Green Calder Grass (19 page)

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Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: Green Calder Grass
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“Unless it flew in today, Dy-Corp doesn’t have a helicopter based here in Blue Moon,” Logan stated. “But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have chartered one from the copter service in Miles City. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out. Unofficially, of course.”
“I would appreciate that,” Chase acknowledged.
“No more ranch talk,” Cat decreed then grinned. “At least not the business end.” Green eyes twinkling, she glanced at Jessy. “I planned to call you later tonight. I’m flying to Dallas next weekend and I thought you might like to come with me.”
“Dallas?” Jessy wasn’t sure which surprised her more—that Cat was going to Dallas or that she wanted her to go along.
“What’s in Dallas?” Chase frowned at his daughter.
Logan inserted dryly, “Out of two closets full of clothes, she can’t find a thing to wear.”
“That’s not true. I have plenty of clothes. I just don’t have a knock-’em-out-of-their-boots outfit to wear to the auction,” Cat explained to all then redirected her attention to Jessy. “I know you plan on buying something new for it. I thought we could shop together. It’s a lot more fun that way.”
“Yes, but—I was just going to pick something up in Miles City.” The idea of flying all the way to Dallas to shop struck Jessy as totally unnecessary.
“Believe me, Jess, you aren’t going to find what you need in Miles City,” Cat advised as the waitress arrived, balancing a tray loaded with water glasses. “Initially I considered going to Denver since it’s closer, but I’m much more familiar with the shops in Dallas and Fort Worth.”
“As much as I hate to admit it”—Ty paused to hold Trey’s hand when he made a grab for one of the glasses—“my sister is right. You won’t find high fashion in Miles City. For that, you’ll have to shop somewhere else.”
“I suppose,” Jessy conceded, but inside she was screaming at the very idea. All this talk about projecting the proper image and creating the right impression went against the grain and smacked of phoniness. As far as Jessy was concerned, she was who and what she was and everyone else was welcome to take it or leave it.
Besides, “high fashion” was a term she equated with Tara, not herself. Never herself.
“Then you will come with me?” Cat pressed for a more definite answer.
“Of course she’ll go,” Chase answered for her, then added, “A couple days away from the ranch and the twins will do you good.”
It wasn’t in Jessy’s nature to be anything less than candid. “I can’t imagine anything more painful than going from store to store trying on clothes. And I’m telling you right now, I am not wearing a dress or putting on makeup for this affair. It’s an auction, for heaven’s sake.”
Smiling, Ty eyed his wife with a mixture of amusement and appreciation then glanced at Cat. “You have your work cut out for you on this trip, sis.”
“I’m not one bit worried.” She spoke with confidence. “They are making some fabulous Western clothes these days. We’ll find the perfect outfit. Wait and see.”
Slapping her order pad on the tray and clicking her ballpoint pen, the waitress broke into their conversation, “Anybody ready to order?”
She went around the long table, writing down each one’s food and drink order until she came to Chase. “You aren’t going to like those ribs, Mr. Calder.” The pen remained poised above the pad. “They are dry and tough. Why don’t you have a steak instead?”
“Make it well done.”
“I’ll see that the cook burns it,” she promised with an emphatic nod. Once all their orders were taken, she closed the book and slipped it inside her roomy apron pocket. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. The food’s another story. It’s crazy in that kitchen,” she warned, already moving away from the table.
Quint patted Logan’s arm in an attention-getting gesture. “Dad, is it all right if I go watch them play pool?”
Logan glanced at his wristwatch. “It shouldn’t be too rowdy over there yet. You can go, but only for a little while.”
“Thanks.” Quint flashed him a rare smile and scooted off his chair, intent on reaching the bar’s billiard area as fast as possible.
The minute he darted away from the table, Trey screamed in protest and worked furiously to get out of the highchair and follow his older cousin. After initial attempts to distract him with soda crackers and his toy truck failed, Jessy gave up and lifted him out of his high chair. But his angry yowls made it clear that he wasn’t interested in sitting on her lap; he wanted to go after Quint.
Rising from his chair, Ty reached for the squirming toddler. “I’ll take him,” he said to Jessy and swung the little boy onto his hip. “Come on, little guy. Let’s go find Quint.”
As abruptly as the fit-throwing started, it stopped. Trey pointed a finger in the direction Quint had gone and jabbered in excitement, none of it intelligible except for the word “Kint,” which was the closest the toddler could come to saying Quint’s name.
Ty worked his way through the crowded restaurant area toward the bar where the occasional
crack
of a billiard ball could be heard above the din of loud-talking voices and even louder music from the jukebox. All the way, Trey twisted and turned, straining to catch the first glimpse of his cousin.
But the first person to catch Ty’s eye when he entered the bar area was Buck Haskell. He was perched atop a stool in front of the long bar, a mug of beer in front of him and an empty long neck beside it. He was sporting a new black Stetson and a pair of fancy-stitched cowboy boots to go along with crisp new jeans and a pearl-snapped Western shirt. His skin had lost its prison pallor and taken on the hue of a tan, which made his curly hair seem all the whiter. In short, he looked like what he was, in a sense, an old cowhand dressed for a Saturday night on the town.
His eyes had a knowing glint when he met Ty’s look and raised his beer mug, acknowledging Ty’s presence. It wasn’t in Ty to simply ignore the man. A Calder faced his enemies; he didn’t walk away from them.
“ ’Lo, Buck.” He injected a coolness in his voice. “Looks like you’re doing well.”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Buck declared, his mouth curving in a canny smile. “That your boy?”
“It is.”
“He looks like a Calder,” Buck observed. “Heard you named him after your pa.”
“That’s right.”
“I guess that means there will be a Chase Benteen Calder running the Triple C for a good many years to come.”
The last thing Ty wanted to talk about with Buck Haskell was his young son. “I see you bought some new duds.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” Buck continued to smile. “They don’t let you take those prison uniforms with you when they turn you loose.”
“But a hat and a pair of boots like that don’t come cheap. You must be working somewhere.”
“Not yet. But I’ve got me a job lined up. Looks like I’ll be startin’ soon.”
“Where?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Buck replied and took a swig of beer.
“Don’t worry. We will.” Ty spotted Quint standing quietly by the wall, watching the pool game in progress.
As he started to move toward the boy, Buck said, “I’d tell you to give my regards to your pa, but I don’t think he cares to hear from me. You’ll be seein’ me, though. You can count on that.”
Ty had the uneasy feeling the man spoke the truth. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Trey suddenly spied Quint. He kicked at Ty with his legs as if to hurry him along.
The restaurant and bar had filled up. Some of the families with younger children were leaving while the local cowboys and mine workers filed into the café in twos and threes. Most of them knew Ty by sight if not by name. They hailed him with greetings. He acknowledged them with a wave or a lift of his head.
Ty sidestepped a cue stick, drawn back by its shooter, and jostled a towheaded boy of eighteen, his freckled face sunburned except for a white band across the top of his forehead.
“Sorry, Taylor.” Ty apologized to the son from a family that ranched some land that adjoined the south boundary of the Triple C. There was a passel of kids in the family, and Ty never could keep their names straight.
“It’s okay.” The lanky boy shifted, giving Ty a glimpse of the girl with him.
“Hey, Emily.” Ty was surprised to see her in Taylor’s company. “I thought you were here with Ballard.”
“No. I just danced with him. That’s all,” she replied, then leaned closer, cupping a hand next to her mouth to whisper in a secretive manner. “Rick says Dy-Corp doesn’t have a helicopter. He says they don’t need one.”
“Really.” Ty straightened, absorbing the information. “He works at the mine.”
“Yeah. It’s a job,” she said, as if in defense of his choice.
Ty nodded absently in understanding, and filed the information away.
As he worked his way through the crowded bar to reach Quint, Ty skirted a group of onlookers that had gathered by the pool table to watch the game in progress. Ty was quick to notice that Dick Ballard was among them, one hand hooked on the opposite shoulder of the shapely brunette beside him. The woman was no one Ty recognized, but she definitely wasn’t Emily Trumbo.
Leaning closer, Ballard whispered something in the woman’s ear then bent his head to catch her answer. He responded with a quick smile that might appear sexy to a woman, but to Ty, it had the distinctive wheedling quality of a man on the make. It reinforced his opinion that Ballard was little more than Casanova in cowboy boots. Why Jessy thought of him as a friend Ty would never understand, which made him all the more irritated by the man.
At the table, the cue ball ricocheted off the black eight ball and sent it spinning into a side pocket. Amid the accompanying cheers of victory, there were a few hoots of derision and an exchange of money.
The balls were already being racked up to start a new game by the time Ty reached Quint’s side. The gray-eyed boy scooted to one side, making room for Ty to stand next to him along the wall.
“I didn’t know you were coming, too,” Quint said.
“Trey wanted to see what was going on.” Ty noticed how quickly Quint’s attention reverted to the table when it appeared another game was about to start. “Like pool, do you?”
Quint responded with an emphatic nod. “When I get bigger, my dad’s going to teach me how to play.”
“That’s good.”
A heavyset cowboy bent over the table, sighted down his cue stick, drew it back, and sent it shooting forward. Trey’s eyes widened at the explosive
crack
and
clatter
of the break. He stared in wonder at the brightly colored balls careening off each other in every direction.
He pointed to them, then looked at Ty. “Baw.”
“That’s right. Those are balls, but they aren’t the kind little boys can play with.”
“Only big boys, Trey,” Quint chimed in.
For a time Trey was fascinated by all the noise and action at the pool table. But his own restless nature made it impossible for anything to hold his interest for long. Within minutes he wanted down. The instant his feet touched the floor, he made a dash for the pool table and the cache of balls that had fallen into the pockets.
“Sorry, guy.” Ty scooped him back up.
As usual, Trey simply looked around for another distraction and settled for the rhythmic gyrations of the people on the dance floor. Several more minutes passed before Ty noticed that Ballard and the brunette were no longer among the spectators at the pool table. Too soon the fast music ended and a slow song took its place, too slow to interest Trey.
Idly Ty ran his glance around the area. There was no sign of Ballard in the immediate vicinity, but he did catch sight of Logan working his way toward the bar area.
He touched Quint’s shoulder. “Here comes your dad. It must be time for us to head back to the table.”
“Okay.” With a barely perceptible sigh of resignation, Quint dragged his gaze from the pool table and moved away from the wall.
Ty shifted Trey to his left hip and followed behind Quint. Near the bar, they hooked up with Logan. The jam of people made for slow going as Logan led the way with Quint sandwiched between the two men.
Their route took them by the small dance floor. Just ahead on Ty’s right a burly mineworker slapped one of his compatriots on his shoulder and pivoted blindly right into Ty’s path. Ty stepped quickly to the side to avoid running into the man and bumped one of the couples on the dance floor.
“Sorry,” he began then found himself staring into Ballard’s face. A quick glance revealed that his partner wasn’t the shapely brunette Ty had seen him with earlier, or Emily Trumbo. This one was a bleached blonde. Ty shot Ballard a look of disgust. “Why can’t you be satisfied with just one woman?”
Ballard’s eyes narrowed briefly. Then a faintly taunting smile curved his mouth. “At least I’m not married like you.”
In the fraction of an instant that it took the words to register, Ty realized that Ballard had seen that innocent kiss between himself and Tara—seen it and put his own construction on it.

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