Knight in a White Stetson (22 page)

She had herself marginally pulled together by the time she reached the Paradise Motel. Clark wasn’t in his room and Jerry at the desk in the shabby, odd-smelling little office said he didn’t know when he’d be back. He gave Calla the key to Clark’s room.

She shook from her head to her feet, her capable, work-worn hands barely able to fit the key into the lock. Reaction, regret, terrible remorse tore at the foundation of her spirit. She knew, she
knew
what she had to do, but she hadn’t grieved like this since Ben’s death.

Henry, I’m so sorry.

Maybe Henry would go back to his old life. Maybe she would never have to look him in the eye and explain to him that love and happiness really weren’t all that important in the larger picture of things. Family was important. Fulfilling your obligation was important. Keeping promises was important.

But then, Henry knew that. He’d made the same decision when Heidi had slept with David. He’d chosen his family over his personal happiness. He’d understand. Somehow he’d understand.

And if he didn’t, well, there was nothing she could do about it—114 years stretched behind her like Idaho’s mighty Snake. Muddied with pain and sorrow and decisions made in haste, but strong and powerful nonetheless. The current of the future was even more powerful. The ranch was everything. She had to remember that.

Calla picked up the phone on the faux wood nightstand and dialed the ranch. Henry picked up on the first ring.

“Yeah?” he growled into her ear. She winced and fought
to
steady her shaking voice.

“Henry?”

He heard the catch in her breath. She’d been crying. Well, good. He’d been damn close to it himself. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the motel. I’m fine.”

“I want you to get in that pickup and get back here. Now.”

“Henry…”

“Calla, do as I say. I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now.”

His fury burned through thirty miles of phone line. She wondered if it might singe her ear.

“I can’t.”

“Listen to me, Calla.” He seemed to make some effort to control his tone. “I do not want you talking to Clark until we see what Pete has found out.”

Calla was momentarily baffled.

“What does Pete have to do with Clark?”

“I’m not going to explain this over the phone. Is he there with you?”

“No. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Look, Henry. I just called to tell you I’m sorry about last night, it wasn’t fair to you, but I couldn’t go through with this without knowing, and … no matter what, Henry … I won’t regret…” The words backed up in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She gently replaced the phone on its hook. She could hear a roaring male voice just before it clicked home.

“Who was that?”

Calla whirled at the sound of the cultured voice. Clark stood in the doorway of the shabby room, his key in his hand.

“Clark,” Calla breathed, wiping furiously at her swollen eyes. “You scared the sh— You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry, Calla, but you
are
in my room.” He came forward, leaving the door open behind him, and tossed his keys on the nightstand. “I’m glad to see you. Your father told you, I presume, that I can’t drive out to the ranch anymore. I suppose I’ll have to rent a sedan from here on out. I hate sedans. They’re so pedestrian.”

“Dad told me. What are you doing here, Clark? You weren’t supposed
to
be in Idaho until next week.”

“I came to give you something.” He walked to the door and closed and locked it.

“What?” A ring, probably. A token of their engagement. Her stomach throbbed with the same dull ache she’d had since she’d awakened this morning in Henry’s arms and realized it was Saturday.

“The agreement we spoke of.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his sport jacket pocket. Calla had always wondered why he bothered to wear a jacket in Paradise. Not only did he look out of place, he looked unbearably hot.

“What agreement?” She took the offered papers and stared at them blankly. She saw her name at the top, and Clark’s name. “What is this?”

“Calla,” Clark began soothingly, “I know you had some doubts at the beginning, but you seemed to understand the importance of this.”

She looked at the papers again. A prenuptial agreement. She had agreed
to
it, Clark had said. Was that true? Had she ever agreed
to
something like a prenuptial agreement?

“Calla?” Clark was tapping his foot. “Do you want a pen?”

“I … I want to read it.”

“Of course, Calla. By all means. I would think you a fool if you didn’t.”

Why the hell did he talk like that? I would think you a fool? Who talked like that? Calla sank backward onto the bed and began to leaf through the papers. She didn’t really care what they said, she realized. She wouldn’t be signing them.

Because it’s Henry I want to spend the rest of my life with. Henry, and Henry’s humor and his beautiful hands and his warm heart. Not Clark. Not this man with the prenuptial agreement and the perfect East Coast manners. Henry. And
to
hell with the rest of it. Together, she and Henry would make a new family legacy
to
pass on to the children of the next hundred years.

She was about
to
tell Clark that when the name of her ranch caught her eye. It was on the prenuptial paper. She began reading. A minute later, she was no longer blurry eyed. In fact, her eyes were as clear and cold as shards of ice. She looked up slowly at the man opposite her.

“Clark, what exactly do you want with my ranch?”

“Your ranch? Why would I want your ranch?”

“You tell me. It’s in this prenuptial agreement.” She thrust the sheaf of papers under his nose. “Page eight, paragraph four, under Community Property. That you get half ownership of it in case of divorce. My ranch. The homestead my great-grandfather carved out of the Idaho desert, Clark.”

“I’m telling you, Calla, that isn’t what that clause is supposed to mean. As I am the main property holder in this partnership, I wanted something to protect myself. It never even occurred to me that you would consider your ranch of any importance.”

What had never occurred to him, Calla thought, was that she would figure it out. Developers. Dupree. With half ownership in Hot Sulphur Lake, he could force her
to
sell out. Calla tasted bile in her mouth. Was she going
to
be sick? Surely not. This was hardly a time for hysterics.

“I’m listening
to
you talk, Clark, but I can’t understand a word you’re saying. It’s as if everything that’s coming out of your mouth is in another language or something.”

Clark misunderstood, and was visibly relieved. He shook his head indulgently, as if trying to avoid becoming exasperated with a petulant child. Calla recognized the action. She realized he’d made that little gesture a thousand times before. Had he always been so condescending? Why hadn’t she smacked him for it?

“I know. Legal talk can be very confusing.” He smiled gently. “It’s even confusing
to
me sometimes, Calla. But don’t worry. We’ll go over everything very slowly, just you and I. Okay?” He sat down next
to
her on the bed and patted her knee companionably.

“What property do you own, Clark?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, what property do you own? I thought everything was in your father’s name. All the development property was in your father’s name.”

“W-well,” Clark stuttered,
“technically,
that’s the letter of the law, I suppose. But there are many ways around that, as I’m sure a good divorce attorney could tell you. That’s why we need the prenup.”

“So I don’t bother hiring a good divorce attorney?”

“Exactly. I mean, no. Calla, look, you seem very emotional right now. Perhaps we should talk about this in the morning. Why don’t you sign this silly thing now and I’ll fax it off to my attorney? I have so many things to tell you about the wedding. My secretary found a wonderful caterer.”

“You don’t have much respect for me, do you, Clark?”

“I’m sorry?”

She spoke very slowly. “You have no respect for me. You think I am a witless, overly emotional female you can screw over with a prenuptial agreement.”

“Calla, please. Your language.”

She got off the bed and walked to the tiny bathroom that adjoined the room. She lifted the lid of the toilet, ripped off the sanitary strip the maid had slung across the seat, and dropped the crumpled prenuptial agreement into the water. Then, apologizing silently
to
Jerry, who would have to come clean up the mess, she deliberately flushed the toilet and watched Clark’s plans for her great-grandfather’s homestead clog the drain. Water began to spill over the sides. She walked back into the room
to
face her indignant ex-fiancé.

“That was very childish,” he said, his voice a high-pitched squawk. “I hope you know I’ll expect reimbursement if the motel charges me for that…” he pointed, sputtering, to the water cascading out the toilet and across the bathroom floor “—that … mess.”

“Did your father make an offer on my ranch?”

Clark was nonplussed. His mouth formed words for several seconds, but no sounds came out. His accusing finger appeared frozen in midair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he finally managed
to
reply.

“That’s ending a sentence with a preposition, Clark. Did your father make an offer on my ranch?”

“What would my father want with your pathetic, weed-infested, drought-stricken little piece of wilderness?” he snapped
at
her. Calla admired his recovery time. He was an excellent liar. She hadn’t noticed that before. She’d apparently not been seeing things clearly. But she was seeing them clearly now.

“I think,” she answered slowly, “your father wants my ranch and my hot springs for a revolting little spa and hunting club, doesn’t he, Clark? He made a below-market offer to Dupree, and when I wouldn’t accept it, he talked you into this prenuptial agreement. And I, inferiority-complex-ridden fool that I am, walked right into it. Did you have a good laugh when you told him
I
asked
you
to
marry me?”

“I care for you, Calla,” Clark said, desperation tainting his voice. The old college try, Calla thought. She’d have
to
remember
to
tell Henry that Dartmouth gave it the old college try. He’d get a kick out of that.

“Why did you call me last year, Clark, when you first came
to
Boise? I never really thought you liked me enough
to
remember my name after only a few dates.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Clark shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I didn’t,” he said simply. “My father read about the warm-water springs
at
Hot Sulphur Lake Ranch in a cattle magazine or a Western magazine, something like that. He did a deed search. When he came up with your name, I remembered you from Dartmouth. I looked up your name in the phone book when I got
to
Idaho.”

Calla remembered the magazine article. A freelance reporter had done a story on the five oldest Idaho homesteads that still belonged
to
the original families. Hot Sulphur was among them. She’d mentioned the hot water springs
to
the reporter in passing.

“There are plenty of places in Idaho with hot water. Why me?”

“Well, I knew you, for one. And Hot Sulphur really is unique. It’s protected on all but one side by federal ground, so there’s little chance of nearby resort development. The views are spectacular… Why are we discussing this?” He looked
at
the water now seeping across the carpet of the room with revulsion. “I’m calling the front desk.”

“Wait. I want
to
ask you one more thing, Clark.”

“For God’s sake, what?” He was already picking up the phone.

“How long did you plan to stay married to me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I knew you didn’t read that prenuptial very carefully. It said six months. My Lord, Calla. Take some correspondence courses, at least.”

He turned and tapped in the number for the front desk. Calla walked to the door and let herself quietly out. Clark’s rented sports car sat in the sloped parking lot that overlooked the river. Paradise was not for everyone, Calla knew, but it did have wonderful views of the Snake. She fished the car keys she’d taken from Clark’s nightstand out of her pocket, opened the door to the little car and slid inside.

Calla started the car and gunned the engine. She looked out the open door and found a lovely, head-size lava rock. Ah, Paradise. How she loved it. Lava rock everywhere you looked.

Calla picked up the rock and placed it near the gas pedal. Just as she finished carefully checking the mirrors and looking over her shoulder, Clark appeared at his motel room door. Calla noticed his mouth was open in astonishment. The flies will get in, she thought. She smiled. Henry was so funny.