by Janet Dailey
“Yes.” Tara drew back slightly, wary and trying not to show her alarm.
With a sudden turn of his head, he looked up as if he could see through the ceilings and roof of The Homestead to the sky. Something strained in him, like an animal tensed and waiting.
“You’d better go,” Tara ordered. No man had ever seemed beyond the reach of her ability to control him. But she was nothing to O’Rourke. She made no impression on him at all, which was equally unnerving.
“Where’s Cat? Is she in school?”
“Yes. Ty will be home soon, though,” she said quickly, grabbing at his name as some sort of protection. She still wasn’t sure from what. “Why don’t you wait for him in the living room?”
“No.” The way he looked at her made her blood run cold. It was as if she were being condemned for something.
She couldn’t stand it and swung away, her breath running shallow. “I’m sorry I haven’t time to visit with you,” she said with forced lightness, “but I’m right in the middle of preparing tonight’s dinner and I—” A sudden draft of cold air rushed over her. Tara pivoted in time to see O’Rourke slipping outside through the back door. The fierce grip she’d had on her composure snapped. “Don’t you ever come into this house again without knocking!” she stormed. The door clicked shut on her frightened outburst, and Tara rushed over to lock it, not caring that her words and action went against Triple C custom.
The locked doors required an explanation when Ty had to knock to be let into his own home. Tara had managed to channel much of her fear into a kind of anger as she related the incident that afternoon with O’Rourke.
“I can’t stand him,” she asserted forcefully. “And I won’t have him walking in and out as he pleases when I’m here alone.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Ty promised to calm her down. “But he meant no harm. He just came to visit my mother.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want him around.” She rubbed her arms in agitation, remembering the eerie chill she’d felt.
She seemed vulnerable, in need of his protection. Ty came up behind her and put his arms around her. She turned into them, her face tipped to him. He felt again that stunned reaction to so much refined beauty and the clinging way she looked at him. The pull of her softly reddened lips brought his mouth down.
The next morning Ty climbed the steps, balancing a small serving tray with a glass of juice and a cup of coffee on it. Tara was still asleep when he entered the bedroom. He set the tray on the bedstand, then eased himself onto the side of the bed and kissed her awake. She lazily curled her arms around his neck and stretched like a sleeping kitten as she made a purring sound in her throat.
“It can’t be morning already.” She kissed at his lower lip, avoiding the tickle of his mustache. “Come back to bed.”
“Can’t,” he said reluctantly. “You asked me to wake you up before I left the house this morning.” For a moment, she couldn’t think why she’d done that. Then she remembered O’Rourke and her desire not to be alone in the house and sleeping if he decided to pay another one of his unannounced visits. “I brought you some coffee and juice.” Ty straightened, and she didn’t try to hold him.
“That’s lovely.” She sat up in bed, plumping pillows behind her.
“Will you be okay?”
“Yes. I. . .” Tara hesitated. The thought of being alone in the house all day suddenly seemed intolerable. Her options were limited. “I think I’ll take the car today and drive somewhere—maybe into Miles City. I understand there’s a small gallery with the works of local artists. I’ll be home before dark, though.”
“I probably won’t be back for lunch, then,” Ty said. “We’ve got a batch of sick calves at the South Branch camp, and the infection is spreading faster than Stumpy can isolate them. More than likely, I’ll be there most of the day.” Ty headed for the door to leave, having tarried too long as it was. “Don’t lock the doors,” he admonished.
The veterinarian had a well-worn earthiness about him, and a face that carried a no-nonsense look as well as a simple gentleness. “The infection isn’t serious in itself,” he said to Ty in a voice that was weary and edged with frustration. “But it weakens the calves and leaves ’em open to pneumonia. So we’re fightin’ a war on two fronts.” There was a faint twinkle in his eyes. “Niles’s wife warned me that I’d better find some miracle drug to cure them, because there isn’t room for another sick calf in her kitchen.”
Ty chuckled, no more alarmed by the threat than the vet was. “She’s like Jessy. She’d take the whole damned herd in the house if that’s what it took to make them well.”
“Ranchers’ wives are about as crazy as the ranchers,” the vet agreed, but looked away at the mention of Jessy. He nodded his head, calling Ty’s attention to the vehicle pulling up in the yard. “Wonder what he wants.” A ray of sunlight glinted off the badge pinned on the winter coat of the man climbing out from behind the wheel. “He sure likes people to know he’s sheriff. As lazy as Potter was, he never threw his weight around like Blackmore does.”
“The sheriff probably figures he’s got it to throw around,” Ty murmured as he straightened and turned to meet the officer walking toward them. “You’re a ways off the beaten track, aren’t you, Blackmore?” Ty asked idly. “What is this? A social call or business?”
“I’m here on official business, I’m afraid,” the man said. He seemed unusually solemn, lacking his usually abrasive edge, as he glanced around at the southern camp’s buildings.
“If you’re looking for my father, he isn’t here. He’s in Helena for a couple of days,” Ty informed him.
There was a long, considering pause. “His plane didn’t make it to Helena,” the sheriff stated in a brusque yet flat voice. The first wave of unreality hit Ty. “It went down seventy miles this side of it—in some rough country. A sheepherder in the area saw it crash-land and went for help. A rescue party reached the site early this morning.”
“How can you be sure it was his plane?” The sense of disbelief demanded the question as Ty stared, unmoving, at the officer. Then the second realization hit him. “You haven’t said anything about survivors.”
“Your father’s been taken to a hospital in Helena. The only word I had from the authorities on that end was he was badly injured.”
“And my mother?” Ty demanded.
“She was killed outright.” His head bobbed downward, unable to meet Ty’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Beside him, the vet murmured a stunned “Sweet Jesus.”
Ty held himself tightly together, braced against the shock that tried to reject all he’d been told. A scraping rawness clawed at his insides, but he couldn’t give in to it—not yet.
“My sister—she’ll have to be told.” His mind seemed to detach itself from his feelings. “I’ll go by the school on the way to Helena. She’ll want to come with me. My wife has gone shopping today, in Miles City, I think. Would you put out an emergency bulletin for her, Sheriff, and have her call home immediately?”
“I’ll do it.” The sheriff nodded affirmatively.
“Bill.” Ty glanced at the vet, his voice turning on the husky side. “Tell Stumpy he’s in charge until I get back.”
“Will do, Ty.” It was a quiet answer, respectful and subdued.
There was a weakness in his knees and legs as he left the two men without another word and crossed to the pickup. It was a long drive to The Homestead, and it would be an even longer drive to Helena with a detour to the school to break the news to Cat. Until then, he had to keep his feelings at bay.
IV
Trouble’s got a way of picking its time
To beep you from mourning your dead.
Look to the land for the answer,
’Cause now you’re Calder
born—and Calder bred.
22
Al1 the while he was on the telephone, Ty stared at the empty leather chair behind the desk. Despite the things the impersonal voice on the phone was te
lling him, he found it difficult to believe his father was in some surgery room fighting for his life. The feeling of him was strong in this room.
The voice finished its report. Ty absently thanked it and hung up. Instantly the stillness of the house crept in and put its pressure on him. The shaking started and he reached for a cigarette, but his coat was still buttoned and his hands were still gloved. In a kind of suppressed agitation, he pulled off the gloves and jerked open the buttons.
He watched his hands tremble as he lit the cigarette, then dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. The action seemed to shatter the stiffness that had held him so erect. He sagged against the edge of the desk, sliding off his hat and leaving it on the desktop while he combed a hand through his hair as though trying to rake out the knowledge that clawed at him.
It hurt to breathe. He caught himself listening for sounds—any sound that would tell him there was life in the house, not just hollow echoes of it. Its silence seemed to tell him louder than the sheriff’s words that he’d never hear his mother’s laughter again. The front door opened, and Ty attempted to throw off this depression that weighted his body. Straightening, he turned to meet the sound of quick footsteps.
“Ty?” Jessy halted in the doorway. For a long second, she simply stood there, looking at him, her coat hanging open. He appeared all withdrawn and forbidding, invisible barriers surrounding him to shut her away. Then she saw the stark despair in his eyes and slowly crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Have you heard anything more about your father?”
“I just talked to someone at the hospital.” The cigarette tasted too pungent. He stabbed it out in the desk’s ashtray. “He’s in surgery now. They’re talking about multiple broken bones, possible spinal injuries, collapsed lung, and a concussion.” There was no emotion whatsoever in his voice, but Jessy wasn’t fooled.
“You’ll want to shower and change clothes before you leave,” she said. “You can’t go to the school looking like that. It would only frighten your sister more.”
“There isn’t any easy way to tell her.”
“There never is,” Jessy agreed. “Maybe by the time you’re ready to leave, your wife will be back so she can go with you. A woman might cope better with Cat’s tears.”
“How did you know? How did you get here so soon?” His eyes seemed to take her in, just now realizing she should have been elsewhere.
“The telephone lines across the ranch were all busy from the minute you left South Branch. I came as soon as I heard.” There was no reason to tell him that she had bolted from the calving sheds and stopped at her place long enough to throw on some clean clothes when she’d learned there was no one with him. Maybe it wasn’t her place and maybe it wasn’t proper, but she didn’t give a damn about that.
His hand reached up to touch her face, as if to make certain she was real. In the next second, she was being gathered into his arms and crushed hard against his body. She could feel the awful tension in him and pressed herself more fully to his length, trying to absorb some of it. His face was buried in her hair.
“I can’t believe it, Jessy.” His mouth moved against her hair, the words issued in a hoarsely painful voice. “I just can’t believe she’s dead.”
“I know,” she whispered and held him all the tighter, crying for him because he wouldn’t cry for himself. She felt the shudder that racked his shoulders.
The smell of her was sweet and strong, striking deeply into him. While all around him hung the cloud of death, here was life. He tightened his hold on it and moved his head to drink deeply from its full cup. He kissed her roughly, unable to slake his thirst or find a bottom to the well that poured back. There was pain, urgency, and the vitality of life all wrapped together in a harsh embrace.
He tasted the wetness of her tears and drew back, breathing raggedly. She quickly lowered her head and wiped them away before he could see them clearly. He bent his head, trying to see the glitter in her eyes and identify the tears, but she pulled back with a short, sharp shake of her head.
“You’d better get cleaned up.” Her voice was low but even.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ty left the study. The telephone rang, and Jessy answered it. The phone call was the first of a series of inquiries that came. Jessy told them all she knew. After the last phone call, she walked into the large living room to see what was keeping Ty. As fast as the news was traveling, there was a risk someone at the school might learn of it and inadvertently say something to his sister.
The front door opened, and Jessy swung sharply around. A tall, lean cowboy was pulling off his hat. “Repp, what are you doing here?” She crossed the foyer.
“Does Cat know yet?” The concern in his eyes was apparent.
“No. Ty’s going by the school to pick her up. He’ll tell her then,” she explained.
“Do you suppose it. . . Do you suppose it would be all right if I was there, too?”
“Yes. I have a feeling Cat will need you.”
“Thanks.” He fingered his hat, then set it firmly on his head. “I’ll wait outside.”
As Repp Taylor opened the front door, Tara was crossing the porch. She threw him a surprised glance; then her gaze lighted on Jessy and darkened. Repp held the door open for her and waited until she was inside before going out himself.
The silence stretched between the two women for long seconds as they studied each other. A tension lay heavily between them, a tension time would never erase. Tara’s vibrant looks and poise allowed her a dominance against which Jessy was reserved and silent, yet alert to every change in the woman’s expression.
“What are you doing here?” Tara demanded with thinly concealed hostility. Her dark glance flashed by Jessy to the stairwell. “A policeman stopped me and said there was some sort of family emergency. Has Ty been hurt?”
“Not the way you mean,” Jessy replied. “There was a plane crash. Maggie’s dead, and Chase is critically injured.”
“How terrible!” Just for a moment the shock of the tragedy pushed aside her other thoughts.
“Yes, it is. Ty is upstairs now, changing clothes so he can leave immediately to pick up Cat at school and go to the hospital in Helena.”
“I suppose you’ve been consoling him.” Her tone was quick and hard.
Jessy didn’t bother to respond to that statement. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Calder, I’11 be leaving. Now that you’re here I won’t be needed anymore.”
“I don’t think you were ever needed,” Tara said sharply, her chin lifting at a higher angle.
“Yes. I was.”
Tkra stiffened at the tone. “You sound very sure of that.”
“I am.” Jessy was direct. “You don’t like to hear that, do you?”
Tara was not without her poise as she eyed her opponent with cool speculation. “But I hope you don’t think you are the first woman Ty has used for consolation. Of course, the others were not foolish enough to think it meant anything.”
“Why do you let him?” Jessy demanded, showing the first traces of temper. “Why do you go off and leave him to get lonely? You’re taking a terrible chance. Don’t you realize I wouldn’t have been here if you had been home? You’re in his blood, and I don’t deny it. Maybe that makes you happy to know it. But I have no respect for you. You can’t help being what you are and living the way you want. But you’re hurting Ty. You want to have him and everything else, too. Well, you can’t.”
“Neither can you,” she retorted.
“The difference is, I know it.” Jessy became calm again. “If Ty asks where I am,” she continued, “tell him I’ve gone to Ruth Haskell’s house. Chase was like her own son. She’s taking this pretty hard.”
On that assertive note, Jessy walked past a silent and stiff Tara to the front door and let herself out.
Upon arrival at the hospital, Ty went directly to the intensive-care unit. Tara followed him, a supportive arm wrapped around Cathleen, whose face was strained white and whose eyes were red and puffy
from tears. A tension surrounded all of them as they stopped at the nurses’ station.
“I’m Ty Calder. My father—” He wasn’t given an opportunity to complete his inquiry as a man in a doctor’s smock interrupted him.
“We’ve been expecting you.” He passed a patient’s chart board to one of the nurses and slipped his pen into the breast pocket of the long jacket. “I’m Dr. Haslind. We spoke on the phone earlier today.”
The voice on the phone had sounded as if it belonged to a much older man, but Haslind appeared to be in his early forties. Despite an air of professional competence that kept him tall and straight, there was a drawn and tired look about his face that suggested long, tense hours without rest.
“My father—” Cat’s demand quavered on a high-pitched note. “How is he?”
“Under the circumstances, he’s doing as well as can be expected.” The response had an emotionless quality, as if repeated by rote, which made it meaningless.
“What are his chances?”
“Your father is alive.” It seemed the one hope he was willing to offer them, but he appeared reluctant to say more in front of the obviously distraught Cathleen. “More surgery will eventually be required, but it will have to wait until his system is better able to take it.”
“Earlier today, you mentioned possible spinal injuries.” The possibility that his father might be incapacitated was something Ty had difficulty accepting.
“Yes.” The doctor nodded affirmatively. “There are indications of some paralysis, but at this stage it is impossible to gauge the extent of it or if it might be permanent. It’s simply too soon.”
“I want to see him,” Ty requested.
“Of course.” Haslind nodded again, this time giving permission. “However, I must restrict your visit to two minutes.”
Ty hesitated. “Does he know about my mother?”
After an uncomfortable pause, he answered, “No. I deemed it ill advised to tell him when they brought him in this morning.”