Page 46 of Calder Country

“Tell me, Lucy. You can tell me anything.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “It’s . . . Webb. The other night he came into my room. He kissed me, and . . . put his hands on me. When I threatened to scream, he backed off. But he was laughing. He said he’d be back—and something about making it worth my time.” She was trembling, on the verge of breaking down in sobs.

Joseph’s grip tightened on her hand. He’d known the Calders all his life. Never had he imagined that Webb would take advantage of a young girl. But then he remembered Webb’s past—his illicit courtship of a young immigrant wife. Now Chase had made a move on young Maggie O’Rourke, who was barely out of her childhood. Maybe the trait was passed down from father to son. Or more likely, it was the Calder arrogance, the belief that they could take whatever they wanted.

“Who knows about this, Lucy?” he demanded. “Have you told your father?”

“I did. He was actually pleased. He said that Webb’s attention could work in our favor, especially if I let him get me . . . with child.” It was as if she could barely speak the words. “I can’t stay there, Joseph. I’ve got to get away.”

I could marry you, Lucy.

The words were poised on the tip of Joseph’s tongue, but caution and common sense held them back. He was too young to wed. And what about his dream of becoming a pilot? Marriage would mean the end of his freedom. He’d be stuck on the ranch, caring for his family. There had to be another way to help her.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked.

“I’ve got an aunt in Texas. If I could get there, she’d take me in and help me find work. But it’s a long way, and train fare is expensive. My father doesn’t give me any money—I think he knows I might try to run away. It’s not that he cares about me. He worships the wealth the Calders have—and he’s capable of using me to get a piece of it.”

“My family isn’t poor,” Joseph said. “Between the ranch and the sawmill, we Dollarhides probably have more cash in the bank than Webb does. Of course, it isn’t my money. My father controls it, and he hangs onto every cent.”

“Heavens, Joseph, I would never ask you for money,” Lucy said. “But if you insist on helping me, I promise to pay you back as soon as I get work. I’ll send you money every month until the loan is paid off—with interest of course.”

“Don’t worry about interest. How could I leave you at the mercy of men like your father and Webb Calder?”

“The Harvest Dance is this Saturday. If you can get me the money by then, I can leave that night.” She lowered her gaze. “Of course, you can always say no. This is my problem, not yours, Joseph.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “I love you, Lucy. If I were older, I’d ask you to marry me. But that will have to wait.” He drew her into his arms. “Will you wait for me?”

“Of course, I will! And I’ll write every week.” She raised her eager face for his kiss. Joseph’s heart drummed with a fragile happiness. But even as he lowered his lips to hers, one thought nagged at him, refusing to be still.

What if he’d talked his way into a promise he couldn’t keep?

CHAPTER TWELVE

COLUCCI WAS BACK AFTER HIS SON’S CHRISTENING. SO FAR, THERE’D been no mention of Ruby’s telephone call. Hopefully, the hotel maid had missed overhearing. But Colucci could be holding back, playing her like a cat with a mouse. That would be like him.

The strain was beginning to tell on Ruby. A rare glimpse in the mirror showed bloodshot eyes framed by shadows in a tense, tired face. She was grateful for the work that kept everyone busy at the farm and saved her from facing Colucci alone. A new shipment had appeared by camouflaged truck from its mysterious secret source. There would be no rest until every crate had been delivered and every cent of the money collected and turned in.

The two pilots were the busiest of all. Ruby and Mack would be living on coffee and sandwiches for most of the week, working on the planes, loading cargo, and catching a few hours of sleep when they could. Most of the flying was done in the hours before dawn, when there was barely enough light to see the landing strips. It was dangerous work for tired eyes and overtaxed brains. Having a third pilot would ease the workload. But there’d been no mention of bringing on more help.

Colucci had made out the roster. Ruby had been assigned to the Jenny—possibly a sign of Colucci’s displeasure. In the morning Mack would be taking a turn at the DH-4 and making the delivery to Mason at the Hollister Ranch. That was just as well, Ruby told herself. She and Mason were poison for each other. If she never saw him again, it would be safer for her and for him.

In the hour before dawn, Ruby and Mack finished their coffee, made a final inspection of their loaded planes, and prepared for takeoff. Ruby’s destination was familiar, a long but easy flight. Mack had practiced takeoffs and landings in the DH-4, but this would be his first delivery. Ruby could sense his excitement as he climbed into the newer plane to take off ahead of her.

Ruby gave him a wave. “Enjoy the flight!” she called.

He grinned, settled into the cockpit, and with a hand from the ground crew, started the engine. Ruby watched him taxi onto the runway and glide into the air. Then she pulled down her goggles and prepared to make her own flight in the Jenny.

* * *

The dawn air was chilly. Mason had lit a small fire to signal the plane and take the edge off the cold. Would Ruby be making the delivery? He remembered their last time together and that blistering kiss. It had been a mistake, giving in to the temptation of that lovely, sensual mouth. He knew better than to let it happen again. But how could he be sorry? How could any man regret the way he’d felt as he held her in his arms?

As he thrust his hands into his vest to warm them, his fingers touched the belt buckle in his pocket—the one he’d found in the ashes after burning out the cave. He’d almost forgotten it was there.

After scanning the sky and finding it empty, he took the buckle out of his pocket and studied it in the flickering light of the fire. He’d puzzled over it before, but the mystery remained.

The date of the rodeo suggested that the wearer was no longer young. But it was the initials, R.T., that struck a hidden chord. Why couldn’t he remember?

Mason’s thoughts were interrupted by the drone of an approaching plane. Even at a distance, he recognized the sound of the Rolls-Royce engine. The plane was the De Havilland. His pulse quickened. He dropped the buckle into his pocket, lit a stick of kindling from the fire he’d made, and used it to ignite the miniature blazes he’d laid along the runway.

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