“That’s what my mother said when she walked into The Homestead this morning.”
“Something tells me Grandma just wanted a chance to spoil them.”
“Probably,” Jessy agreed. “What happened to your horse?”
“I’m not sure. Either he put his foot down wrong or stepped in a hole and strained something. It doesn’t look too serious. Rest and some liniment, and he’ll be good as new in a few days.”
“I was wondering something,” Jessy began, not entirely sure what to ask or how to ask it. “How can I find out when and where there will be another big livestock auction like the kind we plan to have?”
“It shouldn’t be hard. I can make some calls and find out if you want.”
“I would appreciate it if you would.”
“Consider it done.” He paused then asked. “Why? What have you got in mind?”
“I was thinking it was time we went to one and saw for ourselves what they are all about.”
“Already worried about what you’re gonna wear, are you?” Ballard grinned, certain that Ty’s fashion plate of an ex-wife was the cause of that.
Startled, Jessy jerked her head around, slicing a look at the man behind her. “Clothes? Why on earth would I care about such a thing?”
The response was so typical of Jessy that Ballard laughed out loud. “You’re right. I should have known better. I can’t say I have seen you in a dress more than a handful of times, let alone in fancy duds.”
“My reason for wanting to attend one of these auctions is simply to see the way it’s set up, how it’s run, the way it’s organized. I want to get a head start on some of that so ours will run smoothly.” Jessy sounded half-angry, as if she resented his assumption that she would be concerned about something as frivolous as clothes.
“Heck, Jessy. You hire ninety percent of that,” Ballard explained. “As far as the sale itself goes, the auction firm sets all that up. The same with whatever company’s handling the food. Your PR people will meet and greet your buyers, and keep them happy. I’ve heard each company gives you options on doing things this way or that.”
“But knowing which option is the best one, that’s the problem.” Jessy reined in a few yards from the picket line.
“I guess you need to ask a lot of questions and use common sense.” Reaching around her, Ballard gripped the saddle horn and slid off the side. Her horse swung its rump away from him, shifting its position so that Jessy faced the man on the ground. “I’d ask what brought about all these questions, but I think I already know the answer. What excuse did she have for coming this time?”
His question told Jessy just how rampant the speculation had been about Tara’s frequent visits, confirming what she had long suspected.
“She brought a list of public relation firms and recommendations for caterers that she wanted to go over with us.” To stave off some of the gossip, Jessy added, “Actually she’s been very helpful.”
“I’ll just bet she has.” His drawled response was thick with skepticism. “It seems to me that what you should be concentrating on next is getting an advertising agency. Your PR people will have suggestions on that, but you need to be deciding on an ad campaign. Unless you get lucky, laying one of them out can take time.”
“Thanks.” Jessy appreciated the information, especially because it hadn’t come from Tara. She gathered the reins to leave, then checked her horse’s movement, nagged by his initial comment. “Buyers really dress up for these auctions, do they?”
“Whooey! I hope to shout they do, especially the wives. Of course, the clothes can run the gamut. Depending on the time of year, you can see everything from furs to jeans with holes in ’em. For the most part, though, the women drag out every piece of turquoise and silver jewelry they own, and dude themselves up in gaudy Western outfits that could put to shame anything Dale Evans and Roy Rogers ever wore. Some of the auctions even have what they call a private showing the night before. But it’s just another name for a cocktail party, full of a lot of satin and diamond glitter.”
“We aren’t planning anything like that.” At least Jessy didn’t think they were.
“Yeah, I can’t see the Old Man agreeing to anything like that,” Ballard replied, then measured her with a glance. “Just the same, I know you’re not gonna want’a hear this, but people will be taking a close look at what the wife of a Calder is wearing. I just thought I ought’a warn you about that.”
“Thanks, but I can’t be anything but what I am.” With a turn of the reins and a squeeze of the knees, Jessy turned her horse from Ballard and lifted it into a lope back toward the herd.
When noontime rolled around, Ty offered to drive Tara, Jessy, and Noah Richardson back to The Homestead for lunch. It was, after all, to have been only a morning excursion. But the architect had yet to have his fill of the cowboy experience and suggested that they eat with the crew before returning to headquarters.
He seemed disappointed to discover they weren’t having beef and beans with ski
llet bread. But he found a place among the cowhands and dug with gusto into his plate of braised brisket, scalloped potatoes, and green beans.
A dusty wind swirled around the motorized cookshack, seasoning the food with some of nature’s grit. This was definitely not Tara’s idea of dining al fresco. Rising from the campstool that had been provided for her, she carried her nearly full plate over to the wreck pan.
“Let me take that for you, ma’am,” a male voice drawled.
“Thank you.” Handing it over, she absently flicked a glance at the cowboy then let it stay when she recognized the sandy-haired rider she had noticed earlier with Jessy.