Chapter Nine
T
he area known as Wolf Meadow had a large stretch of broken country, crowned with flat tablelands and riven with wide coulees. In every direction it sprawled, vast and primitive, in endlessly stretching miles of more of the same.
A red-and-white Cessna aircraft swooped low to the ground, flushing a pair of cows with calves from their hiding place. Spooked by the low-flying plane, they bolted into the open, tails high. The minute they saw the waiting riders, they swerved.
Closest to them, Jessy reined her tired horse after them, spurring it into a gallop. She chased them for nearly a quarter of a mile before she succeeded in turning them. Once the little group was headed toward the bunch that had already been gathered, her weary horse slowed to a rough trot that jarred every bone in her body.
It had been over two years since Jessy had spent this many hours in the saddle. She was out of shape; every stiff and sore muscle in her body attested to it.
To her relief, the sun hung low in the western sky, its rays already painting the undersides of the scattered clouds with a fuchsia brush. Soon it would be too dark to continue the search for more cattle. There was just enough daylight to get this bunch to the holding pens that were better than a mile distant.
When she reached the small herd, Jessy took up her former flanking position and called to the other two riders, “Let’s take these home.”
High overhead, the Cessna flew by and wagged its wings in a signal that it was heading to the landing strip. Jessy watched it with a trace of envy, knowing it would reach the headquarters long before she would. As beat as she was, the end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.
When they topped the last rise and finally saw the portable holding pens near the fence line, the setting sun bathed the entire scene in a golden light, giving it the look of an old tintype. But Jessy was too tired to admire the picture it made.
As soon as they had driven their cattle into the first pen, Jessy peeled away to head for the picket line. Her legs felt a little rubbery when she dismounted. She blocked it out and loosened the cinch on her saddle, then rubbed down her horse.
Convinced that a jolt of range coffee would revive her, she headed for the cookshack. As she neared it, seven-year-old Quint came running up, displaying a great deal more energy than Jessy possessed.
“Hi, Aunt Jessy. I saw you ride in,” he told her, his gray eyes shining with excitement. “I’ve been helping with the roundup.”
“You have?”
“Yup. Grandpa said I did a good job, too.”
“Is he here?” Jessy scanned the handful of riders gathered around the cookshack. She spotted Cat by the coffeepot, but there was no sign of Chase.
“He’s over by the pens.” Quint flung an arm in their direction. “They’re getting ready to load some more cattle.”
As if on cue, Jessy heard the rumble of a diesel engine, the
whoosh
of air brakes, and the grind of shifting gears as a semi maneuvered its slatted stock trailer up to the loading chute. But her attention was on the cup of coffee Cat extended toward her.
“You look like you could use this,” Cat said.
“It shows, does it?” Jessy wasted no time taking a quick sip of the strong brew.
“Not really,” Cat replied. “But I figured you had to be as tired as I am.”
“I’m so tired I’m dragging.” Which was something Jessy would never have admitted to a man.
“A good long soak in the tub is what we both need. You can tell that brother of mine he owes me a massage and a manicure for drafting me into this.”
“I’ll tell him,” Jessy promised.
“Whoops, there’s Logan.” Looking past her, Cat waved at the patrol vehicle that had pulled up along the roadside. “Come on, Quint. Your dad is here. It’s time to go home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jessy said.
Cat grimaced wryly. “Let’s don’t think about tomorrow until it gets here.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jessy lifted her tin cup in a mock toast and called a goodbye to Quint when he raced off to meet his father.
Convinced that her muscles would stiffen into stone if she didn’t keep moving, Jessy made her way to the pens and joined Chase by the loading chute. Cup in hand, she propped a foot on the lower rail.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
Chase acknowledged her presence with a sideways glance, then brought his attention back to the work at hand as the first cow reluctantly clattered up the chute and balked at the entrance to the trailer. “Better than I expected.”
“We only have one day left. Are we going to make it?”
“With luck, we should.”
Crowded from behind, the first cow was forced into the trailer. The others followed, lowing in protest. “Where are you taking this bunch?”
“Back to headquarters for the time being,” Chase replied. “South Branch was able to handle only another fifty head. Broken Butte is already at capacity. Trumbo is checking the Lone Tree range to see if it can handle any more cattle. If we’re lucky, we can scatter another twenty or thirty head around the ranch, but that’s about it. The majority we’ll have to hold at headquarters until we find out whether we’ll get the grazing permit reinstated.”
“What are the lawyers saying?”
“They claim to be as surprised as we are by all this, and insist they didn’t see it coming.” The grimness in his voice didn’t entirely mask its underlying note of anger.
“Have you heard anything more from them?”
Chase leaned on the top rail, his big hands folded together. “Farnsworth called this morning. So far, all their inquiries have been met with a wall of silence. They haven’t found anybody who will admit to knowing anything about the government’s decision.”
“Then we still don’t know why it was done,” Jessy murmured thoughtfully.
“I don’t give a good goddamn why it was done.” The low-voiced words fairly exploded from him. “I just want the rights to this land back. We can’t hold all these cattle at headquarters forever. If we don’t get the land back soon, we won’t have any choice but to sell them.” His hands clenched tightly together, knuckles showing white. “Dammit, we need this land, Jessy. We get more hay out of these coulees than we get from all the rest of the ranch combined. Even more than the hay, we need the water from it. I can’t remember a single time when any of its wells went dry, not even during the worst droughts. Losing this land cripples our entire operation.”
For the first time, Jessy felt a clutch of fear. “Ballard thinks Dy-Corp might be behind this.” Which was something she hadn’t mentioned until that moment.
“That possibility already crossed my mind.” When the last cow was prodded into the trailer, Chase pushed off the rail and hollered to one of the hands, “All right, close it up and take ’em home. I’ll meet you there.” To Jessy, he said, “Ty is still out there somewhere. You might as well ride home with me.”
Aching from head to foot, Jessy walked into The Homestead and headed straight for the stairs. The house seemed unnaturally silent. She was halfway up the steps when she met Sally on her way down. At that instant, Jessy knew why it seemed so quiet.
“Where are the twins?”
“Your mother, bless her heart, decided they should spend the night with her. She knew you would be late getting home, and tired as well.”
“She was right on both counts.”
“Did Chase and Ty come with you?” Sally glanced downstairs expectantly.
“Chase is down at the corrals getting the cattle unloaded. Ty was still at Wolf Meadow when we left.” Grabbing hold of the smooth banister, Jessy started hauling herself up the steps again. “You better not plan on dinner for at least another hour. I’m going to go climb in the tub. If I’m not down in an hour, you’d better check to make sure I didn’t fall asleep and drown.”
Entering the master bedroom, Jessy swept off her hat, hooked it on a corner of a chair back, paused long enough to unbuckle her spurs, then crossed directly to the master bath. She filled the tub with water, hot as she could stand, stripped to the skin, piled her hair atop her head, and climbed into the tub.
A groan of pure pleasure slipped from her throat as the water’s heat flowed over and around her. Eyes closed, she stretched out full length and let it work its magic on her sore muscles. For the time being Jessy was content simply to soak and enjoy. There was time enough later to think about scrubbing away the day’s grime.
Distantly she heard a door open somewhere, but the sound didn’t really register. Nothing did but the relaxing warmth of the bath.
Something, perhaps the sensation of being watched, prompted Jessy to open her eyes and send a heavy-lidded look at the bedroom door.
Ty stood motionless in the doorway, lines of tiredness etched across his strong-boned features, his expression unreadable. His hat was off, and his dark hair showed the rake of combing fingers. But it was the darkness of his eyes that held her attention, their depths impenetrable as their gaze made a slow survey of her nude length, easily visible beneath the clear bath water.
Made oddly uncomfortable by the look, Jessy sat up, breaking eye contact as she reached for the loofah sponge and bar of soap and began the task of lathering herself down.
“The shower is all yours.” Her sideways glance bounced off his face, but not before she saw his mouth quirk at that familiar angle. Only this time there was a coldness to it.
It matched the hard edge in his voice when he spoke. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of dragging you out of the tub and throwing you on the bed.” He pushed out of the doorway, long impatient strides carrying him across the bathroom to the shower area. His hands jerked his shirttail loose and made fast work of the buttoned front as he went. “The thought crossed my mind, but you made damned sure it didn’t take root.”
Startled by the accusation, Jessy whirled in the tub, the sudden movement sloshing the water against the sides. “What?”
“The shower is all yours,” Ty mimicked in sarcasm and shrugged out of his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and threw it toward the hamper. “That’s a surefire way to get the message across that you’re not interested in any lovemaking.” He sat down on the velvet-cushioned vanity bench, a holdover from Tara’s days, and began tugging off his boots, dropping them to the floor. “I ought to know. Tara was an expert at it.”
Infuriated, Jessy demanded, “Stop comparing me with her!” All interest in the relaxing bath was gone. She rose to her feet and climbed out of the tub, snatching an oversized bath towel off its bar and wrapping it around her.
“It must be something you women learn at birth,” Ty grumbled and tossed his socks after his shirt, then stood to unbuckle his belt.
“That is ridiculous.” As far as Jessy was concerned, this entire conversation was ridiculous. And she wanted no more of it. Mindless of the water still dripping from her, she started for the bedroom.
“Leaving, are you?” Ty’s mouth twisted with grim amusement. “That’s another female trick. When the conversation takes a turn you don’t like, you just walk out.”
She spun back to face him. “You are clearly aching for a fight. Keep it up and you’ll get one.”
That had the ring of a threat. A Calder had never backed down from a fight, and Ty wasn’t about to be the first. In two strides, he crossed the space between them and caught her up. Jessy immediately pushed against his chest in hard resistance. Angered by it, Ty ground his mouth across hers, the clipped ends of his mustache scraping her skin. She fought him, but she was no match for his strength. They both knew it.
There was no letup in his demand. He wanted her with a kind of desperation even he didn’t understand. He molded her closer and felt her indecision, the wanting and not wanting of his kiss.
When she ceased her struggles, he rolled his mouth from hers and lifted his head to view her up-turned face. In her eyes were the first stirrings of desire, but they were still mixed with the heat of anger.
A dozen protests lay unspoken in her throat, each of them sounding too much like what Tara would have said. That galled Jessy even more.
“Sometimes I hate you, Ty Calder.” She pushed the words through her teeth.
A sudden softness warmed his eyes. “You told me that once before,” Ty remembered. “At the old Stanton cabin.”
That time their angry fight had ended in fierce lovemaking. She recalled it, too. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the lessening of tension in her body. When he lowered his mouth to hers a second time, she kissed him back with a driving hunger that matched his own.
Ty scooped her up, towel and all, and carried her into the bedroom. Unceremoniously he dropped her on the bed. The loosely tucked towel fell open, revealing every inch of her slim length, still glistening with dampness. With a swiftness that belied his earlier fatigue, he stripped off his jeans and shorts, and sank a knee onto the bed, lowering himself onto it.
Her hands were already reaching for him, avid in their need to reassert a closeness. Ty needed no urging. His hands slid over her, finding and cupping her small but highly sensitive breasts. He swallowed the sound of pleasure that came from her throat and nibbled his way along the long curve of her neck. She smelled of soap and all things earthy and strong. It swirled around him, primitive and potent.