Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

The smoke from the cigarette stung his bruised lips, but he smoked it anyway. Ty studied Jessy’s face while she leaned close to him, concentrating on her task. Her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth, all were expressionless, yet he sensed much going on behind what she showed him. The touch of her hand was smooth and pleasant. There was something steadying in having her there.

“What are you thinking, Jessy?” Ty wanted to know, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “I never can tell what’s going on inside you.” She had a man’s way of hiding it.

Her eyes met his for a scant second; then she returned her attention to the long scratch on his cheek. “I’m thinking that I could use a cigarette right now,” she partially lied.

Ty remembered other things, the apologies he hadn’t made. “Jess, I was planning to come by your place—with my hat in my hand—and tell you—”

But Jessy interrupted him as she finished and turned briskly to the table. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Ty. No apologies. Nothing.” She spoke with a man’s bluntness, too. “Everyone on the ranch knows things aren’t as good as they should be between you and your wife, with her going away so much. It’s not something you can keep from them. But she’s in your blood.” The same way Ty was in hers. “When she’s gone, if you get lonely and want company—that’s fine. If you want to come to my place for a cup of coffee and some talk—that’s fine. I won’t shut the door on you if it’s me you come to see.” She snapped the kit closed.

Everything smoothed out inside him, all the twists and knots straightened. Ty caught her hand and drew her slowly back around to his chair, studying the look in her amber-brown eyes that seemed to absorb him.

“I’ll be coming by for coffee—and your company,” he said.

She smiled crookedly, her fingers briefly tightening around his hand. “One of us is a fool, Ty Calder,” she declared with a rueful humor. “But I’ll be waiting.”

The door opened. Ty looked impatiently at the intruder. Tara stared back at him, her features sharpening. He felt Jessy withdraw her hand from his warm grasp, and he felt oddly guilty even though he’d done nothing wrong. It irritated him.

A rough-looking man in uniform followed Tara into the room. His belly appeared to be pushed up into his chest, giving him a swagger and a puffed-up look of importance. The thickness of his facial hair cast a perpetual underlying shadow on his cheeks and jaw.

“We haven’t met, Calder.” The roughness of the man’s voice, in itself, held a challenge. “I’m Sheriff Blackmore, recently elected by the good citizens of this county.”

Ty was aware that Potter’s picked replacement had lost the election, despite the support of the Triple C Ranch. The new group of residents in the coal-mining community had outvoted their choice and brought this man, from their ranks, to office.

“Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Sheriff.” The expression of regret was an attempt to be polite. The man’s attitude didn’t exactly warm Ty to him.

“Maybe it’s best we did,” the new sheriff replied curtly. “You and your people have pretty well run things your way up till now. I’m the law around here—and you aren’t going to be riding roughshod over anyone anymore. You cause trouble and you’ll get trouble. Now, this fight tonight was started by one of your men.”

“Sally knows I’ll pay for whatever damage that’s been done. And the fines will be taken care of, too.” Ty didn’t attempt to deny that the instigation had been on his family’s part, but he didn’t intend to drag Cathleen’s name into it if he could avoid it.

“I don’t know as money’ll buy off your trouble, Calder,” the sheriff stated, implying more stringent punishment.

“Excuse me, Sheriff,” Jessy interrupted their conversation. “Have you been introduced to Mr. Calder’s wife?”

“We met downstairs,” he retorted impatiently.

“I thought perhaps you hadn’t met Mr. Dyson’s daughter.” A cool smile touched her wide lips.

The sheriff’s glance flicked to Tara, a stunned look of recollection striking through his expression before it assumed its former gravity again. “My respects to your father, ma’am.” He touched his hat to her, then turned a stern look on Ty. “You’ll be notified of the charges.”

When the sheriff had disappeared out the door to clump down the steps, Jessy made a simple explanation to Ty. “This is Dyson’s town. He put in the new water system, bought the fire truck, and graded the streets.”

Ty began to understand her point. His father’s fight to stop or severely regulate surface mining in the area threatened these people’s jobs. It was Dyson who paid them and made certain they had a decent place to live. The sheriff would have written him up on every charge in the book—if his wife’s maiden name hadn’t been Dyson. Ty glanced at his wife. She, too, had grown more thoughtful at the turn of events that had stripped the Calder name of its weight.

“Where’s Cathleen?” he asked, a certain weariness creeping into his voice.

“She’s downstairs, fussing over Repp Taylor.” Before Ty could ask why she hadn’t brought her upstairs as he had asked, Tara hurried on. “It’s all right. Her uncle is with her.”

O’Rourke. In the fray, he’d forgotten the man was in the place. “Dammit, I told you to bring Cathleen up here,” he muttered angrily.

“I’ll get her, Ty.” Jessy walked to the door, exchanging a long look with Tara before she left the room.

“She takes a lot on herself,” Tara observed with faint criticism.

“Jessy’s been doing that since she was ten.”

18

The buzzer for the interoffice line sounded in the plush room. E. J. Dyson barely glanced up from his papers to motion to his partner to answer it. Stricklin picked up the phone, made an affirmative answer, and hung up.