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“You’re going to have to explain what you mean,” he said on a near sigh.
“It’s simple—nobody would talk to me. Oh, they’d smile, say hello, wish me a Merry Christmas, but after that nothing. And when I’d walk up to any of them, they were quick to find somewhere else they needed to be, leaving me standing by myself.”
Almost from the moment Sloan had stepped on the ranch, she had been warmly received by the Triple C family. Recalling how quickly everyone had taken to her, Trey found her claim difficult to believe.
“You’re imagining things, Sloan,” Trey muttered in annoyance.
“No, I’m not.” She bit out the words. “Even when I was with you, no one ever addressed a single remark to me. They spoke to you. For all the notice they took of me, I could have been a block of wood.” Resentment laced her expression as she looked back at the barn. “I felt like a pariah in there.”
Over the course of the afternoon Trey had talked to nearly everyone at the party. Trying to recall who had addressed whom—or hadn’t—was impossible for him. But he hadn’t paid any attention, either; there was too much going on.
“I’m sure nobody meant anything by it.”
“That’s not the impression I got,” Sloan retorted. “I’m going to the house. You can do what you want.”
Without waiting for his reply, she set out for The Homestead. Trey stared holes in her back, almost angry enough to let her make the walk by herself. Before he could start after her, Johnny wandered over, his head turned to watch Sloan.
“I thought you two were gonna come on the hayride with us,” he said, nodding at Sloan’s retreating back.
“Sloan didn’t feel like it.”
“Is she feeling okay?” The question came from Kelly as she reached Johnny’s side and linked arms with him.
“She gets tired easily these days.” Trey glanced Kelly’s way and encountered a pair of eyes that seemed to say she knew something he didn’t. “So how’s nursing school going?”
“Good.” Hesitating, she darted a look at Johnny, then began, “Trey—”
Johnny immediately broke in, “Sure sorry you two aren’t coming with us. It’d be fun.”
“Maybe next year.” Tr
ey stole a glance at Kelly, his curiosity aroused by Johnny’s deliberate interruption.
Not to be denied, Kelly said quickly, “Johnny thinks I should keep my mouth shut. But the whole ranch is buzzing about your wife.”
“What about Sloan?” All his defense mechanisms kicked in, smoothing all expression from his rugged features.
“Last Wednesday she brought a package to the commissary that she wanted mailed. It was addressed to Max Rutledge. I thought you should know that,” Kelly stated firmly while Johnny nudged at a frozen clod of dirt with the toe of his boot.
The information came as a surprise to Trey, but it helped a few odd pieces fall into place. “I imagine she was sending him a Christmas present.” He was careful to inject a casual tone.
“To Max Rutledge?” Kelly stared at him in disbelief. “After all the trouble he caused you? I’ve heard about the Christmas spirit, but that’s carrying it a little too far, don’t you think?”
“Max was her legal guardian after her parents were killed,” Trey explained matter-of-factly.
“And you knew this when you married her?” Kelly looked incredulous.
“We don’t always get to choose the people in our lives,” Trey replied smoothly, dodging the question as best he could while he shifted in the direction of The Homestead. “I’d better go check on Sloan. Have fun on the ride.”
He walked off, giving neither a chance to ask more questions. But he had no doubt that the answers he had given would circulate to every adult on the ranch before the night was out. Yet their attitude toward Sloan was unlikely to undergo much change. Because of her connection to Rutledge, they’d draw back and wait to see if she was worthy of their trust and respect—especially the older ones with memories of Tara.
And there wasn’t a single thing he could do to change that. Only Sloan could—in time.
The house had a silent and empty feel to it when he walked in, the kind that said no one was home. Stripping off his gloves, Trey caught a glimpse of Sloan halfway up the oak staircase, the rubber soles of her boots making no sound on its wooden treads. Her parka was hanging on the rack, the stocking cap and wool scarf partially stuffed in a side pocket. Trey hung his own jacket next to hers, tucked the gloves in a pocket, and balanced his hat on top of it all, then headed for the stairs.
There was nothing silent about his hard-soled boots as he climbed the steps to the second floor. The door to the master suite stood open. With all of his senses tuned toward the rooms, Trey heard the faint grunts of exertion that preceded the thunk of a boot hitting the floor.
Sloan was standing, fur-lined boots in hand, when Trey entered the sitting room. There was a becoming flush to her cheeks, either from the brisk walk on a chilly night, the physical effort required to remove her boots, or a combination of both.
