Calder Pride (32 page)

“After what he done to you—”

“He didn’t do anything,” she insisted, fighting the feeling that she had been violated just the same.

“Now, you listen to the little lady,” Lath urged, his eyes cool and watchful.

“You were fixin’ to, weren’t ya?” Culley said in an ugly snarl.

“But he didn’t,” Cat repeated, angry now. “Let him go. I just want him out of here. Now.”

A long second dragged by. “All right, you heard her—git,” Culley ordered. “And if you come ’round here again, I won’t be listening to her. I’ll be shooting on sight.”

Lath sidled toward the door, some of his cockiness returning. “I’ll remember that. And I’ll remember you, old man,” he added softly.

To her relief, Culley followed him out of the kitchen all the way to the front door. When she heard it close, Cat sagged onto a kitchen chair, her stomach rolling. She almost laughed when she saw the paring knife in her hand. But it was a sob that came out.

A floorboard squeaked, the only warning she had that Culley was returning. Cat struggled to pull herself together, not wanting him to see how horribly unnerved she was. Looking up, she saw him watching her with worried eyes.

“Your timing couldn’t have been better.” She managed a wan smile.

“I saw him snooping around outside. When he slipped in the house, I didn’t figure he was up to any good.” Culley paused. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“My shoulder’s a little sore, that’s all.” A commercial came on the radio. Irritated by it, Cat got up and turned off the radio. The action made her aware
of the bra riding up above her breasts. With her back to Culley, she reached under her T-shirt and pulled it down.

“You don’t look all right.”

“I’m fine, really,” Cat insisted again, then admitted, “I’m just a little shook up. He frightened me.” She rubbed her hands over her arms, still fighting that crawly, dirty sensation.

“You want me to call Logan?”

“No!” The answer was explosively quick and definite.

“You aren’t figurin’ on tellin’ him, are you?”

“What would be the point? There’s nothing he can do,” Cat argued. “Anyway, it’s over. Nothing happened.”

“Just the same, he should know about it.”

“No. He’d start asking questions, demanding details, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.” She swung on him. “Swear to me you won’t tell him, Uncle Culley.”

He hesitated, plainly not liking it. “If that’s the way you want it, I won’t tell him what happened.”

“Not a word. Not a single word. I have your promise on that?”

Culley nodded. “You have my promise.”

Relief shuddered through her. Cat ran a hand over the top of her hair, her fingers snagging in the plaits of her French braid. “How could I have been so stupid to leave those doors propped open? It was dumb. So very dumb.” She began to pace.

Watching her, Culley shifted his weight to the other foot. “Want me to put on some coffee?”

Cat glanced at the sink counter, remembering. “No. No, I don’t want any coffee.” She could still see him there. Smell him. Feel him. She bolted from the kitchen, unable to remain another second.

Culley followed her into the living room, watch
ing as she moved about, all raw nervous energy, opening one box, looking in another, picking one up and setting it down two feet away, accomplishing nothing. It worried him.

“Maybe you should sit down, Cat.”

“I can’t.” She kept her back to him, head down. “What time is it?”

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked. “A little after three.”

“Dad will be here with Quint soon. I should take a shower and get cleaned up before they get here.” Her hands moved over her body as if she was already washing it. “Will you stay, Uncle Culley?”

“Sure.”

“I mean, here in the house.” Her eyes clung to him in silent appeal.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. But Lath’s gonna know I’ll be hanging around. He won’t be coming back.”

“Just the same, I’ll feel better.” Cat moved toward the hallway.

Culley waited until he heard the shower running, then went to the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing the sheriff’s office. “I need to speak to Echohawk. Tell him it’s O’Rourke calling.…It’s personal. Just put him on the phone.…Yeah, Logan. There’s been some trouble. You better get home right away. Cat needs you.…I don’t have no time to explain. Just get here.”

He hung up, his mouth curving in satisfaction. Shifting his grip on the rifle, he walked back to the living room. From the bathroom came the sound of running water. Crossing to a front window, Culley leaned a shoulder against the casing and watched for Echohawk.

O’Rourke was on the front porch waiting for him when Logan pulled into the ranch yard. One look at
the rifle cradled loosely in O’Rourke’s arms had Logan piling out of the patrol car, his glance ransacking the entire area.

In three strides, he was, at the steps, demanding, “What happened here? Where’s Quint?”

“He’s okay. He’s with Calder. They’ll be here in another thirty minutes or so with the kid’s horse.” He jerked his head toward the house. “Cat’s inside. She’s the one who needs you.”

“Is she hurt?”

O’Rourke shook his head. “Scared.”

“Why? What happened?”

His expression took on a closed look. “I gave her my word I wouldn’t tell you. You’ll have to ask her.”

Logan’s mind raced over the myriad of possibilities. But experience had taught him not to jump to any conclusions. It was better to let the facts speak for themselves. He also knew he was going to have trouble with objectivity on this one.

“Where is she?” he snapped the question at O’Rourke, simultaneously pulling open the screen door and reaching for the knob.

“Probably in the bedroom. She just got out of the shower a couple minutes ago.”

That was an image Logan didn’t need.

Long, ground-eating strides carried him to the hallway. Just as he reached it, Cat came around the corner, glistening wet-black hair slicked back from her face and a peacock blue robe wrapped high and tight around her. She recoiled from him with a gasping cry, color draining from her face. The fear in her eyes was closer to terror.

“You startled me,” she managed shakily. “I didn’t expect you home so early.”

Logan gave her high marks for recovery. “Your uncle called me.”

Eyes blazing with hurt and anger, she looked past
him to her uncle. “How could you do that? You gave me your word you wouldn’t tell him. I trusted you!”

“You’re my wife, Cat. I have a right to know.”

“But nothing happened. Do you hear? Nothing happened,” she insisted as Culley slipped back outside.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Why don’t we go over here and sit down, and you can tell me how it happened,” Logan suggested, deliberately letting her believe that he knew more than he did.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to put it out of my mind and forget that Lath was ever here.”

Lath. Of all the possibilities that had occurred to him, Lath Anderson wasn’t one of them. An anger, black and cold and ugly, welled up. Logan had to work to keep it from showing.

“What time was this?” Such minor details were always easier for a victim to supply. And each answer opened the gate a little more until the whole story flooded from them.

“Some time shortly after three. I’d gone in the kitchen to get the roast ready for supper—” She stopped abruptly, a hand flying to her mouth. “I forgot to put the roast in the oven. It’s still sitting on the counter.”

“We won’t worry about supper right now.” Logan placed a hand on her back, keeping its touch light and impersonal while he walked her to the big easy chair by the fireplace. “So you were in the kitchen when Lath came?”

“Yes. Look, do we have to go over all this?” As he had expected, she sank into the chair in agitation. “All he did was grab me, okay?” When Logan said nothing, she went on. “It was my fault anyway. If I hadn’t left the stupid doors propped open, he wouldn’t have been able to just walk in without me knowing it.”

“You propped the doors open when you were carrying your things into the house, right?” Logan sat on the large ottoman, keeping his distance from her with an effort.

“Yes. It made it a lot easier than trying to open the doors with your arms full. After Dad and the boys left, I went out to close them, but the phone rang. I went to answer it. Afterward I…I just forgot about the doors.”

“Who called?” He watched her expression.

“Nobody. Or, at least, whoever it was, hung up when they realized they had the wrong number.” Cat lifted her head, a sudden thought dawning in her eyes. “You don’t suppose—”

“Suppose what?”

“That it could have been Lath calling to see if I was here? He said he’d heard that we were married, but he had to see it with his own eyes. Do you think it was him?”

“It’s possible. What else did he say?”

Piece by piece, Logan drew the information from her until the whole story came in a rush. Listening to it, Logan knew he had felt anger before, but nothing like this, nothing like this savage rage. Despite his attempt to maintain a dispassionate facade, some of it must have shown.

“I’m not going to press charges, Logan,” Cat stated, her chin jutting at an assertive angle.

But he looked at the shimmer of tears in her green eyes. “He assaulted you, Cat.”

“That won’t be his story. Or have you forgotten that I had a knife? That I threatened him with it? All he has to say is that he was trying to take it away from me, that he was defending himself—-not the other way around. And how can I prove differently? Look.” She pushed the sleeve back on her robe, showing him her wrist and arm. “I don’t have a single bruise.”

“Anderson has a record—”

“Which wouldn’t be admissible. And please don’t suggest that Culley could testify on my behalf. You know as well as I do, they’d bring up all those years he spent under psychiatric care, and completely destroy his credibility as a witness. Not to mention what his lawyer would try to do to my reputation. No.” Cat stood up. “I’m not going to file any charges. That’s final.”

“All right.” He placed his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet, a part of him knowing too well that she was right in thinking she would be on trial as well.

A pickup truck with a horse trailer in tow rumbled into the yard. Hearing it, Cat wiped a quick hand over her eyes, wiping away any trace of tears. “That’s Dad and Quint.” She turned to Logan. “I don’t want them to know about this. It would be pointless.”

“He’s your father,” Logan reminded her.

“Yes, but there’s nothing he can do. It would only upset him.”

On that, he had to agree. There was nothing either of them could do. At least, not legally. His arm brushed against the holstered gun at his hip as he took a step toward her.

T
he need to keep his distance from Cat no longer existed now that Logan had gotten the full story from her. The tight fold of her arms and the cleansing rub of her hands over them told Logan that she had yet to rid herself completely of the feel of Lath’s touch. He needed to change that. For her and for himself.

“I’m sorry, Cat.” His hands settled lightly, high on her arms, exerting no pressure. She stiffened in instant resistance, her eyes flashing to his face. He held them. “I meant for you to feel safe in this house.”

A small, barely perceptible tremor quivered through her, taking away her stiffness. Her glance strayed to his shirtfront as she wavered, a broken look in her eyes. Recognizing that it was all the invitation she could give, Logan gently gathered her into his arms. She shuddered once, then accepted the simple comfort he offered.

“You aren’t to blame for what happened, Logan. It was my fault,” she murmured.

“No. There is only one person responsible for what happened, and that is Lath.” His hands moved over her in slow, soothing strokes that encouraged her to relax
against him, even as they worked to banish the memory of other hands. “You may have left the doors open, but that didn’t give him license to assault you.”

“I know.” She rested her head against him, a fisted hand moving childlike near her mouth. “It’s just that I…”

When her voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, Logan guessed at it, “You felt powerless, right?”

“Yes,” she sighed the admission and stirred in his arms, the agitation rising again.

He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting it to prompt Cat to look at him. “Tonight, after Quint’s in bed, I’ll show you the different ways to break out of that hold.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Always.” He watched the mix of doubt and surprise in her eyes give way to a militant light.

“Like what?”

“Like instantly going limp and sinking to the floor, forcing him to try to hold your entire weight.”

“But I would be twice as vulnerable on the floor.”

“Not necessarily. Your legs would be free, and a well-aimed kick could take out his knee—literally. As a defensive tactic, falling can be very effective, but it’s hard to do because it goes against every instinct.” He could tell that he had given her something to think about other than the attack itself. “Tonight I’ll show you others.” His glance strayed to her lips, seeing them part in anticipation of that. Before the thought of kissing her could take root, Logan stepped back, aware there were limits to his control. “Right now, you’d better get dressed. I’ll give your father a hand unloading the horses.”

Lending action to his words, he headed for the door before she could see the hard-biting hunger in
his eyes. Her voice stopped him halfway across the room.

“Logan.” She waited until he looked back. “You might as well know that I unpacked all my things and put them in your bedroom after I found out you had already moved all your clothes to the spare room.”

“That’s fine.” He saw the unspoken question in her eyes and chose to ignore it.

Cat wouldn’t let him. “You intended to sleep on the sofa last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What changed your mind?” She studied him closely, puzzled and curious.

“I got irritated,” Logan replied without emotion. “You seemed dead set on sleeping with a ghost last night. I decided I didn’t want it to be in my bed.”

Cat had her answer, and she didn’t particularly like it. Something told her it wouldn’t be Repp she thought about when she crawled into bed that night. And it wouldn’t be Lath Anderson, either. Somehow Logan had managed to supplant both. On one hand, she was glad about that, but on the other…

“Any more questions?” Logan’s raised eyebrow challenged her.

“No.” She moved toward the bedroom.

“For your information,” Logan began, “your uncle told me nothing about what happened. He did call me, but only to say you needed me. He refused to tell me why, claiming that he had given you his word.”

Cat murmured a stunned, “Then you didn’t know anything.”

“No.” The hard line of his mouth softened. “Getting answers from people who don’t want to give them is my job, Cat. I happen to be very good at it.”

“Indeed,” she said in a tight voice, half-irritated
by the realization she had been tricked into telling him.

“It’s better that I know, Cat. This way we can take steps to make sure you’re never at any man’s mercy again.” But Logan knew it would be a test of his control to be in such close proximity to her.

When she made no reply to that, he continued outside. O’Rourke was on the porch, a keen, knowing look in his eyes. “I figured you could get the story out of her,” he said. “Deep down, I think she wanted you to know. She was just shamed by being so helpless.” He paused a beat. “Can you really teach her how to fight back?”

“No. In an actual fight, she would lose. But I can show her how to break loose and run like hell if anything like this should happen again.” Assuming no weapon was involved. But Logan kept that thought to himself for now.

From the barn area came the clang and clatter of a tailgate on a stock trailer being lowered. Logan turned in that direction as a horse nickered.

“Whatcha gonna do about Anderson?” O’Rourke wanted to know.

“I plan on having a little talk with him. Unofficially, of course.” He stepped off the porch and headed for the barn area.

Logan stopped by the old Simpson place the next morning on his way into town, but no one answered his knock. He listened for the sounds of anyone stirring inside the house trailer, but it was impossible to hear above the obstreperous racket of the guinea fowl.

The result was the same that evening and the next day. He didn’t believe for a moment that no one
was home, a suspicion that was confirmed when he saw the twitching aside of a curtain.

Finally, on the third day, Logan waited near the entrance to the Dy-Corp coal mine and followed Rollie when he left at the end of his shift. The guineas didn’t distinguish between friend and foe and set up their gabbling clamor, announcing Rollie’s arrival before he drove into the yard. Their din, muted by distance, brought a cool smile of satisfaction to Logan’s lips.

He pulled into the old ranch yard seconds behind Rollie. His strategy was rewarded by the sight of Rollie halfway to the trailer steps and his mother at the door. Logan parked close to Rollie’s truck and took the time to lock his gun and badge in the glove compartment before stepping out of the vehicle.

“You ain’t welcome here. You get back in that car and get out.” Bitterness and hate twisted the old woman’s age-lined face.

Logan dragged his glance from her to Rollie. “Where’s your brother?”

“How should I know? I just got here.” Rollie wore the sullen closed-up look of a convict talking to The Man. Logan suspected it had more to do with Lath’s influence than the time Rollie had spent in prison.

“Would you find him? I need to talk to him.” The old woman slammed into the trailer. Logan kept half an eye on the door.

“That’s your problem.”

“That’s not a good attitude, Rollie. Where is he?”

Rollie’s smile was close to a sneer as he lifted his broad, muscled shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “You want him; you find him.”

“Is that an invitation to look around?”

The flicker of alarm in Rollie’s eyes was brief but unmistakable. “No, it isn’t,” he snapped, turning surly.

The trailer door sprang open and Emma Anderson charged out of it carrying a shotgun. She leveled it at Logan. “We got us a sign posted that says trespassers will be shot. You’re trespassing and I’m tellin’ you to git.”

“You’re making a mistake, Mrs. Anderson. I only want to
talk
to your son.”

“The only thing around here that’s gonna do any talkin’ to you is this shotgun,” she warned. “You’ve caused enough trouble for my boys. You ain’t gonna cause them any more.”

Logan pushed his hat to the back of his head. “You act like you know how to use that shotgun, Mrs. Anderson, so I’m assuming you also know that it throws a pretty wide pattern at close range like this—which means you can’t shoot me without hitting Rollie. I don’t think you want to do that.”

The shotgun’s double barrel wavered for the first time. At almost the same instant the door opened behind her and Lath stepped out of the house trailer.

“Now, Ma, you ain’t behavin’ very neighborly.” His hand slid along the barrel, tilting it up before he gently took it from her, broke it open and removed the shells, then handed it back to her. “The sheriff’s gonna think he ain’t welcome here.”

“He ain’t,” she stated.

Chuckling, Lath shook his head in amusement, his watchful gaze never leaving Logan. “My ma has always been one to speak her mind.” He made a leisurely descent of the steps, knees locking on each tread. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” A steely coldness marked Logan’s voice and his expression.

Lath sauntered toward him. A taunting smile slanted his mouth as his glance strayed to the front of his uniform. “I see you took off your badge. I guess that means this is personal,” he drawled. “It couldn’t
be about that little social call I paid to your wife, could it?”

“You went to see that little slut?” Emma demanded in sudden fury. “I raised you better than to go sniffin’ around her kind.”

“Now, Ma.” Lath smiled at the quick flaring of Logan’s nostrils, his only outward reaction to the name-calling. “It wasn’t what you’re thinkin’. You run along inside, and I’ll explain it all to you later. Right now, I think the sheriff wants to have a little private talk with me—man to man, so to speak. Something tells me it won’t take long.”

She threw a last glare at Logan, then turned on her heel and stalked into the house, the empty shotgun under her arm. Rollie stayed, a silent figure in the background.

In the interim, Lath lit a cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke into the air. “I gotta be honest, Echohawk, I didn’t figure she’d tell you.”

“She told me. Now I’m telling you—don’t ever come within a hundred feet of my wife again.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Lath countered lazily. “I mean, is it my fault you can’t keep her satisfied? She likes it from behind, you know.”

Logan’s expression never changed. “I’ll say it only once more—don’t come near my wife again.”

“And if I should, what’ll you do about it?” Lath challenged cockily. “Kill me? You—a man sworn to uphold the law?”

“I never said anything about killing you, Lath.” His mouth curved in a smile that was deadly cold. “I even have your brother as a witness to that. How could I be responsible if you took a notion to hang yourself? Did you ever see anybody hang before? Not on an executioner’s gallows with a hangman’s knot to cleanly snap the neck, but with an ordinary rope tied to an ordinary beam. I heard about a man who
hung himself in a jail cell once. The coroner figured that it might have taken him as much as fifteen minutes to die. Somewhere along the line he must have changed his mind because there were claw marks on his neck.”

“I’m tremblin’ in my boots,” Lath jeered.

“That isn’t what he did in his boots,” Logan countered dryly, then walked to the patrol car. Opening the door, he paused with one foot inside. “Don’t tangle with me unless you have a death wish, Lath.”

After he drove out of the yard, Rollie dragged in a long, shaky breath and threw a worried look at his brother. “I told you going over there was a fool idea, didn’t I?”

“I had to get a look at the place, see how things are laid out, didn’t I?” Lath replied, unconcerned.

“Going over there is one thing, but messing around with the Calder woman is another. What the hell did you do, anyway?”

“Hey, she had a knife. I had to take it away from her.”

“You must have done more than that.” Rollie gave him an accusing look.

Lath shrugged. “So I copped a few feels. Let me tell you, little brother, that’s one piece of tail I wouldn’t mind havin’ some of.”

“Well, you can forget about that unless you want to die real slow,” Rollie grumbled in ill temper. “And you can sure as hell forget about your brag to Ma about doing something with the kid. If anything happens over there, Echohawk’ll come straight here.”

“Not if we handle it right, he won’t. Besides,” Lath grinned, “he warned me to stay away from his wife. He didn’t say anything about the kid.”

“If you think he won’t put two and two together
and come up with us, you’re wrong,” Rollie told him.

Lath was unconvinced. “Not if we lay low for a while and play it cool. He may think about us, but not seriously, and not for long.”

Time passed much more swiftly than Cat thought it would. Her first days at the Circle Six were spent unpacking everything and arranging it to suit her. It was a process made longer by the time she took out to spend with Quint. Although he had always been content to entertain himself from the time he was small, Cat was concerned that he might have trouble adjusting to his new environment, a concern that proved to be groundless. If anything, he seemed happier. Which should have been a relief, but it bothered Cat that he was so quick to embrace this new life, so eager to explore every inch of it and so ready to make Logan a part of it.

“Graciously civilized” was the best way to describe her relationship with Logan after two weeks. There had been times when she was relaxed in his company, but on those occasions, someone else was invariably present, either Quint, her uncle, or some other member of her family. On the whole, Cat made it a point not to be alone with Logan. Which wasn’t difficult, considering that he was away the biggest part of the day. In the evenings, after she tucked Quint into bed, she usually went to her room and read for a while or occupied herself with some household task.

The role as woman of the house was a new experience for her. At The Homestead, the responsibility had always belonged to someone else—her mother when she was alive, then Ty’s first wife, Tara, and
now Jessy. But here, she was in charge. With the additional work came an amazing sense of freedom. Suddenly Cat could do things the way she wanted them done, not someone else. Sometimes it was something as simple as folding the towels lengthwise first, then in half, or as major as rearranging everything in the kitchen cupboards. Without being aware of it, Cat subtly put her personal stamp throughout the house.