“Why did I keep on stopping by to see her?” Chase knew the question she hadn’t wanted to ask, strangely attuned to her thinking when he hadn’t been for so long. “She offered comfort. And I was afraid I was losing you.”
“Losing me?” There was blankness and confusion in her face at the implication she had somehow stopped loving him.
“I’m not sure I can explain.” His mouth crooked ruefully. “Maybe it’s your sophistication. I don’t know. But I saw less and less of Maggie and more of the cultured Elizabeth, so cool and contained. I thought, when Ty went to college, you were wishing for your old life. That maybe you regretted . . . until you came charging into the café tonight, ready to do battle to keep your man.” He grew tensely serious. “I am your man, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” She was so happy she hurt.
When he kissed her long and deeply, their renewed passion flowed freely. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and strained on tiptoes, holding on to this feeling they’d almost lost.
Their lips parted, but they stayed in the embrace, each breathing hard and smiling a little at this giddy rush of young love reborn. His hands moved over her back, vaguely irritated with the coat and the cold when he wanted nothing to interfere with this special closeness.
“Maggie, my love—my only love—let’s go home,” he insisted huskily.
She laughed, love rippling from her throat. “Oh, God, yes.”
16
Heat shimmers made waves in the straight stretch of highway and distorted the buildings ahead. Speed-zone signs were posted on the outskirts, the first hint of change. Ty slowed his pickup as he approached the town, noting the changes four short years since he’d married Tara had brought.
Blue Moon no longer had the look of a half-dead ghost town, crumbling on the roadside. The abandoned, run-down buildings with their broken backs and bulging sides that had stood forlornly by the two-lane, dying slowly for so many decades, were gone—bulldozed down and their rubble carted away for burial. In their place were mobile homes, the weed-choked yards cut down so children could play.
Three vehicles were already parked next to the gas pumps when Ty pulled in. One of them bore the insignia of Dy-Corp Coal, a subsidiary of Dy-Corp Ltd. Blue Moon was a company town, peopled mainly by the heavy machinery operators who manned the strip-mining equipment and their families.
Outsiders were eyed with curiosity, and Ty received his share of looks when he stepped out of the truck. Four years had made some changes in him as well. Muscles had filled out his chest and shoulders; he was a tall, imposing figure of a man. The sun and wind had toughened his face and etched craggy lines into his features. The deep-set eyes were more often hooded now, less expressive of his thoughts and feelings. And the black brush of a mustache added to his look of hard virility.
With those long strides that never seemed hurried, Ty left the truck and entered the store. The grocery section had been enlarged to carry more items, which left the post-office window crowded into a small corner in the rear. A couple of wives were shopping and trying to keep their children cor-raled.
As Ty approached the caged window of the post office, he heard voices and recognized them as belonging to two longtime residents of Blue Moon. The postal area also doubled as the private office for the store and station.
“Calder ain’t gonna be happy when he hears about this,” a man’s voice declared, and Ty’s steps slowed.
“Let him be upset,” a second said. “He can rant and rave all he wants about protectin?
? the land and not damaging the environment. It’s fine-sounding if you can afford it. But he never talks about the good things that come with this strip-mining.”
“I know. Anna and I just about decided we were going to have to close down the store.” It was Lew Michels, who owned the dry-goods and hardware store across the street. “We just weren’t making any money until all these coal families moved into town. Now there’s a good chance we’ll be able to sell the business and have a nice nest egg for our retirement.”
“This town was dying. All the young folks were leaving ’cause there wasn’t any jobs for them. Now there’s work and new blood comin’ in. A man’s got a chance to keep his head above water. Calder never did no more than throw us a bone from time to time. I say Dy-Corp is the best thing that ever happened to this town—and the land and Calder be damned.”
“It’s progress,” Michels said. “Calder’s gotta accept it. With the regulations they have on strip-mining, the land has got to be reclaimed. The president said so himself—it’s in the national interest to develop our own resources. And we’ve got enough coal in Montana to heat the whole country.”
When Ty appeared at the barred window, the talking abruptly ceased. “I think you have a package for my wife,” he said.
“I sure do.” Emmett Fedderson came to his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Just step around to the door and I’ll give it to you.”
The cardboard-boxed package was passed to him. Ty hefted it under his arm and headed out of the store, the conversation he’d overheard lingering in his thoughts. He’d known feelings were running high on the issue of strip-mining coal, but he hadn’t realized people were taking sides. Perhaps because he didn’t share his father’s passion on the issue. The older his father got, the more he resisted changing with the times.
As Ty climbed into the truck, he wondered what it was that his father wasn’t going to be happy to hear. Dinner tonight was bound to be an awkward affair if the news turned out to be as unpleasant as Fedderson had indicated. Dyson was at the ranch visiting Tara and checking on the coal operation. It made for some strained evenings.
Seconds after Ty had walked in the door of The Homestead, he heard his father’s angry voice ringing out from the den. “Dammit, you find out!” A telephone receiver was slammed down.
With a degree of resignation, Ty headed for the open doors of the study. There was no more wondering about what had happened. He was about to find out. But his mother was there ahead of him to ask the questions.
“What happened, Chase?” She bit her lip with concern.
His hand was a taut fist on the desktop, his head down and averted. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “All that work—all that money and effort spent to draft one of the toughest pieces of legislation to regulate surface mining—and what happens? The Interior Department in Washington has ordered the state of Montana to conform to federal regulations!”
Chase Calder had lobbied hard for the passage of that bill in the Montana legislature. It was a bitter blow.