Calder Storm (4 page)

“I didn't ride.” His arm loosely circled her shoulders, keeping her close to his side.

“Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I'm too tall to be competitive on the rough stock,” Trey explained.

“Why? What has that got to do with it?”

“It gives me a high center of gravity, and that means it's a lot harder to keep your seat on an animal that's determined to buck you off.” His mouth crooked in an amused but confident smile. “Now when it comes to the roping events, I can hold my own with the next cowboy.”

“Now that I think about it, nearly every rider I've seen has been under six feet. I guess when I saw you behind the chutes I just assumed you were competing.”

“A couple of my friends were.”

“And you were lending moral support,” Sloan guessed.

“Something like that.” Fiddle music filled the air, its notes slow and plaintively sweet. “Sounds like that song is about your speed. Shall we?”

Smiling her answer, she turned into his arms. This time she lifted both hands around his neck, linking her fingers behind it. His own hands settled on the rise of her hipbones as they shifted in place to the dreamy rhythm, bodies brushing with an ease that already felt familiar.

A hand tapped his shoulder. Half irritated by the interruption, Trey threw an impatient glance to his left as Tank waltzed into view with a town girl in his arms.

“I see you found her,” Tank said, tipping his head in Sloan's direction.

Trey responded with a curt nod and a tight smile.

As usual, Tank wasn't the least bit put off by his obvious reticence. An impish glee entered his expression. “Get a load of who Johnny's squiring around the floor.” A jerk of the thumb directed Trey's attention to the couple ahead of them along the outer circle.

Lifting his glance, Trey was quick to spot Johnny, rocking from side to side like a metronome gone awry. And the blonde bobbing with him was none other than Kelly Ramsey.

“Kinda looks like you started something.” Tank exchanged an amused look with Trey before he swung his partner away.

“Those are your friends, aren't they,” Sloan guessed.

“They are,” he confirmed, regarding the pair as hardly a subject worth discussing, especially not with Sloan.

But she clearly didn't share his opinion. “Sounds like you've been doing a little matchmaking.”

“Believe me, it was just a joke that took an unexpected turn.”

To Trey's regret, Sloan continued to watch the other couple. “I'm surprised she isn't seasick,” she murmured on a note of utter marvel. Trey threw his head back and laughed. “Well, it's true,” Sloan said in defense of her comment, then laughed along with him, a little self-consciously at first, then with open mirth.

It became a private joke between them the rest of the evening whether circling the dance floor or strolling on the crowded street to check the other action. A dozen times or more Trey was hailed by someone he knew. Most times he got by with an answering wave; with others he was obliged to exchange a few words before moving on.

By midnight the crowd had been thinned of its families with adolescents, leaving the hard-core revelers behind to party away the balance of the night. Rather than abating, the noise had lifted to a more raucous level.

Trey steered Sloan clear of a couple of cowboys who already showed signs of having a few too many beers. The altered course carried them onto the sidewalk as a group of Triple C riders, some with their wives or girlfriends in tow, approached. He was instantly recognized.

“Hey, Trey,” one of them yelled. “We're all goin' in and grab a beer. Come on and join us.”

Before Trey had a chance to decline, Sloan spoke up, “Not me. I'll pass, thanks.”

“Later,” Trey called and waved the group on their way, then redirected his attention to Sloan. “The invitation didn't appeal to me, either.”

“It wasn't that so much,” she said. “It's just that if I want to be bright-eyed for tomorrow, it's time I called it a night.”

The instant the words came out of her mouth, Trey knew there was nothing he wanted more than to go somewhere quiet, away from the blaring music, the laughter and loudness of half-drunk voices, with no one else around but the two of them.

“I'd better walk you to your car—just to play it safe,” he told her.

Offering no objection, she gestured in a southerly direction. “My car's parked that way.”

S
omeone called to Trey as they approached the corner of a barricaded side street. He acknowledged the greeting with a lift of his head and continued.

“A lot of people here know you,” Sloan observed, studying him with a sidelong glance.

“Most of them are friends or neighbors,” Trey replied in easy dismissal, then explained. “My family owns a ranch north of here.”

“For some reason I keep forgetting that you're not a stranger to the area like me,” she admitted with a touch of chagrin.

The subject was dropped as they came under the scrutiny of two uniformed officers checking to make sure they weren't leaving the cordoned area with any open containers. The delay was a brief one.

Passing the barricades, they entered the side street, the bright lights and noise fading behind them. But the privacy that Trey had hoped to find wasn't there, as he spotted the shadowy figures of a half dozen others, traveling singly or in pairs along the street in search of their vehicles.

His eyes took in the clean lines of Sloan's profile and the faint impression of a smile that edged her mouth. “So what did you think of your first street dance?” he asked idly.

Her smile widened into a definite curve. “It was a little crazy and a lot loud. Quite honestly, I've never seen so many people intent on having fun and not caring one bit how ridiculous they looked to others in the process.” After a slight pause, she added, “I am a little disappointed that I didn't see any fights. According to the desk clerk, brawls aren't uncommon.”

“They used to be,” Trey agreed, recalling a few of the ones his sister had caused in her teen years, not to mention the black eyes and split lips he'd suffered coming to her rescue. “But there are a lot more cops on duty now. As soon as they see a quarrel start, they step in and break it up before it can escalate into a fight.”

Just ahead a couple stood next to a pickup parked at the curb, arguing over who would drive it. The woman insisted her companion was too drunk to be at the wheel, and the man naturally took exception to that. The issue wasn't revolved by the time Trey and Sloan passed them.

“If I was a betting man, I'd put my money on the woman,” Trey remarked in a low voice as they crossed an intersection.

“She sounded determined, didn't she?” Sloan agreed.

“That's one way of putting it.”

“My car's parked over there.” She pointed across the street to a compact sedan sandwiched between two pickups.

With no traffic moving in either direction, Trey guided her across the street, cutting an angle to her car. Keys jangled from the ring Sloan pulled out of her jacket pocket. A jaw muscle tightened in irritation when Trey noticed two cowboys strolling none too steadily toward them.

Sloan unlocked the driver's door and turned to face him, but Trey never gave her a chance to utter any parting words. Instead he spoke first.

“My truck's parked around the corner. Give me a minute to walk to it, and I'll follow you to the motel.” He reached around her and opened the car door, then advised, “Be sure you lock it after you get in.”

“I always do.” The easy assurance in her voice let him know
that she was accustomed to taking such precautions, suggesting it was far from the first time she had traveled alone.

After she was settled behind the wheel, Trey pushed the door shut and waited those few extra seconds to hear the click of the door lock. He saw the look of amusement she gave him over the fact that he had lingered. At the same time, he realized how thoroughly she had aroused all of his protective instincts.

Trey had time to think about a lot of things during the drive to the motel. And every one of them revolved around Sloan. There was an awareness of the scant amount of personal information they had exchanged, most strikingly their last names.

For Trey, there had been a natural reluctance to bring up the Calder name and encounter that sudden avid gleam that inevitably followed. As for Sloan, he could only suppose the reason was the hesitance of a woman alone to share too many personal details with a man who was virtually a stranger.

He had an intense desire to know every single thing about her. No detail seemed too trivial. Yet, at the same time, he had a feeling that the minute she turned those dark blue eyes on him, he wouldn't care about any of them. That knowledge rattled him a little—that, and the realization that no other woman he'd met had ever affected him this way.

When they arrived at the motel, Trey wasted no time moving to her side. He caught a glimpse of the sharp-eyed night clerk taking note of their passage as they crossed the lobby. The minute they turned into the softly lit corridor, a hot tension gripped him, knotting everything inside him.

“Have you made any plans for tomorrow?” He heard the ring of demand in his voice and shot a quick look at Sloan, but she didn't appear to have noticed.

“Me and my camera will be checking out the parade,” she answered lightly, then eyed him curiously. “Will you be riding in it?”

“No.” His answer was more abrupt than he meant it to be, but it didn't seem to be something he could control and still keep a tight rein on all the lusting needs ripping through him.

“This is it.” She angled toward a door, then faced him with a natural grace, idly letting a shoulder rest against the frame. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow at the arena.”

Her casual tone was almost indifferent. It acted like a verbal stiff-arm to keep him at a distance. Trey halted, muscles tensing in resistance, knowing that he felt anything but indifference toward her. And he had no intention of hiding his feelings on that score.

“Tomorrow can't come soon enough as far as I'm concerned,” he stated. “And that isn't a line. It's the truth.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, a deep pleasure lighting her eyes. Then it faded to something wistful and tinged with regret. “I'm looking forward to it, too.”

But the response seemed to be the polite kind dictated by good manners—and that was far from satisfactory to Trey.

“I hope you mean that, because I'd like to end this evening the same way we started it.” His gaze never left her face, alert for those subtle signals from a woman that every man recognized.

Instead of averting her eyes or lowering her chin, both indications of a reluctance to repeat the earlier kiss, her glance slid to his mouth, then flashed to his eyes, her head tilting fractionally in an age-old invitation.

Trey didn't wait for the words. Bracing one hand against the wall near her head, he cupped the other to the side of her neck, tipping her head the rest of the way while he brought his mouth down to the soft line of her lips. He tasted their yielding warmth, but it was the responding pressure of them, seeking and exploring in return, that inflamed him.

Still, he made no move to gather her into his arms, pride insisting that any further contact would be instigated by Sloan. With senses honed razor-fine, he felt that first small sway of her body toward him. Her hands glided onto his rib cage as if to steady her balance.

Their touch broke through the restraint Trey had placed on himself, and he gathered her in, fitting her round shape to his hard contours. He fed on her lips, eating them with a hunger that
forced them apart. Inside was her tongue, waiting to eagerly mate with his.

Heat swirled and needs rose. His hands moved over her, alternately caressing and molding her more firmly to him in a vain attempt to absorb her into him. Frustration only increased the demand.

Her hands flattened themselves against his chest in mute resistance. Their pressure had no more than registered when she twisted her head away to break off the kiss.

The glance she lifted to his face was sharp with challenge. “It's late.” It was no innocent phrase, but a demand to be released, couched to appeal to his nobler side.

At the moment, Trey wasn't sure he had one. Part of him knew he could change her mind. Yet instinct warned him against pushing Sloan into a decision she wasn't ready to make.

Stone-hard with need, he had to force his arms to his side. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoed quickly and turned to slide the key card in its slot.

Not trusting himself, Trey walked away before he gave in to the urge to push his way through the door after her. Behind him, he heard the soft snick of the door unlatching and blindly lengthened his stride.

 

Heavy drapes blocked any outside light from invading the motel room, creating an unnatural darkness. Yet Laredo awakened a split second before light spilled into the room from the corridor. A light sleeper from long habit, he had detected the faint scrape made by the releasing door latch.

A quick glance identified the tall, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped figure as Trey. Never one to pretend to be asleep when he wasn't, Laredo said, “Better flip on the light. It's black as pitch in here.”

Trey's only response was the snap of a light switch. A lamp
came on, illuminating a table in the room's far corner. Without a word, Trey closed the door and turned the dead bolt. Laredo rolled away from the lamplight and slid an idle glance at the digital clock radio on the bedstand. Surprise had him taking a second look at the green glowing numbers.

“It isn't even one o'clock yet.” There was nothing sleepy about the assessing look Laredo swept over Trey. “You usually don't stagger in until around three. What's going on?”

“Just made an early night of it.” Trey swept off his hat and tossed it onto the long, low chest that faced the pair of double beds. Immediately he swung away. “I think I'll take a shower before I turn in.”

It wasn't so much his words as the flattened pitch of his voice and the closed-up look to his expression that made Laredo suspect Trey had something heavy on his mind. The younger man disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Within seconds Laredo heard the gush of the shower spray turned on full force.

As the minutes stretched and the water continued to flow, Laredo smiled to himself, certain that there was a woman behind whatever was ailing Trey. A shower was often the only remedy for that kind of trouble.

The water was still running when Laredo finally dozed off.

 

Laredo woke to the same sound, but with a difference. This time the volume was lower, suggesting it came from the sink faucets, and the bed next to his was a tangle of blanket and sheets, indicating it had been restlessly slept in. Again Laredo glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was a few minutes before six in the morning.

Tossing aside the covers, he swung his legs out of bed. In the bathroom, a faucet squeaked under the turn of a hand, shutting off the water flow. The door opened, and Trey stepped out, his hands busy fastening the buttons on his white shirt.

“You're up and about with the sun this morning,” Laredo observed, catching the sharp tang of the aftershave Trey had used.

“Thought I'd catch an early breakfast.” Trey tucked his shirttails inside his jeans as he walked over to retrieve his hat.

There was a degree of haste in Trey's movements. Coupled with the memory of the previous night's extra-long shower, this observation made Laredo suspect Trey had awakened with a hunger of another kind.

“Is she anyone I know?” he asked. “Like maybe that brunette you nearly ran over when we arrived yesterday?”

Trey flashed him a quick grin. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, hell,” Laredo scoffed at the evasion.

Trey pushed the hat onto his head and started for the door. “See you later.”

Laredo called after him, “Don't forget. That meeting with the investigators is set for eleven-thirty. Jessy wants you there for it.”

Pausing halfway out the door, Trey turned back, frowning. “That's today?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Right.” He gave the door a tap and stepped into the hall, pulling it shut behind him.

There was a determined glint in his eyes and a lift to his stride when Trey retraced last night's route to the room Sloan occupied. He rapped sharply on the door, waited, and knocked again.

Finally a muffled and sleepy voice called out, “Who's there?”

“It's Trey,” he replied in a clear, strong voice.

There was a delay, accompanied by a few odd thuds. Then the door swung open about a foot, and Sloan showed herself while still absently tugging at a thin cotton robe she had pulled on over a sleeper tee. Her dark hair was all mussed and tousled, and she gazed at him with a kind of sleepy-eyed confusion.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a slight frown.

Leaning a hand against the doorjamb, Trey smiled. “I wondered what you'd look like first thing in the morning.” He ran his glance over her face, taking note of the relaxed line of her lips, bare of any gloss.

Her frown deepened a little. “You're crazy.”

“You could be right,” Trey conceded. “I only know you were the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep and the first thing on my mind when I woke. Care to join me for breakfast?”