by Janet Dailey
“Where are you going?”
“Some place where I can think in peace.” He grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head, snugging the front down on his forehead.
She went icy with temper. “Where is that? Jessy’s, maybe?” It was a cloyingly sarcastic suggestion.
It stopped him, stiffening his frame and closing in his expression behind a ruggedly indifferent mask. “I hadn’t considered it until you mentioned it. It just might be the place I’ll go.”
The totally unexpected response flamed her. “Then go to her! And go to hell on the way!” It was wounded pride that insisted on rejecting him before he could walk out on her. When long strides carried him out of the room, she was spurred by her temper into following him. “You are a fool, Ty Calder!” she declared in an angry, wavering voice. “I can give you so much more than she can! She’ll never be able to help you the way I can!”
The door was slammed with violent force. Tara stopped, dragging in sobbing breaths of impotent fury and hurt. A small noise came from the dining room. Tara jerked around, stiffly trying to contain all her emotions. It was the young ranch wife who cooked and kept house for her, standing hesitantly in the archway to the dining room.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was just coming to ask about dinner.”
Humiliation flooded through her as Tara realized the woman had overheard nearly everything. The thought of the story being spread around was unbearable. None of the women liked her anyway. They’d tell it just out of spite because she was somebody and they weren’t.
“Get out!” Her hands were clenched into rigid fists at her side. “Get out of my house!” She was near to crying. “I won’t be spied on! Now get out!”
She managed to hold herself rigid until the woman had disappeared from her sight. Then she began to crumple, the silence of her tears shaking her body.
“I hate you.” Tara sobbed her defiance at the disapproving stillness of the house. “I hate all of it. I hate this place and I hate this land.”
The telephone rang, forcing her to choke back the bitter sobs and attempt to swallow them. She made an effort to regain her poise as she carried herself erectly to the phone, sniffling back the tears and wiping at her face.
“Calder residence. Mrs. Calder speaking.” Her voice was level and controlled.
24
The hem of her chocolate-colored chenille robe brushed her ankles as Jessy came out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, her bare feet leaving damp tracks on the linoleum. Vigorously, she toweled the long, wet strands of her hair, scattering droplets of water on the floor.
When she entered the kitchen, she immediately sensed a presence. Before she even saw him, she knew it was Ty in the room. It was something in the air that she instinctively scented. He stood motionless just inside the back door, fingering the crown of the hat in his hand. The unruly thickness of his dark hair showed the rake of his fingers through it, and his hooded eyes were watchful and brooding.
“The coffee’s fresh.” Jessy resumed rubbing her hair dry with the towel. “Help yourself to a cup.”
There was a faint hesitation; then he hooked his hat on a peg by the door and tugged loose the buttons of his coat, letting it hang open. A thinly leashed energy seemed to lie beneath each move as he took down a cup from the shelf of a cupboard and poured coffee into it from the pot. Turning, he leaned a hip against the counter and took blowing sips from his coffee while he watched her. Jessy could feel his eyes following her as she walked to the refrigerator.
“I was just going to fix some supper.” She draped the damp towel around her neck and opened the refrigerator door. “Have you eaten?” She took out a package of ground beef and a dish of boiled potatoes.
“No.” Ty shifted slightly as she set them on the counter near him.
“How about a hamburger steak and some American fries?” For all her outward calm, her nerves were tingling.
“Not for me.” The coffee cup was abruptly set down. “Jessy.” His voice was low and insistent.
When she looked up, his arm hooked out to catch her waist and haul her to him with an urgency that made her blood run quick. His mouth came down heavily onto her lips, the clipped ends of his mustache scraping at her skin as his mouth ground onto hers. She felt his hands digging into her flesh and the viselike bite of his arms that wedged her against his long, muscled body and walled her in with the thickness of his coat. The seething force inside him gave no quarter, brutal in its demands.
Anger ran through her like a two-edged sword. She twisted from beneath his driving kiss and pulled back to glare at him, breathing roughly from the smothering pressure.
“You had an argument with her, didn’t you?” Jessy accused. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I’m here. It doesn’t matter why,” he insisted.
“The hell it doesn’t!” she flared and pulled the rest of the way out of his arms. The chenille robe became tangled around her long legs as she strode to the back door and jerked it open, mindless of the cold draft of air on her bare feet. “Get out!”
Crossing the room, he jerked the door out of her grasp and slammed it shut. “Like hell I will!” He gave her a hard and knowing look. “And you don’t want me to go.”
“Like hell I don’t!” The same expletive was being flung back and forth, strong wills clashing and hurling back to clash again.
“It is hell,” Ty said through his teeth, catching her again and ignoring her vigorous resistance to take her in his arms again. “It’s hell wanting and not having the right to want. It’s hell being with you and knowing it’s wrong.”
This time when his mouth rolled onto her lips, his need was a hungry, growling thing—tonguing and insistent. She was indecisive—wanting and not wanting him, liking it and loathing it. But she stayed with the kiss.
And the bands of restraint inside him began to break. This need that was blind and unfair, without a conscience, took control. Ty became intent on sweeping her beyond the limits she tried to impose. He molded her closer and felt the stirrings that took the weight from her body, making it supple and light.
As if realizing what was happening, she broke away from the kiss. Her fingers dug into his jacket while she turned her head aside. Then she lifted it, exposing her throat and the gaping front of her robe, and the small breasts heaving beneath it.
“Sometimes I hate you, Ty Calder,” she said in her throat. The glitter in her eyes was halfway between anger and tears.
Then she came at him with the same fierce aggression he had shown, her mouth hungry and demanding while she pushed the rest of the way inside his coat. Ty scooped her off her feet and carried her to the first empty space he found, the large braided rug in front of the fireplace. Crackling yellow flames laid a gentle light on it.
He set her on it, his mouth clinging to hers while he unknotted the chenille sash of her robe. Her shoulders hunched to shrug out of it as he pushed it down her arms and laid it out behind her on the rug. Then it was his jacket, clothes, and boots that made a pile on the floor while she reclined on the robe-cushioned rug and watched him strip.
The firelight played golden over her nude body, shadowing its valleys and shining on its rounded curves. Her still-damp hair was slicked away from her face, throwing her strong, bold features into sharp relief. Her long arms lifted to gather him in when he came to her.
Heat surrounded them, pressure pushing from inside and out as his mouth moved from her lips to her erect nipples, finding succor in each. She writhed under him, hips urging.
There was harmony in their mating, something earthy and good in their coming together. It spiraled through him, sweet and clean as the air after a rain. And that was the way she looked to him when she rolled him over and sat atop him, fingers linked tightly in his grasp, her movements graceful as a willow. Her strong looks were of the land that bred her, proud and indomitable.
In an instant of clarity, Ty knew it was her strength of body and spirit that Tara could never match
. He could be rough and forceful with Jessy because he knew she could give it back, if not better than she got. But Tara would have been frightened by so much emotion. She couldn’t give all her love like this—like this.
It was his weight and his arms that shifted her onto the rug again, and the driving pitch of his needs that made the sounds in her throat. Hot sensation dragged them both into its blissful undertow where minds ceased to function and bodies did all the communicating that was necessary.
After slipping her arms into the sleeves of her robe, Jessy loosely draped the front of it shut. She tunneled a hand under the nearly dry hair at the back of her neck and lifted it from beneath the robe. Ty came padding into the living room in his stockinged feet, clad in a pair of Levi’s but bare from the waist up. He sank onto the braided rug where she was seated and handed her the hairbrush he carried.
“You’re sweating,” she observed and picked up the towel to blot at the sheen of perspiration on the muscled points of his shoulders.
“It’s the fire,” Ty murmured, a lazy light gleaming in his eyes.
“Which one?” Jessy inquired in a dryly teasing voice and laid the towel aside to begin brushing the tangles from her hair.
His hand stopped her and tugged persuasively to urge her to lie back. He was raised up on one elbow, and she lowered herself to rest her head on his muscled forearm. His half-closed eyes studied her while he traced a slow circle from her cheekbone to her jaw to her lips, the skin around them reddened by the scratch of his mustache.
“Still hate me?”
The faint smile stayed on her lips, but the light in her eyes became more serious. “Sometimes.” She fiddled thoughtfully with the hairbrush. “It seems I’ve hated you on and off ever since I’ve known you.”
“Such as?”
“That time you kissed me as a joke, then ... there have been a couple of other times.” But she chose not to elaborate.
A grimness took over his expression. “Like when I married Tara, I suppose.”
“That was one of them.” Jessy sat up again to resume brushing her hair. Ty rolled over and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.
Everything had been so infinitely pleasant and comfortable between them. Now the old irritation was back, the ugly twinges of guilt and unease. The match wouldn’t light, and he swore bitterly under his breath. Then he simply held them, the matchbook and cigarette in one hand, the match in the other.
“I’ve tried to stay away from here. You know that, Jessy.”
“I guessed it,” she admitted, neither of them looking at the other. She stopped brushing her hair and simply studied the dark bristles.
“It isn’t fair to you,” he said.
“I think it’s up to me to decide whether a bargain is fair or not.”
“Maybe I know you deserve more than you’re getting.”
“Old Nate Moore told me once that you should never do any heavy talking on an empty stomach.” Jessy uncurled her legs to rise to her feet. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about supper?”
It was a deliberate change of subject, turning aside a topic she didn’t want to discuss. Ty breathed heavily, grimly admiring her guts. Not once had she asked him to lie to her or make meaningless promises.
“No, thanks.”
As she started for the kitchen, the telephone rang. She changed direction to answer it, holding the front of her robe shut, but the bottom gaped about her long, shapely legs.
“Hi, Dad,” she said the instant she recognized the voice on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”
“Mrs. Calder just phoned me.” There was an edge to his voice. “She was looking for Ty and broadly hinted that I might know where to find him. Is he there?”
“Ty?” she repeated his name for Ty’s benefit and saw his head come around to narrow questioningly on her.
“Yes, Ty,” her father said, none too patiently. “If he’s there, tell him to get home right away.”
“What is it? Has something happened?” Her questions brought Ty to his feet and across the room to take the telephone from her.
“What is it, Stumpy?” he demanded. A frown of surprise broke across his expression. Briefly he covered the mouthpiece to tell Jessy, “It’s my sister. She’s missing from school.” Then into the phone he said, “I’m on my way,” and hung up.
“What do you mean by missing? Was she kidnaped, or did she simply run away?” Jessy queried.
“I don’t know.” Ty was hopping on one foot while trying to tug on his boots. “Tara didn’t give him any details. Damn, this is all I need. If she’s run away, I’ll wring her spoiled little neck.”
“So, Mr. Niles did manage to locate you.” Tara was smoldering when he walked through the front door. She was gowned in a filmy black negligee and a matching robe with thick ruffles forming the collar and running down the front to the hem. “If you ever do this to me again, I’ll leave you,” she threatened, her voice trembling.
“What’s this story you told him about Cat?” Ty demanded. “What’s happened to her?”
“I don’t know. The school called right after you left to say she was missing. They don’t know for how long.” Her answer came back angry.
“Did she run away or what?” At the moment he was more concerned about his sister than he was about his wife’s outrage.
“That’s the way it looks, but they aren’t sure. They think a couple of her girlfriends covered up for her this morning,” Tara explained tersely.
“My God, has she been gone that long?” His frown was deeper and angrier as Ty crossed to the telephone and picked it up, dialing a number. “Who is this?” he demanded when a voice answered. “Jobe, I want you to roust Repp Taylor out of his bunk and get him up to The Homestead now! And if he isn’t there, I want you to get up here on the double!”
“You surely don’t think—” Tara began.
“I wouldn’t put anything past her,” Ty cut in and clicked the phone to clear the line, then dialed another set of numbers.
“Are you calling the police?”
“No. She might have gone to the hospital to see Dad.” He waited impatiently for someone to answer. The hospital operator came on the line and switched him to the appropriate nurses’ station. The response to his initial question brought a flurry of more queries. When he was satisfied nothing more could be learned, he hung up. “Cat was there the latter part of the afternoon.” The information was absently passed on to Tara, his thoughts tracking along another course. “She left shortly after the change of shifts. As far as anyone remembers, no one was with her and she said nothing about returning later.”
The muted thump of booted footsteps crossing the wooden floor of the long veranda filtered into the house. As they registered with Ty, he ran a critical eye over Tara’s appearance.
“Go upstairs and change into something decent. I won’t have you walking around dressed like that in front of my men,” he stated tersely.
“I didn’t think you had even noticed what I was wearing.” And she had changed for his benefit, a spiteful attempt to show him what he’d missed when he’d stalked out of the house.
“That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” he taunted with no humor. Tara swung away, even that satisfaction lost to her as she crossed to the stairs. “When you come down, put some coffee on. It’s going to be a long night,” Ty called after her.
The order infuriated her more. He was treating her like she was some kind of servant. Maybe other ranch wives waited on their husbands like little slaves, but she was different. She had talents that were more valuable to him than anything these women around here could offer him, and she knew it. She wasn’t going to be reduced to the position of serving him coffee. When Tkra reached their suite of rooms, she stayed there.
After observing the anger in Tara’s carriage, Ty pivoted to face the front doors as one opened to admit two cowboys. Repp Taylor came forward, a puzzled look in his expression, with Jobe Garvey following
him into the living room, intently curious about this urgent late-night summons.
“Jobe said you wanted to see me right away” Repp said, gesturing to the older man behind him.
“I came along just in case you needed me,” Jobe added in quick explanation for his presence.
Ty didn’t waste time, his gaze drilling into Repp Taylor. “Where’s Cathleen?”
“Cat?” A stunned look flickered across his lean features. “Isn’t she at school?”
His reaction seemed genuine, Ty threw a question at Garvey, who was foreman of the crew Taylor worked in, but didn’t take his eyes from the maturing cowboy. “Where was Taylor today?”
“He was right here at headquarters, checking the remuda with the rest of us.” The stocky-built Garvey quirked an eyebrow, a furrow deepening in his forehead.
“What’s happened to Cat?” Repp demanded.
“The school has informed us that she’s missing,” Ty stated, continuing to watch for any sign that Repp knew more than he was telling. “It appears she has run away, and I thought you might. . . know something about it.”
“Of all the—” Repp turned his head aside, containing the rest of the comment with a visible effort. Then he slowly shook his downcast head, as if it were beyond his understanding. “I didn’t know anything about it. Since the plane crash, she’s talked about running away from school, but I swear I never thought she’d do it.”
“Why? Did she give a reason?”
There was a vague shrug. “She wants to stay on the ranch and she talked about getting a private tutor if you wouldn’t let her quit school altogether. Losing her mother and all... I guess it’s got her scared that something might happen to her father—or you. Ann she wants st obeome if it does.”
“That little idiot.” It was a muttered aside that Ty made, finally convinced the explanation was the extent of Repp’s knowledge. “She’s been to the hospital. Where she is, or where’s she planning to go after that, I don’t know.” dimness was in his voice. “What about her girlfriends? Do any of them know you?”