Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“If you’re not in a hurry, I can make some coffee,” Jessy offered to return the favor that had saved her from walking the last half mile.

Ty hesitated only briefly. He had no reason to hurry back to The Homestead. “It sounds good,” he accepted. “I’ll give you a hand with the horse.”

In short order, the horse was unsaddled and turned loose in the corral. Jessy entered the cabin ahead of Ty and motioned him to have a chair. It was just three rooms, orderly and simple. The walls were plastered white, and the bright chintz curtains at the windows stirred with the breeze rustling through the trees outside. There was a comfortable, lived-in air about it.

Unbuckling his spurs, Ty sat down in one of the curved-back wooden chairs at the table and hooked another one with his toe to prop his boots on. He leaned back and listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen—water running from the tap, Jessy’s footsteps, cupboard doors opening and closing.

He felt the tension slowly drain from him. A feeling of comfort and quiet calmed him, loosened him. He took a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply on the smoke and letting it slide out slowly.

Ten minutes later, Jessy came into the room, carrying two cups of freshly brewed coffee, and noticed his relaxed and completely-at-home position. “It’s good to put your feet up at the end of a long day, isn’t it?” She set the cups on the table and pulled out the other two chairs, sitting on one and propping her feet on the other as he had done. “Especially when you’ve walked on them.” She swept off her hat, dropping it on the table, and rumpled the thickness of her butternut hair.

“True.” A smile tugged at his lip corners.

They drank their coffee without talking, without needing to talk. He watched her almost absently. He’d known her such a long time, yet he knew so little about her. Her lips were long and nicely full. He watched them as she drank from the cup.

Jessy rarely talked about herself, never gave anything away. That’s why she was hard to know, Ty realized. She seemed straightforward and direct; yet sometimes when she looked at him with those steady eyes of hers, she seemed to be quietly waiting. It was that stillness which made him suspect there were emotions that ran strong and deep, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t show them.

“You make good coffee, Jessy.” He set the empty cup on the table and reluctantly swung his feet to the floor.

“There’s more in the kitchen.”

“No, thanks.” He shook his head and rose to his feet, drifting toward the door, not really wanting to leave, but he couldn’t find a reason for staying longer either. So he took his time about going. Jessy came after him, just as slowly, her hands stuck in the back pockets of her low-riding jeans. “You’re quite a girl, Jessy.” He eyed her, finding something attractive and strong about her face. “I can’t believe you haven’t had your share of proposals.”

“Oh, I’ve had some proposals, all right,” she admitted with a dry look. “But they weren’t the marrying kind.”

“I suppose you punched them in the nose.” He smiled lazily.

“Actually I aimed lower,” Jessy replied, a wicked gleam in her eye.

Her answer drew a hearty laugh from him, and Ty draped an arm around her shoulders as they went out the door. “There can’t be anyone else on earth like you, Jessy.”

“I guess the next debate is whether that’s good or bad,” she said and looked sideways at him.

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Again, he sensed that waiting in her. There was an inner pulling at him, too. He became conscious of the arm he had around her shoulders and the lift of her breasts under the plaid shirt. She unsettled him—but she always had.

“I’d better be going.” He brought his arm away and glided down the steps.

“See ya around,” she said.

17

The feedlot was under construction at the site on the north range. Its grain silos had been erected; much of the conveyor equipment for mechanized feeding was installed. Fences were going up, dividing the cattle yard into lots. The chugging, revving engine of the posthole digger filled the afternoon, forcing men to raise their voices to be heard above it.

Stake trucks lumbered over the ground, loaded with fence-posts that were rolled off the back of the truck at regular intervals. More workers were following behind the posthole digger, righting the poles in the ground and tamping them solid. Adding to the racket was the pounding of hammers, nailing the board rails.

Standing back by the parked vehicles, Chase observed it all. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his open jacket and his head was drawn back in quiet satisfaction. Ty was amongst all those workers, supervising the project he had designed and organized.

“What do you think?” Maggie was at his side.

“I think there’s no set time when a boy becomes a man. Some never do.” He paused. “You know, it’s hard for a father to recognize when that time has come for his son. You get so wrapped up in trying to handle everything for him, thinking you have to carry the whole load ’cause he can’t cope with it, that you don’t see he can.” There was a faintly sad smile on his face when he paused. “Ty isn’t a boy anymore, Maggie. And it’s got nothing to do with age or size.”

“No,” she agreed, feeling a tugging inside at his words when she had expected him to comment on the way the work was progressing on this new operation. But Ty had been Chase’s work—his project—teaching him, training him, trying to instill in him all the values Chase held important.

He put an arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to his side, his voice growing tight. “I always thought he had to do things my way, but he can’t. He’s going to be a better man than I am.”

“Chase.” There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the words to describe her feelings. She was proud of him for the man he was, and she felt a deep and abiding love for this proud husband of hers.