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Chase noticed it and winked. “You’re learning.”
After lunch, Sloan helped clear the dirty dishes from the table while Chase hobbled into the den to await the coffee Cat would bring him. With so few dishes, cleanup was quickly accomplished.
Leaving Cat to fix Chase’s coffee, Sloan headed upstairs to the rooms she shared with Trey. Almost the minute she stepped inside them, she was reminded of the hankie that had yet to be explained and the angry things they’d said to each other before Trey went into Blue Moon. When the walls started to close in, Sloan rummaged through her wardrobe for her winter boots, a woolen scarf, and mittens to go with her heavy parka.
Bundled against the cold, she made her way down the steps. As she reached the landing, she heard voices coming from the den, but it was the sound of Cat’s voice, edged with impatience, that prompted Sloan to pause and listen.
?
??I wish I could be as open-minded as you are, Dad,” Cat said. “But I can’t forget the way Rutledge forced Dallas to provide him with information about what was going on at the Cee Bar. For all we know, Sloan could be his plant here.”
“I’m aware of that,” Chase replied.
For a stunned moment, Sloan stood motionless. Then the sickening realization washed over her. All Chase’s friendly talk at the table was nothing more than an attempt on his part to lull her into thinking the family no longer regarded her presence as suspect, when the opposite was true.
All her life Sloan had felt like an outsider, but the feeling had never been as strong as it was at this moment.
Abruptly, she turned and went back up the steps, angry with herself for being so foolish as to think she might have found a place where she actually belonged. It was obvious the Calders only tolerated her because she married Trey—and because of the baby she carried. But this baby was the one thing that was hers.
Sundown came in an explosion of color that tinted the snow-scape with pastel shades of coral and magenta. But Sloan never noticed. She stood at the window and watched for Trey’s return to The Homestead. The lavender of dusk was creeping across the land when his pickup finally pulled up to the house. Sloan moved away from the window before he climbed out of the cab.
She heard the faint slam of the pickup door, and in her mind she tracked his progress up the front steps and across the columned veranda to the door, then visualized him shedding his coat and hat in the entry hall and pausing outside the den to exchange a few words with his grandfather before continuing to the staircase. She was only a minute or two off in her estimation when he walked into the sitting room.
Those hard, angular cheekbones of his were ruddy from winter’s cold temperatures. A touch of the same color shaded the end of his strong nose. His dark gaze was quick to locate her. There was something intimate in the way his glance touched her that made her throat ache with longing for those early days of the marriage when everything had seemed so right.
“You look cold,” she remarked.
“Frozen is more like it,” Trey corrected dryly, a betraying stiffness in the movement of his lips that lent credence to his words.
“Why don’t you change out of those clothes,” Sloan suggested. “I’m not sure you’ll have time for a shower before dinner.”
“Probably not,” Trey agreed, heading for the bedroom.
Sloan waited until he passed her, then followed him into the room. Sticking to her carefully planned script, she said, “You can put on those jeans from last night. I left them on the chair for you.”
As Trey scooped them up, he noticed the faint chalky line near the leg hems. “It’s the dirty clothes basket for this pair. Looks like I got road salt on them.”
When he turned toward the hamper, Sloan said quickly, “Better check the pockets first.”
The first pocket he checked was empty. It was the second that contained the handkerchief. Sloan watched his expression, but he seemed oblivious to the red smears on it as he dipped a hand in first one hip pocket then the other.
“Is that blood on your hankie?” Sloan silently applauded herself for how unsuspecting she sounded.
Trey checked the stain and shook his head. “No, it looks like lipstick.”
“It can’t be mine. I never wear red.”
“You know what? I’ll bet it belongs to that redhead at The Oasis,” Trey said with dawning recollection.
“And what’s your explanation for her lipstick being on your hankie?”
Quick to note the undertone of righteous anger in her question, Trey shot her a quick look, puzzled and a little wary. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said. “Tank was with her. She gave me a peck on the cheek. That’s all.”
“Of course.” A cool skepticism coated her voice.
“You’ve decided that I cheated on you, haven’t you?” Trey demanded, his voice low and heavy.
“You wouldn’t be the first man to look for sex outside marriage.” Sloan made it a flat condemnation of his gender. “It’s too bad I woke up when you got home, isn’t it? Otherwise I wouldn’t have known how late it was.”
