Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

“Ty. Thank God, you’re there. Have you heard about Daddy?” Her voice quivered with the effort to hold back a sob.

“Just a few minutes ago. Cat is already making arrangements to fly down for the funeral.”

“You’re coming, too, aren’t you?” There was a desperation to her question that bordered on hysteria. “Ty, you must. Please.” Her voice broke on a sob. “You don’t know what it’s like here. They’re hovering around like vultures. I don’t have anybody I can trust. Not a single one, Ty. I thought it would be enough just to hear your voice, but it isn’t. I need to see you. I need to know someone is here for me.”

The emotion in her voice, the needy words were like a snare, trapping him into something he didn’t want—just like in the old days. “Tara,” he began in resistance.

“Ty, you have to come,” Tara rushed in a trembling voice that ripped at him. “If I ever meant anything to you at all, you’ll do this. I need you.” She broke down and began to weep in delicate, but wrenching sobs. In between each one, he could hear her little murmurs of “Please, please, please.” It aroused all of his protective instincts.

The Tara he knew had never pleaded for anything in her life. Schemed and manipulated, yes. Sweet-talked and cajoled, yes. But she didn’t beg.

Still Ty hesitated a moment longer before he finally said, “I’ll see what I can arrange, Tara.” His statement was met by barely coherent sobs of gratitude. He said his goodbyes and hung up.

Even before he turned to the group, Jessy felt a cold chill of foreboding run down her spine. She mentally braced herself for what was to come.

“She wants me to come to the funeral.” It was more or less a general announcement, but Jessy knew it was her reaction he was seeking.

“You’re going, of course.” She said it matter-of-factly, without betraying the sick feeling in her stomach.

His mouth slanted in a crooked smile that was so full of warmth it was like a caress. “I knew you would understand.”

“Of course.” Jessy suspected that she understood better than he did. Even though his marriage to Tara had ended years ago, he still felt a lingering sense of responsibility toward her—a husband’s responsibility, if not to Tara, then to his dream of Tara. And it was his dream image of Tara that was the most dangerous thing.

Ty shifted his attention to Chase. “Ballard gave me a list of places with on-premise sale barns. A couple of them are in Texas. I planned on checking out a few of them after the holidays, but I might as well look them over while I’m down there for the funeral. Before we can decide whether we want to go the private auction route, we’ll need to know the type of facility it would require, plus the cost of construction.”

Chase concurred.

On the day of the funeral, one of Texas’s infamous blue northers blew in, shrouding the sky with heavy gray clouds. The outside temperature plummeted to near the freezing mark.

But it was warm inside the hushed church. Almost too warm. Ty sat next to Cat, his topcoat draped across his lap and his dress black Stetson resting atop it. The place was full to capacity with mourners, many notables among them as befitted someone with the status and wealth of E.J. Dyson.

Baskets of elaborate floral arrangements crowded the sanctuary, their cloying fragrance permeating the already stifling air. When the minister at last asked the gathering to bow their heads in prayer, drawing the service to a close, Ty breathed out in relief, even though it brought nearer the moment he dreaded.

Having flown into Fort Worth only that morning, he had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Tara before the memorial service had begun. There was a part of him that still wasn’t sure why he was there, or what he would say to her when they did meet. But he already felt the awkwardness of it.

He stood in silence while the pallbearers brought the ornate pewter-gray casket up the main aisle. Tara followed it, leaning heavily on the arm of an older gentleman. Dramatic in black, she wore an elegant Chanel suit, unadorned with any trimmings. On her head was a small and simple black hat with a half-veil attached, creating a sheer shadow over the upper half of her face. Her only concessio

n to jewelry was the black opal ring on her finger.

As Tara came up the aisle, she kept her gaze fixed on a point somewhere ahead of her, glancing neither to the right nor the left. There was a woodenness to her movements that was completely unnatural, and a pallor to her grief-numbed face that couldn’t be faked.

“Oh, Ty,” Cat murmured when she saw Tara. “Look at her. Have you ever seen so much pain?” she asked in a voice husky with empathy.

“I know,” he murmured in return.

“I remember the way I felt at Mother’s funeral.” Cat paused and brushed away a tear that slipped off her lashes. “It hurt so very much.”

In reply, Ty curved an arm around her and rubbed a hand over her shoulder, remembering his own pain that day. In this, he had no difficulty empathizing with the loss Tara felt.

Together, he and Cat joined the long receiving line as the mourners filed by to extend their sympathies. To each, Tara responded with a faint nod that was almost robot-like, her gaze barely focusing on any of them.

Then it was their turn. Cat stepped up, Ty at her side. The first glimmer of recognition registered in Tara’s dark eyes. “Cat.” The word was almost a sob as Tara reached out with needing hands. “Where’s—” A slight turn of her head and she saw him.

“Tara,” Ty began, but Tara’s knees had already buckled as she sank in a dead faint.

Ty caught Tara before she fell and scooped her into his arms amid a rush of concerned gasps and alarmed murmurs. As others pressed in to offer aid, one of the funeral directors intervened and quickly ushered Ty to an out-of-the-way anteroom, complete with a small cushioned sofa.

With Cat at his heels, Ty crossed to the sofa and laid Tara on it while Cat hurriedly pushed a pair of throw pillows behind her, propping Tara in a reclining position. After closing the door, the funeral director joined them, taking a vial of ammonia from his pocket and uncapping it. He waved it briefly under Tara’s nose.