Calder Born, Calder Bred

by Janet Dailey

  “I didn’t mean to drive away your company,” he lied.

  “That’s okay.” She calmly walked to the table, picking up the two empty cups. “I would have asked him to leave soon anyway.”

  Ty hesitated, then followed her into the kitchen with his cup. “This cabin sits a ways back from the others. It would be pretty hard for anyone from the camp to hear you if you needed help. Maybe you oughta change with somebody.”

  “I like being off by myself.” She rinsed out the cups and set them in the sink. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  The confident statement irritated him. “You’re always so damned sure you can handle anything,” he said roughly, emptying his cup in the sink and setting it with the others. “Just what would you have done if I hadn’t been here and Ballard had refused to leave when you asked him to go?”

  “I’d have gotten rid of him one way or another.” She shrugged indifferently at his hypothetical question.

  “Would you?” His mouth tightened at that calm self-assurance.

  “Yes.”

  Ty grabbed her arms, catching her off guard, and yanked her roughly against him. “How?” He pushed the challenge through his teeth. “Show me how.”

  His sudden grab had startled her. Before she could react, she was being crushed against him, her arms pinned between them. Fingers twisted into her hair to pull at the roots. In a few seconds, Ty had her virtually immobilized and at his mercy. But the heavy impulses driving him had no mercy.

  His mouth sawed across her lips with bruising force, cutting them apart. He was venting all his pent-up anger on her, using her roughly and liking the fight she gave him. In a war of strength, he was unquestionably the winner. No matter how she strained, she couldn’t avoid the hard thrust of his hips. He could feel her weakening, her body reluctantly relaxing against his. He eased the pressure, discovering the full and warm softness of her lips.

  He had come to her cabin seeking a subtle comfort. But there was another kind to be found in her long woman’s body and the moistness of her lips. Ty had a hunger for it. There had been too many previous occasions when frustration caused by Tara had turned him toward other women. There was no separation in his mind between those women and Jessy. His interest took on a passionate quality.

  In that short lull with no resistance, Jessy had gathered her strength and violently pushed out of his arms. Breathing hard, she backed up, eyeing him warily. He took a step after her.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Her voice was hoarse and angry, rough with the raging hurt of her emotions. “You’re angry with her because she isn’t here! And you’re taking it out on me!”

  Her words cracked across him like a whip. They stopped him—stunned him. Jessy had backed up against the counter, her hands reaching back to grip its edge. There was high color in her cheeks and the look of a wounded and cornered she-cat in her eyes.

  “I’m Jessy Niles—not your wife!” She was trembling. “Don’t ever make the mistake of using me for her again—or I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Everything was held behind his expressionless features. “I know who you are, Jessy.”

  She turned her head, lowering it for the first time. “You’d better go, Ty.”

  There was the smallest hesitation before he did as she asked and left the kitchen, continuing straight out the door. When she heard the truck motor start, she went limp with relief, not fearing him but rather fearing herself.

  It was one of those rare Indian summer days that tried to deny a bitter cold winter was just around the corner. Ty angled across the ranch yard, his father striding beside him. Coming from the direction of the barns, Tara’s voice called for him to wait. Turning, he saw Tara and his sister hurrying to catch up with them.

  “You’re just the man I wanted to see,” she declared and hooked her arms in his, sidling up to him.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled and started walking toward the pillared house on the knoll, his father and Cathleen a yard ahead of them.

  “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” she said.

  “And where would you suggest?” Ty mocked. “In your extensive travels of late, have you discovered any restaurant in the area other than Sally’s?”

  “We’ll go to Sally’s. I don’t care.” She gave a blithe shrug, showing herself remarkably easy to please for a change. “It’s Saturday night and I don’t feel like staying at home.”

  “Are you going to Sally’s tonight?” Cat turned, having been listening to their conversation. “Please, can I go with you?” she asked, all green-eyed eagerness.

  “Cat, you shouldn’t invite yourself,” her father said in mild reprimand.

  “But I want to go,” she protested.

  “Ah, that sounds like somebody’s going to be there that you want to see,” Tara guessed with an impish smile. “It couldn’t be that Tkylor boy, could it?”

  “Tara!” Cat gave her a low-voiced warning, flashing her a look of annoyance while she glanced anxiously at her father to see if he’d heard.

  “Taylor?” Ty frowned. “You don’t mean Repp Taylor?”

  “The very same.” Tara nodded. “Cathleen has a crush on him.”

  “Why, he’s twenty years old.” Chase Calder frowned at his fifteen-year-old daughter.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Tara.” Cathleen glared at her to be silent and faced the front with an angry little flounce of her head. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Repp Taylor is much too old for me.”

  “I should certainly hope so,” her father retorted.

  “Can I go with them tonight, please?” She went back to her initial request, this time asking permission from her father first. “Other girls my age get to have dates, but I never go anywhere.”

  “It’s all right, Dad Calder,” Tara spoke up. “Cat can come with us, can’t she, Ty?”

  “I don’t even remember saying that we were going,” he replied.

  “Yes, you did—just by not saying we weren’t,” she declared airily.

  “Don’t ever argue with that kind of logic, Ty,” his father warned. “You’ll never win.”

  Tara laughed. It was at times like these that Ty believed everything was going to work out for them, despite the frequent separations when Tara could endure the isolation of the ranch no more and left for a few days to return to what she laughingly called civilization.

  When they were alone in their rooms, Ty queried her. “What’s this about Repp Taylor?” He pulled on a clean white shirt, buttoning it. The young cowboy showed promise of being a good, solid hand, steady and reliable.

  “It’s simple. Cat is sweet on him.” She turned her back to him. “Zip me up.” Ty took a nibble of a white shoulder before he did, feeling the little shudder it sent through her. “I thought it would be fun to do our little bit in the furtherance of young love.”

  “Since you seem to know so much, how does Repp feel about her?”

  “Adorably guilty because she’s so young and a Calder.”

  The first person Ty saw when he entered Sally’s restaurant and bar was Jessy, seated at a table with Dick Ballard. She looked up and met his gaze for an instant, then responded to some remark Ballard made. Ty was a step or two behind Tara and Cathleen as they walked to a vacant table. They were barely seated when Cat popped up.

  “May I have some change so I can play the jukebox?” She held out her hand expectantly to Ty.

  He dug in his pocket and gave her some. She was gone in a flash. Tara glanced at him knowingly and murmured, “Guess who is at the pool table?”

  Repp Taylor stood tall and lean, with jet-dark hair and eyes. With a smile, he nodded to Cat, then ambled over to lean on the cue stick and check out the selections she was making.

  But Ty didn’t share Tara’s interest in these opening moves of courtship, even though she gave him a play-by-play description as it innocently unfolded over the evening. His mind was on other things, mainly the image of Jessy with that strongly expec
tant look burrowing into him. He hadn’t seen her since the last time he’d stopped by her cabin. He still wasn’t sure what had prodded him into kissing her, whether it had been out of anger at Tara, or something else. In many respects, Jessy was a sensitive creature despite her outward show of toughness. Now he wished he’d made amends for his behavior that night.

  “You’re very quiet tonight,” Tara accused as they swayed with the music, their feet barely moving on the crowded dance floor.

  “What?” Ty looked down at her blankly, then realized what she’d said. “Sorry, I guess my mind’s on other things.”

  “It’s not very flattering to be dancing with your wife and looking like you’re a thousand miles away,” she chided him without too much concern. “Did you see who is here?”

  “You mean Jessy?” With so many newcomers in town, there were few other customers he’d recognized.

  “Jessy Niles? Is she here?” Tara stiffened, looking quickly around the dance floor before locating the girl, dancing with a sandy-haired cowboy. “They make a nice-looking couple, don’t they?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I wasn’t referring to her. I meant your uncle. He’s standing over there by the back door.”

  A single crease rent his brow as Ty looked at Culley O’Rourke leaning against the wall by the back door, among the spectators watching the pool game in progress. His face was half hidden by the shadows cast by the light above the pool table, but that shock of gray hair was highlighted.

  “I certainly never expected to see him here tonight,” Tara remarked and shrugged indifferently. “But I guess the wolves have to come out of the hills sometimes.”

  The song ended. They were momentarily caught in the jam of couples trying to leave the small dance floor. Another record began a fast-tempoed song as Ty guided Tara through an opening.

  He heard a male voice say, “Come on, honey. Let’s you and I dance this one.”

  It was his sister who said a sharp “No!”

  The stubborn and willful tone of her voice struck a warning, and Ty swung around. In a temper, his younger sister had no qualms about causing a scene. A husky blond had hold of her hand and was trying to persuade her to go onto the dance floor with him. The boy was trying to appear manly and forceful.

  “I don’t want to dance with you!” Cat stormed, never reacting well to force. But the boy just laughed. Ty saw trouble coming, but he was too far away. “Repp!” There was an impatient ring in her voice as Cat called for her would-be knight in shining armor to rescue her.

  “What is it, Ty?” Tara was at his arm as he tried to push through the crowd to his sister.

  “Just stay here.” He lifted her hand from his arm.

  By then, Repp Taylor was already on the scene. The crowd backed up, giving the pair room and tightening the press of people Ty had to get through. He never heard what was said, but a fist was swung and Cat screamed.

  Bulling his way past the crowd, Ty made to break up the scuffling pair. Repp’s nose was already bloodied and he was trying to throw all his weight into the husky blond and get him on the floor. When Ty tried to pry them apart, a rooting spectator jumped into the melee, thinking he was ganging up on the town boy.

  Tara had made her way to Cathleen’s side and put her arm around the girl. She watched in shocked silence as a man came hurling out of the crowd and straight at Ty. Swinging fists lashed out so quickly she couldn’t discern who was hitting whom.

  With a Calder in the fight, more Triple C riders came to his support. There were no more than a half dozen in the tavern, badly outnumbered by the local residents. But all of them seemed to be spoiling for the excitement of a fight.

  As bodies crashed together and fists struck flesh and bone, Tara clutched Cathleen tightly and huddled close to the wall next to the jukebox. Ty was in the center of the brawl, blood pouring from a cut near his eye, his teeth bared below the black brush of a mustache and a killing look in his dark eyes.

  All she could hear were the gruntings of breath, the shuffling of feet, and the ripping and smashing of flesh. It was barbaric, the brutal violence sickening her, yet she couldn’t look away.

  “Somebody stop them!” she cried, but no one heard her above the din of the brawl and the blare of the jukebox.

  Ty’s lungs were heaving for air and he could feel the pounding of his heart. He hadn’t been in a knock-down, drag-out fight like this since his college days. His head was swimming and there was a roar in his ears. He checked one blow from a nameless opponent; a second slammed into his shoulder. It was hard to see out of one eye, but he pressed the fight, smashing the flat of his knuckles into the man’s face and seeing it roll out of his vision.

  With that attack repelled, he staggered slightly to see where the next one would come from. He shook his head, blinking in an effort to clear the film from his eye. There was the shattering crash of a beer bottle being broken. He turned. The jagged neck was held in the hand of the man he’d just knocked down.

  Ty backed up from it, crouching slightly and spreading out his arms. The fight had taken an ugly turn, no longer just a brawlfest. Some of the participants who had been in it just for fun retreated to the sidelines. Ty’s mouth was dry, and he wetted it as they started slowly circling.

  “Ty!” Someone shouted his name above the loud music from the jukebox. “Catch!”

  Taking his eyes off the man’s sweating face for an instant, Ty saw the brown shape of a beer bottle sailing through the air toward him. He made a one-handed catch of it and glimpsed Jessy on the inner circle of the onlookers.

  Swift movement came at him and he jumped back, the jagged weapon slashing the air where he’d been. The closest thing to him was the jukebox. Ty brought the body of the bottle onto a metal corner with a hard swing, breaking it with a crash and turning to face his opponent, equally armed. He heard a woman’s screaming sob, but it was far on the fringes of his interest as he dragged in breaths and fought the tiredness in his arms.

  “Break it up! Out of the way!” A hard voice of authority barked the orders. “Break it up here!”

  Uniformed men broke through the readily dividing crowd, grabbing and seizing Ty’s opponent from behind. Ty straightened slowly, lowering his hands. His battered fingers loosened their grip on the bottle neck, letting it fall to the floor. He couldn’t recognize any of the officers through his hazing vision.

  Distantly, he heard one of them mutter his name. “It’s Calder.”

  Swaying slightly, he turned, seeking something to lean against before his legs gave way. The roar was still in his ears. There was a pervading numbness in his body that temporarily kept him from feeling any pain. Some small body latched itself to him. He started to push it away.

  “Ty. Oh, my God, Ty, you’re hurt.” It was Tara’s sobbing voice that finally penetrated his haze. “Look at your poor face.”

  Impatiently he brushed aside the small hand that touched at his cheek. “I’m all right.” His voice sounded harsh.

  “You’re not all right. Just look at you,” she insisted.

  He looked, rather stupidly, at his torn shirt, splattered with blood, but Ty didn’t know whether it was his blood or somebody else’s. He still felt a driving need for some kind of physical support. Suddenly, a voice took charge of his problem.

  “Come on. Let’s get him out of here.” A strong arm went around his middle and a light caramel head ducked under his arm.

  “Jessy?” He blinked, trying to see her through the filmy darkness that kept covering his left eye.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  It was a tired and wry laugh Ty released. “You always turn up when I need you,” he murmured without being conscious of what he’d admitted.

  For an instant, Tara was too stunned by his bloodied and battered face to react when Jessy appeared and started leading Ty away. Recovering, she followed quickly in their wake, irritated at the way her position had been usurped.

  With the fight broken up, there was a mild confusion in the place as o
fficers tried to separate the participants from the innocent onlookers. One of the policemen tried to stop them from leaving the scene, but Jessy firmly informed the officer Ty would be upstairs in the owner’s private quarters if he was needed. She had a way of making men back down. An ache was starting in his muscles, a painful throb, or Ty would have made a joke of her easy dismissal of the man.

  He had a glimpse of Sally Brogan leading the way to the private staircase in the rear, but all his concentration was centered on making his legs work.

  A light was switched on and he was led to a chair. He sat down heavily. After the first blows had hit him, he had stopped feeling them. Now his body was beginning to react to the punishment it had taken. He leaned against the chair and let his head fall back, closing his eyes as the throbbing washed over him. His arms were draped loosely on his legs. There was a sticky wetness on his face, and Ty reached up tiredly to wipe it away from his eyes, then looked at the coagulating blood on his fingers with exhausted recognition. Something was set on the table beside him. He shut his eyes again, wanting only to rest.

  “I have to go downstairs,” Sally was saying. “If you need anything else, just help yourself.”

  A door shut. Then a wet cloth was dabbing at his face, accomplishing little. He tried to turn away from it. “Ty, I’m sorry.” Tara was hovering beside him. “I know it must hurt terribly. You shouldn’t have gotten involved in that fight. How could you stoop to brawling like that?”

  Her tone of impatience chased away some of the mists. “You don’t stand back and let someone else do your fighting for you.” And it had all started because of his sister. He tried to take the cloth from her and do it himself, but there didn’t seem to be enough strength in his hands or arms.

  “If you don’t know what you’re doing”—Jessy’s voice came from the side—“get out of the way and let me clean up.”

  “Hess my husband.”

  “And at the rate you’re going, he’ll bleed to death.” She pushed her way in and commandeered the damp cloth, pressing it hard on the cut above his eye. Pain stabbed through his head. Ty flinched, sucking in air through his teeth and swearing. Jessy took his hand and made him hold the cloth against the cut and maintain the pressure.