be saying these things to Maggie.

“I’m glad for you,” she insisted quietly, then seemed to withdraw, too. “I’m glad for both of you.” She half turned to call to the cook, “Burn two thick ones, Dee Dee.” Hesitantly her glance came back to Chase, then fell away. “I’d better put this bucket in the back room.”

When she took a step, she forgot the wet floor would be slick. Her foot slid out from under her. Instinctively Chase reached out to catch her and haul her against his body to steady her. She pressed a hand to her breastbone and tilted her head to laugh shakily.

“My heart’s going a mile a minute,” Sally declared.

“Is it?” Chase was conscious of the woman’s softness against him, the fullness of her hips and the heaving movements of her breasts. He laid his hand alongside her neck as if seeking its throbbing vein, but his thumb stroked her jaw. He felt the change in her at his caress, the sudden lift in tension.

“Chase,” she murmured, warning him against the direction his thoughts were taking.

“There are times when a man gets tired of fighting and struggling all the time, Sally,” he murmured, “when all he wants in his life is peace. You’re a remarkable woman, so calm and tranquil. I need that strength.”

“You always see me as being strong, but I’m not strong, Chase. I’m weak. I know you don’t love me and you never will. Yet I’m still here.”

He sensed the giving in her—the giving that expected nothing in return—no lies and no promises. She didn’t ask for his love, because she knew it already belonged to Maggie.

It would be so simple to have the comfort of her body—so very, very simple. His head came down until his mouth was poised above her soft, inviting lips. The flutter of her breath was against his face; the warm smells of food mingled with her scent. His hunger tempted him to take the sustenance being offered.

At the large, flat grill, DeeDee Rains turned the sizzling slabs of steak and stood back as the fat splattered into liquid grease, smoke and steam rising in a hiss of heat. She was aware of the couple behind her, finding themselves in the familiar pattern of an old affair.

The door to the kitchen started to swing inward, the movement catching her eye. For several seconds, it was held slightly ajar, then released to swing shut. It was likely the pair had been seen, but DeeDee didn’t dwell on it. She already had a strong suspicion how it was going to turn out.

That Calder pride would bend most men’s shoulders, but they put high stock in it. She knew it gave them no room. When the couple parted with embrace unconsummated, DeeDee wasn’t surprised. No matter how it had ended tonight, nothing would have come of it. Pride was a funny thing. It would either break a man or make him stronger.

She said not a word to Sally when she came over by the grill and made busywork of replenishing the supply of bread. Her face was pale and her eyes were bright, close to tears. As DeeDee moved past her to grab a handful of french fries out of the freezer, she laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. Sally gripped it to hold it there a second longer, then released it and brushed off the front of her apron.

“Sounds like we’re going to have a busy night,” she declared with forced brightness as voices and hearty laughter made a steady background din.

Ty leaned on the table, both hands wrapped around the second glass of beer. He’d taken one drink out of it, barely tasting it. The shock of seeing his father embracing Sally Brogan kept him numb. It was as if he couldn’t feel anything, yet all the while his mind searched wildly through the blankness of his thoughts for something. There was a sense of being betrayed, but he didn’t know how or why.

The other chair was pulled out from the table, causing Ty to look up. There was no expression in his father’s face, but it looked closed as he sat down. The blood ran quicker through Ty’s veins, breaking through some of the numbness.

“Did you get hold of your mother?”

“Yeah.” His voice was stiff, with an abrasive edge, as Ty struggled to decide whether he should confront his father with what he’d seen. “What took you so long in the kitchen?” He flashed a challenging look at his father, then let it fall quickly away to the beer glass he held.

?

??The union had worked loose on a water pipe under the sink, so I gave Sally a hand tightening it.” It was a simple, straight answer, an excuse so readily provided. Ty snorted out a short, low laugh.

“Is there something amusing in that?”

Doubt fought with his hot anger because a part of Ty didn’t want to believe what he’d seen. He wanted to come up with some other explanation. Maybe his father had only been comforting Sally or she’d gotten something in her eye. Maybe it had only looked like he was going to kiss her. Ty cursed himself for not watching longer.

His father waited for an answer. Ty lifted the glass of beer toward his mouth. “I just can’t picture Chase Calder as a plumber.” He poured a swallow of beer into his mouth and held it there, rinsing off the bad taste that coated his tongue. Finally he let it run down his throat, never taking his gaze from the beer glass again cradled between both hands. “I always thought you were something special.” His hands tightened knuckle-white on the glass.