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“How should I know? It was never any secret,” Sloan insisted.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Trey demanded.
“Why didn’t you ask?” She hurled the question in response and angrily shoved aside the card and ballpoint pen from her lap, then struggled awkwardly out of the chair. “What difference does it make, anyway?”
“Maybe none—and maybe a lot.” And that thought kept twisting inside him.
“You’re not making any sense, Trey. What have you got against Uncle Max?” Temper was in her eyes, challenging him to explain.
“Personally, I have nothing. But I’m not sure Rutledge could say the same about us.” Trey stood as well, every ounce of his attention trained on her, watching and waiting, and all the while wanting desperately to believe the innocence she showed him was no act.
“Stop talking in riddles, and tell me what you mean!” Sloan all but shouted the demand.
“Are you saying that you didn’t know his son Boone died in a fight with my cousin Quint?”
“Quint.” The shocked and dazed look on her face seemed genuine. Sloan partially turned from him. “I heard Boone had been killed in a fight, but—” There was a small, uncertain movement of her head. “Boone was such a bully and a brute, I just assumed it was some barroom brawl.” She looked back at Trey, her blue eyes all dark and troubled. “I was on an assignment and couldn’t get away to attend the funeral. When I did talk to Uncle Max on the phone, it didn’t feel right to ask for details—the how and the who. But…you say it was Quint. That’s hard to believe. How? Why?”
Trey found himself in a private debate, trying to decide how much he should tell. Sloan was his wife; he should feel free to confide anything and everything to her. Yet he was instinctively hesitating, and that troubled him more than finding out Max Rutledge was her former guardian.
“There was a fight. Boone came at Quint with a knife. In the struggle, Boone was killed. It was self-defense.” He stated the facts, with no embellishment.
“But what were they fighting over? With Boone, I know it never took much, but there had to be something.”
“Our Texas ranch shares a boundary with Rutledge’s Slash R. Rutledge tried to buy it from us. When we turned down his offers, he tried to force a sale by making sure no one would work for us, arranging for our credit to be cut off, burning our hay along with some five hundred acres of pasture, and infecting our herd with anthrax. The anthrax was where he slipped up. Quint was able to prove he was behind it.”
Sloan shook her head in instant denial. “Uncle Max wouldn’t have done that. That kind of sneaky, evil thinking is the way Boone’s mind worked.”
“Boone definitely became the convenient scapegoat.” Like the rest of his family, Trey was certain Boone had done nothing that Max hadn’t told him to do.
Quick to pick up on the cynicism in his voice, Sloan gave him a sharp look. “You believe Uncle Max is responsible, don’t you?”
“Do you honestly think that a man like Max Rutledge wouldn’t know what his own son was doing?” Trey countered.
“It’s possible,” she insisted, but it was purely a defensive reaction.
“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” Trey responded tightly. “Either way, it isn’t likely that Max Rutledge has any warm feelings for the Calders. If anything, he may think he has a score to settle with us.”
“Wait a minute.” Sloan stiffened, hurt and anger combining in her expression. “You thought he was using me as an instrument of that revenge, didn’t you?”
“No, of course I didn’t—”
“You’re lying.” Her voice shook with emotion. “I saw the way you looked at me—like I was a stranger.” Hot tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m your wife. It’s our baby I’m carrying! How could you?”
When she spun away and took the first step to flee from him, Trey moved quickly to stop her, catching her by the shoulders and pulling her back against him, but making no attempt to force her to face him.
“That isn’t true, Sloan.” He was conscious of the stiff way she held herself, resisting his touch, and the silent, shaking sobs that trembled through her. His head bent close, his face brushing against her hair, as he tried to explain. “What you saw was the shock of finding Max Rutledge’s name on that envelope. It was the last thing in the world I expected to see. Dammit, you’ve got to understand that.”
She twisted angrily out of his hold and turned to glare at him, stormy-eyed, cheeks wet with tears. “You’re wrong about Uncle Max, and you’re wrong about me.”
“I’m not wrong about you. I love you, Sloan. Just because Max Rutledge is your former guardian, that doesn’t change the way I feel.” That much was true, lending conviction to his voice. “I love you,” he repeated and saw a crack in her resistance. “I know you’re a little oversensitive right now, with the baby and all. A part of me wishes I’d never said anything when I noticed that card. But you need to look at it from my side. I had to ask about it. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“But you did. It was…” Sloan hesitated, searching for the words. “…like you suddenly didn’t trust me.”
“It might have seemed that way. Look, I’m sorry. What more can I say?” A trace of frustration was in his voice.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking down.
“Sloan.” With one finger, he tilted her chin up and tipped his head toward her. The kiss was gentle and persuasive, an attempt to heal the rift. She responded, but without much eagerness, and Trey decided not to press for more than that. Instead, he cocked his head and smiled a little wryly. “This is a rotten time to have our first misunderstanding, isn’t it?”
