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Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: Green Calder Grass
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“Maybe. But there’ll be money in it. Big money.”
Turning, she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Why are you telling us all this?”
His mouth widened in a long grin as he sat slouched in the saddle, both hands resting on the saddle horn. “You mean—what’s in it for me?” Ballard looked off into the distance, his gaze making a sweep of the surrounding plains. “I was seventeen the first time I came here to day work. And I’ve been here on and off ever since. More on than off. This place gets into a man’s system. The bigness of it, and the rawness. I don’t care where you go, there’s no other place like it. But”—he brought his glance back to Jessy—“to answer your question, I guess I’m telling you this because for years I’ve seen the potential here and watched it go untapped. Do you know how frustrating that can be? It can eat a man up. The other day, when Ty asked me about that bull, it was like uncorkin’ a champagne bottle. It all just came bubblin’ out. I suppose I’m repeatin’ it all to you for the simple reason that, when a man knows he has a good idea, he wants everybody else to get on their horses and ride with him. So far, all I’ve seen out of you and Ty is skepticism. What I want is for him to say—you’re right, Ballard; we’re goin’ for it. I’d get a lot of satisfaction out of that, Jessy.”
She believed him. She didn’t know a single cowboy who didn’t welcome a pat on the back for a job well done. Dick Ballard was no exception.
“We do appreciate the information.” She kept her response simple, without commitment.
He nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Hey, Ballard!” somebody yelled from the chute area. “Come give us a hand.”
He lifted the reins to his horse, started to swing his mount to the side, then checked it. “By the way, you might have Ty check out a rumor I heard.”
“What’s that?”
“I was talkin’ with Guy Phelps on the phone the other night. He wants me to ride his cutting horse in a big competition comin’ up in August. According to him, Parker sold a half interest in that bull for close to a quarter million.”
Without waiting for Jessy to reply, he kneed his horse forward, pushing it into a slow trot. She stared at his back, her thoughts reeling at the number.
For the rest of the day she couldn’t get the conversation off her mind. It was late in the afternoon by the time work was wrapped up for the day and Jessy returned to the Triple C headquarters.
From force of habit, she stayed at the barns long enough to unload her horse from the trailer, see that it was rubbed down and fed, and her saddle and gear stowed in the stack room. Only when that was finished did she set out for the house.
But there was no hurry in her stride. Everywhere she looked, Jessy noticed things she had taken for granted her entire life—the neatness of the sprawling ranchyard, all the buildings in good repair, the huge, century-old barn with its massive timbers and rustic look and the summer-gold sea of grass that rolled away from it, its expanse broken only by the towering, green cottonwoods that lined the banks of the river to the south.
Ballard’s remarks had given Jessy a fresh perspective on everything, but especially on The Homestead. It was with these new eyes that she gazed at the imposing two-story structure, built atop a flat knoll of land that elevated it above the rest of the headquarters. A wide porch ran the length of its south-facing front, with towering white pillars rising at intervals from its edge. The grand scale of it should have looked out of place, but anything smaller wouldn’t have suited the site. Jessy understood for the first time that The Homestead was a statement of ownership, a claim of dominion over this vast sweep of land.
When she paused at the bottom of the porch steps, one of the babies moved inside her. She laid a reassuring hand on her stomach, suddenly awed by the thought that The Homestead was only a small part of all that would one day belong to their children.
 
 
As usual, the conversation at the evening dinner table centered around the day’s activity, the tasks accomplished, and those yet to be finished. But Ty was quick to notice Jessy’s lack of participation in the discussion that was normally three-sided. He glanced across the table at her down-turned head, her tawny hair still showing some of the damp gleam from her earlier shower.
“You’re unusually quiet tonight, Jessy,” Ty remarked, then frowned in concern when he observed the way she was pushing the food around on her plate, a direct contrast to her customarily ravenous appetite. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel fine.” Jessy gave him one of her calm-eyed looks that told him absolutely nothing. She speared a piece of beef with her fork, then said in a voice that was a tad too offhand, “By the way, I was talking with Dick Ballard today. He heard a rumor about that registered bull we sold Parker, one that he thinks you should check out. Supposedly Parker sold a half interest in the bull for close to a quarter-million dollars.”
Chase reared back his head and scoffed his disbelief, “What fool would pay that kind of money for a half interest in a bull?”
Ty didn’t turn a hair. “Apparently there are a number of fools out there. That isn’t a rumor. It’s the truth.” He intercepted Jessy’s questioning glance and explained, “I was making some calls today and heard that same rumor from more than one source. I did some checking and managed to verify it.”
“Ballard is right then.” Jessy held his glance, leaving Ty in little doubt that Ballard had spoken at length to her about his idea.
“It’s possible.” Ty nodded.
With eyes narrowed in suspicion, Chase looked at first one, then the other. “Right about what?” he challenged. “Why do I have this feeling that something has been discussed that I don’t know about?”
“I planned on talking to you about it after dinner tonight,” Ty admitted. “When I spoke to Ballard the other day, he made some suggestions about ways to increase the ranch’s gross revenue. And its profits.” Ty briefly explained Ballard’s proposal to hold auctions of their registered livestock at the ranch, and watched his father’s expression darken with distaste.
“I’ve been to a couple of those fancy shindigs they call sales. And you’re saying you want to hold one here, on the Triple C?”
“Initially that was my reaction.”
“And now?” The very quietness of Chase’s voice gave it the weight of challenge.
“I don’t like the idea any better than you do. But I think it’s one we should investigate further, put some facts and figures together, and see if there would be a substantial return,” Ty reasoned. “When we sold that bull to Parker, I was more than satisfied with the price he paid. But a quarter of a million dollars for an animal that was inferior to the ones we kept”—he shook his head—“that isn’t something I can easily dismiss.”
“That happens every time a man sells anything,” Chase insisted, but none too convincingly for either of them. “He always wonders if he could have gotten more money.”
“I know. But we’re already operating on an extremely narrow profit margin, and that’s in good years. You string together a few bad years in a row, and we’re in trouble.”
Chase grunted a nonanswer, sliced off another bite of roast beef, then asked, “Exactly what is your proposal?”
“To do some more checking, find out what it would entail in both manpower and facilities, put some numbers to it, and see if it’s something we should seriously consider.”
“What do you think about all this, Jessy?” Chase pinned her with a look.
She met the hard bore of his gaze without flinching. “I think it’s a wise move.”
He considered her answer quietly for moment then nodded with reluctance. “Probably. But I still don’t like the idea of a bunch of strangers descending on us, even for a day.” He sighed and shot a glance at Ty. “If your mother was alive, she’d know how to keep them all organized and happy.”
So would Tara, Jessy realized.
Chapter Four
S
nowflakes, fat and lazy, drifted toward the ground, making a white landscape out of the Triple C headquarters and the surrounding plains. The outside temperature was a good ten degrees below the freezing mark, but there was no wind to swirl the flakes or blow the fallen snow into drifts.
On this snowy Sunday morning in December, all was quiet on the ranch. Smoke curled from one of The Homestead’s brick chimneys, the gray of it quickly lost against the backdrop of an equally gray sky, thickly speckled with snow.
The steady hum of an approaching vehicle penetrated the snowfall’s hushed silence. Soon the dark Suburban became visible through the white screen of flakes as it traveled along the ranch’s forty-mile-long driveway to the Triple C headquarters.
With tires crunching over the heavy wet snow, the vehicle rolled to a stop in front of The Homestead. The wipers ceased their rhythmic sweep of the windshield and the engine died. The passenger doors opened, both front and back.
Five-year-old Quint Echohawk hopped out of one side, his slender body made plump by the heavy parka and snow pants he wore, but on his head, he wore his favorite cowboy hat. With barely disguised impatience, he waited for the others to join him.
After stepping out of the front passenger side into the snow, Cathleen Calder Echohawk, affectionately known by everyone on the Triple C as Cat, handed her son the smaller of the two wrapped gifts she had in her arms.
“Will you carry this one, Quint?”
“Okay.” Taking it, he tucked the present under his arm.
On the driver’s side, Logan Echohawk held the rear door open and offered an assisting hand to Sally Brogan as she climbed out of the back seat. Like Cat, she also carried two presents, but hers were on the large and cumbersome side.
“Let me carry those for you?” Logan relieved Sally of them.
“Mom.” Quint looked at Cat with earnest eyes, the same shade of gray as his father’s. “Can I hold one of the babies? I’d be extra careful.”
“I know you would, but you’ll have to ask Aunt Jessy.”
“Couldn’t I ask Uncle Ty instead? I think he’d let me.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Cat struggled to hide a smile. Logan paused beside her. “Have we got everything out of the truck?” he asked. “What about the camera?”
“It’s in my pocket.” She patted the bulge it made.
Together the four of them trooped up the steps and paused by the front door to stomp the snow from their boots. Cat didn’t bother to caution her young son to be quiet in case the babies were sleeping. It wasn’t in her son’s nature to be loud and rambunctious.
“We’re here,” Cat announced unnecessarily when Logan closed the front door behind them.
“I’m in here,” Ty’s voice came from the living room that opened off the large entry hall.
Before all four managed to shed their heavy outer garments, hang them on the utilitarian coat rack, and deposit their wet snow boots in the large box placed by the front door specifically for that purpose, an angry wail shattered the stillness, originating from the living room as well.
Obeying, by now, her well-honed mother’s instincts, Cat moved quickly toward the sound. Sally Brogan followed right behind her. There sat Ty on the large leather sofa, one whimpering, blanket-wrapped infant nestled in the crook of his arm. The second, squawling baby was strapped in an infant seat on the cushion beside him.
With a none-too-deft left hand, Ty attempted to slip a pacifier into the open mouth of the crying baby. But one suckle and the baby spit it out with an even louder wail.
“Where’s Jessy?” Cat wasted little time in coming to the rescue of both her brother and the baby.
“In the kitchen warming their bottles.” His voice had a frazzled edge to it, a tone most new fathers would recognize. Then it took on a dry quality. “Meet your new niece and nephew.”
“Come to Aunty Cat.” With the strap unfastened, Cat lifted the angry, red-faced infant from the carrier. Instead of being soothed and comforted by the contact, the baby unleashed an even louder wail of rage. “My, but we have a temper.”
“You can say that again.” Ty willingly surrendered the other baby into Sally’s reaching arms. “She has made it plain from the first day that when she wants something, she wants it now.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart,” Cat murmured and cupped a hand over the back of the baby’s head, pressing a kiss on the downy soft cap of hair, the palest shade of gold.
Quint tugged at her pant leg. In response, Cat sank onto the sofa’s leather cushion to give him a closer look at the baby. “Meet your cousin Laura, Quint.”
“Why’s she crying?” he wanted to know.
“Because she’s hungry.”
Quint thought about that a minute, then stated, “She’s awfully loud.”
“She certainly is,” Sally Brogan agreed. “But not this little guy.” Gently she steered the baby’s flailing fist closer to its mouth, allowing him to gnaw on it between hungry whimpers. “Just look at all the hair you’ve got.” She stroked a finger over his thick shock of hair, as dark as his sister’s was fair. “What did you name him again?”
“Chase Benteen Calder the Third,” Ty replied. “And the demanding one is Laura Marie Calder.”
“Chase and Laura,” Sally repeated in approval as Jessy entered the living room, carrying the bottles of warmed formula.
Despite the warm light of motherhood in her eyes, Jessy had the telltale weary and harried look of a new mother. She offered only token resistance when the two women insisted on feeding the pair. She sat down next to Ty and watched, not quite able to completely relax.
Sally glanced up from the nursing baby in her arms and looked around. “Where’s Chase?”
“He’s in the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to dinner,” Jessy answered, then added with a hint of guilt, “He keeps saying that he doesn’t mind, that it reminds him of his bachelor days when he did a lot of his own cooking.”
Cat sent Jessy a questioning glance. “Where’s Audrey?” Audrey Simpson had taken over much of the housekeeping and cooking duties from Ruth Haskell years ago.
“Cat, I’m sorry,” Ty said with quick regret. “In all the confusion of bringing the twins home, I forgot to let you know that Bob Simpson was rushed to the hospital in Miles City yesterday morning. He’s suffered a stroke.”
Cat breathed in sharply then murmured, “How bad is it?”
“Severe. He can’t talk, and the doctors are still trying to determine the extent of his paralysis.”
“Poor Audrey,” Cat murmured in sympathy.
“Let’s hope it isn’t true that bad news comes in threes.” Logan stood by the large stone fireplace, where a cheery fire blazed.
“Why?” Chase joined the group in the living room.
“The word reached Blue Moon yesterday that E.J. Dyson had passed away. He had a massive heart attack and died within seconds.”
His announcement was met by a heavy silence. It was Cat who finally broke it. “I can’t help thinking what a terrible blow this has to be to Tara. You know how extremely close she was to her father, Ty.”
“I know.” It had been a source of contention during his marriage to Tara. But this did not seem like the time to recall that. “I suppose it would be appropriate to send flowers.”
“I don’t know why not,” Cat retorted, flashing her father a look that dared him to dispute it. “The funeral services will be held on Wednesday. Weather permitting, I plan to fly to Fort Worth on Tuesday and attend the services on behalf of the family.”
Ty doubted that his father liked the idea any better than he did. But it was useless to argue with Cat when she had her mind set on something. Her decision didn’t really surprise Ty. Right or wrong, Cat had always thought a lot of Tara. More than that, she wasn’t asking permission from either of them.
“I imagine Tara would appreciate your being there,” Ty remarked instead. Although, knowing Tara, he wasn’t sure whether she would care or not. But it was important to Cat to make this gesture.
“I think she will.” There was almost a defensive tilt to her head as if Cat knew what he was thinking.
For several long seconds, no one said anything. Then Sally spoke into the silence, “Not all the news has been bad. I have some good news.”
Jessy was quick to pick up on her statement, eager to turn the conversation away from the Dysons. “What’s that?”
“I accepted an offer for the restaurant on Friday.”
No one was more stunned than Chase. “You did what? From whom?”
“The buyers are a retired couple, Harry and Agnes Weldon. They’ll take possession on the first.” After she had related the essential bits of information to the group, Sally’s glance finally strayed to Chase, a hint of uncertainty for the first time clouding the glow of pleasure that had been in her eyes.
“What are you going to do after you sell it?” Jessy held her breath, half hoping.
“I don’t know,” Sally admitted. “But I’ll have to think of something soon, won’t I?”
Jessy didn’t hesitate. Their need was too great. “What are the chances that we could talk you into coming to work for us? It would be an answer to our prayers with Audrey gone and no idea when she can come back— assuming that Bob gets well enough so that she can return to work at all.”
“Work here?” Sally’s face lit up for a second. Then she hesitated, glancing at Chase. “Are you sure?” As usual, his expression provided little insight into the privacy of his thoughts.
The line of his mouth softened into something close to a smile. “I can’t think of a better candidate for the position. And I’ve eaten enough of your cooking over the years to know you’re a better cook than I am. As far as I’m concerned, the job is yours if you want it.”
“Want it? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Tears shone in her eyes, and she released a short laugh to cover them. “After the restaurant, can you imagine how easy it will seem here cooking for one family, keeping house and helping Jessy look after these two little treasures.” Sally glanced down at the baby boy hungrily sucking on his bottle. “Whether Jessy wants to admit it or not, she’s going to need help with you two for a while.”
“Oh, I admit it,” Jessy readily agreed. “It’s taken only one day for me to realize that—especially when it comes to this little gal.” She ran a caressing finger over the pale hair of the baby in Cat’s arm.
“With that hair of hers, it’s obvious she is going to take after you, Jessy.” It seemed fitting to Sally that little Laura would favor her mother.
“And it’s just as obvious,” Chase inserted with a nod toward the baby Sally held, “that this little trey-spot is a Calder.”
“The dark hair definitely marks him as a Calder,” Sally acknowledged. “Just the same, I’m glad one of the twins is a girl. The outfits they have for little girls these days are absolutely precious.”
“If little Laura takes after her mother,
precious
will not be one of the adjectives used to describe her.” Ty cast an affectionate smile at his wife. “Strong and beautiful, maybe. But definitely not precious.”
His comment drew amused looks from everyone, including Jessy. But the intruding ring of the telephone prevented anyone from responding. Chase was closest to the phone.
“I’ll get it,” he said and picked up the living room extension. “Triple C.” A fraction of a second later, he shot a glance at Ty, all expression vanishing. “Yes, he’s here.” After another brief pause, he said, “Just a minute.” He extended the receiver in Ty’s direction. “It’s for you. It’s Tara.”
Without a word, Ty rose from the sofa and walked over to take the phone from his father. The instant he identified himself, Tara’s emotion-choked voice rushed through the line to him.
“Ty. Thank God, you’re there. Have you heard about Daddy?” Her voice quivered with the effort to hold back a sob.
“Just a few minutes ago. Cat is already making arrangements to fly down for the funeral.”
“You’re coming, too, aren’t you?” There was a desperation to her question that bordered on hysteria. “Ty, you must. Please.” Her voice broke on a sob. “You don’t know what it’s like here. They’re hovering around like vultures. I don’t have anybody I can trust. Not a single one, Ty. I thought it would be enough just to hear your voice, but it isn’t. I need to see you. I need to know someone is here for me.”
The emotion in her voice, the needy words were like a snare, trapping him into something he didn’t want—just like in the old days. “Tara,” he began in resistance.
“Ty, you have to come,” Tara rushed in a trembling voice that ripped at him. “If I ever meant anything to you at all, you’ll do this. I need you.” She broke down and began to weep in delicate, but wrenching sobs. In between each one, he could hear her little murmurs of “Please, please, please.” It aroused all of his protective instincts.
The Tara he knew had never pleaded for anything in her life. Schemed and manipulated, yes. Sweet-talked and cajoled, yes. But she didn’t beg.
Still Ty hesitated a moment longer before he finally said, “I’ll see what I can arrange, Tara.” His statement was met by barely coherent sobs of gratitude. He said his goodbyes and hung up.

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