Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

“It’s a pity you aren’t staying longer.” Maggie was reluctant to comment on Tara’s assertion of remorse.

“Perhaps ...” She hesitated deliberately and glanced at her father, who was shrewdly observing her manipulations with an approving yet completely aloof eye. This was her game, to be played without his help. “If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition”—she turned an expressively appealing look on Maggie—“I could stay here a couple of days until Daddy and Stricklin finish their business in Calgary. Then I’d have a chance to speak to Ty.” Her boldness in inviting herself to stay at the ranch was a calculated risk. Wisely Tara didn’t press for an immediate answer. Instead, she let her attention come back to her father. “Would you

mind stopping here again on your way back from Canada to pick me up? I know you didn’t plan on it.”

“Naturally I can come this way on the return flight,” he replied. “It won’t be any great inconvenience to me. I think it’s a question of whether the Calders would care to have an uninvited houseguest at such a busy time of the season.”

“I’m sorry.” Tara apologized for being so thoughtless of their work schedule. There was still no reaction from Chase, but she could tell Maggie was weakening. “I’d forgotten how busy you are with the roundup and all. It just seems so awful to be so close and not have the chance to see Ty again.”

“Of course you may stay with us for a few days,” Maggie insisted without consulting Chase. But if she expected him to disagree with her, she was wrong. He thought it was high time that Ty faced this beguiling, beautiful woman and got her out of his system once and for all.

The rain had turned the churned-up ground into a thick gumbo of caking mud that wore down horses and men. The mire sucked at their feet with each step; no foot could ever be sure it was planted firmly. There was many a slip and spill of man and horse in the pursuit of a calf. The mucky conditions slowed down the branding pace considerably as mud-spattered and -smeared men and horses worked harder and accomplished less.

A smug sun sat high in the sky, drying the mud into stiff crusts on man and beast alike. Ty’s mount stumbled tiredly, its head drooping as he walked it to the picket line where a fresh horse from his string was waiting.

“Hey, Calder!” Big Ab Taylor yelled at him. “The big boss wants ya!”

With a certain weariness, Ty lifted a hand in the cowboy’s direction, acknowledging the message. He’d noticed the pickup truck that had arrived a few minutes ago but hadn’t paid any mind to it. He reined his horse toward it, now spurring it into a reluctant jog.

The truck was parked near the motorized cookshack on wheels. His father stood in front of it, a cup of coffee in his hand, his long, husky frame propped against the hood and angled to one side. Checking his horse, Ty brought it to a halt beside the front tire and leaned on the saddle horn, pushing his hat to the back of his head.

“Ab said you wanted to see me.” He could feel the spatters of mud drying on his face; his pantlegs were stiff with kicked-up clods.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?” His brows puckered together in a curious frown. Visitors were something he didn’t get, and roundup time was a poor time to be calling.

“Tara.”

Ty straightened slowly in the saddle, disbelief ringing through him. A quick search with his eyes found her, sitting on a campstool by the cookshack and watching the scramble of men and animals in the branding arena as if it all had been staged just for her entertainment. She still had that knack of taking possession of her surroundings and making herself at ease.

It took him a second to recover from the shock of seeing her. He swung out of the saddle with the unhurried manner of a man still trying to make up his mind. His spurs made no sound, cushioned with mud to silence their clanking jangle, as he crossed the stretch of ground, methodically pulling off his gloves. His father stayed by the truck, letting his meeting with Tara be a private one.

When she lifted her gaze to observe his approach, she smiled that same provocative, enigmatic smile that had haunted him for so many months of nights. He tried to hold himself indifferent to her vibrant beauty, but it reached down into his guts, as it always had. So utterly feminine in leg-hugging black pants, a long-sleeved blouse in scarlet silk, and a curly white sheepskin vest, she pulled at all his male instincts. Sheer pride alone carried Ty two steps to the side of her to the ever-full coffee pot.

“Hello, Tara.” He was shaking inside as he poured himself a cup, but he kept his voice level, Ty barely looked at her, but he was conscious of her every movement, her every breath.

She stood with that regal grace, so flawless that he was instantly reminded of his grubby appearance, the stench of animal sweat and excrement that clung to his clothes, and a scratchy beard growth shadowing his cheeks. He bore little resemblance to the well-dressed college man who had waited attendance on her.

Her head was tipped at a considering angle as Tara contemplated the marked changes in him. The likeness to his father was so much more evident, almost a tribal stamp. The dark hair, thick and unruly, the granite chin and brow, the impenetrable darkness of those wide, deeply set eyes, the roughly molded cheekbones, and the ridged gravity inherent in the strong jaws, all were features they shared. The surface dirt couldn’t hide the man he’d become.

“Hello, Ty.” She finally spoke, her voice gentle—half humorous, yet so very confident. “I had hoped you would write, but I never heard a word from you. And I realized if I hoped to see you at all, I’d have to come to you. So, here I am—prepared to beg your forgiveness.”

Her hands opened in a graceful gesture that seemed to give herself to him without reservation. Ty remembered well the subtle messages she could convey with her body movements, the many shades of meaning she could weave into words.

Too many conflicting reactions were going through him at once, too many emotions running raw for him to unravel. He wanted her; he hated her; he loved her; and he resented her being here and putting him through all this again.

“I can’t imagine you begging for anything,” Ty countered smoothly and lifted the metal cup to his mouth, never once changing his loose stance.

She laughed at his remark, admitting with a provocative, upward-peering look, “I don’t do it well.” Then that small smile claimed her lips again. “I rather like you in these surroundings. You were out of your element in college.”

“Why did you come here?” he demanded, lowering his cup and staring into it. Not for an instant did Ty be believe Tara was here to seek his forgiveness. She had never before cared whether her actions met with anyone’s approval or disapproval but her own,

“I told you—”

“Don’t play games with me!” Harshly he cut across her words. “You do it too damned well.”

For a split second she doubted her ability to command the situation. Then a hurt look flashed across her face as she dropped her eyes under the force of his gaze.