This Calder Sky (42 page)

“Give us a couple of minutes to get decent!” Chase lifted his voice to reply, then gathered Maggie by the shoulders and marched her into the master suite amidst hoots and hollers from below.

If it wasn't for the very real possibility that Ty was a member of the party downstairs, and Maggie didn't want to embarrass him, she would have refused to change clothes. Chase had already snapped the light on and was going through her meager wardrobe, since the
rest of her clothes hadn't arrived. Maggie was irritated further by the implication that he didn't trust her to choose something suitable. Angrily, she shrugged out of her robe and tossed it onto the rumpled bedcovers.

She had just peeled the nightslip over her head and was reaching for her underclothes when Chase said, “Here. Wear this.”

“What?” When she turned to see what he had chosen, she was held motionless by the look in his eyes.

They traveled over her nakedness, lingering on the tawny points of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, and the black vee of curling hair. Then they slowly traveled upward over the same route. Maggie was shaken by the sensation he was making love to her with his eyes, and she felt the heat rushing through her body, the heat of desire. She had to defend herself against this most intimate of invasions.

“Stop gawking like a cowboy, Chase.” She spoke curtly because she was quivering inside. “You've seen me naked before.”

The taunt broke the spell, and Maggie moved quickly to slip on her bra and panties. Chase had chosen a sleeveless daytime dress of ice-blue, made out of the shimmering terry-cloth-like material. When she reached out to take it from his hand, he held it for an instant, forcing her to meet his eyes, gleaming hard like polished stone.

“But when I saw you naked before, Maggie, I always looked,” he reminded her simply and let go of the dress to turn away.

A chanting began downstairs. “We want the bride and groom! We want the bride and groom!” Chase waited at the door with barely disguised impatience while Maggie buttoned the front of the dress and slipped her bare feet into a pair of backless heels. His gaze made a cursory inspection of her when she joined
him. She simmered, feeling raw, as if the wall she had so carefully erected to keep out unwanted sensations was being eaten away, and she needed the protection against his vibrant animal attraction.

She was stiff under his guiding hand as they went downstairs, where they were immediately engulfed in the noisy tide of ranch workers and their families, laughing, boisterous, teasing in their congratulations. They may have been denied a big wedding, but they weren't going to be denied the opportunity to celebrate the marriage of their boss. In the crush of well-wishers, Chase curved an arm possessively and protectively around Maggie's waist, molding her tightly to his left side so they couldn't be separated. His hard-muscled frame was like a living rock, generating heat to burn its way into her flesh. She was conscious of his rough virility that didn't rely on sexual charm. It was simpler, more basic than that, an earthiness bred into him by the land. She resisted it, concentrating her attention on the stream of cowboys.

They were caught and swept into the current of bodies that carried them out of the house to the larger crowd waiting outside. A team of horses, skittish from all the noise, was hitched to an old carriage. She and Chase were pressed into its seat while a pair of riders flanked the fractious team and paraded the carriage and its occupants around the ranch yard to the delight of the crowd. Maggie managed to match Chase's calm and smiling acceptance of it all.

Finally, the riders delivered the couple to the front steps of The Homestead. As Chase lifted Maggie out of the carriage, Ruth Haskell emerged from the crowd to murmur to them. “I have refreshments ready for everybody inside.” She was keeping the custom of treating the revelers.

Chase and Maggie stood at the door, greeting the
individuals as they filed in and accepting the congratulations. A few of them Maggie knew, and others looked familiar. Chase introduced them all, never faltering over a name. Every now and then a cowboy would claim the right to kiss the bride, but it was always a very respectful and contained action. No one took advantage of the privilege, not with Chase standing beside her.

As a cowboy moved on to shake hands with the groom, Maggie turned to the next person in line. There was an air of quietness about the red-haired woman who came next, a quality that stood out amidst all the noise. She felt Chase stiffen and quickly looked at him to determine the cause, yet there was nothing in his expression to indicate anything was wrong. He made the introduction, as he had all night.

“This is Sally Brogan, a friend of mine. She owns the restaurant in town.”

“Congratulations, Mrs. Calder.” As the quietly attractive woman shook hands with Maggie, she noticed the faint strain in her features. Behind those placid blue eyes, there lurked pain. “You are a very lucky woman.”

Lucky? Maggie supposed there were many women who would gladly trade places with her. The knowledge came instantly that this woman was one of them. She was suddenly aware of a certain stillness around them, as if the others were watching the exchange. When the redhead moved on to congratulate Chase, someone stepped forward to immediately claim Maggie's attention.

It was Buck Haskell, grinning and talking loud. “You make a beautiful bride, but you always were a beauty.”

She hardly heard a word he said. Next to her, she was conscious of the woman murmuring to Chase. “I wish you both every happiness.” And she stretched up to
kiss him. It was clear to Maggie there had been more than friendship between them. She was even more convinced when she heard Buck say, in a voice she wasn't supposed to hear, “Sorry, Chase, but Sally asked to come so you would know she wasn't angry or upset.”

Then there were more faces and more introductions to be made before Maggie and Chase joined those in the house to taste the refreshments Ruth had fixed. It was an hour before the ranch hands and their families filed out of the house, more quietly than they had arrived.

While Chase began turning out the downstairs lights, Maggie started up the steps. She stopped on the landing where the stairs made an abrupt left turn. “Where's Ty?”

After turning off the hall light to the kitchen, Chase paused to answer her, a dry lift to the corner of his mouth. “He seemed to think it was necessary that he sleep in the bunkhouse tonight so we could have the house to ourselves on our wedding night.”

Her fingers curved around the smooth banister of the staircase. The mention of their wedding night and its accompanying intimacies had caused an odd coiling sensation inside her stomach.

“The red-haired woman, Sally Brogan?” Maggie began, not certain why she was bringing up the subject, except that she wanted to see Chase's reaction.

He stopped casually beside a burning lamp and turned his head. “What about her?” His challenge was summer-soft.

“You have been seeing her, haven't you?”

There was no denial. Nor did Chase appear uncomfortable that she had guessed. “I never made her any promises,” was all he said.

His reply opened up an old wound, because he had made no promises to her, either, sixteen years ago. He
had simply enjoyed the pleasures she had to offer, taking what came his way.

“You never make promises, do you?”

“Your memory is short.” There was a sudden harshness in the set of his features. “Earlier tonight I believe I promised ‘to honor and keep you until death do us part.'” He moved toward the light glowing from the dining room.

Maggie was shaken by the conviction in his voice as she remained on the staircase landing. In this country, a man kept his word or he wasn't a man. A promise was not something given lightly. The vows she had spoken tonight had been meaningless words to her, an expedient way to keep Ty. Regardless of how lightly she had regarded them, Chase's code would not permit him to dismiss them. He was bound by the promises he'd made, whether or not she believed that she was.

She felt vaguely ashamed. In the eyes of God and man, he was her husband. Was she right to be less than a wife to him? Yet she had been coerced into this marriage. What kind of man would threaten to take a son from his mother? But another, quieter voice asked: what kind of woman denied a father the right to know his son? She was suddenly assailed by a storm of doubts.

When she heard his footsteps approaching the living room, she started up the stairs. All this confusion had brought pain to pound between her eyebrows. She paid no attention to the sound of tires crunching in the gravel outside the house, assuming it was a late-departing member of the shivaree crowd. Chase didn't give it a thought, either. She was almost to the top of the stairs when a rifle shot exploded into the night's quiet, startling a cry from her throat.

The reverberation had barely ended when a voice from outside yelled, “Calder! I want my sister!”

“Culley!” She recognized her brother's voice and
sped down the stairs. In the semi-darkness of the living room, she collided with Chase. When she tried to move by him, his arms were steel-strong. She pushed at his chest, tipping her head back to glare at him. “I want to see my brother.”

“Not yet.” His voice was as hard and unyielding as his grip.

The next shot shattered a dining room window and Maggie was hauled against his chest, crushed against the length of his body while his wide shoulders hunched protectively forward, as if to shield her. Stunned by this selfless action, she stopped struggling. Beneath her head, she could hear his strong heartbeat. When there was no second shot, he moved, pushing her toward the stairwell.

“Calder! Do you hear me?” Culley shouted.

“I hear you!” he answered. And he said to Maggie in a low voice, “Stay here and stay down.”

“He just wants to see me,” she argued.

“Then he shouldn't have come with a rifle,” he snapped.

“Calder! I know Maggie's in there! You let her go, or I'll shoot out every window in the house!” her brother threatened.

Chase moved quietly away from Maggie into the shadows of the darkened living room. He didn't reply until he was on the other side of the room. “If you know she's in here, put down the rifle before you hurt her.”

“All you gotta do is let her go and she won't be hurt—because I'm not going to let you hurt her this time!” Culley lifted his cheek from the rifle to answer as he crouched behind the hood of his pickup.

There was a faint scuffle in the gravel behind him, a whisper of warning. He pivoted sharply, swinging the rifle around to respond to the threat from his unguarded
rear. An arm knocked the barrel upward and the bullet was fired harmlessly into the air as he was rushed by three men. He tried to fight them off, but he was outnumbered, and more were coming. Something rammed his stomach, doubling him over with pain, and a fist split his lip open and spun him into the truck. Groggily, he tried to shake the blackness away from his eyes, but they pulled him around, slamming his shoulders and back against the pickup's side. There was a crack of pain along his jaw. Then he was sinking into a dark oblivion and didn't hear the snapped order, “That's enough.”

When Maggie heard the scuffling sounds of a fight outside, she ignored Chase's order to stay and followed him out of the house. Culley was on the ground, unconscious, slumped against the truck when she arrived on the scene. She paid little attention to the men standing around as she hurried to her brother.

“What do you want us to do with him, boss?” one asked.

Chase didn't get a chance to answer as Maggie took one look at the bruised face and wickedly cut lip. “Bring him in the house,” she ordered. No one moved to obey her, and she looked over her shoulder at Chase with ice in her glance. “He's my brother and he's hurt.”

The pause was no more than a heartbeat long. “You heard my wife,” Chase said. “Buck, you and Dave carry him into the house.” Then he was stepping forward and reaching down to draw Maggie away from her brother. He muttered near her ear, anger vibrating through the low tone. “What did you think I was going to have them do? Dump him in a ditch?”

“How was I to know?” she hissed, equally low. “You let them beat him up.”

“He also had a rifle which he was using. What did you expect them to do—tap him on the shoulder and ask him nicely to put it away?” he growled under his breath, not looking at her as his hard-gripping hand propelled her after the two men carrying her brother into the house.

In the full light of the living room, the cuts and bruises looked minor. It was her brother's overall physical condition that alarmed Maggie. His black hair was lank and straggly and he was rib-thin. There were dark hollows under his eyes, as if his eyes had sunk into their sockets. His behavior seemed understandable. He was a tightly coiled wire that had sprung and become erratic.

Chase handed her a shot of whiskey to revive Culley and motioned to Ty to clear away the first-aid equipment. Cupping the back of his head in her hand, Maggie poured a little of the whiskey into Culley's mouth. He choked and started coughing, his eyelids dragging open as he attempted to push her away. Out of the corner of her eye, she was conscious of Chase taking a step toward them, ready to intervene if Culley became violent.

“Culley, it's Maggie,” she said quickly to calm him down. It idly registered that after sixteen years of being Elizabeth, she was Maggie again.

She watched Culley focus on her and frown, his eyes raw and red, showing the strain of too much work and not enough rest that marked the rest of him. “Maggie?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “How do you feel?”

His hands gripped her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh like steel talons, betraying a need to make sure she was real and not a mirage. “It really is you.” A smile flashed, the action drawing on his cut lip and bringing an immediate wince of pain. He crushed her against his chest and hugged her tightly. Burying his face in her clean-scented hair, he closed his eyes to hide the tears, because a man wasn't supposed to cry. “I've missed you.” His voice was muffled and low.