by Janet Dailey
“I wish I’d thought about that.” Culley frowned. “When I was in town, I could have bought you some everyday clothes to wear.”
Cat tipped her head to the side, looking at him with wondering affection. “You would have done that, wouldn’t you?”
He turned the empty coffee cup in front of him, liking the way she looked at him but made self-conscious by it, too. “Crazy, huh?” he said. “Ole Crazy Culley.” He heard the protesting sound she made and lifted his head, shrugging one shoulder to show indifference. “I know that’s what they call me.” And he also knew they’d never take the word of an O’Rourke. And Crazy Culley—they wouldn’t believe a thing he told them if he swore on a stack of Bibles.
“It isn’t true.” He saw the flash of spirit, the indignation on his behalf.
“Don’t worry your head about it.” He smiled proudly.
Culley had lived too long in this place not to know every sound that belonged in and around it. And his senses were too keenly trained not to notice the intrusion of an unnatural sound. It was faint and still some distance from the house, but it brought him to his feet and carried him to the window. His sudden alertness brought a quick end to the conversation.
“What is it?”
“Someone’s coming.” He stared out the window at the break in the trees where the vehicle traveling up the lane would first come into sight. Cat crowded close to look, too.
“It’s my brother.” Even though she hadn’t been able to see the driver clearly, the pickup unmistakably belonged to the Triple C. “I know it is.”
Culley turned, eyeing her closely. “Do you want to see him?” He observed her indecision, the reluctance and dread taking dominance. “Get into the bedroom and shut the door. I’ll handle it. You don’t have to go home until you want.”
“I—” She couldn’t finish it, her teeth sinking into her nether lip. After another second’s hesitation, she turned and hurried to the bedroom.
There were still a couple of minutes before the truck rounded the turn and entered the yard. Culley waited until the bedroom door was securely shut, then headed for the small front porch. Just before he walked out of the house, he hesitated and reached for the rifle on the low rack mounted on the wall by the door. At his age, he was no match for a young buck like Calder. And if Cat’s brother got persistent, Culley might be in need of an equalizer.
He made sure the front door swung quietly shut behind him, silent movement a habit with him. Culley walked as far as the steps and stopped to lean the rifle against an upright post, out of sight and within reach; then he faced the mouth of the lane.
Before the engine had stopped, Ty was out of the truck and coming around the hood to confront O’Rourke. “What brings you over here on a warm spring morning like this?” O’Rourke inquired conversationally.
Ty halted short of the steps. “I’m here to get Cathleen.” He made it a positive statement.
“Cathleen!” O’Rourke feigned mild surprise, but he was no actor.
“I know she’s here, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Ty challenged.
There was a short silence while O’Rourke debated the best way to handle the situation now, even though he couldn’t figure out how Calder could be so absolutely certain.
“All right. She’s here,” he admitted finally. “She showed up late last night—-cold and tired—and asked if she could stay. She didn’t want to go home because she knew you’d be angry about what she’d done and she was afraid you’d send her back to school. I told her she was welcome to stay with me as long as she liked—and I meant it.”
The explanation only added to his impatience with Cathleen. “She has stayed as long as she’s going to.” Ty took a step forward, intending to go into the house and get her. With a sly quickness that belied his age, O’Rourke scooped up the hidden rifle and aimed it level from his waist. “I don’t think so,” was all he said.
Ty froze in his tracks, a wariness tingling through him as he glanced from the rifle barrel to the man holding it. “Let me by, Culley. I’m not leaving without her.”
The lever action sounded unnaturally loud as a bullet was pumped into the firing chamber. “You’re on private property, Ty,” O’Rourke said. “And I’m telling you to get off.” There was a sudden quirk of his mouth. “Things sure take a funny twist, don’t they? A long time ago, it was a Calder who had my sister and ordered me off his land. Now I got a Calder’s sister and I’m the one telling you to git.”
Don’t back down from anything, his father had once told him, because it only makes it easier to back down the next time. And Cathleen was in that house. Taking a calculated risk, Ty released an angry sigh of disgust and half turned away.
“Damn that girl!” he muttered and swept his hat off his head to rake a hand through his hair. Then he turned back to address his complaints to O’Rourke. “The whole damn ranch has been up all night and half the state is looking for her. She’s got me and everybody else worried crazy, thinking something might have happened to her. And all the while, she’s been warm and safe over here at your place”—his hands and his hat gestured wildly as he made his points—“and she didn’t so much as even send word that she was all right. You’re damned right I’m upset with her!”
The last was issued with an upward swing of his hat that hit the rifle barrel and pointed it skyward. A deafening explosion roared in his ears as his arm completed its arc and knocked the rifle out of O’Rourke’s grasp. Ty charged up the steps as the gray-haired man backed up, half crouching into a fighting stance.
Cathleen came hurling out of the house to throw herself between the two men, protectively shielding O’Rourke. “Ty, no! Don’t!” It was a frightened and angry command. “He was only trying to protect me!”
“He wouldn’t have had to protect you if you hadn’t hidden in the house like some damned child!” Ty raged. “Were you afraid to come home because you thought you were going to get a spanking? You spoiled little brat! You’ve never had a spanking in your life—and that’s what’s wrong with you now! You didn’t want to stay in school, so you ran away! Don’t I have enough to worry about with the ranch and Dad lying in some hospital without having to worry about where the hell you are?”
“I’m sorry.” Tears were stinging her eyes as she faced him.
She looked so damned vulnerable, but his exasperation with her wouldn’t allow him to be moved by it, although it took his anger, leaving him with impatient disgust. “Grow up, Cathleen,” he ordered roughly. “Nobody held my hand when I was your age, and I’m sure as hell not going to hold yours.” He swung off the porch to stride to the truck.
Not immediately following him, Cat glanced hesitantly back at her uncle. “You don’t have to go with him,” O’Rourke said quietly.
A sad little smile touched her mouth. “Yes, I do.” Impulsively, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, whispering a tremulous “Thanks.” Then she ran down the steps after her brother.
The motor had started and the pickup was reversing out of the ranch yard before Culley remembered. “What about the cake?” he called after his niece, but she didn’t hear him above the engine noise.
He kept it for days until the chocolate frosting dried and cracked and the cake became too hard to eat. Finally he threw it away.
“The spring roundup went well.” Ty sat in the chair beside the hospital bed. Dressed in a western-cut suit, he idly turned the Stetson hat in his hand, trying to find an easy way to lead up to the matter he dreaded to tell his father. “Our winter losses were minimal.”
“That’s good.” His father grabbed the overhead bar with his one good hand and tried to shift his position in the bed slightly. The twitching grimaces he tried to control indicated he was in considerable pain. His big frame seemed gaunt and pale, the deep tan faded after these long months in the hospital. The accident and Maggie’s death had aged him, graying more of his hair until the temples were completely silvered. When the pain had subsided to
a tolerable level again, he glanced at Ty. “Did you bring me any cheroots?”
“I thought the doctor said you weren’t supposed to smoke,” Ty reminded him. He’d suffered a collapsed lung in the plane crash; then infection had set in, further weakening his breathing.
“The doctor also told me I wasn’t supposed to live,” his father countered dryly. “Which just shows you how much he knows.”
The reference to death brought a different kind of pain into his eyes as he briefly turned away. Ty knew he was thinking about Maggie. He still hadn’t gotten over losing her, and probably never would. Without her, his father had lost interest in so many things and seemed to go through the motions of living, with no more purpose than to get through each day.
It seemed wise to change the subject. “Some of Tara’s friends from the East came to stay during the roundup. They got a kick out of watching how it was done in the ‘Wild West.’ As a matter of fact, they’re still at The Homestead. That’s why Tara didn’t come with me today.”
“How’s Cat? Did she come with you?”
“Yes. There was some shopping she had to do, and she didn’t want to leave it too late in case the stores closed,” Ty explained. “She should be here before long.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile that crooked the line of his mustache. “She received her grades from school, and I’m sure she has every intention of showing them off to you.”
“One time she talked to me about staying at the Triple C and having a private tutor,” his father recalled vaguely. “Look into that for her.” The accident hadn’t altered her father’s willingness to indulge his daughter’s every whim, regardless of its extravagance.
“We can’t afford it.” Ty looked grimly at his hat, then lifted his gaze to his father. “I’ve been cutting expenses everywhere I can.”
“You’re running the show. You do what you have to.” Along with everything else, his father appeared to have lost interest in the operation of the ranch.
“I am,” Ty stated and took a breath to finally make his announcement. “You might as well know I’ve dropped the suit for title to the disputed ten-thousand-acre parcel. In the meantime, I’ve negotiated an interim lease on it.”
For a few minutes, he had his father’s undivided attention. “Why?”
“The legal fees were too expensive. Maybe, if the cattle market changes, I’ll be able to afford to go after the title again.”
“But possession is nine tenths of the law. That land has been in the Calder name, in one form or another, for a hundred years,” his father protested, but not vigorously.
“And it still is. That’s why I waited until I had a signed lease before I dropped the suit. It can be filed again,” Ty assured him.
He sank back on his pillow. “Maybe you’re right.” There was defeat in his voice, and it hurt Ty more than an angry dispute over his decision could have. “Maybe it isn’t worth fighting over. If I hadn’t been so determined to get it, here would have been no reason to fly to Helena and your mother wouldn’t have been killed.”
“Don’t talk that way. You can’t blame yourself,” Ty insisted.
“You can’t deny it’s true.” It was a humorless smile he turned on his son. “Light me a cigarette.”
After hesitating, Ty reached inside his suit jacket and took out a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. He lit it and passed it to his father. A long, dragging puff was taken from the cigarette and blown at the ceiling.
“Did you talk to Dr. Haslind when you arrived?” He studied the smoldering tip of the cigarette.
“No. I missed him. Why?”
“I’m scheduled for surgery Monday morning. They think they can relieve some of this pressure on my spine.”
For a long minute, Ty couldn’t say anything. “I’ll be here.”
“You have a ranch to run”
“I’ll be here.”
When they wheeled him down the hospital corridor to the operating room, Chase was all prepped for surgery. A nurse had given him a shot earlier, and he felt heavy and groggy. With blurring vision, he searched the faces above him. Ty had said he was going to be there.
“My son . . ."he murmured thickly.
“Your family is in the waiting room outside surgery, Mr. Calder,” a woman’s voice assured him, but it seemed to come from far away.
There was something he’d meant to tell him. It was important, but he had trouble remembering what it was. “Tèll him...” It was almost there. He strained, fighting the cloudy softness that drifted around him. “... mineral rights.” He remembered, but his voice was very low and slurred. “... get mineral ri. . .”
“What did he say?” A surgical aide glanced at his partner to see if she had understood.
“Something about minerals.” She shook her head. “Some of the patients come up with the craziest things.”
26
It was late in the afternoon when Ty arrived at The Homestead from his third trip to the hospital in slightly over a week’s time. He was tired, well aware there was a backlog of paperwork waiting for him in the study.
Thra was at the door to greet him when he walked in. “Welcome home.” She kissed him lightly. “How is your father doing after his surgery? You gave him my love, I hope.”
“Yes, and he’s doing fine, recovering nicely, so far.” Then he glanced about the living room. “Has E.J. arrived? I explained to Dad that you didn’t come with me because your father was flying in.”
“He and Stricklin arrived shortly after lunch. They’re over at the mine this afternoon.” She paused, eyeing him critically. “You look tired.”
“I am.” He headed for the study, hoping to get some of that paperwork knocked out before Dyson and Stricklin returned.
“You shouldn’t have made the trip to the hospital so soon after the last one. Both of us were there for his surgery. We even stayed until the next day,” Tara reminded him.
“I thought it was necessary,” Ty stated and didn’t explain his reasons. When he entered the study, he saw a middle-aged woman in a navy-blue dress and white apron polishing the liquor cabinet. Tara came alongside him as he stopped abruptly. “Who are you?”
“Ty, I want you to meet Mrs. Thornton. She’s keeping house for us,” Tara explained.
An eyebrow shot up as he frowned. “Since when?”
“Since I hired her . . . and an excellent cook named Simone Rae. You’ll have an opportunity to sample her culinary skill at dinner this evening.” She seemed almost totally indifferent to his chagrined surprise at the news.
“How do you do, Mr. Calder.” The new housekeeper respectfully inclined her head in his direction.
“Mrs. Thornton.” He kept a tight control on his displeasure. “You can finish the cleaning in here another time.”
“Of course, sir,” she murmured and quietly withdrew from the room.
“What’s the meaning of this?” He turned on Tara when they were alone.
“I told you I needed extra help,” she reminded him with a small laugh of confusion.
“And when you told me that, I thought you meant you were going to hire a local girl here on the ranch.”
“Ty, you know we need properly trained staff,” she insisted. “And Doug Stevens and his party will be arriving next week. After all the time he spent in France, I couldn’t serve him poorly prepared meals. I had to find a decent cook.”
“Dammit, Tara,” he muttered impatiently, turning his head aside, then slicing her an accusing look. “You know I’ve been trying to trim expenses everywhere I could.”
“You simply can’t entertain cheaply.”
“Unless you don’t entertain at all!” he countered with more than a trace of anger.
Her dark eyes fairly snapped. “If you would spend more time with our guests instead of traipsing all over this godforsaken ranch—”
“I don’t have time to entertain your guests!” Ty interrupted. “I’m trying to run this ranch and find money enough to pay to feed all
these people who keep arriving—at your invitation.”
“I ask them here so you can meet them and get to know them.” She was struggling not to lose her temper. “If you want to get ahead, it’s not what you know—it’s who you know. Surely you can’t be so blinded by all this sun and sky that you can’t see that. Someday these people might be useful to you.”
“How? Useful the way the good Senator Bulfert was useful to my father?” he challenged.
“One of them might have the influence to help you regain title to that land your father thinks is so important.” She knew he was still sensitive about that, and she used it to win her argument. Tara saw the indecision warring in his expression and let her own soften. “Look, Ty,” she began, again in a reasoning tone. “I can’t rope cows or brand calves. I can’t do bookwork. So let me help in the way that I can. I know a lot of important people. Please, when the Stevens party comes, spend more time with them.”
“You can be as beguiling as a witch,” he muttered.
“A beautiful one, I hope.” She laughed softly and linked her arms around his neck. He was drawn down by the shiny invitation of her lips.
The rumbling roar of the huge, diesel-powered earth mover vibrated through the air as it peeled away the grass and soil to expose the seam of coal. Elsewhere, power shovels were scooping up chunks of coal, broken up earlier by explosions of dynamite charges, and loading them into large coal trucks for transport to preparation plants. The ebb and flow of men and machines was as constant as the deafening noise.
The land had the gouged and desolated look of a battlefield. The plant life that still survived at the edges of the pits was coated with layers of dust.
As Dyson and Stricklin emerged from the temporary offices on site, there was a slowdown of activity. The line of empty coal trucks returning for new loads growled to a stop.
Dyson turned to the mine director, Art Grinnell. “What’s the problem?”