This Calder Sky (19 page)

“Thanks, Mr. Michels.” But Maggie doubted that Dorie would be overjoyed to see her. They usually ran out of conversation after a few minutes. She walked to the back and knocked on the storeroom door. There was a clatter and thump of someone stumbling over boxes before the door was opened. A slightly plump girl with sandy-blonde hair blinked at her in surprise.

“Hi, Maggie. Gee, I haven't seen you since summer vacation started.” Then she laughed. “I didn't see much of you during school, either. You were hardly ever there.”

“I missed a lot of school helping my father,” Maggie admitted. “Your dad said you were back here.” She already found herself searching for something to say.

“Yeah. He's put me to work in the afternoons now that school's out for the summer, so I can earn some money. There just isn't any place around here to get a job,” the girl explained.

“It is hard,” Maggie agreed and started to back away.

“Why don't you come on back?” Dorie Michels invited. “I'll show you the new dresses that just came in. I'm in the middle of unpacking them now. It will give us a chance to talk for a while.” Maggie accepted the opportunity to see the dresses before anyone else in town did and followed her classmate into the store
room. “Did you hear that Cindy Schaeffer's parents might move to Miles City?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Well, they might. Isn't that awful?” She made a face at the thought. “Here are the dresses. Aren't they gorgeous?” She picked up a long-sleeved knit dress in a dark green color. “Of course, they're for winter. Isn't it crazy to get winter dresses in the middle of summer? But that's the way the world of fashion works.”

“It's nice.” Maggie lightly touched the dress, liking the soft feel of the heavy materials.

Dorie pushed it into her hands to reach for another. “Don't worry about wrinkling it. I have to iron them all when they're unpacked. This one is pretty, too.” She lifted another one from the pile. “But it has too many ruffles and makes me look fatter than I am. Momma says it's baby fat, but I don't think it's ever going to melt away. Oh! This one would look fabulous on you, Maggie.”

It was a bold rust color, the same material and style as the one she was holding. Maggie draped the other one over a box to take the one Dorie held.

“There's a mirror behind you.” Dorie pointed, and Maggie turned to see how it looked on her.

She like the contrast of its vivid color with her dark looks and the sophisticated style that made her appear older. “It's lovely,” she murmured.

“Why don't you try it on?” her plump blonde classmate urged. “There's a dressing room right over there.”

Maggie hesitated only briefly before accepting the invitation. She couldn't resist the chance to see what she looked like with the dress on. Using the dressing room Dorie had indicated, she peeled out of her clothes and boots and slipped the dress over her head, twisting her arms to zip the back.

“It's perfect on you!” Dorie declared the minute Maggie stepped out of the dressing room. “I knew it would be. Come look in the long mirror out front.”

When Maggie saw her reflection, all her expectations were exceeded. The transformation from a blue-jeaned tomboy into a young lady was a startling change; the dress showed off her high-breasted figure in a way the ill-fitting male clothes never could. Not even the bareness of her feet detracted from the genteel femininity of her mirror's image.

“Can you imagine if you had your hair up how sophisticated you'd look?” Dorie's suggestion prompted Maggie to sweep the heavy weight of her hair off her neck to hold it atop her head. One glimpse of the possibilities was all the sandy-haired blonde needed. “Wait here, Maggie. I'll see if I can find some pins in the back.”

In the men's section of the dry-goods store, Chase waited with diminishing patience while Buck tried on a variety of straw Stetsons in different shapes and styles. When they had driven into Blue Moon twenty minutes ago, Chase had recognized the rusted and dented truck parked in front of Jake's as Angus O'Rourke's. He had used the excuse of buying cigars to stop in the grocery store to find out whether Maggie was in there shopping and lingered until he was certain she wasn't. Then he'd let Buck drag him across the road to the combination dry-goods-and-hardware store. His eyes had already searched the place without finding Maggie here, either. He was trying to hurry Buck into making a choice when he heard a young girl's voice say Maggie's name.

“This one ain't bad.” Buck twisted and posed to study the straw Stetson from all angles, then discarded it. “Did you see that hand-tooled saddle Lew has up front? You should buy me that, Chase. It's a beauty.”

“Save your money and buy it yourself.” Chase was
moving away, homing in on the direction of the voice, as if it was a signal beacon.

“Hell, it'd take me a year to save enough,” Buck snorted, but Chase wasn't there to hear him.

Crossing the store, he stopped within five feet of a young, dark-haired woman standing in front of a full-length mirror with her back turned to him. When his gaze met the green eyes in the mirror's reflection, Maggie turned, posturing slightly as a model would do. The style of the richly vibrant rust-colored dress was too old for her, but it permitted Chase a glimpse of the woman she would be in a few years. Many reactions stirred within him; hot and disturbing, foremost among them was a desire for sole possession. Chase studied her quietly, but kept his feelings away from his face; he was not at ease with them.

“I'm glad you saw me in this.” Her voice was low, lower than a whisper, yet steady and direct. “I wanted you to see that I really can be a lady someday.”

The statement prodded his memory, recalling her vehement declaration that one day she would leave to better herself and become a lady. It jabbed him that she would leave. He was filled with the raw urge to crush her composure, that cool certainty of her. His gaze made a raking sweep of her and the dress.

“You'll never make it,” he said, his dryness rustling through his voice. “I've never met a lady yet who went around in bare feet.”

A green-eyed fury shattered the picture of composure as Maggie reached around for the first thing she could lay her hands on. It was a folded cotton slip that went sailing through the air at him. Chase ducked it and moved forward to catch her hands before they could find a deadlier missile to hurl at him. Maggie struggled, and he laughed softly because this kind of lady he could handle. He pulled her toward him and forced her hands to flatten themselves on his chest.

“I
will
be a lady,” she hissed and tried to strain free of his steel hold.

“It doesn't matter.” Lazy with satisfaction, he ran his eyes over her animated features. “What man wants a tame, dull lady when he can enjoy the excitement of someone who is all woman? You don't need to change to satisfy me.”

The need to impose his will on her ran through him. The rashness of it made him catch her shoulders and pull her against him. His mouth silenced her faint outcry with the domination of his hard kiss. It lasted only seconds. Interrupted by someone's approach, Chase released her and stepped away, trying to get a hold on the turbulence of his emotions.

“Hello, Chase.” The slightly timid voice of a young girl announced the intruder.

Indifferent recognition registered on Chase's face. “Hello, Dorie.” He ignored the shyly flirtatious look she gave him, mentally dismissing her as too young to warrant more than polite attention.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” the girl offered.

“No, thanks.” His gaze had already returned to Maggie, clashing with hers before it suddenly hit him that the two girls were roughly the same age. His mouth twisted in self-mockery as the hard brown of his eyes softened to velvet in a silent apology to Maggie for his actions. Some of her stiffness melted in an equally silent acceptance of his apology. His finger briefly touched the pointed brim of his hat to take his leave from them before he turned to retrace his steps and rejoin Buck.

“Gee,” Dorie murmured enviously as she watched him walk away. “I wish Chase Calder would look at me the way he looked at you.” With a sigh, she glanced back at Maggie and smiled to show there were no hard
feelings. “I found some hairpins. Would you like me to fix your hair?”

“No.” This time when Maggie glanced in the mirror, she saw what Chase had noticed. She was too young for this particular style of dress, and a change in hairdos wouldn't alter that. She felt like an adolescent caught wearing lipstick and playing at adulthood. That's what the mirror showed her, regardless of the maturity she felt inside. Yet Chase's remark hadn't shaken her resolve that someday she'd wear a dress like this—with high-heeled shoes, jewelry, and all the accessories that belonged with it. No one was going to say she couldn't be a lady, especially a Calder. Unconsciously, Maggie shared her father's resentment of the Calders' status, power, and prestige.

After one last look at herself in the mirror, Maggie turned from it. “I'd better change back into my own clothes.” She started toward the dressing room in the back and her schoolmate tagged along, eyeing her with new interest.

“I heard that you've been seeing a lot of Chase Calder lately,” Dorie remarked. “Is that true?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don't remember.” The girl shrugged, because the source didn't seem important. “You know how it is in the store; half the people come in just to gossip. Have you been meeting him?”

“I've seen him a few times,” Maggie admitted and felt herself being elevated to a new position of importance by the association.

“What's it like … when he … does it to you?” The girl stammered over the question, too embarrassed to be forthright, yet too curious to keep silent.

And Maggie realized what kind of gossip had been circulating. Her lips came together in a straight line as she regarded her supposed friend with a steadiness Dorie couldn't match.

“When he does what?” Maggie challenged. Then she bluntly added, “Do you mean when he makes love to me?”

“I wasn't trying to pry, Maggie. Honest.”

The end result was the same, and it hurt Maggie, stinging her temper. “Why don't you go ask Chase to show you? Then you won't have to ask me what it's like. You can find out for yourself.”

“I couldn't.” The girl drew back in shock.

“Why not? He's very good at deflowering virgins.” Maggie closed the dressing room door and began trembling. Her eyes smarted with tears, but she determinedly blinked them away and stripped out of the dress. Dorie had vanished from the back storage area when Maggie came out wearing her blouse and jeans again.

Webb pulled up to the gasoline pumps and stopped the station wagon. As he climbed out, a teen-aged boy came trotting out of the building. “Shall I fill it up for you, Mr. Calder?”

“Yes, and check the oil.” Automatically, he glanced at the vehicles parked nearby. The ranch pickup he passed over, but his gaze paused on the truck belonging to O'Rourke. The sight of it aroused the suspicious questions that had been running through his mind for the last week. They were little more than hunches, but Webb often relied on gut feelings, which ultimately proved to be correct.

He walked over to the truck and wandered around it, stopping to poke at the dirt and gravel lodged in the tire treads and pull out the long grass stems caught in the rusted cracks of the chrome bumper. The grass was a common variety, although it grew in abundance on Triple C land, especially around the Broken Butte. The main road bisecting the rarely used track to that section had recently been resurfaced with new gravel. A sharpedged
chip of stone was wedged in the tire treads. Neither item was conclusive evidence that O'Rourke had been in the vicinity, yet they both showed he could have been. Webb strolled thoughtfully back to his car, running this information through his mind.

“Sometimes I wonder how Angus keeps that truck running,” the boy at the pumps remarked with a shake of his head. The comment revealed he had observed Webb's close inspection of the pickup. “You were almost a quart low, so I put one in.”

“Fine.” He nodded, but he was more interested in what else the teen-ager might have noticed. “Trucks take a beating in this country, especially the kind of range land Angus has.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Lately, most of his miles have been put on coming back and forth to town. I'll bet he's been here almost as much as he's at home.” The pump nozzle automatically shut off and the boy clicked it to manual to fill the gas tank all the way to the top.

“Oh?” It was a prompting sound.

“If he isn't in the café having coffee, then he's at Jake's having a beer with Tucker,” the boy explained. “It's no wonder his place always looks like it's about to fall in around his ears.”

Tucker. Webb glanced at the café. A “Closed” sign hung on the door. He sifted through the information he knew about the man, ignoring his reputation as a cook. Some years ago, there had been a questionable involvement in the purchase of stolen goods, but there had been no proof that Tucker had known what he was buying. The man kept his hands clean, but Webb was equally certain that Tucker had contacts with dirt on their hands. Tucker could easily act as a middleman for O'Rourke, possibly even a silent partner. He doubted that O'Rourke was in this alone—if he was the one who had stolen the beef.

Coyotes were cowardly thieves. A single coyote
would slink away rather than confront an opponent of equal or superior strength, but with others of his kind, he gained courage and exhibited a cunning unequaled by any other, more forthright predator. Webb classified Angus O'Rourke in that category, an essentially spineless man with flashes of brilliance.

Webb was convinced he was being harried by coyotes who struck under the cover of darkness and then stole away into the night. He even hazarded a guess at the cowardly justification for the illegal act—the affair between Chase and O'Rourke's daughter. The fifty head of cattle he'd given O'Rourke hadn't appeased the man. It had merely whetted his appetite. The stolen cattle amounted to involuntary payments of blackmail. The thought burned through Webb like a hot iron. It was an intolerable position, and he reacted to it accordingly.