by Janet Dailey
“Where is Chatty Cathie?” Ty pulled out his chair and sat down.
His baby sister had been born during troubled times for him. For a while, he had envied the absence of discipline given her, and had even been a little jealous of the affection his father had displayed so openly to this newest member of the family. But the jabbering tyke had a way of growing on a person. Affection had eventually replaced his resentment.
“Your father took her with him this afternoon, so she didn’t have a nap,” his mother replied and began ladling creamed asparagus soup from the tureen. “She was so cranky and tired I fixed her an early supper and put her to bed.”
Even as the bowls of soup were passed, the oppressive tension persisted. It clung to the edges of the idle conversation his parents exchanged. Both were trying to act normally in front of him, but the falseness was apparent to him.
This moment had been coming for a long time. Nothing was going to make it easier. If he had learned anything in his life, it was that postponing something unpleasant didn’t make it go away. Ty let his spoon settle to the bottom of his soup bowl.
“I had a letter from the University of Texas today.” His voice sounded level and calm, but a hush fell over the room, as if someone had walked in with a loaded gun. “I’ve been accepted there this fall.”
“We . . . saw the letter and wondered what it said,” his mother admitted as her glance ricocheted off his father’s face.
Ty’s glance moved over both of them, fully aware they were poles apart on this issue, which put him awkwardly in the middle.
“I know you’ve always wanted me to go to college, Mom,” Ty admitted. “It’s always been very important to you.” There was little expression on his father’s face, except for a twitch in the muscle running along his jaw when Ty addressed him. “You told me once that I had a helluva lot to learn if I expected to run this ranch someday. At the time I didn’t realize how much. But even if I learned for a lifetime, there are men here on this ranch that would always know more than I do.”
“I’m glad you realize that,” his father murmured in satisfaction.
“I think some of them were born knowing it.” There was a faintly wry twist of his mouth as he expelled a long breath. “I’ve thought about this a lot before I got that letter today. I’ll never know as much about ranching and cattle and this land as most of the men on the Triple C. Since I can’t, I’ve decided that I should learn things they don’t know. I’m going to enroll at the University of Texas this September.”
“That’s your decision?” his father asked in an unbearably flat tone.
Ty wondered if his father realized how difficult it had been for him to reach that decision. He fought the feeling that he was letting his father down, because he felt his decision was the right one even if his father didn’t. So it was with a grim determination that Ty met his father’s hard look.
“Yes, that’s my decision,” he stated and managed not to let his gaze falter under the probing eyes of his father.
Then Chase looked away. “Pass me that basket of crackers, Maggie.” With the terse request, he closed the subject to further discussion. Wisely, his mother had not voiced her approval of Ty’s decision. It would have only increased the feeling of estrangement at the table.
After dinner was finished, his father didn’t linger over coffee, as was his custom. Ty listened to the footsteps advancing toward the den and pushed his chair away from the table to follow him.
“Ty.” His mother made a quick protest.
He paused short of the door and turned. “I’ve got to talk to him.” Ty couldn’t stand the silence that had come between them. His father’s acceptance was too important to him.
His mother’s expression told him she disagreed, but she only cautioned him, “Don’t let him talk you out of going.”
A silent and humorless laugh came from his throat in the form of a loud breath. “I’m half Calder and half O’Rourke, and I don’t know which of you is more stubborn once you get your mind to something. Doesn’t that make me twice as determined to carry out my decision?” Ty looked at her, saddened, yet unwavering in his stand. “You didn’t talk me into it, Mom. And he isn’t going to talk me out of it.”
When Ty entered the den, his father was standing in front of the massive stone fireplace. One hand rested on the mantel while he stared into the cold and blackened hearth. There was a slumped curve to his shoulders that told Ty just how hard his father was taking his decision. He was glad, at this minute, that he couldn’t see his face.
“Dad—” Ty began and watched the wide shoulders and muscled neck stiffen. “I know you’re disappointed in me.”
“Disappointed!” The man whose word was law on the Triple C dropped the supporting hand from the mantelpiece and swung half around to stand tall and erect, his body angled toward Ty. A struggle was going on inside him, a battle between his emotions and his control of them. When he spoke again, his voice was contained, yet taut. “I promised your mother I’d abide by your decision, and I will. But I can’t agree with something I know is wrong.”
“I know that.” Ty nodded stiffly.
“There’s some sense to the reasons you gave,” his father grudgingly conceded. “But they won’t stand up.” His mouth came together, disappearing entirely into a compressed line, taut with anger. “Dammit, Ty! Do you think I was never eighteen? I was like you! I thought I knew more than my father! Most of the time I listened to the warnings he gave me with a smile on my face. I thought he was exaggerating. Hell, I didn’t know the half of it. And you don’t comprehend any of it!”
The sweeping condemnation stung Ty into defending himself. “I understand more than you give me credit for.”
“Do you?” his father challenged harshly. “Look at the map.” He thrust a pointing finger at the hand-drawn map mounted in a frame and hung on the wall behind the large desk. Years had yellowed the canvas on which the boundaries of the Triple C Ranch were crudely outlined. “It’s old, Ty. It’s old, but it’s still accurate. Do you have any idea how many big ranches there were then? Today, there’s less than a handful that can still boast they exist—and most of those are owned by some absentee corporate investors. Those other ranches had their glory days. But the Calders lasted because they made a commitment to the land and all that lived on it, livestock and people.”
“I understand that,” Ty insisted with a gathering frown of irritation and resentment. He didn’t need a sermon. Over the last three years, he’d heard more preaching than anything else. “I am capable of thinking for myself.”
“Then you’d better start thinking,” his father advised. “A place this size is vulnerable to outside forces, and it will collapse like a house of cards if the man heading it doesn’t know what he’s doing. And you’d better damned well understand that! If the core of something is weak, it can’t support what surrounds it.”
“I’m standing up to you for something I believe is right,” he declared through his clenched teeth. “Dammit, that has to mean something.”
“I’ll give you that,” his father conceded without taking back anything he’d said. “But I know this land will make you into the kind of man this ranch needs. And you’ll never convince me that a bunch of goddamned professors are going to do that. I won’t stand in your way, Ty,” he breathed heavily, “but I’m not going to lift a hand to help you either. You aren’t going to learn about life in a classroom. It’s out there!” His finger jabbed in the direction of the window.
“In time, I’ll prove to you I’m right.” Ty was hurt by his father’s lack of support, but he didn’t let it show.
“By God, you’ll have to.”
Ty’s chin dipped a fraction of an inch lower as he turned to leave the room. The firmness of his conviction was shaken, but he was still determined to go through with his decision. His stubborn pride insisted that he prove he was right.
4
At summer’s end, upwards of two hundred people—ranch hands and their fam
ilies—gathered at the Triple C headquarters to have a going-away party for Ty before he headed for college.
There weren’t any speeches, but there was a lot of back-slapping and some good-natured ribbing about college girls. Cold beer flowed freely from kegs, youngsters stealing sips from paper cups left unattended. Outdoor buffet tables were covered with a variety of salads, casseroles, pies, and cakes supplied by the wives of the ranch hands.
Tucker, the bald-headed ranch cook, struggled to maintain his supremacy against the invasion of women and finally retreated to reign over the barbecue fires with a long-pronged fork and a carving knife. There was a constant ebb and flow of people to and from the tables of food set up beneath a large canvas tent with its sides rolled up to permit access from all directions. Makeshift picnic tables of board planks atop sawhorses were scattered around under what shade trees were available.
Those who weren’t eating or drinking had gathered at the large corral by the barn. Part of the afternoon-long festivities included some friendly competition among the cowboys, matching their skills in ranch-related events such as team roping, cutting cattle, tug-of-war on horseback, and breakaway roping, and in gymkhana events such as barrel racing and pole bending.
Ty had participated in many of the events with no hopes of winning, but as the guest of honor, his active involvement was expected. At least he had the satisfaction of making a respectable showing in the events he rode in.
One of the cowboys swung the gate open as Ty walked his speckle-faced sorrel out of the corral and finished coiling his rope after taking his turn in the breakaway roping competition. It differed from straight calf roping in that the cowboy was only required to rope the calf and let the loop snug up around its neck, then throw the rope away. The calf wasn’t thrown and tied.
Outside the corral, he circled his horse around to the fence to watch the next contestant. After he tied the coiled rope in place on his saddle, Ty hooked a leg on the saddle horn and leaned on it. There was always an odd comment or two directed at him by the participants or spectators on the sidelines; most of the time, they didn’t require more than a nod or a brief smile in response.
Sid Ramsey was in the corral, hazing loose livestock back to the catch pens. During a break in the action, he stopped his horse close to the corral fence where Ty sat on his horse.
“So you’re pulling out for the big state of Texas, huh?” he said to Ty with the corners of his mouth pulled down.
“That’s right.” Ty nodded. “I’ll be flying out with Dyson when he leaves the day after tomorrow.”
Saddle leather creaked as the cowboy leaned to the side and spat at the ground near his horse’s feet. “One thing about it, me and the rest of the boys won’t have to be carrying your load of work anymore. You always was a sorry excuse for a cowboy.”
“Hell, look what I had for teachers,” he countered with a mocking grin. He understood the derogatory comment was Ramsey’s backhanded way of saying he’d be missed. It was part of that peculiar code of these men to speak with roughness when their feelings were deep. And the ones who gave him the hardest time were also the ones who seemed the sorriest that he was leaving, Ty had discovered.
Ramsey chortled, then touched a hand to his hat and spurred his horse toward the burst of action in the corral. A tightness gripped Ty’s throat as he suddenly realized he was going to miss all this. He peered up from his hat brim at the endless expanse of open sky overhead. The sights and sounds became important—the slap of hooves on hard ground, the grunt of running animals, the clanking of spurs, the rank smell of manure and the sweat of bodies. There was a oneness here, a working partnership between man, animals, and the land. It seemed difficult to remember that he’d known any other kind of life.
There was a burst of applause and shouts of approval among the spectators around the corral arena. Ty swung his attention back to the action. A slim young rider was circling back to retrieve the rope presently being removed from the neck of a sturdy calf.
“Hot damn! Did you see that?” the cowboy on his left exclaimed. “I’ll bet she did that in five seconds flat.”
When the rider turned in the saddle and Ty saw the smiling face, he instantly recognized Jessy Niles. He’d only seen her a few times since he’d worked the calving sheds at South Branch two years ago. She hadn’t changed much, except to grow taller. He realized she was even more of a tomboy now.
As she rode to the corral gate, he looked at the horse she was riding and his interest quickened. The rangy blue-gray buckskin had the unmistakable lines of Cougar breeding, the stallion that had sired some of the best cow horses on the place. Ty was almost certain the grulla was Mouse. He’d been one of the first riders on that horse’s back. Vaguely he recalled it being mentioned that Mouse had been added to the remuda at South Branch.
“Jessy,” Ty called to her as she rode through the gate. Unhooking his leg, he pushed the toe of his boot into the stirrup and waited while she swung the mouse-gray horse around and eased it in beside his horse. “Looks like that was the winning time.”
“I got lucky.” But she was wearing a proud look that seemed natural to her strong features and widely drawn mouth. She smoothed a hand over the horse’s arched neck. “Mouse still doesn’t have this roping business down pat. He’s so quick out of the starting gate that most of the time he runs past the calf. I had to throw my loop in a hurry and hope the calf ran into it. It did.”
“I helped break that horse,” Ty said. “I wondered whose string he was in.”
“He’s in my dad’s string, but he’s been letting me work him this summer.” When she looked at him, Jessy searched his expression to find something that might confirm or deny the rumors she’d been hearing.
In spite of the large size of the Triple C, news and gossip had a way of traversing the distances in a hurry. Everyone took special interest when the topic was a Calder. Most of the time Jessy didn’t care much about listening to gossip about other people’s problems. Even though she recognized the position of the Calders in the ranch hierarchy, she wasn’t particularly interested in their comings and goings—until she had met Ty. Jessy never attempted to reason out why it was so. But Ty was closer to her own age and he was the only member of the Calder family she’d spent much time with. She would have vigorously denied having a crush on him, but all the makings for one were present, even if she did consider the crushes of her contemporaries silly and stupid.
“Why are you leaving here?” Boldly inquisitive and unconscious of it, Jessy questioned him.
“I’m going to college.”
“I know that,” she retorted with calm patience. “But why are you going?” Without taking a breath, Jessy went on. “I know some of the boys have been riding you hard since you came here. You aren’t quitting, are you, Ty?” Her face looked earnest and a little worried.
His smile came slowly, breaking across his strongly cast features. “No, I’m not quitting, Jessy,” he reassured her, amused by this concern from one so young.
Masking her relief, Jessy adjusted the length of rein in her grip. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were coming back,” she replied with a forced air of nonchalance. “I gotta be finding my dad so we can get these horses loaded in the trailer.” She pulled steadily on the bit to back the mouse-gray horse away from the corral fence. “See ya.”
“See ya,” Ty returned and watched her deftly guide the horse out of the close quarters with a combination of rein and leg movements. It wasn’t fair to call her homely, but Jessy certainly wasn’t a pretty thing either.
“Hey, Ty!” somebody shouted to him. “Your ma’s looking for you!”
Lifting an acknowledging hand in the general direction of the voice, he reined the speckle-faced sorrel away from the fence and walked it toward the open tent in the ranch yard.
The fast-moving airplane laid a shadow on the rolling humps of grassland below. To the west, there was a collection of small, dark squares. They looked like they might be the buildings
of the South Branch camp. Ty strained his eyes to see them, but they were too far away and the plane was traveling too fast. He felt the pull of the land calling to him and smiled faintly when he recalled how Jessy had been worried about whether he was coming back.
There was little to recommend it. He had cursed the bitter cold of winter and bitched about the broiling heat of summer and sworn at the rainless sky and griped about the yellow gumbo that caked his boots when it did rain. But it was home. He had struggled so long and so hard to become a part of it that it was strange to discover that now it felt a part of him.
The plane rushed toward the rimrock country of the Yellowstone River, leaving the southern boundary of the Triple C. Ty turned away from the small window and settled back in his seat, glancing at the older man who was going over the latest drilling reports on the Broken Butte site.
E. J. Dyson was somewhat of a stranger to him. Ty knew very little about him, except that the man and his partner had business dealings with his father. Ty had sat in on a few meetings and had been impressed with the man’s cool reasoning and intelligence, but his personal life was a mystery.
There was a degree of fascination in Ty’s attitude toward Dyson. Undoubtedly he was a power-equal of his father, but Dyson lived in the fast-paced world of jets, corporate conglomerates, and high finance. Not by any stretch of the imagination would Ty describe him as soft or weak, despite his city living. Dyson lacked the physical presence of Chase Calder, but Ty wasn’t fooled by the slightness of the man’s unprepossessing build. Beneath that Texas flash of western clothes, there was a keenly astute businessman.
