Calder Pride (33 page)

With Quint’s help, she planted a flower border along the length of the front porch. Nearly every day, they would saddle up their horses and go for a ride. At first, it was a chance to spend time with Quint and familiarize herself with this rough, broken country that was so different from the wide, rolling grasslands of the Triple C. But as Quint’s fascination with the wild landscape and his desire to explore it grew, so did hers. Out of habit, Cat would check on the condition of the range, the cattle, or the fences and pass the information on to Logan that evening.

And there was the young Appaloosa colt. Every time she turned around, Cat found Quint down at the corral trying to coax the flighty youngster to come to him. Out of concern for Quint, she began gentling the colt, teaching it to lead and getting it used to being handled, in short, making it safer for Quint to be around. Since she had always enjoyed working with young horses, the task was a pleasure of its own.

“What do you think of Raindance, Mom?” Quint climbed onto the kitchen counter and balanced on his knees to lift the plates out of the cupboard.

“Raindance?” Cat lifted the lid on the sauce pot. Steam, scented with basil and oregano, rose in an aromatic cloud as she stirred the simmering tomato and meatball mixture.

“Yeah, for the colt. We can’t keep calling him
Easy Boy Easy.” Balancing the plates, he climbed back onto the chair and jumped to the floor.

“Raindance sounds good. Where did you come up with that?”

“Well…I wanted an Indian name for him ’cause he’s an Indian horse. And it looks like he’s got raindrops on his rump.” Quint walked around the table, setting a plate in front of each chair. “It’s okay to say rump, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Cat retrieved a head of lettuce from the refrigerator and took it to the sink to wash.

“The sheriff said butt isn’t a nice word.” Quint went to the silverware drawer.

“The sheriff’s right. There are definitely better words.”

The crunch of tires on gravel and the low rumble of a car engine filtered into the house. Quint snapped his head toward Cat and listened with eyes wide and mouth open, a look of excitement dawning.

“That’s the sheriff!” He gave the drawer a shove and stampeded toward the door, all coltish energy. “I gotta go tell him we fed the horses.”

A quicksilver tension raced through Cat, all her senses going on high alert as she rinsed the lettuce one last time and turned off the faucet. Leaving it to drain in the colander, she went to the cupboard and took down a salad bowl.

A mix of footsteps, one set slow and even and the other quick and light, thudded across the porch. The squeaking of the screen door signaled their entrance into the house. A tremble skidded up her spine when she heard the low, rich timbre of Logan’s voice.

Cat chalked it up to nerves and this awkward marriage that had them living together for Quint’s benefit. She consoled herself with the knowledge that it would be twice as unnatural if she weren’t
aware of Logan as a man, a virilely attractive man. If there were times when she longed to be held and touched, such urges were perfectly natural, too. Probably even healthy. But that didn’t mean she wanted to give in to them.

Except for that first night, their wedding night, Logan hadn’t shown any interest in her as anything other than Quint’s mother. Even that night when he had shown her the various ways she could escape an attacker’s hold, his attitude and touch had been purely instructional. Which was precisely the way she wanted it, Cat reminded herself and ignored the funny ache inside.

Footsteps approached the kitchen, and she busied herself patting dry the head of lettuce, her pulse rushing a little as it always did when Logan was around.

“Something smells good.” Logan walked to the stove, lifted the lid on the sauce pot and inhaled the fragrant steam. “Spaghetti and meatballs. Looks like we’re going Italian tonight.”

“Yeah, Mom makes the best spaghetti. It’s even better than SpaghettiOs, ’cept she doesn’t make the Os,” Quint added.

“That’s a shame.” A smile was in Logan’s voice.

“She can’t find the Os at the store,” Quint explained. “She’s looked and looked. Haven’t you, Mom?”

“That’s right,” Cat agreed, too aware of Logan moving to the counter area where she was working.

He opened a cupboard door and took out a cup, slanting her a sideways look. “Quint tells me you fed the horses already. I don’t expect you to take care of the house, look after him, and do ranch chores as well. I hope you know that.”

Uncomfortable and half-irritated that he should be so thoughtful and considerate, Cat dug her fin
gers into the head of lettuce and tore out a chunk. “I had been working with the colt. Since I was already at the barn, it seemed logical to go ahead and feed the horses. It didn’t require that much effort.”

“Maybe not. Anyway, thanks for doing it.” The warmth in his voice was genuine, and much too unsettling.

“No problem.” She was cool to the point of being brusque. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth tighten.

“I thought of a name for the colt,” Quint put in. “It’s a good one, too.”

“Let me guess,” Logan said. “You’re going to call him Lollapaloosa.”

Logan’s suggestion was so unexpected and whimsical that Cat couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out. She struggled to smother it, even though this wasn’t the first time Logan’s sense of humor had taken her by surprise.

Just for a moment, amusement danced in both their eyes. The guarded look was gone from her expression. She was open to him, warm and vibrant and beautiful. Desire crawled through Logan with an enveloping heat. Then Quint spoke up, reclaiming his attention.

“Lollap’loosa,” he stumbled over the name, a deep frown knitting his forehead. “What’s that mean?”

“It means the colt is unique, the best there is,” Logan explained.

“Is it an Indian name?”

“I’m afraid not.” Logan carried his cup over to the table.

“The colt needs an Indian name,” Quint said with a decisive nod, then proceeded to tell him the one he liked and explained at length how he had
come up with it, finishing with, “What do you think? Do you like Raindance, too?”

“I think it fits him perfectly,” Logan agreed. “He certainly does a lot of dancing around when you put a halter on him.”

“Not anymore. Mom’s got him leading real good. But he used to, didn’t he?” Quint said, pleased to find another reason for choosing the name.

“He sure did.” Logan drank the last of the coffee in his cup and took it back to the counter, glancing at Cat. “Do I have time to change before dinner’s ready?”

“Easily,” she answered without looking at him. “I won’t be cooking the spaghetti until Uncle Culley gets here.”

“I’m gonna put on a clean shirt,” Quint announced. “Mine’s dirty.”

Cat started to suggest that he finish setting the table first, but the words died on her tongue when she saw Quint trailing Logan, doing his best to copy Logan’s long, unhurried stride. The image of father and son couldn’t have been stronger. For some reason it cut deep.

She stood for a long minute, listening to Quint’s steady run of chatter fade to the other end of the house, then shook aside the vague melancholy and finished setting the table before putting the water on to boil in anticipation of her uncle’s arrival.

Conversation lagged at the supper table that evening. Cat had quickly exhausted her supply of mundane topics and wondered if she was the only one who felt the strain of this silence. She glanced at Quint, noting the way he idly toyed with his chopped-up bits of spaghetti.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Quint.” A few weeks ago Cat wouldn’t have found that at all unusual. Since moving here, he had become much
more talkative. It was something that had happened so gradually that Cat was only now realizing it—and how much she had come to rely on him to keep the table conversation going.

“I been thinking.” He wore his serious face.

“About what?” Logan glanced at him, amused and curious.

“Well…” Quint laid his fork down and gazed intently at Logan, “I was just thinking that I’m really glad you found us, Dad.”

It was the first time Quint had ever called him that. Cat didn’t know if she was more shocked by that or the breathtaking look of love that shone in Logan’s eyes.

“I’m glad I did, too, Quint,” he replied with husky sincerity.

A beautiful, beaming smile lit Quint’s whole face. Cat stared at it for a numbed instant, then pushed to her feet, turning from the table. “I forgot to put fresh coffee on.” Her voice shook almost as much as her hands.

Her appetite was gone. She could hardly wait for the meal to be over. But her attempt to shoo everyone from the kitchen failed when Culley insisted on helping with the dishes. In the end, Cat didn’t have the energy to argue and consoled herself with the knowledge that Culley wouldn’t expect much in the way of conversation.

Working in a companionable silence, she dipped the first dinner plate in the rinse water and set it on the drainboard rack, then immersed her hand in the soapy dishwater to wash the next one. Culley picked up the plate and began wiping it dry.

“It’s natural for a kid to love his father, Cat.”

Instinctively tensing, she managed a relatively even, “I know that.”

“You looked like your heart had got torn out of your chest.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She felt her skin heat.

“You thought it was safe to love the kid, didn’t you?” He set the dried plate on a clean section of the counter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cat rubbed vigorously at the already clean plate.

“I got a feeling you’ve been playing it safe just about ever since your mother was killed. I can’t say that as a fact, ’cause I was pretty tore up myself back then.”

Determined to change the subject, she said, “Remind me to tell Logan that Dad called today. He wants us to come over for dinner on Sunday.”

“Now that I think about it,” Culley took the plate from her before Cat could place it in the rack, “I was kinda like you after Maggie died. I figured as long as I didn’t let myself care too deep about anybody, I wouldn’t be hurt that bad again. Then you started coming around, reaching out and needing someone because you didn’t have anyone to turn to, not with Calder laying in the hospital and your brother suddenly finding himself holding the reins to the ranch. You looked so much like Maggie that it hurt sometimes, but it helped, too. And I knew she’d want me to look out for you. So I reached back. You were family. I guess you’re more like me than Maggie.”

Cat shook her head at his rambling discourse. “You aren’t making any sense, Uncle Culley.”

He frowned. “I guess I’m not saying it plain.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She threw him a quick smile, her tension showing.

“Things aren’t working out between you and Logan, are they?”

“Everything’s fine.”

Culley grunted his doubt. “I could tell you liked kissing him that time. I thought he was safe enough for you.”

The plate slipped from her fingers and splashed into the rinse water. “When did you see me kissing him?”

“That night at The Homestead after those cattle were found dead.”

That seemed like a lifetime ago. “You shouldn’t be spying on people, Uncle Culley.” Cat rescued the plate and jammed it in the rack.

He responded with a small, negligent movement of his shoulders. “I guess I thought Logan was like the Taylor boy.”

“How can you say that? I loved Repp.” In quick order, she washed the last two plates and started on the silverware.

“You sure were sweet on him,” Culley agreed, then paused in his wiping and stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. “I don’t know, I guess I’m comparing you to Maggie again. When she cared for somebody she did it with her whole heart. There was no holding back with her, even when she knew she’d get hurt. Calder hurt her more than once.”

He eyed her astutely. “You weren’t that way with Repp, or you never would have let him keep putting you off when you wanted to get married. And you gotta admit he wasn’t all that eager about it, either. It kinda makes you think that he might have been awed by the idea of marrying a Calder—maybe even worried that you’d find out he couldn’t measure up.”

Why had Repp dragged his feet about marrying her? And why had she been so quick to believe that he was trying to do what was noble and honorable? Had she argued that strongly against waiting? Or had she simply gone through the motions of objecting?

Cat couldn’t remember. The memories were all too fuzzy now, blurred vignettes of horseback rides, slow dancing, and passionate kisses. But she couldn’t
recall the intensity of the hunger or the heat, not with the sharp, disturbing clarity that etched every detail of the night she spent with Logan.

Which meant absolutely nothing.

“I loved Repp,” Cat repeated with force.

Culley nodded in a show of approval. “You hang on to that. It’s a kind of protection that’ll keep you from letting yourself care about anyone else.”

“I don’t do that.” But the denial came too late. Doubt had already set in.

A
lways a light sleeper, Logan couldn’t have said what initially woke him. Eyes open, he remained on his side, fully alert and listening.

There was a whisper of movement in the hallway, the faintest rustle of cotton brushing cotton. His bedroom door was open a crack, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway. A small shadow blocked the lower part of it. Then the door inched open a little more. Quint slipped through and stood, staring at the bed.

Logan made a show of waking up and levered himself onto an elbow. “Quint. Having trouble sleeping?”

“You don’t snore.” He walked to the bed. “I been listening.”

“You have?” Logan hid a smile.

“Uh-huh. Do you think I should tell Mom?”

“I don’t think so.” He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Its green numbers read 1:16. “It’s after one in the morning. I’m sure she’s sleeping, which is what you should be doing.”

“I know.” Quint nodded and heaved a big sigh.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Kinda.”

Smiling, Logan pulled the covers aside. “Why don’t you hop in bed with me for a while. Then when you get really tired, I’ll take you back to your own bed.”

“Okay.” He climbed into bed and stretched out facing Logan, a hand propping his head up. “You aren’t wearing pajamas. Don’t you have any?”

“No.”

“You should tell Mom. She’ll get you some.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What happened to your shoulder?” Small fingers touched the reddened area of newly healed flesh.

“A scar.”

“How’d you get it?”

Logan hesitated, trying to decide how much to tell him. “I got shot,” he said, reasoning that Quint had seen him in uniform nearly every day and had already asked some questions about the gun Logan carried.

His eyes got big. “By a bad guy?”

“Yup.”

“Did you catch him?”

“We sure did.”

“Does it hurt a lot to get shot?”

“It hurt an awful, awful lot,” Logan stressed.

“Did you have to go to the hospital?”

“Yup, and the doctors had to operate to get the bullet out.”

“Were you there a real long time like my grandpa was when he got hurt?”

“I was there a long time, but probably not as long as your grandpa.”

“Do you think I could be a sheriff when I grow up?”

“I think you can be anything you want to be—a sheriff, an astronaut, or a cowboy in a rodeo.”

Of all the things Logan had imagined doing with a son, this middle-of-the-night conversation wasn’t one of them. Yet lying there, talking with his son, and listening to him prattle on a dozen different subjects, this was easily one of the most enjoyable things he had ever done. He was sorry when he saw Quint’s eyes growing heavy. He waited, watching as Quint nodded off. Only then did Logan gather him up and carry Quint to his own room.

Cradling a child in his arms was a new sensation. It moved him in some deep, bonding way Logan didn’t understand. Slow to relinquish the moment, he laid Quint on the twin bed and took his time pulling the covers around him. A little self-conscious, he brushed a kiss on Quint’s forehead and straightened away from the bed.

There were too many emotions, too many desires running too close to the surface when Logan came out of Quint’s room and collided with Cat. Automatically he reached out to steady her even as her hands moved to clutch at him.

“Quint? Is he—”

“He’s sleeping. I just tucked him back into bed.” A dozen different impressions registered at once—the drowsy, only half-awake look of her eyes, the bareness of her shoulders and neck, and the full contact with her satin-draped body. It all worked into him and through him.

“I thought I heard—Did he have a bad dream?”

“No.” Logan smiled. “He discovered I don’t snore. He wanted to wake you up, but I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea.” Looking at her, all he could think was that this stunning woman was the mother of his child, easily the most amazing gift he had ever received. “Thank you, Cat, for giving me such a beautiful son.”

But it wasn’t his murmured words that held Cat
motionless. It was the incredible love shining in his eyes. It filled her vision, dazzling her even as his mouth moved over hers in a warm and fiercely tender kiss. She had no time to collect her scattered defenses—no time to even remember that she should.

The pressure eased until his lips were barely brushing hers, evoking an ache that was gnawing and sweet. “I probably should have told you that before.” The tips of his fingers caressed her cheek. Her lashes fluttered down, then lifted again when he raised his head to gaze at her through heavily lidded eyes. “I’d like you to give me more children. Maybe a little girl next time. One with gorgeous green eyes like yours.”

She couldn’t seem to get her breath as his eyes darkened with undisguised hunger. Something inside leaped at the thought of a child, a little girl. It sent her pulse racing.

“Once I thought it would be enough to have you in my bed.” His thumb stroked her lower lip, setting all its sensitive nerve ends to tingling. “But it isn’t enough, Cat. Not nearly enough. I wish to God I knew how to get him out of your mind.”

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of a sound sleep or the distraction of Logan’s closeness that addled her thinking. But there was only one other “him” on her mind, and that was Quint. It made no sense that Logan would be talking about him.

“Who?” Cat whispered in confusion.

Before she could remember, an exultant sound came from his throat. His mouth came crushing down. The fire was instant. At that moment, with her head spinning and her body humming, it no longer mattered to Cat that it was Logan who ignited this blaze. No one else ever had, not as completely as this.

When she melted against him, Logan swept her up and took the three strides that carried them into the bedroom that had once been his, then hers, and now was one he was determined to make theirs. His fingers curled into the slick material of her nightgown and pulled the gown up around her arms as he let her feet settle onto the floor.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he said in a voice raw with the need to feel skin against skin.

Giving her no time to object, he dragged it over her head and slung it away. He heard her quivering gasp and saw her startled eyes, then his gaze traveled downward.

“My God, you’re beautiful, Cat,” he declared in a fervent whisper.

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes when he started to reach for her. Logan saw it and knew he could erase it. But he also knew he couldn’t stand any regrets or recriminations later. When she made a move toward him, he seized her shoulders and kept her away.

“Damn it, Cat, tell me you’re awake,” he ordered roughly. “Tell me you aren’t sleepwalking through some dream of him.”

But Cat knew what he was really demanding—make sure it’s me you want, not a stand-in for Repp. She wanted Logan. It frightened her how much she wanted him. She knew the deeper the love, the deeper the grief would be.

She wasn’t emotionally safe with Logan. Subconsciously Cat had known that all along. She had already lost too many people she had loved. Something told her losing Logan could be a more devastating loss than all the rest.

And the risk was there, much too vividly before her.

Her fingertips traced the area of raised flesh on his chest. Cat had seen too many of the scars from
her father’s injuries and numerous surgeries not to recognize that the redness of Logan’s indicated it was fairly recent.

“You were shot, weren’t you?” she guessed.

“Yes.” His answer was clipped and impatient. “Cat—”

She shuddered uncontrollably at the closeness of the scar to his heart. Fear told her to use Repp’s name and push him away before she was hurt again. But pride made her lift her head and face the truth. “It terrifies me to want you this much, Logan. If—”

But Logan had heard all he needed to hear—his name. Any other words were meaningless now. He had a much more elemental form of communication in mind, the kind that used his hands, his lips, and his body. He was stunned to find in her arms a need that matched his own.

The raw urgency of it drove them both onto the bed, turning them wild as they hungrily sought all the pleasure to be found between a man and a woman. Time stood still, without a yesterday or tomorrow—only now, together.

There was no patience, no gentleness. This was a hunger that had waited six years to be sated, and now could wait no longer, driving each of them relentlessly, ruthlessly, with its desperate, urgent demands. But there never seemed to be enough.

As wave after wave of awesome pleasure swept through her, Cat suddenly understood that one moment would never be enough to satisfy her desire for this man. It would take a lifetime of moments—and more.

Surrounded by Logan’s warm, earthy smell, the firm pressure of his arm holding her close to him, Cat lay
with her head on his shoulder, a place that seemed to be reserved just for her. Both her breathing and her pulse were far from steady yet. She could tell that Logan’s weren’t, either. Somehow that made all the inner tremblings easier to accept.

Tilting her head to look at him, she felt her breath take a funny little hitch at the possessive light in his eyes. She liked the way he looked at her. She liked everything about him, then immediately discarded the word.
Like
was much too tame a word to describe the things she was feeling.’

“I don’t understand how I could possibly be in love with you when I know almost nothing about you.” She marveled that such a thing could happen, then realized. “That isn’t quite true, is it? I know very few details of your life, but I do know a great deal about the man you are.”

If Logan had asked her to elaborate, Cat would have found it difficult to explain. Yet she only had to remember the times she had seen him with Quint—the patience he’d shown, the genuine interest and affection, the incidents of gentle but firm discipline and boyish playfulness—the calm way he had faced down her father and the bouquet of flowers she’d found in the bedroom, his clever questioning that had drawn the full story from her about Lath’s assault, his insistence that she wasn’t to blame and the subsequent lessons on ways to protect herself, giving her a sense of empowerment rather than making some extravagant manly vow to protect her. If she thought about it, Cat knew she could come up with more examples that would illustrate the knowledge she had gleaned about the kind of man he was—strong, intelligent, competent, sensitive, dependable, caring, patient, understanding, and determined.

Cat also knew she had deliberately not asked any questions about his past. It had been a defense mech
anism, a way to convince herself Logan was a stranger. It was time to correct that.

“You told Quint you worked for the government?”

Logan was slow to answer. He was too shaken by her easy declaration of love. Love was a word too many women used to justify going to bed with a man. He was stunned by how much he wanted to believe her.

“The Treasury Department, ATF.” Idly he rubbed his hand along the smooth curve of her waist, remembering how roughly he had taken her. But as tender as his feelings were inside, they were also that fierce and primative.

“Is that where you got this?”

He felt her fingertips brush against the scar. “Yes.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

“What happened?” She levered herself up, more of her body gliding onto him. The dim light from the hall filtered through the open door and mingled with the moonlight that came through the windows, touching her face and showing him the deep concern etched in her expressive green eyes.

“I was on a joint raid after a paramilitary group who were trading in guns and drugs. Somebody tipped them off. They were waiting for us. My partner was killed in the first exchange.” It had never been an easy thing to talk about. Logan discovered it was harder now because he knew how close he had come to dying without ever seeing his son—without ever seeing Cat again.

“Weren’t you wearing a vest?”

His mouth crooked with cynical humor. “Vests are only bulletproof if the other guy is using legal ammunition. That’s why four men went down that day before we got them.”

Mixed in with the look of horror, Logan saw the
flaring of outrage in her eyes. He wasn’t all that surprised when he thought about it. Cat was essentially a fighter. In that way, they were very much alike. It pleased him to know that. But there was much about Cat that pleased him. He wanted her to know that, but action came easier to him than words.

With a fluid, sideways turn of his body, he rolled her onto her back and dipped his head to take a tasting sip of her lips. She made a contented sound and snuggled against him, a hand coming up to caress the side of his face.

“The shooting, is that why you decided to quit?” Her thumb moved across his lips in a slow stroke.

“Not really.” His hand skimmed over her waist to the rounded swell of a breast. “But I spent a lot of time just lying around thinking while I was recovering—enough time to take a good long look at myself. I didn’t like what I saw.”

“Why?”

“Because I was fast becoming too hardened, too cold, too cynical, trusting no one and believing in nothing. If you had seen me—even as little as a year ago—you would never have walked up to me in a bar. You would have taken one look at me and turned away.”

Cat smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it.” The sudden edge to his voice warned her that Logan was far from a tamed man.

“Why did you come to Blue Moon?”

“I knew I had to get as far away from the cities as I could. I had some money saved, enough to buy a small ranch if the price was right. I also knew I’d have to be very lucky to make it without an outside income. Which is when I decided to get a job as a deputy sheriff. After living in the South for so long, I wanted to get back to the Plains. I looked around the Dakotas first, but there were too many…unpleas
ant memories. I heard about the opening here, and I’d been here before—”

“When?”

“A few years ago.” He was deliberately vague. “Before you and I met.”