Green Calder Grass (Calder Saga 6)

“Check out the north range,” Chase said. “The best grass is usually there, and Cat mentioned they received a quarter of an inch a couple weeks ago.”

“That grass won’t last long,” Stumpy warned.

“You’re right. It won’t,” Chase agreed and swiveled his chair to glance at Ty. “I think we need to take a long tour of the ranch ourselves and get a firsthand look at the shape it’s in. I have a feeling we’ll have to start the fall roundup early—like next week.”

“The fat cattle market isn’t very good right now,” Ty reminded him.

“Right now they have weight on them. If we don’t get some good soaking rains, they’ll walk it off come fall searching for grass and water. We’ll take a loss, but if we hold off, hoping for rain, we’ll take a bigger one.” And possibly do irreparable damage to the land in the process. Chase didn’t say that. But it was there in his mind. He swung his chair back toward Stumpy. “You might as well have your boys start the gather at South Branch first thing in the morning.”

Stumpy nodded and wearily pushed out of the chair. “It’ll be a hot and thirsty one. You better truck over some water to fill the tank at the Connors windmill. It’s so low now they can barely reach it.”

Engrossed in the map, Ty didn’t notice when Stumpy exited the den. A snaking line marked the course of one of two free-flowing rivers that ran through the Triple C, rivers that had never been known to run dry.

“I’ll let Sally know we won’t be here for lunch, then we can leave.” Chase rose from his chair, then paused, quick to notice Ty’s absorption with the map. “Is there a problem?”

Pulling in a deep breath, Ty shook his head and made a slow turn away from the old map. “No. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” Chase studied him slowly, probing for the cause of his distraction.

“About all the grass and water on the Wolf Meadow range, and how much we need it right now.”

“No.” The flat, hard statement came out of nowhere.

Ty frowned. “What are you talking about? No, what?”

“No, we are not making any deal with Tara to lease it—just in case your thoughts were headed in that direction,” Chase replied in a voice that brooked no opposition. “There will be no Triple C cow on that land until we have free title to it.”

“I don’t disagree, but that may be a long time from now,” Ty warned.

“Maybe. It all depends on how soon Tara tires of flying in and out of it. She has never struck me as a patient woman.”

Catching a movement in his side vision, Ty turned just as a black Range Rover pulled up to The Homestead. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured to Chase, “Tara’s here.”

“An apt phrase,” Chase concluded, a wry twist to his mouth. “God knows, she’s bedeviled us lately.”

“I’ll see what she wants.” Ty moved toward the door.

“Is Buck with her?”

Ty nodded. “It looked like he was driving—as usual.” A part of him would have preferred that Tara fire Buck. Another part of him liked the idea that he knew exactly where the man was. He certainly wasn’t foolish enough to believe that his warning had scared Buck off.

It was possible, but Ty wasn’t counting on it.

When he walked out the front door, Tara came up the steps, her dark hair unbound and swinging about her shoulders. Her lips parted in a smile of pleasure when she saw him.

“Ty, darling, I was just coming to see you.”

“You should have called first.” His glance skipped briefly past, locating Buck still seated behind the wheel. “I was just leaving.”

“This won’t take but a minute,” she promised with a coy dip of her head and upward glance of her dark-shining eyes.

“A minute is about all you’ll have,” Ty warned.

“What on earth is so important that you have to rush off?” Tara issued the protest in a chiding tone.

“It’s ranch business.”

“I should have known. It’s always ranch business.” Her smile retained its hint of amusement of mock exasperation.