This Calder Sky (29 page)

“I couldn't leave Maggie and the baby by themselves.” She shook her head sadly, reluctant to refuse her employer anything.

Phillip had been watching Maggie since she had returned to the room with the tea service. She was a magnet, drawing his gaze whenever she was near. The stark simplicity of her black dress revealed its homemade origins, yet it gave her body an understated sexiness. The thrust of ripe breasts filled out the plain bodice before the material was darted and tucked to fit her narrow waist. When she bent over to set the tray on the table, the skirt was drawn tautly across the round cheeks of her bottom. Desire stirred within him, but Phillip angrily pushed it down. My God, he was old enough to be her father, he reminded himself. His interest in her was strictly paternal.

This rationale permitted him to suggest, “Maggie
and the baby are welcome to come, too. The apartment over the garage hasn't been used for several years, but I think we could convert it into comfortable living quarters.” Forcing his gaze from Maggie's wary look, he addressed himself to her aunt. “With the way property values keep rising, I wouldn't suggest that you sell this house. Rent it and keep it as an investment. Then, if you ever wanted to move back, you could.”

“I suppose I could.” But Cathleen Hogan was hesitant.

Maggie stayed out of the discussion that ensued. Sitting on the edge of a chair, she poured out the cups of tea and tried to do it as gracefully as she had seen Pamela do it. The prospect of living on the Gordons' ranch estate, where she could observe Pamela and learn more about becoming a lady, seemed like a dream come true, even if it meant living over a garage. It was previous disillusionments that kept her silent. But Phillip and Pamela talked her aunt into making the move.

“You haven't said what you think about it, Maggie,” Phillip prompted. “Do you have any objections to the plan?”

“No, but as soon as I find a job, I'll start paying you something every month for rent,” she stated.

Phillip knew better than to argue about that. “You mentioned earlier that you would be looking for work, and I've been giving it some thought. You don't need to look any further for a job. I need someone to exercise my horses and help with light work in the stable. I'm convinced you have the experience with horses to handle it. And it will mean you will have more time with Ty.”

“Oh, yes!” Pamela enthusiastically endorsed the proposal. “I would adore watching him for you, Maggie. There wouldn't be any need for you to hire a
sitter. You could just bring him over to the house.” As if realizing he was the subject of conversation, Ty began crying from his crib, squeezed into Maggie's small bedroom. Pamela laughed in delight. “I knew if we stayed long enough, Ty would wake up from his nap.”

The move was accomplished much quicker than Maggie had believed possible, her life-style changing so swiftly that she was a little dazed. It was as if she had stepped out of the haunting shadows of her past and into the bright sunlight of a new life.

The letters she wrote to Culley were filled with her enthusiasm for her new home and new job. When Phillip had mentioned an apartment over a garage, she had envisioned something entirely different from the huge living quarters with walls freshly painted and new carpeting on the floors.

There was a nursery for Ty and enough space in Maggie's bedroom to allow her to have not only a bed, dresser, and chest of drawers, but also a chair and desk so she could study her lessons. Pamela had given them some furniture from the main house, insisting she would give it to some charity if they didn't take it.

Her new job entailed getting up early every morning to groom and exercise Phillip's show horses. It turned out to be different from what she had imagined, since she'd never ridden with an English saddle before. She was very awkward at first. Phillip insisted that she had natural hands and a natural seat. When he first suggested that he could teach her the finer points of dressage and show-jumping in the evenings, she had been reluctant, but when he mentioned that most of the female show riders were young ladies from society families, Maggie accepted his offer. If riding English-style rather than Western made her a lady, then that was for her.

August came and went, her seventeenth birthday
along with it. When the evening dishes were done, Maggie kissed Ty and left him in her aunt's care so she could meet Phillip at the stable for her riding lesson. He was waiting for her in the tack room when she arrived.

Calling it a tack room was almost a misnomer, although it was where all the riding equipment was kept. It was a combination office and lounge, complete with shower facilities so Phillip could clean up before going to the house. Trophies and ribbons were displayed on the walls, interspersed with photographs of his horses. Besides an antique mahogany desk, there was a leather-covered divan and chairs in a rich shade of California tan to complement the paneled walls.

“Have you been waiting long?” She hoped not, but there was a settled look about him, as if he'd been sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk for some time.

“Hours,” he joked dryly.

In her new environment, Maggie found it easier to respond to his warm sense of humor. She had begun to like him—his gentle ways, his comfortable maturity, and quiet authority. “You haven't been waiting
that
long.” She slanted him a reproving look that both mocked and laughed with him. When she started to cross the room to gather her riding equipment, he called her back.

“There's a present on the divan for you.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the leather-upholstered couch.

“A present?”

“It's in the way of a belated birthday gift … from Pamela and me.”

Uncertain whether it was proper to accept the gift, Maggie moved slowly to the divan. Laid out neatly on the cushions was a pair of tan jodhpurs, a black hunting
jacket, and a white blouse. A pair of tall riding boots sat on the floor in front of the divan. Overwhelmed by his generosity, she could only look at him.

“Do you like them?” He prompted a response from her, his gray eyes smiling.

“Yes.” But she was shaking her head.

“We decided that a lady should have the proper riding costume.”

“You've done so much all ready.”

“Maggie—” He stopped, his mouth quirking. “That name doesn't suit you at all.”

“It's a nickname my father gave me.” She was almost glad of the change of subject. It gave her time to think. “Aunt Cathleen calls me Mary Frances.”

“With all due respects to your aunt's religion, the name sounds like it belongs to a nun—Sister Mary Frances.”

“It does,” Maggie admitted with a laughing smile.

“Is that your full name? Mary Frances O'Rourke?” Phillip asked.

“Mary Francis
Elizabeth
O'Rourke,” she corrected. “Quite a mouthful, isn't it?”

“Elizabeth.” He savored the name with satisfaction. “You look like an Elizabeth. It's a queen's name. Would you mind if I called you that?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip to halt the unqualified permission from rushing out. He made her feel so important that she waited until the bubble of pleasure had been squelched. “It's all right. I answer to just about anything these days,” she said with a little shrug that concealed her pleasure.

“All right,
Elizabeth.
Change into your new riding clothes while I saddle your horse.” He paused long enough to pick up the saddle and bridle from the rack, then walked out. It was a full second after the door had closed that Maggie realized she hadn't told him she
couldn't accept the present. She glanced at the clothes again and reconsidered. Maybe it would be all right to accept it this time.

During the next month, she discovered just how difficult it was to resist the Gordons—both of them. At Phillip's insistence, the huge library in the main house was put at her disposal. And Pamela, who welcomed any reason to look after Ty, showed her the proper use of makeup and took Maggie on shopping trips to give advice on clothes.

When she received a letter from Culley, she experienced a twinge of guilt. Her life had become so much easier, so rich and full, while he continued to struggle to make a living—against the weather, against the land, and against the Calders.

September 23

Dear Maggie,

I was glad to hear that everything is working out so well for you. The Gordons sound like really nice people.

The roundup is over for another year. Two of my cows strayed onto Calder range and I had to go get them and cut them out of their herd. Calder sat there on his yellow horse, just as big as you please, acting as if he owned the whole world. Tucker was there. Offered me a cup of coffee, but I told him I'd rather drink poison than coffee brewed in a Triple C pot. He may have sold out, but I never will.

That bunch will probably be at Jake's tonight, kicking up their heels after three weeks of roundup. I don't go to Jake's anymore. He and Tucker might not mind associating with scum, but I do.

I'm tired and there's hay to cut tomorrow for the winter. I just can't seem to find anybody to work for me.

I'm glad everything is working out all right for you, Maggie. Take care.

Your brother,
Culley

For a fleeting second, she wished Culley would sell the ranch and come to California, but she knew he wouldn't. She didn't even think she wanted him to, because deep down, she wanted her brother to get even with the Calders someday. She didn't know how, and she didn't care. She just wanted to know that someday they would be brought to their knees.

Jake's place was wild and raucous. The Triple C was enjoying its first real blowout since the fall roundup. But it wasn't just Triple C riders who were celebrating, although they did outnumber the other small ranchers and townspeople. It seemed everyone had chosen this Saturday night to party before the long winter set in. This night would provide subject matter to talk about during the cold evenings ahead.

As Chase started across the saloon to freshen his drink at the bar, a hand slapped him on the back. “Hey,
Boss!”
Buck mocked his new status at the Triple C. Chase was no longer just a cowboy. He had been promoted to foreman. “It ain't dignified anymore for you to get drunk,” Buck warned. “You gotta look after the rest of us and keep us out of trouble,
Boss.”

Buck had been razzing him since the day his father had made the change. Chase thought the constant teasing was beginning to wear thin, but he let Buck's remark slide off, as he'd let all the others.

“Thought you were in the back room playing poker,” he said, instead.

“I decided to quit while I was ahead.”

“Buy you a drink?” Chase offered.

“Nope.” Buck shook his head and winked broadly. “I'm gonna go rub bellies with Connie Sue while they're playing something my two left feet can dance to.”

With that, Buck moved off to the small area by the juke box used as a dance floor. Connie Sue Bingham was a local girl, recently divorced. She'd been somebody's date that night, but Chase had seen her with so many cowboys, he had given up trying to decide who it was. He watched Buck cut in and whirl her away from her previous partner, and smiled as he continued to the bar. There were times when Buck seemed totally irresponsible, yet he was a damned good cowboy.

He shouldered his way up to the bar and signaled Jake to refill his glass. Several cowboys at the bar were embroiled in a discussion about the long-range forecast for the winter ahead. Chase listened in on it, like every other cattleman wanting a way to outguess the weather. Someone wedged a shoulder into the small space beside him, and Chase shifted to make room, turning to see who it was.

“Hello, Fred.” Chase greeted the man, a bull-rider on the rodeo circuit with a few acres outside of town where he spent the winters. “How did you do this year?”

“Not bad, not bad,” the cowboy drawled. “Broke two ribs at Wolf Point, dislocated a shoulder in Miles City, and cracked my wrist in Butte. All things considered, I had a good year. Wasn't ever injured so bad that I couldn't ride.”

“That's not bad,” Chase agreed.

Fred popped the top of a beer can and took a swig.
“You'd better teach your buddy how to play poker. He lost damned near everything but his shirt.”

“You mean Buck Haskell?” Chase frowned. He'd had the impression Buck had come out ahead at the poker table for a change.

“Yeah. I don't think he won a single pot tonight, but he played 'til he was broke. He's either stubborn or stupid.” The cowboy pushed away from the bar with the beer in his hand. “Guess I'll call it a night while I'm still able to walk.” He lifted his beer in a farewell salute. “See you around, Chase.”

“Take care, Fred.” Leaning an elbow on the white-ringed bartop, he turned at a right angle to it and watched the rodeo cowboy wend his way to the front door in that peculiar rolling gait that accompanied bowed legs. His glance strayed to Buck, on the dance floor with Connie Sue. He didn't know what it was about Buck and money. He'd never known anyone so anxious to get it and so quick to get rid of it.

With a wry shake of his head, he faced the bar again and leaned both elbows on the countertop. The weather was still the subject of discussion around him, mostly an individual recounting of previous hard winters and debating which was the worst.

As he lifted his glass to take a drink, his gaze automatically went to the long mirror behind the bar. From where he was standing, the mirror reflected a view of the front door. Buck was beside it, looking around in an odd way, as if to see whether anyone was watching him. A frown narrowed Chase's eyes as he watched his friend slip outside. He lowered the glass, the frown deepening while he swirled the melting cubes in the amber liquid. Maybe Buck was meeting Connie Sue outside on the sly, Chase thought and tried to dismiss the incident with a shrug. His gaze absently searched the minor's reflection until he found her. She
was sitting with someone else and showed no signs of having a rendezvous to keep.