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“I told you the roads were bad—” He started to say more, then checked himself. “Johnny would tell you the same thing, but you’d probably think he was only saying it to cover for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, wouldn’t he?” Sloan countered with some defiance.
“You want to believe that, don’t you? You want to believe all of it. Why?” The frown he wore was dark with confusion.
Pride lifted her head, her chin tilting at a mutinous angle. “I’m not one of those women who will turn a blind eye to her husband’s philandering ways.”
“You don’t happen to be married to a man who goes in for that,” he stated curtly. “You’re going to believe what you want. But that happens to be the truth.”
His words were too close to the ones she had used when addressing his family. Which made it impossible for Sloan to dismiss them. As a consequence, she had her first doubts about the conclusions she had drawn.
“Maybe.” She hesitated, still warring with her pride. “Maybe I was wrong.”
He stared at her for a tick of seconds, his features all tight and hard. Then his broad chest lifted with the deep breath he inhaled. Briefly, he tipped his head down and away from her, letting the indrawn breath rush from him in a long sigh. When he looked at her again, the hardness was gone from his face.
Unhurried, Trey moved to her. “I’m told women in your condition can be highly emotional at times. In this case, I think it’s your imagination that became overactive.”
“Just as yours is about Uncle Max,” Sloan was quick to retort.
“Now, wait a minute. Before we start another argument, let’s clear up this one first.” His hands settled on the rounded points of her shoulders, a gentleness in their touch. “And I’ll begin by saying there’s nothing and no woman out there better than what I have right here with you. I know, because I looked before I ever met you.”
“But you were angry with me last night,” Sloan reminded him, unable to let go of all her suspicions.
“That doesn’t mean anything. You’re the only woman for me, Sloan. I knew it the first time I saw you. We can have all the arguments in the world and it won’t change that.”
With only the slightest pressure, he drew her to him, looking down at her face when she tipped it up. There was no smile on her lips, but they were parted and waiting. When he kissed her, Trey felt again that rush of inexpressible tenderness through him. He had to know if it was the same for her. But when he lifted his head, the pull of her hands brought it back down, and he met her lips again. Somehow they never got around to arguing about Max Rutledge that night.
Feet propped on the desk, Donovan rocked back in the old office chair, ignoring its protesting squeaks. One muscled arm was raised over his head, holding the phone to his ear.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Max. The word spread like you said it would. What’s it been—a little over two weeks since I planted the rumor? Already I have customers whispering to me about the marital problems Trey Calder and his wife are having. For the most part, everybody’s putting the blame on the wife, either claiming that she can’t stand the cold and isolation of Montana after living in Hawaii or else that she married him for the Calder money but hasn’t been able to get her hands on it.”
“We can’t let that continue,” Rutledge stated. “You’d better arrange for one of your girls to receive a very expensive piece of jewelry. And make sure it gets known that it’s from someone she met on the sly—not at your place where he would be recognized. The way people’s minds work, it won’t take them long before they’ll link one rumor to the other and conclude that Trey’s got himself a mistress on the side.”
“Consider it done,” Donovan replied. “By the way, my anonymous phone calls are beginning to get to her. I’ve been careful not to call too often, just once or
twice a week. The last time, though, she was really mad, demanding to know who was calling and why I didn’t speak.” He gloated a little. “I swear, nothing makes a woman more suspicious of her husband than to answer a phone, hear music and noises in the background, and have the caller hang up.”
“Keep it up, but get to work on the other,” Max ordered. “I don’t want the Calder son looking like the injured party.”
“You make it sound easy, but it won’t be,” Donovan warned him. “Trey Calder’s a popular guy around here. People talk about him with the same respect they show his grandfather.”
“Remind them of his father’s first marriage and the affair he had with Jessy during it. People will quickly shift to thinking ‘like father, like son.’” Supreme confidence was in his voice.
This piece of information was news to Donovan. “You’ve done some digging into the Calder family history, haven’t you?”
“Damn right. Now get on it.” There was a click, and the line went dead.
Icicles hung from the old barn’s overhang, glinting in the waning light like so many crystal pendants. Built well over a century ago out of hand-hewn timbers, the barn towered above the rest of the ranch buildings. On this night, scores of pickup trucks were parked around its stone base, and lights gleamed from every window.
The barn was the traditional site for the annual Christmas party thrown for the Triple C ranch hands and their families. The interior had been transformed for the occasion by lighted garlands draping its rafters. A giant Christmas tree anchored one end of its broad alley, and pine wreaths hung from every stall.
By late afternoon the children had already performed their Christmas program, and Santa Claus had already distributed presents to the youngsters. The older children were the only ones who suspected it was really Trey Calder underneath all the padding and snowy white beard. But it was a secret they whispered only to each other.
With the Santa outfit safely stashed in the tack room, Trey slipped back into the throng. His searching eyes spotted Sloan standing next to one of the serving tables, its array of food already showing signs of being well grazed. He worked his way to the food area and came up behind her, curving an arm along the back of her waist and sliding a hand familiarly against her decidedly rounded stomach. Her glance skipped briefly to him, then reverted to the happy, chaotic scene before them.
Crushed bows, torn ribbons, and scraps of brightly colored wrapping paper were strewn all over the floor. The toddlers played among it all, indifferent to their presents, while the older ones scrambled to show off their gifts to others.
“Looks like Santa made some kids very happy, don’t you think?” An easy smile curved his mouth, warmed by the looks of pleasure on so many young faces.
