Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“It’s no use, Mom.” But Jessy patiently let her dab here and there with an applicator, then a soft puff on her cheeks.

“Now look.” A pair of hands turned Jessy’s face toward the mirror and she opened her eyes to view the results. “There’s an old saying,” her mother murmured. “’Ugly in the cradle, beautiful at the table.’”

Jessy stared at her reflection. The sun had streaked her hair to a glistening taffy color. It waved thick and full to frame her face. The makeup was barely noticeable, but her cheekbones stood out and her eyes seemed darker and more mysterious. The longer Jessy looked, the less she recognized herself. Just for a minute she was tempted—then she reached for a tissue to scrub it off.

“Jessy, you look lovely!” her mother protested.

“Mom, that’s not me,” she explained, somber and patient. “Would you please fasten my dress?”

The bedroom door opened and her father came in, frowning sharply. “Are you women still in here primping? We’re supposed to be there early so we can help get things set up.” “I just have to put my dress on” her mother replied.

There were so many hands to set up the tables and chairs and get the barbecue fires going that nobody missed Jessy when she wandered away. As always, she gravitated to the horse barns, where it was shadowed and dark, musty with hay smells and horse odors. It was quiet except for the stomp of a horse and the swish of a tail at a fly.

Jessy wandered down the cemented walkway, swept clean of all but a few wisps of straw. Her low-heeled sandals barely made any sound as she walked by the stalls, pausing occasionally to rub a velvet nose curiously thrust at her. A horse in the far-end stall whickered and shifted agitatedly. Immediately Jessy heard a low, soothing voice croon to it.

A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she guessed it was old Abe Garvey. It’d been a long time since she’d talked to him. He was quite a storyteller, always had tales to tell about the old days. She walked to the end stall and leaned on the board, careful to avoid the splintered edge.

“Hello,” she said to the dark figure bent low, brushing the leg of a liver-red sorrel. The man straightened up tall, and Jessy stiffened in recognition of Ty Calder. “I thought you were Abe.”

Ty’s eyebrow briefly quirked at being mistaken for a stooped and crippled old man; then he went back to his brushing. “Abe went home to get cleaned up for the party.”

“Oh. New horse?” Jessy was familiar with most of the horses on the ranch. This sorrel wasn’t one she’d be likely to forget. It had good lines and an intelligent head.

“The filly’s my wedding present to Tara. I was just getting her slicked down so I could give her to Tara this afternoon,” he explained.

“Speaking of your bride, where is she?”

“Up at the house, I imagine.” He patted the horse’s sleek neck and came to stand beside the manger, opposite Jessy.

Her eyes studied him, scanning his features for some sign married life had changed him. He and his bride had gone straight from their Texas wedding on a three-week honey-moon. But there was no settled look about him, and his lazy eyes didn’t give her any hint about what he might be thinking.

“You went off and got married so fast I never did have a chance to tell you congratulations,” she offered.

“Thanks.” His gaze wandered over her face, as if trying to find something that bothered him. “When are you going to get yourself a man, Jessy?”

“What makes you think I need one?” She was stung that he should ask her such a question.

His laugh was dry and throaty. “You always were self-sufficient, even when you were a kid.” He swung a boot onto the manger and vaulted to the other side, landing next to her. The filly spooked, pulled back on her lead rope. “Easy, girl,” Ty quieted the horse; then he turned to Jessy. “Guess it’s time I got washed up and changed for the party.” He was wearing a pair of old Levi’s and a faded plaid shirt with the cuffs rolled back.

“See you later.”

Ty started to walk past her, then stopped. “You’re wearing a dress,” he said. “That’s what’s different about you.” He looked her over, discovering a female shape that was usually hidden by man-style clothes. “It looks good on you.”

“I know it.”

His brow drew together, creasing slightly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Jessy,” he murmured.

“You’ve got a wife now. It’s her you need to understand,” Jessy reminded him and watched him draw back slightly, then walk away.

“Where’s Tara?” Ty asked as he entered The Homestead.

“She’s still upstairs,” Cathleen informed him. “I don’t know what she’s doing, but she’s sure been making a lot of noise.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Ty went up the stairs and straight to the master bedroom. When he entered, Tara was standing in the middle of the room, tapping a finger against her mouth and contemplating a chair. She was wearing a filmy yellow peignoir from her trousseau.

“Good morning, honey,” she greeted him almost absently, sparing him no more than a glance.

“What are you doing?” There was a degree of indulgence in his look as he crossed to her. Tousled from bed and without a scrap of makeup, she was still the most desirable woman he’d ever seen.