Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

Stricklin swirled the liquor and ice cubes together and thoughtfully digested the information. Dyson paced into the middle of the room again, shaking his head.

“It’s a peculiar set of circumstances, Stricklin.” He stopped to look at the man. “All those Appalachian mines in the East are digging out tons of coal ore high in sulfur that burns dirty. With the pollution-control standards in force, the industries in the East are crying for clean-burning coal.” Dyson shook his head again. “And Calder’s sitting on top of all that low-sulfur coal. I’ll never understand why on earth God put him there.” Sighing, he walked to his desk.

“There’s a lot of land in Montana that Calder doesn’t own with coal deposits under it,” Stricklin reminded him.

“If it were only coal I wanted, I’d leave him alone. It’s his damned water I need,” Dyson retorted. “A coal plant has a high demand for water, and Calder has the most plentiful and dependable source around. We can mine the ore and process it right on the spot. It’s ideal.” Half undecided, he fingered the file of documents on his desk. “What do you think we should do, Stricklin? Should I arrange to have it fall into the hands of our crusading friend in Washington? Even if it causes family difficulties? Or should I simply throw in my hand and look for another game in another place?”

“You want his coal; you want his water. That file will get it for you,” the man stated. “You have a winning hand. Play it.”

“Ah, Stricklin.” Dyson laughed silently, shaking his head. “It amazes me the way you always see everything as black or white. Here.” He picked up the file. “You know how to handle this.”

A fire crackled in the simple brick hearth, but it didn’t throw off as much heat as the wood-burning stove in the corner. Outside the cabin, a winter wind prowled in the cottonwood skeletons, rattling their limbs. Jessy sat cross-legged on a braided rug in front of the fireplace, an empty coffee cup in her hands. It had grown dark outside, but she hadn’t bother

ed to turn on any lights, her thoughts absorbed by the news Ty had related.

His long body was stretched loosely in the plumply curved armchair, his face within the fringes of the dancing light from the fire. He was absently rubbing a forefinger across his mouth, the blunt ends of his mustache brushing the top of it. It was the troubled darkness within those hooded eyes that showed Ty was not as relaxed as he appeared.

“Even if the government can declare the sale invalid, surely there is something your father can do to maintain possession of that land,” Jessy murmured, a determined quality in her level tone.

Ty brought his hand down from his mouth and took a deep, troubled breath as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and lace his fingers loosely together in front of him, bowing his head to study them. “He’s meeting in Miles City with his attorneys the next couple of days to make some interim arrangements and decide what long-term action to take. He probably won’t have any trouble getting temporary grazing rights.” The corners of his mouth were pulled deeper into grimness. “He thought he held title to that land all this time. It was a blow to find out he didn’t.” Ty looked up at her, his mouth slanting. “The senator pulled some strings for him, all right. But it wasn’t to shorten the red tape. He pulled open those purse strings for the wrong man.”

“The senator has to be in as much trouble as your father.”

“He’s had time to cover his trail.” Ty reached into the box of kindling near the hearth and took out a twig, absently snapping off pieces to throw, one by one, into the fire. “Since it happened so long ago, the government appears willing to overlook how the title was acquired. But if Dad fights for it, which he will, I have the feeling it’s going to get messy.”

There was a long run of silence. Jessy looked at him. She understood the stoicism that covered his face, hiding the tension beneath its angular surfaces. An impulse moved her. She reached out to clasp his linked hands, wishing she could lead some of that trouble out of him into herself. This desire to share some of it showed in her eyes. Ty was drawn by it; it was something he’d never seen in Tara’s face.

“Maybe you should call your wife and talk to her,” Jessy suggested, almost humbly. “You should be able to reach her at Dyson’s home in Fort Worth.”

“No.” Ty rejected it absently. The warm pressure of her hand left his and he was conscious of its absence. The firelight wavered. “I’d better put another log on,” he said and rolled to his feet, stretching slightly to ease the tautness of his muscles.

“I’ll pour some coffee,” Jessy said, rising also, her shoulders dropped, her head down.

The fire blazed cheerfully, lightening the room and the atmosphere when Jessy returned to it with two fresh cups of coffee. Ty was standing by the raised hearth, a shoulder leaned against the mantelpiece. Jessy handed him one of the cups and stayed, standing in front of the blaze, watching the yellow flames crawling all over the bark of the new log.

“The fire makes you forget there’s cold weather walking around outside,” Ty remarked idly and sipped at the hot coffee.

“It does.” When a low chuckle came from him, Jessy glanced at him inquisitively.

“I was just remembering a winter tale old Nate Moore told me once,” he said, smiling. The old cowboy had died a week before Christmas, joining Abe Garvey and other Triple C veterans who had gone before. It was the passing of an old order, making way for the new. It was with fondness rather than sorrow that Ty thought about these men and all they’d taught him.

“What was that?” Jessy asked with interest.

“As he told it, some greenhorn cowboy rode out to check cattle on a day that was about twenty below. A wind started blowing up snow, and he had a hard time seeing to find his way back to camp. When he finally rode in, he was frozen to the saddle. They had to use ice picks and chisels to pry him off; then they carried him into the bunkhouse and set him in front of the stove. According to Nate, when this cowboy finally thawed out, his legs stayed bowed like a wishbone. Every time he went outside, the cattle dogs would each grab a leg and try to pull him apart. He finally had to quit and go to work on a ranch that didn’t use dogs. . . . You don’t smile like that often enough, Jessy.” Ty studied the way it softened her face and broke through the composure that could hold a man off.

Even after the smile faded, her lips lay softly together. “Nate was never one for idle conversation. He was either tale-telling or passing on some astute observation about life.” The coffee was too hot to drink. Jessy set her cup on the mantel and held out her hands to the fire’s warmth.

Ty studied the picture she made in the bulky knit sweater of dark green, slim-hipped and long-legged in thread-worn Levi’s. “What is it you want in life, Jessy?” Everyone had ambitions and desires, and he wondered about hers.

She grew thoughtful at his question, pulling her hands back and shoving them into her hip pockets while she stared into the leaping flames. “Nobody gets very much in this world, Ty—not really. Sometimes, maybe something happens and, for an hour or a week, it looks like the rest of your life you’ll be riding over smooth ground, with no coulees or high buttes in your way. They’ll be there, though. You just can’t see them for a little while. You’ll have rough times, and you’ll do your share of crying. You’ll get through it because of moments like this.” She turned her head to look at him, clear-eyed and silently strong. “What more can I want than I’ve got right now? A place of my own, a warm fire on a cold night, and someone to talk to. What’s better than this?”

Her words, so simple and direct, moved him, cutting to the heart of life. Moving slowly, Ty set his coffee cup on the mantel next to hers, his gaze never leaving her face. There was an inner beauty shining through those strong features that was wholly woman.

He murmured, “Jessy,” in a smooth, stroking voice and curved his hand to the back of her head, holding it gently.

For a long, exploring moment, he looked at her and was drawn closer by this nameless, tender feeling that pulled at him. Jessy waited, realizing that she had gotten into his feelings. The pressure of his hand increased slightly as his mouth moved closer, his eyes continuing to study her features. She didn’t fool herself into believing she had awakened a love. He was lonely, and Tara was far away. Ty had his morality and strong sense of honor, but he was, after all, a man. And she was close by, sharing his troubles and listening to his talk. That nearness had worn through the restraint which normally would have checked him.

Maybe she should have stopped him. Jessy knew he was on the edge of kissing her—kissing her, Jessy Niles. But she had meant it when she said that she might never have more than this moment. Too soon, Tara would return, and Jessy would once again have nothing. With a sweet and pure rush of defiance, she brought her hands to his middle and lifted her head that last inch to meet his mouth.