by Janet Dailey
Jessy wandered down the cemented walkway, swept clean of all but a few wisps of straw. Her low-heeled sandals barely made any sound as she walked by the stalls, pausing occasionally to rub a velvet nose curiously thrust at her. A horse in the far-end stall whickered and shifted agitatedly. Immediately Jessy heard a low, soothing voice croon to it.
A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she guessed it was old Abe Garvey. It’d been a long time since she’d talked to him. He was quite a storyteller, always had tales to tell about the old days. She walked to the end stall and leaned on the board, careful to avoid the splintered edge.
“Hello,” she said to the dark figure bent low, brushing the leg of a liver-red sorrel. The man straightened up tall, and Jessy stiffened in recognition of Ty Calder. “I thought you were Abe.”
Ty’s eyebrow briefly quirked at being mistaken for a stooped and crippled old man; then he went back to his brushing. “Abe went home to get cleaned up for the party.”
“Oh. New horse?” Jessy was familiar with most of the horses on the ranch. This sorrel wasn’t one she’d be likely to forget. It had good lines and an intelligent head.
“The filly’s my wedding present to Tara. I was just getting her slicked down so I could give her to Tara this afternoon,” he explained.
“Speaking of your bride, where is she?”
“Up at the house, I imagine.” He patted the horse’s sleek neck and came to stand beside the manger, opposite Jessy.
Her eyes studied him, scanning his features for some sign married life had changed him. He and his bride had gone straight from their Texas wedding on a three-week honey-moon. But there was no settled look about him, and his lazy eyes didn’t give her any hint about what he might be thinking.
“You went off and got married so fast I never did have a chance to tell you congratulations,” she offered.
“Thanks.” His gaze wandered over her face, as if trying to find something that bothered him. “When are you going to get yourself a man, Jessy?”
“What makes you think I need one?” She was stung that he should ask her such a question.
His laugh was dry and throaty. “You always were self-sufficient, even when you were a kid.” He swung a boot onto the manger and vaulted to the other side, landing next to her. The filly spooked, pulled back on her lead rope. “Easy, girl,” Ty quieted the horse; then he turned to Jessy. “Guess it’s time I got washed up and changed for the party.” He was wearing a pair of old Levi’s and a faded plaid shirt with the cuffs rolled back.
“See you later.”
Ty started to walk past her, then stopped. “You’re wearing a dress,” he said. “That’s what’s different about you.” He looked her over, discovering a female shape that was usually hidden by man-style clothes. “It looks good on you.”
“I know it.”
His brow drew together, creasing slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Jessy,” he murmured.
“You’ve got a wife now. It’s her you need to understand,” Jessy reminded him and watched him draw back slightly, then walk away.
“Where’s Tara?” Ty asked as he entered The Homestead.
“She’s still upstairs,” Cathleen informed him. “I don’t know what she’s doing, but she’s sure been making a lot of noise.”
Taking the steps two at a time, Ty went up the stairs and straight to the master bedroom. When he entered, Tara was standing in the middle of the room, tapping a finger against her mouth and contemplating a chair. She was wearing a filmy yellow peignoir from her trousseau.
“Good morning, honey,” she greeted him almost absently, sparing him no more than a glance.
“What are you doing?” There was a degree of indulgence in his look as he crossed to her. Tousled from bed and without a scrap of makeup, she was still the most desirable woman he’d ever seen.
“I’m trying to decide where to put this chair,” she replied and pushed his hands away when he tried to slip them around her waist. “Don’t, Ty. I’m trying to work this out.”
“You’ve been rearranging the furniture,” he observed with a glance around the room. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for a party.”
“It won’t hurt if we’re late.” She impatiently waved aside his reminder. Just as suddenly, she was turning and grabbing both his hands. “You don’t know how good I feel.” She looked around the spacious room with a swelling pride. “This is our own private corner of the house, completely ours. I can hardly wait to start fixing it up.”
“You’ll have to wait, because you have to get ready for the party. It was very generous of my parents to give us the master bedroom with its adjoining sitting room,” he agreed and changed the grip of their hands to pull her close enough to kiss.
After a brief touching, she drew back. “You smell of horses.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’d better go shower before I smell of them, too.” The drone of an airplane’s engine sounded outside the window. “That must be Daddy and Stricklin.” She dashed to the window. “Remind me to have him ship that antique secretary up here. It will (it perfectly in this corner.”
Sheriff Potter had found a place in the shade where a breeze blowing in from the river could reach him. From his chair, he had a view of the tent and the wood pits, the cluster of tables, and most of the crowd. Without exerting himself, he could keep an eye on just about everything that went on. Thin-chested and wide-hipped, he was sprawled over the chair, his legs stretched in front of him with his feet crossed. The hair on his head had thinned to white wisps. Always on the edge of laziness, age had slowed him down still more.
Although he observed Chase Calder’s approach, he neither straightened nor shifted his position. He continued sucking at his teeth, occasionally poking a toothpick between one gap or another. He waited until Calder had stopped in front of him before he bothered to nod.
“Glad you could make it, Potter.” An empty chair was by the trunk of the shade tree. Chase brought it around and sat down.
“Wouldn’t have missed the feed.” The sheriff dug at his teeth again, then sucked out the bit of food. “I wanted to see the boy’s gal, too. I’ve known four Calders in my time. Wonder if I’ll be around to see the fifth one born.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Chase murmured dryly. The old man had a way of conserving energy and keeping himself going long after most people figured he was through.
“I’ve seen a lot.” He slid him a look. “Been smart enough to forget most of it, too.” The toothpick was left sticking out of his mouth to be rolled around and chewed on. “That engineering fella Belton that’s got his trailer parked there by Sally’s? I managed to do some backtracking on his company. Found out who hired him.”
The initial check had come back more than two months earlier, proving the man to be reputable. Since no trouble had been reported, Chase had pushed the matter to the back of his mind. The sheriff obviously hadn’t.
Chase glanced at him, mildly interested. “Who was it?”
“Another Texas outfit. A company outa Fort Worth, named Dy-Corp.” He continued to watch the crowd with the ease of one accustomed to watching the world go by. “That’s the same company that drilled them oil wells on your land, ain’t it? Your son’s new father-in-law owns it, I believe.”
“Yes.” Chase turned his gaze to the crowd and searched out the Texan. He didn’t recall Dyson mentioning that he was planning any more drilling in the area.
“Remember that old Stockman place? Some company back east owns it and leases a bunch of federal graze. Dyson cut a deal this past June and leased it lock, stock, barrel, and mineral rights, includin’ that government land.” He chewed on the toothpick and flipped it to the other corner of his mouth as if his teeth got tired of holding it on the one side. “Just got one old buzzard on the place. Belton goes in and out every day. I don’t know what’s goin’ on in there. It’s real secret. But it ain’t oil he’s hoping to find.”
“Water would be more valuabl
e to him.”
There was a long pause. “I see O’Rourke’s here, skulkin’ around the barn,” the sheriff observed. “Queer fellow.”
Chase followed the direction of the sheriffs gaze and located the slim, lanky man, leaning against the corner of the stable barn. He was like a coyote, curiosity bringing him close enough to see what was going on, yet with open space behind him so he could bolt and run.
“He does a lot of riding.” Arch Goodman had reported on the frequency of fresh tracks crossing onto Calder land from the Shamrock. So far, there hadn’t been any trouble. “It seems he can’t stand being hemmed in anymore.”
“Sorta like a wild animal that’s been caged for a spell an’ set free.” Potter nodded his understanding. “Always gotta keep movin’ now.”
“O’Rourke was always a loner. Never wanted to fit in,” Chase concluded.
“Now, that’s a pair to keep your eye on—Dyson and Bulfert.” The toothpick was taken out of his mouth as the sheriff focused thoughtfully on the two men, talking amiably amidst the crowd. “Yes, sir, Bulfert’s the best money can buy, and he’s been bought more than once. I bet he’s turned more political tricks than a whore. And he’s gone through his money ’bout as fast as one.” There was another pause. “I heard he’s retiring after this term. Wonder when he’s going to check to see how well his pockets are lined.”
“That sounds like a warning.” Chase studied him, trying to read between the lines.
“Just an observation.” The sheriff almost managed a tired smile. “Observing people is ninety percent of my business. I let the young fools chase the speeders at a hundred miles an hour and bring in the mean drunks. No, I just watch. That’s how I’ve stayed sheriff so long—by watchin’ and knowin’. I’m just passin’ on to you what I see . . . for whatever good it might do you.”
“I appreciate it.”
“That partner of Dyson’s—what’s his name?” The sheriff cocked his head toward Chase. “That tall, pale-haired fella with glasses.”
“Stricklin.”
“Stricklin.” He repeated the name with a kind of satisfaction. “He’s got clean hands. You ever noticed how clean they are?” He shook his head briefly. “I never trust a man with clean hands. I always wonder why he washes ’em so much.” With a weary effort, he uncrossed his feet and made a project out of sitting up. “Guess I oughta pay my respects to the bride and groom and get back on the job.”
“See you around, Potter.” Chase stayed in the chair when the old man got up to shuffle down to the milling crowd. A lot had been said that warranted some thinking.
“Ty”—Tara leaned against his side—“who’s that tall girl in the flowered sundress? Is she somebody important?”
There was only one tall girl he could see. “That’s Jessy Niles. She works here.”
“What does she do?”
“She works cattle with the men.” He slid his wife an amused look and observed her expression of surprise.
“She isn’t that grubby girl I saw on the roundup?” Tkra frowned, not believing it was possible.
“The same.” Ty studied the girl under discussion with lazy speculation.
Always level and direct, Jessy had eyes that could look right into the heart of a man. She was a serious and silent girl, and Ty was never quite sure what lay behind that solid composure, whether it was indifference or speculation or a more closely guarded feeling. There had been eruptions when she’d come out fighting.
The faint smile on his face began to fade the longer he watched her. For all her slim height, there was nothing angular about her. When sun rays became trapped in the mane of her hair and toasted it gold, Ty noticed the proud way she held her head and the innate strength in her features. Her body was supple-shaped, with a graceful way of stirring when she moved. She was completely woman, a fact he acknowledged with slow surprise. He’d seen her too long in a man’s setting, and he suspected there was more to her that a man might not notice unless he studied her long and hard.
The discovery vaguely unsettled him. Pulling his eyes back, Ty looked sideways at Tara to search her expression. He found her watching him with cool interest. Ty quickly smiled to hide the idle interest that had been sparked.
“How would you like to see your wedding present?” His question banished all else from her mind, and the matter of Jessy Niles was forgotten.
Outside the stable, the wind howled, blowing a late-November snow across the yard. The bay mare in the large box stall nosed at the fresh hay in the manger, her ears swiveling restlessly, picking up every strange and new sound. She kept eyeing the coated man-figures studying her, their smells still new to her. She lipped at the hay.
“She’s settlin’ in,” the wrangler Wyatt Yates predicted.
“We’ll have to keep her in through the winter,” Ty stated. “She’s Texas-bred and not used to this kind of cold.”
The mare was more than just a new horse. She was another addition to the brood-mare herd that Ty was establishing. Good cow horses with savvy and breeding were hard to come by. The Triple C had always done a limited amount of raising its own horses for ranch work, but Ty had convinced his father the operation needed to be expanded and a higher quality of horses bred.
Some of the Cougar-bred mares made good foundation stock. In the last two months, Ty had purchased three more mares, all of which had proved their cow sense as working horses and added their bloodlines to the herd. He was still searching for two top stallions. Until he found what he wanted, he planned to send the mares off the ranch to be bred to a selected group of stallions.
This search had meant a lot of trips, with more to come. Tara always went with him, invariably turning it into a combination of business and pleasure. If Ty was honest, he would admit that he enjoyed showing her off, knowing he was the envy of every man for having such a beautiful and loving wife.
Leaving the new horse in Yates’s care, Ty left the stables and bucked the wind to reach the pickup. It was only a few hundred yards to The Homestead, waiting with lights shining in the gloaming of a winter dusk, but a man never walked when he could ride in this country.
On the porch, Ty stomped the snow off his boots on the bristled mat outside the front doors, then walked in. The house had a silent and empty feel to it. Cat was away at boarding school, which naturally made the house seem quieter than normal. Unbuttoning the sheepskin-lined suede jacket, he made a detour past the study and into the living room without seeing anyone. A glance into the dining room and kitchen found them equally empty, although there was the smell of something cooking.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor with slow deliberation and walked to the private quarters he shared with his wife. The two rooms were slowly being transformed by Tara, the heavier pieces of furniture moved out in favor of daintier ones. The four-poster bed had been replaced by a canopied king-sized one, pleated and draped in gold satin. New drapes at the windows, carpeting—something was always being added or changed. Ty was never sure what to expect when he walked in.
One table lamp was turned on a low setting, barely lighting the sitting room. After coming from the bright hall, it took him a second to adjust to the dim light. As he took off his hat, he noticed the flickering of the candlelight. The small round table, one of the more recent additions to the room, was covered with a damask cloth and set with china and crystal for two, and a pair of red candles in silver holders swirled with yellow flames in the middle.
Thra came from the bedroom, paused in its light when she saw him. As his gaze ran over her, again Ty was stirred by her beauty, clad this night in a gown of burgundy velvet, her ebony hair tumbling in ropy curls, diamond teardrops dangling from the delicate lobes of her ears. She glided across the room to him and he reached for her, so small and beautiful.
But she pressed her hands firmly against his chest and gave him no more than a brief peck on the lips. “You’re all dirty. I have things all laid out for your shower.”
His hands continued to hold her
shoulders, not letting her go but not pressing an embrace, while he breathed in the fragrance of her hair, his attention slipping to her cleavage in the low-cut gown. “What’s this?” Ty meant all of it—the candles, the table set for two, the evening gown.
“Tonight we have the house to ourselves, so I decided to do something different and intimate instead of sitting at that big old dining-room table again.”
“To ourselves, hmm?” There was a darkening of desire in his eyes.
“Your father called around three to say he was going to be late and not to wait dinner. He was going to stop at some place called Sally’s and eat,” she explained, her reddened lips turning up to him provocatively. “When I gave your mother the message, she suggested that you and I might like to have dinner alone for a change.”
“Where did she go?” His hold on her shoulders slackened as a sudden tension rippled through him.
“She said she was going to surprise your father and meet him at Sally’s. She left about twenty minutes ago.” She noticed Ty’s sudden hesitation, the troubled grimness around his mouth. She tipped her head to the side. “Is something wrong?”
It was a long second before he heard her question. He loosened his grip, letting his hands fall to his sides. His interest in the intimate evening Tara had planned faded as Ty realized his mother must have guessed all along what was going on between his father and Sally Brogan.
“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing that he could do anything about. He turned from her. “I’d better take that shower.”
“I’ll open a bottle of red wine so it can have a chance to breathe.” Tara moved gracefully toward the table, unaware of the crosscurrents pulling at Ty. A gust of wind rattled a windowpane, and her mouth tightened at the howling, mournful sound. “I hate that wind.”
Ty didn’t hear her.
“What kind of heavy machinery?” Chase frowned at Sally’s description of the equipment loaded on a big semi-trailer rig that had stopped to ask directions to the Stockman Ranch. “Do you mean drilling equipment?”
