Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

The dun gelding Ballard rode provided a steadying influence for the colt. Just the same Jessy had her hands full when she first rode the buckskin out of the pen. They were halfway to the river before he stopped his dancing and sidestepping and settled into a brisk walk.

With the gelding leading the way, they crossed the river at its shallow point, climbed the sloping bank, and headed into the grass expanse beyond it at an easy lope. The sun was warm on Jessy’s face, and the south breeze had a hint of wildness in it.

A half-mile from the ranch headquarters, Ballard reined his horse down to a walk. Jessy followed suit, and the young colt raised no objections to the slower pace.

“He’s settled down in fine shape,” Ballard observed, noting the young horse’s quietness.

“He has,” Jessy agreed absently while her gaze took in the broad expanse of plains before them, rugged and rolling into forever.

For a long time, Ballard said nothing more. The stretch of silence was unlike him and Jessy was too used to his gab not to notice its absence.

Just about the time it started to become uncomfortable, he said, “You know the whole ranch is buzzing about Tara buying Wolf Meadow.”

“Mom told me,” Jessy admitted although she had guessed it long before that.

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; “Helicopters have been seen flying in and out of there a half-dozen times a day. Talk is she’s buildin’ something.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

There was a pressed tightness about his mouth. “I knew the minute she showed up again that woman was going to bring trouble—just like before,” he muttered thickly. “If Ty had a lick of sense, he would have shown her the door and given her a shove out of it. But not him. He let her become a fixture around here.” He cocked his head at Jessy, a curious but sober glint in his eye. “Of course, the question is—what is he going to do about her now?”

“You’ll know when everybody else does,” Jessy retorted. “And don’t be bad-mouthing Ty to me.”

“You’re married to him so you have to stand up for him, I understand that,” Ballard said with an accepting nod of his head. “But you’ve gotta understand that I’m only saying what everybody else is.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t want to hear it.”

Deliberately ignoring her, he continued, “Nobody would be sayin’ much if it wasn’t for the fact the old man is slippin’. There was a time if anybody crossed him, he would’a been on ’em like a lightning bolt. But he isn’t the tough old bird he once was. And Ty is too soft to move against a woman. He finds it even harder to go against that one. She’s always had some sort of spell over him. Leastwise, that’s the talk,” Ballard added, as if to assert it wasn’t coming from him.

Angry, mostly because she knew that was likely what was being said, Jessy shot back, “Don’t underestimate either of them. Spread that word.”

She reined the buckskin around, pointing him back toward the Triple C headquarters, and urged him into a canter. Ballard brought his mount alongside, aware that she was setting a pace that discouraged further conversation.

That was fine with him. He had said what he had to say, though there was a good deal more he had left unsaid. He had his own suspicions about Tara’s plans. To him, they were as obvious as a tree in the middle of a prairie.

Now that she had her hands on the perfect bait to guarantee success—Wolf Meadow, she would have Ty jumping through hoops to get it.

Promptly at six-thirty on Friday evening, a black Range Rover with Texas license plates pulled up to The Homestead. Ty waited at the top of the steps, his eyes narrowing in an effort to penetrate the windshield’s tinted glass and identify the hatted figure behind the wheel.

Buck Haskell stepped out of the driver’s side, dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a Western-style blazer. There was a smug gleam in his eyes when he met Ty’s gaze. Without a word, he came around the front of the Rover and opened the rear passenger door, extending an assisting hand to Tara.

With typical grace, she emerged from the vehicle, suitably attired for a business dinner in a tailored, but flattering, navy pinstriped suit and spectator pumps.

Ty stayed where he was, quietly watching while Buck escorted Tara to the front steps. Only when she was about to ascend did Ty speak.

“He isn’t welcome inside.”

Looking up, Tara replied smoothly, “He is with me.”

“So I see. Just the same, he isn’t coming inside,” Ty stated with steely calm. “You can come in by yourself or stay out here with him. It’s your choice.”

Tara studied him for a considering moment, then murmured to Buck, “Wait here.”

Dipping his head in mock obedience, he touched a finger to his hat and grinned. “With pleasure, ma’am. This way I don’t have to worry about someone slippin’ poison in my food.”

“And our meal will be more enjoyable for the same reason.” Ty swung away from the steps and crossed to the front door then held it open for Tara to precede him into the house.