Chapter Seven
Ablustery wind came out of the north, a nip in
its breath that signaled the approach of winter. In the open
plains, there were no trees to break it, only the occasional
cutbank or coulee. But there were none in sight at the spot of the
Wolf Meadow gather.
The wind rolled, unchecked, across the
herd of red-coated Herefords, held closely bunched by a circle of
riders. Bawling their discontent, the cattle milled in confusion,
the thick grass underfoot muffling the thuddings of their hooves.
The sound underscored the rolling snorts of horses, the creaking
saddle leather, the jangle of spurs, and the chomp of bridle
bits.
From his vantage point on a crest of
the plain, Ty looked on while a pair of riders walked their horses
into the herd, quietly working in tandem to single out a cow that
had been deemed too old to be productive.
Fall roundup was the time when the herd
was culled of the old, the infirm, and the inferior stock, as well
as the occasional steer that had escaped the spring gather. After
the cull was finished, the herd was reevaluated to determine
whether the numbers needed to be further reduced.
In a good year, the range could winter
over only a certain number of cattle. During a bad year, that
number was reduced, sometimes sharply. And the year’s scant
rainfall qualified it as one that had been considerably less than
good.
Ty’s thoughts weren’t on that, however.
At the moment, his attention was focused on the long, slender rider
working the cut, her honey-gold hair hanging down her back in a
single braid. Jessy sat deep and easy in the saddle, balanced and
ready for any dip or spin her cat-quick horse made as it worked to
separate the cow from the herd and frustrate its every attempt to
rejoin it.
Suddenly an animal on the outer circle
made a break from the herd and bolted for the open grassland beyond
it. Immediately a pair of flanking riders gave chase.
Ty felt the light pressure of a small,
gloved hand on his arm. “Ty look,” Tara said, her voice low and
musical. “It’s Noah.” She nodded to one of the riders giving chase,
his arms flapping like a chicken as he raced his horse after it.
“He’s having the time of his life.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t go airborne with
all that wing flapping,” Ty remarked dryly.
Tara’s amused laugh had a low and
throaty sound, innately sensual. “His horsemanship does leave
something to be desired. But you have to admit, he has been
positively enthralled by all this.”
“City boys usually are. Give him a few
more hours, and he’ll discover that there is a lot more sweat and
grime than glamour.”
“You used to be a city
boy.”
His mouth quirked in that hard,
familiar way Tara remembered. “Not anymore.”
“No, not anymore.” She ran her glance
over the chiseled strength of his features. “This is your element.
I realized that the first time I saw you here at the ranch. That
was during roundup, too. Remember?”
“I remember.” He nodded. “But that time
it was spring roundup.”
“With mud everywhere,” Tara recalled.
“I couldn’t put a foot down without sinking up to my ankles in it.
At least this time it’s dry.”
“Too dry.” His glance made an assessing
sweep of the sky, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight.
Tara glanced up as well, but not for
long. The sky was huge, blue, and empty, like all the rest of this
land. Suffocatingly so, in her opinion, but she didn’t voice
that.
“I know you need rain, but I confess, I
greatly appreciate the sunshine this morning.”
“I imagine you do.” His mouth crooked
in an absent smile.
The continued briefness of his answers
was irritating, indicating, as they did, that she had only half of
his attention. The rest was centered on those damned
cattle.
Tara let the silence stretch between
them for a while, and chose her next subject with care. “This
area,” she began on a curious note, “isn’t this part of the land
that you’re seeking to gain title to?”
His dark gaze pinned her, sharp and
probing. “How did you know that?”
Tara smiled that enigmatic smile he
knew so well. “Surely you haven’t forgotten, Ty, that I lived on
this ranch for a while, too.”
He relented a little. “You never seemed
that interested in the ranch.”
“I was always interested, Ty. Too
often, though, that interest ran at cross-purposes with yours—or
your father’s.”
There was too much truth in that for Ty
to deny—not that he wanted to rehash it all again. Yet he hadn’t
expected that kind of an admission from Tara.
He made a slow reassessment of her, but
it was hard to see more than her dark, vibrant beauty with its
porcelain skin and soft curves. Even in Western garb of black
jeans, a cable knit sweater of winter white under a white woolly
vest, and a flat-crowned cowboy hat, Tara managed to look the
picture of stylish elegance, completely untouched by the dust and
the noise and the confusion before her.
“This is the land, isn’t it,” she
repeated, but this time it wasn’t so much a question as a
statement.
“It is,” he confirmed.
“Have you made any progress in
obtaining title?”
“We’re working on it.”
The curve of her lips lengthened. “When
a Calder gives you an answer like that, it usually means you are no
closer than you were before.” She slanted him a mocking look. “I
speak from experience.”
“Truthfully, I couldn’t say one way or
the other,” Ty replied smoothly. “Dad’s been handling that end of
it. I’ve been too busy with roundup and the plans for the new
facility to check on the status of things.”
“Actually I expected Chase to bring us
out here this morning. He isn’t as active as he used to be.” Tara
hesitated, a flicker of concern clouding her eyes. “Or am I wrong
about that?”
“He’s been bothered a bit more by
arthritis lately,” Ty admitted. “It goes back to the injuries he
suffered in the plane crash. The doctors warned him that he would
be troubled by it when he got older. Nowadays, he can’t spend much
time in the saddle without a lot of pain.”
“He must hate that.”
“Almost as much as he hates doing
paperwork.”
“Then he’s left most of the actual
running of the ranch to you.”
“We’ve divvied up the responsibility.
Or,” one corner of his mouth lifted in a dry smile, “to put it in
your lingo, he’s the chairman of the board and I’m the
president.”
“You make a fine president, but I
always knew you would.” Tara saw the shutters close, turning his
features expressionless. “Don’t go getting all aloof on me,” she
chided with playful mockery. “What I said is absolutely true. Maybe
we aren’t man and wife anymore, but we made a good team. We still
do. This time it just happens to be a business relationship. It’s
not without precedent for a Calder, you know.”
A brow arched in a puzzled question.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember that story Ruth
Stanton used to tell about Lady Crawford, wife to the Earl of
Dunshill, and the unique business relationship that existed between
her and the first Chase Benteen Calder, your
great-grandfather?”
He nodded. “I remember some of
it.”
“I was always fascinated by the thought
of a woman of that time period arranging government beef contracts.
And lucrative ones at that, according to Ruth. Such things require
skill and considerable influence.”
“I suppose.” But it wasn’t a subject
that interested Ty.
Tara turned in the saddle, her
expression brightening with the flash of another memory. “You know,
I had almost forgotten about that old tintype I found when Cat and
I were rummaging around in one of the old trunks in the attic. It
was a photo of your great-great-grandmother. And I was struck by
her resemblance to pictures I had seen of Lady Crawford. It made me
wonder if they were the same woman.” The possibility appealed to
her again. “You really should give some thought to checking it
out.”
“Why?” It seemed a waste of time and
energy to Ty.
Tara released another patented throaty
laugh. “Darling, the press loves nothing better than delicious
little skeletons in family closets. Everybody here knows that your
great-great-grandmother ran off with another man when the first
Chase Benteen Calder was a little boy. As scandals go, that is a
tame one. But if she eventually married into the British
aristocracy, that—my dear Ty—is the juicy tidbit people love to
buzz about. Even if it isn’t true, you should hint at it. It will
only add to the Calder legend and mystique. And that will bring
people to your auction. The right people.”
“We’ll see,” was Ty’s only
comment.
“You don’t like the idea. I can tell,”
Tara murmured. “But I’m right.”
“You probably are.” He redirected his
attention back to the gather, spotting Jessy as she returned from
escorting the aged cow to the culled herd, held in a grass basin on
the other side of the lower hill. A second later, his eye was
caught by another rider on foot, leading a limping horse toward the
picket line. Ty was quick to recognize the lanky rider as Dick
Ballard. Jessy had spotted Ballard as well, and reined her horse
toward him.
As Jessy pulled up beside him, Ballard
pushed his hat to the back of his head and started jawing as usual.
Jessy smiled at something Ballard said. Ty watched the easy
interplay between the two, his own expression
darkening.
“Who’s that with Jessy?” Tara
asked.
“Dick Ballard. He’s worked on and off
for the Triple C for years.”
Jessy took her foot out of the near
stirrup, offering Ballard a lift to the picket line. He grabbed
hold of the saddle horn and swung up behind her.
“Ballard,” Tara murmured thoughtfully.
“I’ve heard that name before. Isn’t he the one who first suggested
the idea for this auction?”
“Yes. When he isn’t working for us, he
often rides cutting horses in competition for other owners or
trainers. I understand that a time or two he helped out at some of
these big auctions.”
“Has he seen the design for
yours?”
“No.”
“Can he read blueprints?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I was thinking that if he could, it
might be wise to let him take a look at them. It’s possible he
might see something the rest of us have missed.” Even as she spoke,
Tara was distracted by the obvious camaraderie that existed between
Jessy and this man Ballard. “Jessy seems very friendly with
him.”
“Like I said,” Ty replied, “he’s worked
for the Triple C on and off for years.”
“Yes, you have always had a tight-knit
group,” Tara recalled. It was all part of the Old West code of
loyalty to the brand, something she had always found quite
stifling. Yet for all the smoothness of Ty’s response, Tara
detected something tight-lipped about it. It made her wonder.
“Don’t you like Ballard?”
Ty shrugged his indifference toward the
man. “He tends to talk a lot. Sometimes it can get on the
nerves.”
A talker. Tara filed away that tidbit
of information, aware that it might prove useful in the
future.
Ballard rode easy behind the saddle,
swaying with the horse’s slow, walking rhythm, one hand resting on
a dusty thigh, the other holding the reins to his lame horse. Of
necessity, their pace was slow.
“It’s good to see you back on a horse,
working with the rest of us,” he remarked to Jessy.
“It feels good. I’ve missed it,” she
admitted freely. “But the twins need me at home right
now.”
“I’ve never met a woman yet who didn’t
need a break from her kids now and then.”
“That’s what my mother said when she
walked into The Homestead this morning.”
“Something tells me Grandma just wanted
a chance to spoil them.”
“Probably,” Jessy agreed. “What
happened to your horse?”
“I’m not sure. Either he put his foot
down wrong or stepped in a hole and strained something. It doesn’t
look too serious. Rest and some liniment, and he’ll be good as new
in a few days.”
“I was wondering something,” Jessy
began, not entirely sure what to ask or how to ask it. “How can I
find out when and where there will be another big livestock auction
like the kind we plan to have?”
“It shouldn’t be hard. I can make some
calls and find out if you want.”
“I would appreciate it if you
would.”
“Consider it done.” He paused then
asked. “Why? What have you got in mind?”
“I was thinking it was time we went to
one and saw for ourselves what they are all about.”
“Already worried about what you’re
gonna wear, are you?” Ballard grinned, certain that Ty’s fashion
plate of an ex-wife was the cause of that.
Startled, Jessy jerked her head around,
slicing a look at the man behind her. “Clothes? Why on earth would
I care about such a thing?”
The response was so typical of Jessy
that Ballard laughed out loud. “You’re right. I should have known
better. I can’t say I have seen you in a dress more than a handful
of times, let alone in fancy duds.”
“My reason for wanting to attend one of
these auctions is simply to see the way it’s set up, how it’s run,
the way it’s organized. I want to get a head start on some of that
so ours will run smoothly.” Jessy sounded half-angry, as if she
resented his assumption that she would be concerned about something
as frivolous as clothes.
“Heck, Jessy. You hire ninety percent
of that,” Ballard explained. “As far as the sale itself goes, the
auction firm sets all that up. The same with whatever company’s
handling the food. Your PR people will meet and greet your buyers,
and keep them happy. I’ve heard each company gives you options on
doing things this way or that.”
“But knowing which option is the best
one, that’s the problem.” Jessy reined in a few yards from the
picket line.
“I guess you need to ask a lot of
questions and use common sense.” Reaching around her, Ballard
gripped the saddle horn and slid off the side. Her horse swung its
rump away from him, shifting its position so that Jessy faced the
man on the ground. “I’d ask what brought about all these questions,
but I think I already know the answer. What excuse did she have for
coming this time?”
His question told Jessy just how
rampant the speculation had been about Tara’s frequent visits,
confirming what she had long suspected.
“She brought a list of public relation
firms and recommendations for caterers that she wanted to go over
with us.” To stave off some of the gossip, Jessy added, “Actually
she’s been very helpful.”
“I’ll just bet she has.” His drawled
response was thick with skepticism. “It seems to me that what you
should be concentrating on next is getting an advertising agency.
Your PR people will have suggestions on that, but you need to be
deciding on an ad campaign. Unless you get lucky, laying one of
them out can take time.”
“Thanks.” Jessy appreciated the
information, especially because it hadn’t come from Tara. She
gathered the reins to leave, then checked her horse’s movement,
nagged by his initial comment. “Buyers really dress up for these
auctions, do they?”
“Whooey! I hope to shout they do,
especially the wives. Of course, the clothes can run the gamut.
Depending on the time of year, you can see everything from furs to
jeans with holes in ’em. For the most part, though, the women drag
out every piece of turquoise and silver jewelry they own, and dude
themselves up in gaudy Western outfits that could put to shame
anything Dale Evans and Roy Rogers ever wore. Some of the auctions
even have what they call a private showing the night before. But
it’s just another name for a cocktail party, full of a lot of satin
and diamond glitter.”
“We aren’t planning anything like
that.” At least Jessy didn’t think they were.
“Yeah, I can’t see the Old Man agreeing
to anything like that,” Ballard replied, then measured her with a
glance. “Just the same, I know you’re not gonna want’a hear this,
but people will be taking a close look at what the wife of a Calder
is wearing. I just thought I ought’a warn you about
that.”
“Thanks, but I can’t be anything but
what I am.” With a turn of the reins and a squeeze of the knees,
Jessy turned her horse from Ballard and lifted it into a lope back
toward the herd.
When noontime rolled around, Ty offered
to drive Tara, Jessy, and Noah Richardson back to The Homestead for
lunch. It was, after all, to have been only a morning excursion.
But the architect had yet to have his fill of the cowboy experience
and suggested that they eat with the crew before returning to
headquarters.
He seemed disappointed to discover they
weren’t having beef and beans with skillet bread. But he found a
place among the cowhands and dug with gusto into his plate of
braised brisket, scalloped potatoes, and green beans.
A dusty wind swirled around the
motorized cookshack, seasoning the food with some of nature’s grit.
This was definitely not Tara’s idea of dining al fresco. Rising
from the campstool that had been provided for her, she carried her
nearly full plate over to the wreck pan.
“Let me take that for you, ma’am,” a
male voice drawled.
“Thank you.” Handing it over, she
absently flicked a glance at the cowboy then let it stay when she
recognized the sandy-haired rider she had noticed earlier with
Jessy.
“Why, you barely pecked at this,”
Ballard observed as he dumped the remains in a plastic trash bag.
“The great outdoors usually whets up most people’s appetite. But I
guess that’s how you keep that slim figure of yours.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tara
smiled. “You’re Dick Ballard, aren’t you?”
He made a mock bow of admission, giving
his dusty hat a little tip. “Now I’m the one who’s flattered that
you remembered me, Miss Tara.”
Realizing that he assumed she
recognized him from her days when she was married to Ty, Tara
didn’t bother to correct him. “Ty mentioned that you were the one
to first suggest the idea of an auction.”
“It just seemed like a logical thing
for the Triple C to be doin’.” He noticed she still held the tin
coffee cup. “Want me to freshen your coffee for you? I was just
about to pour myself another cup.”
“Please.” She surrendered the cup to
him.
Waiting while he filled both cups, Tara
used the opportunity to make a closer study of the lanky cowboy. He
was nice-looking in an innocuous sort of way. His eyes were
unquestionably his best feature, blue and thickly fringed with a
soft, gentle quality about them.
“Milk or sugar in your coffee?” He
glanced over his shoulder.
“Milk, please.”
“I figured as much.” He picked up the
milk jug set out for that purpose, poured some in, then passed the
cup to her, handle first. “This range coffee can be almost as
strong as espresso.”
There was a delicate arch to her
eyebrow at his comment. “I didn’t expect a Triple C cowboy to know
about espresso.”
“The truth is out, I guess.” He took a
sip of his own undiluted coffee, eyeing her over the cup’s tin rim.
“I’m not what you would call a true Triple C hand. Like you, I’m
something of an outsider.” He used the cup to gesture toward the
other riders in camp, busy chowing down. “That’s what they call
somebody who hasn’t been born and raised here.”
“But when I saw you earlier with Jessy,
the two of you seemed very friendly.”
“I’m just the friendly sort,” Ballard
replied, but Tara was certain she detected a sudden leap of
wariness in his eyes. Briefly they sharpened their focus before he
let a slow grin sweep across his face. “Besides, even though I’m
technically an outsider, I’ve known Jess since heck was a
pup.”
“Then you must have known her when she
worked as an ordinary ranch hand.”
“That’s right,” he acknowledged, then
said, “The architect mentioned that work should be starting in the
next week or so. That was a good idea you had, revampin’ the old
barn into an auction facility.”
Her smile lengthened knowingly. “That
was a deft change of subject, Mr. Ballard. I didn’t realized that I
was making you uncomfortable by talking about Jessy.”
There was a definite cooling in his
eyes. “It strikes me, that if a lady noticed that, she would have
had the good manners not to point it out.”
For a split second, her temper flared
at the veiled insult, however gently worded, but Tara quickly
controlled it. “The gloves are off, are they?” she murmured
somewhat mockingly.
“That’s up to you.”
“Is it?” she countered, hurriedly
reassessing her opinion of the cowboy.
“Look. I don’t know what your game is,
but something tells me you’re here to make trouble. What kind of
trouble, I don’t know.”
“I’m afraid you’re completely wrong,”
Tara replied smoothly. “I’m only here to help in whatever way I
can. Having come up with the idea to convert the barn into a sale
facility, I’m eager to see it come to pass.”
“If you say so.” Ballard took another
drink of his coffee.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” She
could see it in his face.
“Let’s just say that I’ve never known a
skunk to change its stripes yet.”
“I must say you don’t have a very high
opinion of me.” Tara regarded that as a challenge, something to be
overcome.
“I guess I’m just rememberin’ all the
trouble you caused in the past, and I don’t want to see Jessy
gettin’ hurt again.”
“We’re back to Jessy, are we? You seem
to be very fond of her.”
“I’d like to think that she looks on me
as a friend, somebody she can depend on, but don’t be thinkin’ you
can use that,” Ballard warned. “Jessy only has eyes for Ty. I’ve
known that for a long time. So you aren’t going to be able to use
me to cause trouble between them, if that’s your
thought.”
“How long have you been in love with
her?”
“Ma’am, I think this conversation is
over.” His glance slid past her. “Ty and Jessy are headed this way.
It looks like they’re ready to leave for
headquarters.”
“I wouldn’t rush,” Tara said when he
started to turn away. “It will only look suspicious.” Confident
that Ballard would remain, she half turned to greet the approaching
pair. “There you two are. I was just having the most interesting
conversation with Mr. Ballard here.”
“Really.” With an unusual aloofness, Ty
briefly nodded an acknowledgment of the cowboy’s presence. “I
imagine he was telling you about his latest suggestion that Jessy
just passed on to me.”
“Which one is that?” Tara asked to
cover her ignorance.
“About getting an ad agency on board
right away.”
The wisdom of the suggestion struck
Tara first, then surprise that it should come from an ordinary
cowboy. But she was careful not to let it show.
“I know. I’m surprised I didn’t think
of it,” she admitted lightly, then turned to Ballard, her
conviction growing that he was far from ordinary. “You are
remarkably savvy about such things, Mr. Ballard.”
“It comes from experience I guess—that,
and a natural curiosity. Over the years I’ve been around a good
many of these big auction events, and I just naturally nosed around
to find what all went on behind the scenes to put one of these
things together.” With that, Ballard dumped the remaining coffee
from his cup and tossed it into the wreck pan. “I’d better be
gettin’ back to work.” He touched his hat to Jessy and Tara, and
moved off.
Tara watched him a moment. “Who would
have thought you would have someone so knowledgeable right in your
own backyard? It might be wise to involve him more in the auction,
Ty. His input could prove to be valuable.”
“Jessy just suggested the same thing,”
Ty informed her.
“Then there are already two votes for
Mr. Ballard,” Tara declared. “You might as well make it unanimous,
Ty. Heaven knows, there will be hundreds of details to be handled.
And with the ranch to run, you already have enough on your plate.
You will need to delegate responsibility to someone. Maybe that
will prove to be Mr. Ballard.”
“Maybe.” But the prospect didn’t appeal
to Ty. He just couldn’t seem to shake his dislike of the
man.