by Janet Dailey
“It’s no exaggeration,” the geologist insisted. “In places, it’s anywhere from a couple of feet to a couple of inches from the surface. A couple of bites with a power shovel and you’d find it.”
“Is that a fact?” Dyson mused, then shrugged it off. “As you say, Leo, there isn’t much of a demand for coal these days.”
“It’s a shame when it’s so plentiful,” he replied, then asked, “Is there anything else you wanted to go over with me?”
“No. That’s all.” Dyson continued looking through the report, barely glancing up as he dismissed the geologist.
After Grayson had left his office, Dyson stared at the same page of the report. All his life he’d been a hunch player. When the rest of the country had been converging on Texas and the other Sun Belt states, he had looked north and saw the next future in the western states. For a while he’d thought his hunch was wrong when the drilling hadn’t produced the big oil discovery he had expected.
He swiveled his chair around and aimed it at Stricklin. “Maybe the fortune to be had is in black diamonds instead of black gold,” he suggested. “What do you think?”
Stricklin gave a vague shrug as he paused to brush the nail shavings from his sharply creased slacks. “There have been rumblings from the Mideast about a possible embargo.”
The gloom and doom forecasters had been saying the world would run out of petroleum if attempts weren’t made to curtail consumption. Talk had never interested Dyson much except in relation to how it might affect the price of crude. But if the supply of petroleum were reduced, it would raise the demand for coal.
“I think it’s time we started learning more about coal,” he announced to Stricklin. “Cost of shipping to eastern markets, availability of railroads. Present and potential users, and how much competition we’ll get from the Appalachian coalfields.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
At the top of Dyson’s mental list, there was a name. E.J. pushed the buzzer of his intercom.
“Place a call to Senator Bulfert, and let me know when you have him on the line,” he instructed his secretary. The senator wasn’t the source for his answers, but Dyson had other uses for the unscrupulous politician.
“Now, Chase, you have to admit our Texas winter is an improvement on the weather you left behind,” E. J. Dyson chided as he passed him a tall glass of whiskey and soda.
Chase stood on the balcony of the luxurious condominium overlooking the Gulf. The tropical breeze blowing off the water was warm and humid.
“I admit it,” he acknowledged as he raised the iced drink.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you and Maggie are here.” E.J. stood beside him to admire the view. “I finally have the opportunity to return the hospitality you so graciously extended to me on numerous occasions.”
“Maggie and Cathleen were both suffering from a bad case of cabin fever. So we decided to fly down for a few days and see Ty.” On the beach below, he could see Cathleen busily darting all over the sand, picking up seashells and running to show them to Ty and add them to a small bucket. The third person with his son and daughter was a stunningly beautiful girl in a skimpy bikini, almost covered by a thin lace jacket. “You have a beautiful daughter, E.J.”
“I think your son has fallen in love with her.” He studied Calder over the rim of his glass to see his reaction. “So far, she’s led him on a merry chase.”
“Most women do.” It was a somewhat nasty answer, but Chase couldn’t explain to himself why he felt so negative.
“I can’t say that I’d have any objections if there was a matrimonial merger of our two families in the future,” Dyson remarked.
“Any objections would be premature. I don’t believe either one of them is old enough to know what they want,” he stated, throwing another glance at the young couple on the beach. “It isn’t the right time for Ty to be getting serious about any girl.”
“I quite agree,” the Texan drawled. “Both of them have college to finish. And I want Tara Lee to spend a year abroad touring Europe, so that youthful thirst for adventure will be satisfied before she settles down. Like you, I don’t want them rushing into anything. Unhappy marriages are hell, as you well know.”
“That’s right.” The offhand response belied Chase’s alertness as he tried to discern whether Dyson’s comment had been a general remark or an observation of his strained relationship with Maggie.
In that first glow of reborn love, they had both been guilty of believing that love alone would smooth out all their differences and eliminate the rough patches every marriage encounters. Maturity and experience had changed each of them, yet it wasn’t easy to let go of past images they’d had of each other. Sometimes it was difficult for him to relate to the sophisticated and highly educated woman Maggie had become. He was used to making decisions without consulting anyone, and she expected to be part of them. Adjusting to each other and adapting the old ways to their present needs required constant effort.
They had moments when things were right between them, but those times were becoming less and less frequent. As long as Ty wasn’t mentioned, they could pretend they didn’t have any problems, but it was impossible for them not to talk about their own son.
There was a certain bitter irony in the fact that Ty had been responsible for reuniting him with Maggie, and now he was responsible for dividing them. Chase kept clinging to the hope that when Ty finished college and came home for good, his own conflict with Maggie would die a natural death.
Once he’d thought he could endure a marriage without any love or understanding from his wife. Perhaps without both, he could have. Although he knew Maggie continued to love him, he had to go to Sally for the understanding he needed. So far, he hadn’t crossed that fine line of sexual faithfulness he observed.
“I’ve had the opportunity to become acquainted with your son since he has been attending college here in Texas,” Dyson remarked. “As you know, he’s occasionally spent weekends at my home in Fort Worth as well as here on Padre Island. He’s an intelligent and sensible young man. I’ve become fond of him, even though I know he only comes to see Tara Lee.”
“I’ve noticed Ty has a lot of respect for you, too.” It was a diplomatic answer to conceal his resentment of the admiration Ty had shown toward the freewheeling entrepreneur. Ty seemed to put a lot of stock in Dyson’s opinions. Chase had no complaints about his dealings with the man, but neither did he want his son using the man as a role model. That was the problem with college. It held up the wrong examples for emulation.
Chase didn’t wish to continue this discussion. “I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about the new oil and gas discoveries being made in Wyoming. It looks like you’ll have better luck there than you did in my country.”
“The wells at Broken Butte will show a respectable return, a little below average but still respectable. But, yes, the rewards appear to be much greater in the Wyoming basin.” Dyson nodded. “There’s nothing left to find on your land except coal. I understand eastern Montana is underlaid with coal deposits. If the petroleum reserves ever gave out, you’d wind up a rich man, Calder.”
“Maybe, but there wouldn’t be a ranch left worth having.” The idea was unthinkable. Chase bolted down a swallow of whiskey and soda to rid himself of the bad taste. “You only have to look at some of the coal states in the East to see how strip mines have desecrated the land.”
“That’s been true in the past,” Dyson conceded, choosing his words carefully. “But with modern reclamation methods, the land can be turned back to original use as cattle graze. There wouldn’t be any lasting damage.”
“Is that right?” Chase eyed the man with a cool, challenging lift of an eyebrow. “When you cut somebody open and take out half his guts, then sew him back up, he’s never the same again, and the scar never goes away. The homesteaders raped the land almost fifty years ago and it’s still little more than a desert with scrub grass and weeds. That isn’t my idea of graze.”
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“Chase Calder, how can you look at all that blue Gulf water and talk about grazing cattle?” Maggie chided him as she joined the two men on the balcony in time to catch the last of his remarks. “This is supposed to be a vacation, remember?”
“Sorry.” The corners of his mouth twitched with a smile as she came to stand beside him. Once he would have automatically put his arm around her, but it had ceased being a natural gesture.
“Let me fix you a drink, Maggie,” Dyson offered.
“I’ll just have some tonic water with a twist,” she said and leaned on the balcony railing to look down at the beach. “Cathleen is enjoying herself, isn’t she?”
A broken sand dollar was added to the collection of shells in the beach pail that sat in the sand by TV’s feet. The two adults had tired of walking the beach and spread their towels on the sand to watch the five-year-old.
“Go find some more,” Ty urged his little sister. Emerald-green ribbons were tied in bows to adorn her jet-black pigtails and match the bathing suit she wore. Cathleen was off with a dash, scampering back to the tideline with her pigtails bouncing.
“Your sister is a gorgeous thing, Ty,” Tara declared, silently marveling that a child could look so beautiful. “She takes after your mother so much.”
“What do you think of my parents?” His shoulders were angled toward her, bared to the sunlight that played over the ridged muscles.
“Your father is almost the way I imagined he would be,” she admitted. “But I was surprised to find your mother so sophisticated and modern. I guess I thought she’d be one of those dowdy, meek women who bake a lot.”
“I told you she was special,” Ty reminded her.
“Sons can be very prejudiced about their mothers,” she countered, then studied him absently. “She doesn’t look old enough to have a son your age.”
“She was very young when I was born, still in her teens.” It wasn’t the time or the place to go into details about the past.
A slight frown marred Tara’s forehead. “I always feel sorry for girls who become tied down with children when they are young. They miss so much.” Her expression smoothed out as she suddenly smiled at Ty, giving him a message and softening its impact. “It’s going to be a few more years before I tie myself down with children or a husband. There’s too much out there I want to see and do first.”
“Did it ever occur to you that a husband could see and do those things with you?” There was a taut edge to his question. She was a part of all of his dreams, yet she never seemed to consider including him in hers.
“A husband? Just one man? How boring!”
8
The needle on the gasoline gauge was flirting with the empty mark when Chase drove the pickup truck to the gas pumps that stood in front of the combination grocery store and post office of Blue Moon. Another dusty pickup Chase recognized as belonging to the ranch fleet was already parked at the pumps.
As he stepped from the truck, Ty walked out of the store and paused, bending his head to light a cigarette. Chase had a second to study his son unobserved, and he liked what he saw. The dusty and sun-faded jeans, the scuff-toed boots with run-down heels and black marks where the spurs usually rode, the worn-soft chambray workshirt, and the sweat-stained cowboy hat on his head, all were the clothes of a working cowboy. Ty’s hair had grown too long in back, but Chase was overlooking that.
Ty looked up as he shook out the match. There was a split second of hesitation when he saw his father; then he moved forward with an easy, rolling stride. Something seemed different about his father’s attitude, as if for the first time in a long while they were meeting on neutral ground. They had been silently at odds ever since he’d announced his decision to attend college. But, a second ago, he thought he’d caught a glimmer of approval in his father’s eyes.
“Did you just come from the Phelps ranch?” Ty vaguely remembered that, last night, his father had mentioned something about going there to look at some young horses.
“Yeah. I didn’t have enough gas to make it to The Homestead.” He paused as Emmett Fedderson squeezed his rotund body between the pumps and the pickup to fit the gasoline nozzle into the truck’s gas tank. He lifted a hand in silent greeting to the operator of the establishment, then let his attention return to Ty. “It’s your day off, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Ty narrowed his eyes against the cigarette smoke curling back into his face. “I was thinking about heading home so I can get cleaned up and have a bite to eat. Some of the guys are coming to Sally’s tonight.”
“A man named Jake owned the place when I was your age.” His father smiled absently. “It used to be the only action for miles.”
“Still is.” Ty grinned.
“It’s a far cry from the kind of night spots you’re used to at college.” It was a testing remark.
“It’s true a man doesn’t have to think too long or too hard about where he’s going to spend his Saturday night around here,” Ty conceded with an affectionate air. Chase relaxed slightly, relieved to hear that his son wasn’t yearning for more sophisticated excitement. “If you’re not in a rush to get back, we could go over to Sally’s and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“All right. I’ll pay Emmett for the gas and meet you there.” Inwardly he was pleased, despite his casual acceptance of the invitation from his son. It had been a long time since there’d been any closeness between them. Maybe they needed to sit down over a beer and get acquainted again.
The first of the Saturday-night crowd usually started wandering in about supper time, so when Ty moved his truck and parked it in front of the cafe-bar, other pickups were already on the scene. The early-evening patrons were usually older people and couples with young children. They came early to treat themselves to a meal out and stayed to have a few drinks. That group usually left to put the kids to bed about the time the partying crowd arrived.
When Ty walked in, most of the dining tables were filled. The jukebox was going full blast while youngsters raced back and forth between it and their parents, trying to wheedle more coins to keep the records playing. Amidst the clatter of silverware and loud music, there was laughter and lots of talking. The place had a warm atmosphere, comfortable and homey.
“Hello, Ty. What’ll you have?” Sally Brogan asked the question before he’d sat down at one of the bare drink tables. She was on her way to another table, carrying two plates in one hand, a third balanced on her forearm, and a fourth in her other hand.
“Two beers.” He pulled out a chair and sat in it, smiling at the friendly informality of the place.
Two more tables were served before Sally Brogan set down two foaming glasses of beer on their table. “How’s things been?” No matter how busy it got in the cafe, nothing ever seemed to ruffle the quiet composure of the red-haired woman.
“Fine.” Ty nodded. She was a pleasant woman, trim and attractive in a quiet way. She was everybody’s sister or mother, depending on their age.
“How’s college? I forgot what you’re majoring in.” She frowned.
“Agriscience and animal husbandry, with a minor in business administration. What else would a future rancher take?” he joked dryly.
’That’s already over my head.” She laughed in response.
“Sally?” The other woman waiting tables called to her. “DeeDee wants you in the kitchen.”
He took a drink of the cold draft beer and wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. Her reaction was typical of what he encountered when the subject of college was raised. Around here, especially in the ranching community, a person was considered lucky if he had a high-school diploma, so they weren’t comfortable talking about his advanced education. He’d been chided for using big words and jokingly told to talk in plain English, but there had been an underlying thread of seriousness in the jokes. For the most part, Ty had learned to suppress his knowledge in an attempt to put others at ease.
The café door opened and his father walked in. When he spi
ed where Ty was sitting, he wended his way through the tables and folded his broad frame into the chair opposite him.
“Damn, that looks good,” he said as he lifted the other glass. “Phelps talked me dry.” He referred to the owner of the ranch he’d visited that afternoon.
“Did he have any good horses in the bunch?” Ty asked.
“A couple, but he wanted too much for them.”
While they drank their beers, they discussed horses and exchanged opinions about ways of breeding out flaws. Chase drained his beer and set the glass on the table, hunching over it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked Ty. “This beer has reminded me I didn’t have lunch.”
“Yeah.” His hunger seemed to sharpen his senses, making the smells from the kitchen seem all the more tantalizing. It was almost like being around Tara, although Ty doubted that she would appreciate the comparison. “Do you suppose Mom has started dinner?”
“Why don’t you call and tell her not to fix anything?” His father leaned back in the chair, straightening and looking around the busy café. “I’ll have Sally throw a couple steaks on the grill for us. Is she here?”
“Last time I saw her, she was going into the kitchen.” He hadn’t noticed whether she’d come out.
“You go call your mother and I’ll put our order in.”
“Okay.” Ty pushed out of his chair and dug a hand into the pocket of his snug-fitting denims, pulling out a coin for the pay telephone on the wall back by the rest rooms. While he walked in one direction, his father went in another, heading for the kitchen.
Cathleen answered the telephone at The Homestead. He was obliged to talk to his six-year-old sister a few minutes before she finally called their mother to the phone.
“Is something wrong, Ty?” Her voice was tense with concern.
“Nothing’s wrong unless you’ve started dinner already,” he replied.
“Not yet. I was waiting for your father to come home before I started frying the chicken. Why? I suppose you aren’t going to be here for dinner tonight.” She answered her own question.
