My Dearest Cal Read online

  He stared at her. “What are you saying?”

  “I took a vacation to find you.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Chaney muttered, his expression totally agog.

  Cal paced, shaking his head. Finally he turned. “Lady, are you nuts?” His tone was suddenly more bemused than furious.

  “No, I am not nuts,” she said defensively. “I just happen to care about this.”

  “Why? Is there some sort of reward for meddling in things that are none of your concern? I’ll see that you get it.”

  “Dammit, this has nothing to do with any reward. It’s about family. What’s more important than that?”

  “Money,” he said so promptly it made her blood run cold. He meant it, too. She could tell that. Nothing she was saying about his grandmother seemed to be penetrating that thick skull of his. It was disappointing that a man this gorgeous had to be such an idiot.

  Ignoring him, she sank back down in the rocker to think. What the dickens was she supposed to do now? She had thought it was going to be a simple matter of finding Cal Rivers, explaining about the letter and then walking away. Instead she was faced with a man who wouldn’t even believe that he had a grandmother and, worse, didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

  No, she corrected. That wasn’t quite true. There had been that one brief second when he’d revealed a hint of vulnerability, a moment of confusion. Maybe he was afraid for some reason. She studied the unyielding set of his shoulders, the angry scowl on his face. He didn’t look like the sort to be scared of anything short of a raging stampede of horses. More likely, he was an insensitive, uncaring jerk. Not everyone had good in them, despite what she’d been taught.

  She ought to leave and let him stay here and get snockered on beer every night. Maybe the beer helped him to live with whatever had made him the cold, uncaring man that he was. It certainly wasn’t up to her to reform him. There probably weren’t enough years left in her lifetime to accomplish that.

  Then she thought of the letter in her purse. She owed it to that dear old lady to try harder. Cal Rivers might not be much by her standards, but he was family. And Marilou was the only hope either of them had, the only link. There was an old saying about fools rushing in. Well, she’d already rushed. She might as well stick around for the consequences. If she sat her for a little while, surely something would come to her.

  Besides, as she debated whether to go or stay, the clouds had begun building in the west. Fat drops of rain were already plopping into the dust. She regarded the sudden downpour with a sense of resignation. There was apparently no escape anywhere from these damn April showers.

  * * *

  “I don’t think she’s planning on leavin’, boss,” Chaney said, his baleful gaze resting on the pretty little redhead who’d plunked herself down in a chair on the porch and was rocking to beat the band.

  Cal didn’t think she was going anywhere either. He noted the stubborn set of her chin and the fire in her green eyes and decided he might have miscalculated just the tiniest bit about the pesky woman with her crazy story about a dying grandmother. It wouldn’t be the first time some reporter or gold-digger had used an outrageous tale to get to him. This one was better than most. He’d give her that. She almost had him believing her.

  She was also the most stubborn female he’d encountered in some time. He’d attempted to brush her off with a chilly reception and a few intimidating words. Obviously, it was going to take more. He just wasn’t quite sure what would work with a woman who was apparently so dead-sure she was on a mission. Maybe he could cajole her into going with a promise or two. It wouldn’t kill him to fib a little, if it meant dislodging her from that chair and his life.

  “Okay,” he said at last, willing himself to look cooperative. “I’m not saying I believe you, but I’m willing to look into it. Leave the letter with me and I’ll check it out.”

  The expression she directed at him was very wary. “Check it out how?”

  Her persistence almost cost him the tight rein on his temper. “I’ll have to think about it. Maybe I’ll hire a private investigator. Yes,” he said, warming up to the notion. She ought to buy that. “I’ll hire a detective.”

  She was shaking her head. “That’s a waste of perfectly good money. I can find her for you in no time and I won’t charge you a penny.”

  “Really,” he protested desperately. “That’s not necessary. I can afford it and I really can’t take up any more of your time.”

  Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you? You figure I’ll give you the letter and walk out and you’ll tear it up the minute my back is turned.”

  “Lady, if you’re so dead-set sure that the letter is mine, then what I do with it is none of your business.”

  She frowned at him, her expression thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. You’ve done all you can do. You can go now and your conscience will be perfectly clear.”

  She nodded slowly and his mood brightened considerably. Then she turned one of those penetrating looks on him, a look that seemed to see straight into his lying heart. “Nope. I can’t do that,” she said, sounding downright sorrowful. “I feel responsible.”

  Cal lost his last thread of restraint. “Dammit, you are not responsible!”

  “I can’t help how I feel.”

  “Feel any way you want to, just do it someplace else.”

  “Let me just make a few calls for you, get the search started.”

  “No!”

  “It’ll relieve my mind.”

  “No!”

  She nodded, her expression triumphant. “I knew you weren’t really going to follow through.”

  Cal threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “That’s it. I give up.”

  He was no more than half a dozen feet from the porch, when Chaney stopped him. “What should I do about her?” he asked, gazing pointedly toward Marilou.

  “Ignore her,” Cal said finally, stalking off into the rain. “I’m going back to Lady Mary.”

  As an interim plan, it would have to do, but he had no doubt it wouldn’t be the end of Miss Marilou Stockton. Oh, she looked like a frail little thing with her sunburned nose and too-big T-shirt. In fact, for an instant there he’d been drawn to her innocence and naiveté. It was a knee-jerk reaction to a woman who looked as if she needed protecting. Fortunately he’d learned long ago that those kind of women were the most dangerous of all. They usually had a streak of muleheadedness that drove a man nuts. So far, Marilou was running true to form. She’d be waiting whenever he decided to come back. He had no doubts about that.

  “I’m going to strangle Joshua the next time I see him,” he muttered. The accountant had to be behind this visit. No one else could have pointed the way from his last address to this place. Joshua was probably sitting in that fancy office of his chortling with glee this very minute. He no doubt considered it just revenge for Cal’s failure to heed his advice.

  Hell, for all he knew Joshua had made up the damned letter in the first place. He’d been making less than subtle noises about it being time for a family reunion for months now, preaching a lot of psychological hogwash about facing the past. The more Cal thought about it, the more sense it made. Joshua was definitely behind this visit.

  Disgusted at the abrupt end to his new-found peace and quiet and unable to think of a single tactic to rid himself permanently of his unwanted visitor, Cal ignored the downpour and headed for the barn. He might not know much about horses, but he figured he had a better shot at understanding them than he ever would figuring out women or friends who meddled in things that were none of their business.

  He’d left Zeke walking Lady Mary and the groom could probably use someone to spell him. From what Chaney’d taught him colic in a horse was nothing to fool around with. If the mare hadn’t improved, he’d probably have the vet out before the night was over. Lady Mary’s health was a helluva lot more important than listeni
ng to this woman’s crazy tales.

  Before he turned the corner toward the stables, though, he made the mistake of casting one last look over his shoulder. Marilou’s rocker had gone perfectly still. She was staring after him, an expression of stunned indignation on her face. Even Chaney looked startled by the abrupt dismissal. He was staring worriedly from Cal to their unwanted guest and back again. Cal glared back at both of them. He had nothing to apologize for. If he didn’t want anybody dredging up his past, that was his business, right? Damn right!

  So why was there this incredibly guilty knot in his gut, a knot that was probably every bit as painful as Lady Mary’s colic?

  Chapter Three

  Marilou did not consider herself to be either an especially assertive woman or a femme fatale type, but few men had ever had the audacity to flat-out ignore her. None that she could recall had ever walked off in the middle of an argument. It took her fully sixty seconds to recuperate from the shock of watching Cal Rivers deliver the last word then turn his back on her and go charging off to see this Lady Mary, whoever she was.

  The image of rough and rowdy Cal Rivers with some elegant member of the British aristocracy seemed ludicrous to her. Now an Irish barmaid, that was something else. She could envision that all too clearly. Unexpected jealousy taunted her.

  Startled by the absurdly out of place and purely feminine reaction, she looked up to find Chaney watching her. Fortunately he didn’t appear to have picked up on her thoughts. Instead he seemed torn with indecision. Finally he shrugged half-apologetically and started off in the same direction Cal had taken. He was partway across the yard before he turned with obvious reluctance and came back.

  “You might’s well take off,” he said. He sounded hopeful.

  Unwilling to accept defeat, Marilou shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not until he promises to follow up on his grandmother’s letter.”

  Chaney squinted at her curiously, his action emphasizing the deep furrows in his tanned brow. “You ain’t family, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You ever met him before?”

  “No.”

  “You one of them paid do-gooders? Like a social worker or some such?”

  “I told you. I work for the post office and I’m not even here in an official capacity.”

  “Then I just don’t get it. What difference does it make to you what he does?”

  “His grandmother is dying,” she repeated, incredulous at his lack of understanding. Was she the only one left in the world who cared about family?

  “This might be their only chance to meet and reconcile. Doesn’t that matter to you?” she demanded. “You could help, you know. Maybe he’d listen to you.”

  Chaney shuffled and looked uncomfortable. He slapped his hat against his thigh, then shoved it back on his head. Staring at his feet, he mumbled, “Ain’t no reason I can see for me to get involved. The world would be a whole lot better off if more people just minded their own business. Hell, I don’t even know the woman.”

  “But…”

  He persisted. “Apparently he don’t know her either.”

  “Then it’s about time he did, before it’s too late and he has to deal with a whole lot of guilt.”

  Chaney seemed to get a big kick out of that idea. “I ain’t known him all that long, but I don’t think Cal Rivers is the kind of man to be much troubled by guilt.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Chaney’s mouth gaped at the sarcasm. Obviously he considered Cal Rivers’ behavior to be above reproach. “Okay,” he said finally, “so let’s just say that you ain’t going till he agrees to this.” He regarded her now with open curiosity. “How you gonna talk him into it?”

  Marilou frowned and admitted, “If I knew that, I’d be out there after him instead of wasting my vacation in this chair. I’ll think of something, though. I can promise you that.”

  “Maybe you ought to go think on it someplace else. He sees you here later, he’s likely to be madder than an old wet hen. He ain’t the kind of man who likes to be pushed.”

  “What kind of man is he?” she asked, seizing the opening and hoping for clues that would help her plot a new strategy.

  “One who wouldn’t like me gossiping about him.”

  “It wouldn’t be gossip,” she said. At the lift of Chaney’s bushy gray brows, she added, “Not exactly.”

  “You put whatever name you like on it, I ain’t saying a thing. He owns this place, and I’d like to hang on to my job.”

  “So, he’s tough.”

  “Listen here, missy, you didn’t hear me say nothing like that.”

  She grinned innocently. “I could have sworn I did.”

  “Women!” He threw up his hands in disgust. “You just go on and think what you like. I’ll be getting back to work now.”

  “Thanks for the talk.”

  “We didn’t have no talk. If you say we did, I’ll call you a liar.”

  “I suspect your boss is already calling me far worse,” she said, surprised by the odd little pang of regret that crept through her. Why should it bother her what a jerk thought?

  Chaney muttered something unintelligible, then said grudgingly, “If you want any more of that lemonade, there’s a pitcher full in the refrigerator. I suppose you might’s well help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Surprised by the gesture, she nodded. She considered whether it would be wise to probe any more, then decided to risk the one question that had been nagging at her. She knew that the old hand could answer it, if he was of a mind to.

  “Chaney?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Who’s Lady Mary? Would she have any influence with him?” She tried to inject the question with nothing more than innocent curiosity, but it seemed to reverberate with hidden meanings. Maybe a man wouldn’t notice them, she thought hopefully.

  Chaney obviously did. She caught the faint suggestion of a sly smile tugging at his usually sour, down-turned mouth. “Why, ma’am, I’m not so sure that’s something I ought to be discussing with you,” he said evasively. “I suppose if you get real curious, sooner or later you’ll find out for yourself.”

  Marilou had a feeling that there was the tiniest suggestion of implied criticism in his comment, but there was also a dare. Somehow she knew that before the day was out, she’d take him up on it.

  Once she’d been left on her own, Marilou decided that a little more lemonade might help her quench this odd, insatiable thirst that had developed the minute she had laid eyes on Cal Rivers with his gray-blue eyes, pitch-black hair and powerful masculine body that belonged astride a horse.

  Or a woman.

  Dear heavens, where had that wayward thought come from? Foolish question. The man’s sex appeal was practically branded on him. He radiated sexual energy the way Florida Power and Light sent out electricity. It was just what they did. That didn’t mean she had to fall under his spell. She refused to behave that predictably.

  She hurriedly poured herself another glass of the thirst-quenching lemonade, then wandered into the living room, looking around with blatant curiosity at the prissy furniture that didn’t fit at all the man she’d just met. It must have come with the house, or else this Lady Mary had done the decorating with all the dark wood and old-fashioned brocades. She wandered on, poking her head into other rooms as she went. Snooping, her mother would have said disapprovingly. Marilou preferred to think of it as reconnaissance. She needed to know everything she could about Cal Rivers if she was going to talk him into doing what was right.

  “You know I’m right about this, Mama,” she murmured aloud, just in case her mother was someplace where she could see her.

  Admittedly she was finding her survey fascinating. Cal’s office, when she discovered it, was more what she’d expected. With its worn leather furniture and fox hunt prints, it looked comfortable and well-used, exactly like the kind of place a single man would choose to spend a quiet evening. There was even an old stone-hearth fireplace that wo
uld be just right on one of Central Florida’s chilly winter nights. There was another row of empty beer bottles on the window sill behind the huge oak desk. Magazines were scattered helter-skelter on the hardwood floor, an incongruous mix of business publications and farm magazines plus some days-old copies of the Racing Form. Shirts had been tossed over the backs of chairs…and forgotten, judging from the barnyard smell of them.

  Psychologically incapable of remaining idle for long, Marilou stacked the magazines by topic, dumped the beer bottles into the trash can, then gathered up the shirts and carried them into the kitchen in search of a washing machine. It occurred to her as she tossed them into the brand-new automatic washer that she was overstepping Chaney’s hospitality.

  Overstepping, hell. These were giant strides, she thought with a twinge of conscience.

  Still, maybe they’d both be so grateful to have clean shirts they wouldn’t complain. Then she recalled the hard expression in Cal’s eyes just before he’d stalked off. He’d label it meddling and she knew it. Gratitude would probably be the last thing on his mind. She’d be lucky if he didn’t have her charged with breaking and entering and then hauled off to jail. Now that would be an adventure.

  Even at the risk of incurring his wrath, though, she had to keep busy. She always thought better when her hands were occupied, and right now she needed to think of a compelling argument to convince Cal to go see his grandmother. Frankly, though, she couldn’t imagine anything much more important than the woman’s impending death. What kind of hard-hearted creature could ignore that?

  She paused, the cup of detergent suspended over the washer and recalled their conversation from start to finish. For just a heartbeat, she could have sworn she’d seen something vulnerable in those cool-as-gun-metal eyes of his. If only she could reach that part of him again, make him see that it was time to let bygones be bygones. He had a gentle, thoughtful side. She was sure of it.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”