Caitlyn's Prize. Linda Warren
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Oh great, just what she needed. Two encounters with the man in one day. What did he want now? Her blood?
Etta leaned in and whispered, “What’s he doing here?” Those faded brown eyes demanded an answer. Gran’s faculties might be faulty, but Etta’s were not. Cait knew she couldn’t slip anything past her.
“I’m not sure. I’ll go see.”
Etta’s bony fingers wrapped around her forearm, stopping her. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”
“High Five’s in trouble. I’ll explain later.”
“Fine.” She released her hold. “Did you check on Miss Dorie?”
“Yes. She’s digging clothes out of the trunk and reliving happier times.”
“Lordy, Lordy, is she ever gonna snap out of it?”
“We just have to be patient and gentle with her.”
“Yeah.” Etta glanced toward the parlor. “What are you waiting for?”
Cait smiled briefly. “Maybe a shot of courage.”
Etta held up the spoon. “Will this help?”
“You bet.”
Moments later, Caitlyn walked into the room, her boots dragging on the hardwood floor. The parlor looked the same as it had in the seventies, with velvet drapes and heavy antique furniture. Judd stood in the middle of the room on an Oriental rug that had seen better days. He held his hat in his hand, along with more blasted papers.
Oh, yes, a gentleman always removed his hat in the company of a lady. Judd had always had impeccable manners. Too bad they didn’t come with real emotion, real feelings.
“What is it, Judd?” She stood a good twelve feet away, but still felt the power of his presence. Her lungs squeezed tight and a feeling from her past surfaced. She was nineteen, young and in—oops…The four-letter word wasn’t in her vocabulary anymore. She’d replaced it with one that would scorch his ears.
“You left in such a hurry you forgot your copy of the sale of the royalties and your father’s codicil to his will. You might need them to show your sisters.” Judd held the papers toward her.
She crossed her arms and made no move to take them. “You could have sent someone with them. Brenda Sue goes right by here on her way home. Why are you here?”
Her direct question didn’t faze him. He laid the papers on an end table by the settee. Cait noticed the film of dust there. Damn! Etta’s eyes weren’t the best anymore and Cait didn’t have time for housework. She had a ranch to run. And what did she care if Judd saw their home wasn’t immaculate.
“I had a reason for coming,” he said, jolting her out of her thoughts.
“What would that be?”
His eyes caught and held hers. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. “I wanted to urge you once again to sell now and get it over with.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t think I can run this ranch successfully without the royalties?”
“You haven’t so far.”
“I—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t make this about you and me. Do what’s right for your family.”
“You made this about you and me.” Her voice rose with anger. “You want me to pay for daring to walk away from Judd Calhoun. Maybe even beg. It ain’t happening, mister.”
His lips formed a thin line. “I was harsh this afternoon. A lot of that old resentment came back. Bottom line, Caitlyn, you lived away from here a lot of years. It shouldn’t be a problem to do that again.”
“I lived away because my father didn’t want me here. It wasn’t voluntary.” Despite every effort, she couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
“You made that decision. No one else.”
She stepped closer to him, his woodsy masculine scent doing a number on her senses. “Yes, I did. At the time, you didn’t even care enough to ask why I made that decision.”
He gripped his Stetson so tight he bent the rim. “You wanted me to beg you to stay?”
“No. I wanted to talk. I wanted to have a say in our wedding, our marriage, our life.”
He drew back. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You planned the wedding.”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “I was to wear your mother’s wedding dress and the wedding would be at Southern Cross. Soon after, I was to produce babies and heirs, preferably all male.”
He frowned deeply. “My father requested that you wear my mother’s dress and—”
“No. He demanded, and you backed him up.” She cut him off faster than a road hog on the freeway. “I was never asked. Every freaking woman on the planet dreams of picking out her own damn wedding dress.”
“It’s a little late to be discussing this now.”
“You got it, so take your offer of a sale and stuff it. I have six months and I’m taking every second of that time.”
“Your sisters might have something to say about that.”
“I can handle my sisters.”
He stared at her and she resisted the urge to move away. He was too close, too powerful. But she stood her ground, despite shaky knees and an even shakier disposition.
“You’ve gotten hard, Caitlyn,” he remarked, his eyes roaming over her face. Heat rose in her abdomen and traveled up to bathe her cheeks.
“Really? Your own edges are so hard they’d cut glass,” she retorted.
His eyes met hers then. “That’s what you did to us.” Saying that, he walked out.
She sucked in a breath and an errant tear slipped from her eye. He had to have the last word, and it was effective, engaging all her feminine emotions. Guilt invaded her conscience and that made her mad.
Judd Calhoun would not get to her.
AFTER SUPPER, they sat at the kitchen table and talked about the future. Etta, Rufus and Cooper were all the help Caitlyn had, and they always ate together. Cooper lived in the bunkhouse, and Etta and Rufus’s home was the first log cabin that Caitlyn’s forefathers had built on the property.
Etta took a seat after checking on Gran. Cait had decided not to tell her grandmother until she felt Gran was ready to hear the news.
“How is she?” Cait asked.
“Still playing with those old clothes. Miss Dorie needs to get a grip on reality, but I don’t know how she’s going to handle what’s happening now. Lordy, Lordy.” Etta shook her head. “But I know one thing. I’m not playing Prissy from Gone with the Wind again. Enough is enough.”
“Now you’d make a good Prissy,” Ru said, chewing on a toothpick. “A mite too skinny, though.”
“Now you listen here—”
Caitlyn made a time-out sign. “Take a breather. We have bigger problems than Gran’s make-believe. I’m open for suggestions.”
Coop rested his forearms on the old oak table. “June is a couple of days away and we’ll have plenty of hay to bale. We can keep what we need and sell the rest. And, of course, sell some of the stock.”
Cait took a sip of her tea. “I only want to do that as a last resort. Without cattle we can’t operate this ranch.”
“Don’t worry about my wages, Cait,” Coop said. “I have a place to live, and food. All I need are a few bucks for beer, and gas for my truck.”