Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

who to trust anymore.

Chapter Five

Morning brought an end to the rain, but the clouds and the wind stayed, making it another gloomy and blustery day. It had been close to midnight when the limo dropped Ty and Cat at their hotel. Ty hadn’t slept well; he seldom did in a strange bed.

After an early breakfast with Cat, he returned to his room to make the necessary phone calls while she went off to do some shopping. It was a slow process, making the calls and waiting for his to be returned. Each time the phone rang, he expected to hear Tara on the other end. But it never was.

Ty found it difficult not to remember the sight of Tara lying alone in that bed, looking small and lost—and so very vulnerable. The Tara he knew had never been vulnerable. Not even for one second.

Abruptly he tore off the notepad sheet listing the places, the contact names, and the directions to them, swung away from the silent telephone, grabbed up his hat and sheepskin-lined jacket, and headed for the door, stuffing the list in his jacket pocket.

Before he reached it, someone rapped on the door. Assuming it was the maid coming to clean the room, Ty opened it. Tara stood in the hall, her hands buried in the pockets of a fur-lined raincoat. She wore little makeup, a touch of mascara, a blush of lipstick, but no more than that. It had the effect of heightening the pallor of her skin and enhancing that aura of vulnerability. But it was the lack of vitality that struck him hardest.

“I didn’t dream you,” Tara murmured. “You did come.”

“Yes.” Ty wanted to ask what she was doing there, what she wanted from him. But she seemed too fragile to respond to such a direct question without shattering.

“Brownsmith told me that you sat by my bed until nearly midnight. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her glance drifted down to the hat and coat he carried. The sight of them seemed to momentarily fluster her. “Are you going somewhere?” The question held a note of panic, reinforcing the impression of fragility.

“As a matter of fact, I was,” Ty admitted. “Why?”

“Because . . .” Tara hesitated then appeared to gather herself. “I didn’t go to the cemetery yesterday. I wanted to visit Daddy’s grave today, but I was hoping you would take me.” She lifted her head, her dark eyes vocal in their appeal. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

It was such a small request, one that wouldn’t take more than an hour or two of his time. To refuse seemed somehow vindictive and callous.

His lack of an immediate response prompted Tara to add, with a downcast look, “You probably have an appointment.” Head down, she started to turn away.

“It won’t hurt anything if I’m a little late.” Ty stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him.

“Thank you.” Her soft voice was husky with gratitude.

A brisk wind stirred through the damp leaves, raking the willing ones into small piles at the base of the gravestones. It was a cold and damp day, made all the more bleak by the low, gray clouds.

Ty kept a steadying hand around Tara as they made their way over the uneven ground, past the orderly rows of ancient markers. With one hand, she clutched the up-turned fur collar tight around her neck, completing the frame of her cameo-perfect features. In the other hand, she carried a single Texas-yellow rose.

Their destination was just ahead, Dyson’s final resting place marked by a rectangular mound of freshly turned earth, a sharp contrast to the winter-brown grasses. When they reached the site, Ty removed his hat out of respect, conscious of the wind ruffling his hair, as it was doing to Tara’s.

They stood silently beside the new grave for a long run of seconds. For all of Dyson’s Texas-flash while living, his granite headstone was an unusually modest one, containing no more than his name, date of birth, and a blank space for the date of his death to be engraved.

Stepping forward, Tara bent down and placed the yellow rose atop the dirt. The wind immediately blew at it, but it caught against a large clod and stayed in place.

Rising, Tara brushed back a strand of hair the wind had whipped across her face. “Daddy left written instructions that we were to move heaven and earth, if necessary, to see that he was buried here. He said he wanted to lie among real Texans, not a bunch of newcomers. Silly, isn’t it?” she mused.

“He was proud of his Texas roots.”

“I know.” With a turn of her head, she looked up at Ty. Just for a minute there was that knowing gleam of the old Tara in her eyes. “Whereas the Calders rarely mention theirs at all.”

It was the kind of subtly flirtatious look that invited a smile. Ty responded with a slow one. “I guess we’ve been in Montana too long.”

Tara watched the smiling movement of his mouth, finding something sexy in the laziness of it that still had the power to snatch at her breath. There was a time when she would have tilted her head at just the right angle, inviting more than his smile. But she was much too wise to try that ploy this time. Instead Tara hooked an arm around his and let her gaze wander over the old cemetery.

“Do you remember the last time you brought me here, Ty? You wanted to show me where your great-grandfather was buried. We were both still in college.” At a leisurely pace, she began to stroll in the direction of the car, dr

awing Ty with her, arm in arm.