Authors: Janet Dailey

Green Calder Grass (13 page)

BOOK: Green Calder Grass

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“Heck, Jessy. You hire ninety percent of that,” Ballard explained. “As far as the sale itself goes, the auction firm sets all that up. The same with whatever company’s handling the food. Your PR people will meet and greet your buyers, and keep them happy. I’ve heard each company gives you options on doing things this way or that.”

“But knowing which option is the best one, that’s the problem.” Jessy reined in a few yards from the picket line.

“I guess you need to ask a lot of questions and use common sense.” Reaching around her, Ballard gripped the saddle horn and slid off the side. Her horse swung its rump away from him, shifting its position so that Jessy faced the man on the ground. “I’d ask what brought about all these questions, but I think I already know the answer. What excuse did she have for coming this time?”

His question told Jessy just how rampant the speculation had been about Tara’s frequent visits, confirming what she had long suspected.

“She brought a list of public relation firms and recommendations for caterers that she wanted to go over with us.” To stave off some of the gossip, Jessy added, “Actually she’s been very helpful.”

“I’ll just bet she has.” His drawled response was thick with skepticism. “It seems to me that what you should be concentrating on next is getting an advertising agency. Your PR people will have suggestions on that, but you need to be deciding on an ad campaign. Unless you get lucky, laying one of them out can take time.”

“Thanks.” Jessy appreciated the information, especially because it hadn’t come from Tara. She gathered the reins to leave, then checked her horse’s movement, nagged by his initial comment. “Buyers really dress up for these auctions, do they?”

“Whooey! I hope to shout they do, especially the wives. Of course, the clothes can run the gamut. Depending on the time of year, you can see everything from furs to jeans with holes in ’em. For the most part, though, the women drag out every piece of turquoise and silver jewelry they own, and dude themselves up in gaudy Western outfits that could put to shame anything Dale Evans and Roy Rogers ever wore. Some of the auctions even have what they call a private showing the night before. But it’s just another name for a cocktail party, full of a lot of satin and diamond glitter.”

“We aren’t planning anything like that.” At least Jessy didn’t think they were.

“Yeah, I can’t see the Old Man agreeing to anything like that,” Ballard replied, then measured her with a glance. “Just the same, I know you’re not gonna want’a hear this, but people will be taking a close look at what the wife of a Calder is wearing. I just thought I ought’a warn you about that.”

“Thanks, but I can’t be anything but what I am.” With a turn of the reins and a squeeze of the knees, Jessy turned her horse from Ballard and lifted it into a lope back toward the herd.

When noontime rolled around, Ty offered to drive Tara, Jessy, and Noah Richardson back to The Homestead for lunch. It was, after all, to have been only a morning excursion. But the architect had yet to have his fill of the cowboy experience and suggested that they eat with the crew before returning to headquarters.

He seemed disappointed to discover they weren’t having beef and beans with skillet bread. But he found a place among the cowhands and dug with gusto into his plate of braised brisket, scalloped potatoes, and green beans.

A dusty wind swirled around the motorized cookshack, seasoning the food with some of nature’s grit. This was definitely not Tara’s idea of dining al fresco. Rising from the campstool that had been provided for her, she carried her nearly full plate over to the wreck pan.

“Let me take that for you, ma’am,” a male voice drawled.

“Thank you.” Handing it over, she absently flicked a glance at the cowboy then let it stay when she recognized the sandy-haired rider she had noticed earlier with Jessy.

“Why, you barely pecked at this,” Ballard observed as he dumped the remains in a plastic trash bag. “The great outdoors usually whets up most people’s appetite. But I guess that’s how you keep that slim figure of yours.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tara smiled. “You’re Dick Ballard, aren’t you?”

He made a mock bow of admission, giving his dusty hat a little tip. “Now I’m the one who’s flattered that you remembered me, Miss Tara.”

Realizing that he assumed she recognized him from her days when she was married to Ty, Tara didn’t bother to correct him. “Ty mentioned that you were the one to first suggest the idea of an auction.”

“It just seemed like a logical thing for the Triple C to be doin’.” He noticed she still held the tin coffee cup. “Want me to freshen your coffee for you? I was just about to pour myself another cup.”

“Please.” She surrendered the cup to him.

Waiting while he filled both cups, Tara used the opportunity to make a closer study of the lanky cowboy. He was nice-looking in an innocuous sort of way. His eyes were unquestionably his best feature, blue and thickly fringed with a soft, gentle quality about them.

“Milk or sugar in your coffee?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Milk, please.”

“I figured as much.” He picked up the milk jug set out for that purpose, poured some in, then passed the cup to her, handle first. “This range coffee can be almost as strong as espresso.”

There was a delicate arch to her eyebrow at his comment. “I didn’t expect a Triple C cowboy to know about espresso.”

“The truth is out, I guess.” He took a sip of his own undiluted coffee, eyeing her over the cup’s tin rim. “I’m not what you would call a true Triple C hand. Like you, I’m something of an outsider.” He used the cup to gesture toward the other riders in camp, busy chowing down. “That’s what they call somebody who hasn’t been born and raised here.”

“But when I saw you earlier with Jessy, the two of you seemed very friendly.”

“I’m just the friendly sort,” Ballard replied, but Tara was certain she detected a sudden leap of wariness in his eyes. Briefly they sharpened their focus before he let a slow grin sweep across his face. “Besides, even though I’m technically an outsider, I’ve known Jess since heck was a pup.”

“Then you must have known her when she worked as an ordinary ranch hand.”

“That’s right,” he acknowledged, then said, “The architect mentioned that work should be starting in the next week or so. That was a good idea you had, revampin’ the old barn into an auction facility.”

Her smile lengthened knowingly. “That was a deft change of subject, Mr. Ballard. I didn’t realized that I was making you uncomfortable by talking about Jessy.”

There was a definite cooling in his eyes. “It strikes me, that if a lady noticed that, she would have had the good manners not to point it out.”

For a split second, her temper flared at the veiled insult, however gently worded, but Tara quickly controlled it. “The gloves are off, are they?” she murmured somewhat mockingly.

“That’s up to you.”

“Is it?” she countered, hurriedly reassessing her opinion of the cowboy.

“Look. I don’t know what your game is, but something tells me you’re here to make trouble. What kind of trouble, I don’t know.”

“I’m afraid you’re completely wrong,” Tara replied smoothly. “I’m only here to help in whatever way I can. Having come up with the idea to convert the barn into a sale facility, I’m eager to see it come to pass.”

“If you say so.” Ballard took another drink of his coffee.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” She could see it in his face.

“Let’s just say that I’ve never known a skunk to change its stripes yet.”

“I must say you don’t have a very high opinion of me.” Tara regarded that as a challenge, something to be overcome.

“I guess I’m just rememberin’ all the trouble you caused in the past, and I don’t want to see Jessy gettin’ hurt again.”

“We’re back to Jessy, are we? You seem to be very fond of her.”

“I’d like to think that she looks on me as a friend, somebody she can depend on, but don’t be thinkin’ you can use that,” Ballard warned. “Jessy only has eyes for Ty. I’ve known that for a long time. So you aren’t going to be able to use me to cause trouble between them, if that’s your thought.”

“How long have you been in love with her?”

“Ma’am, I think this conversation is over.” His glance slid past her. “Ty and Jessy are headed this way. It looks like they’re ready to leave for headquarters.”

“I wouldn’t rush,” Tara said when he started to turn away. “It will only look suspicious.” Confident that Ballard would remain, she half turned to greet the approaching pair. “There you two are. I was just having the most interesting conversation with Mr. Ballard here.”

“Really.” With an unusual aloofness, Ty briefly nodded an acknowledgment of the cowboy’s presence. “I imagine he was telling you about his latest suggestion that Jessy just passed on to me.”

“Which one is that?” Tara asked to cover her ignorance.

“About getting an ad agency on board right away.”

The wisdom of the suggestion struck Tara first, then surprise that it should come from an ordinary cowboy. But she was careful not to let it show.

“I know. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it,” she admitted lightly, then turned to Ballard, her conviction growing that he was far from ordinary. “You are remarkably savvy about such things, Mr. Ballard.”

“It comes from experience I guess—that, and a natural curiosity. Over the years I’ve been around a good many of these big auction events, and I just naturally nosed around to find what all went on behind the scenes to put one of these things together.” With that, Ballard dumped the remaining coffee from his cup and tossed it into the wreck pan. “I’d better be gettin’ back to work.” He touched his hat to Jessy and Tara, and moved off.

Tara watched him a moment. “Who would have thought you would have someone so knowledgeable right in your own backyard? It might be wise to involve him more in the auction, Ty. His input could prove to be valuable.”

“Jessy just suggested the same thing,” Ty informed her.

“Then there are already two votes for Mr. Ballard,” Tara declared. “You might as well make it unanimous, Ty. Heaven knows, there will be hundreds of details to be handled. And with the ranch to run, you already have enough on your plate. You will need to delegate responsibility to someone. Maybe that will prove to be Mr. Ballard.”

“Maybe.” But the prospect didn’t appeal to Ty. He just couldn’t seem to shake his dislike of the man.

Chapter Eight

O
n a lamblike morning in late March, Ty stood with his father outside the old timbered barn, his sheepskin jacket hanging open. After a long and brutally cold winter with the temperature and wind chill hovering near the zero mark for days on end, the last patches of snow had finally melted, exposing the brown stalks of dormant grass. With the thermometer already registering above the forty-degree mark, the morning felt downright balmy.

The rough winter had created any number of construction delays in the remodeling of the old barn. Even now there was considerable work to be done on the inside, but the exterior was all but finished. Ty studied the single-story addition that had been added to the side, noting the way it seamlessly blended with the original structure.

“It’s hard to tell where the old ends and the new begins, isn’t it?” he remarked to his father.

Chase nodded in agreement. “And to think we planned to bulldoze that old shed at South Fork this spring,” he mused. “It was a good thing Ballard went scavenging around the ranch to see what he could find after those lumber bids came in so high. We had some labor costs salvaging that shed, but we still came out dollars ahead.”

As reluctant as Ty was to admit it, Ballard had proved his worth on more than one occasion, both in the preliminary planning for the auction and in the construction of the facility. “Ballard never struck me as having so much business sense.”

“We never hired him to do more than rope and ride and mend fence. That makes it hard to judge whether a man is capable of more than that,” Chase replied. “Speaking of fences, did you see the quotes we got for new steel fence posts?”

“I saw them. They were a helluva lot higher than I expected.”

Chase grunted an agreement. “With the up-front cash we have to spend for this auction, we will have to make do with the fencing we have until next year.”

“Or late fall, after the sale.” A date in early September had been set for the livestock auction. “With any luck, we’ll recoup a big chunk of the money we have invested.”

“With the high hay costs we had this winter, we’ll need it.” Chase shifted his position, conscious of the immediate and sharp protest of his joints. “Ballard has things well in hand here. We might as well head back to the house.”

Turning toward the pickup parked nearby, Ty sent a glance toward The Homestead. “Tara said last night that she wanted to fly back to Fort Worth early this morning. She should be just about ready to leave.”

Together they crossed to the pickup. Any other time Ty would have walked from The Homestead to the old barn, but as a concession to his father’s stiffened joints, Ty had driven instead. It was a short drive up the slope to the big house that crowned the rise.

Parking in front of it, Ty climbed out the driver’s side and caught the sound of a vehicle approaching from the east. The morning sun was in his eyes, and he lifted a hand to block the glare of it. The minute he spotted the light bar mounted atop the sports utility van, he guessed at the identity of its occupant even before he saw the county sheriff insignia on the side.

“It looks like Logan. I wonder what he wants.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Chase dryly stated the obvious.

The white van pulled up alongside the pickup. The engine rumbled to a stop and Logan stepped out of the driver’s side, wearing a down-filled leather jacket over the tan of his uniform. He adjusted the set of his hat, the sunlight briefly gleaming on the blue-black ends of his hair.

“Ty. Chase.” He nodded to both of them and approached the steps where they waited. “I didn’t expect to catch both of you home.”

Something in Logan’s tone of voice and the way he held himself aloof had Chase lifting his head, sharply alert. “Why do I have the feeling this isn’t a social call?”

Logan dipped his head, then raised it again, a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

“What’s wrong?” Ty asked in quick demand. “Cat and Quint are all right, aren’t they?”

“They’re fine,” Logan assured them. “No, I’m here on another matter. I started to call, then decided to come out myself. I have some news that I understand you aren’t going to like, Chase.”

“What’s that?”

“Buck Haskell was released from prison this week.”

Of all the things Logan might have said, that was the last one Chase expected to hear. Shock and surprise ripped through him, opening up the past and making fury and outrage as fresh as yesterday.

Chase’s voice trembled with the force of it. “I was supposed to be notified before he was released.”

“There must have been an oversight somewhere,” was Logan’s only explanation. “One of the deputies saw Haskell in Blue Moon yesterday. I overheard him telling someone else. When your name was mentioned, I asked some questions. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known it was your late wife he attempted to kill.”

“I never expected this day to come.” Chase looked away, feeling older and, somehow, less in control.

The front door to The Homestead opened, and Tara emerged, her booted feet t
ap-tap-tapping
across the porch’s wood flooring as she walked swiftly to the steps.

“There you are, Ty. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t have time to tell you goodbye before we left.” She glided down the steps to his side, an ermine jacket slung about her shoulders, the white fur contrasting with the shining darkness of her hair. “Why, Logan, I didn’t know you were here. Did Cat come with you?”

“No, she’s at home,” Logan replied.

“What a shame. I would have loved to see her, even for a few minutes.” Belatedly Tara became conscious of the heavy tension in the air. Her glance made a quick and probing sweep of the trio. “My, but you are a solemn group. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ty lied, trapped by his own memories of that long-ago day when he had climbed in the saddle, his head still pounding from the blow Buck had delivered to it. He could still hear his mother’s voice, shouting at him to ride for help. He remembered the fear and indecision he had felt gripping him once again.

“Here comes somebody else.” Tara’s remark drew the attention of all three men to the pickup traveling up the lane. “This is your morning for company, Ty.”

“It seems like it,” he agreed and watched the vehicle as it made a swing toward The Homestead. With a growing uneasiness, he spared a glance at his father. “I don’t recognize the pickup. Do you?”

“No.” But like Ty, Chase watched it, every muscle in his body tightening up.

The pickup slowly rolled to a stop fifteen feet from them. For a long moment, its sole occupant remained behind the wheel while the truck’s rapidly cooling engine made its noises in the morning stillness. No one said a word when Buck Haskell stepped out of the vehicle.

Chase had eyes only for the man who had once been as close as a brother to him. Age had changed Buck. His short-cropped hair had retained its curl, but its once blond color was now snow-white. His blue eyes had an old and hard look to them, minus their cocky sparkle. Gone was the big grin that once came so easily to Buck, and his skin had a prison pallor to it instead of a burned-deep range tan. There seemed to be more muscle and heft to his wiry frame than before, and his clothes were plainer than the ones he had once favored.

But his voice, when he spoke, was exactly the same. “I didn’t figure you’d be surprised to see me, but I wasn’t expecting this kind of reception.”

“You aren’t welcome here.” Chase’s words were hard and flat, intolerant of any argument.

“I know that,” Buck acknowledged, unconcerned. “I also know that you’d be well within your rights to have your son-in-law here arrest me for trespassing. But I’ll ask you not to do that.”

“Why?” Chase challenged.

“Don’t worry.” Buck’s mouth curved with a ghost of its former grin. “You already gave me a second chance once. I’m not here to ask for another.”

“What do you want?”

“I served my time, Chase. Every single day of it. I’m a free man now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve rented me a place in town, and I’ve come here to visit my mother’s grave and fetch my father.”

“That is Vern’s decision to make. Not yours,” Chase stated curtly. “He has a place on the Triple C as long as he wants it. He knows that.”

“He don’t want your charity any more than I do. But don’t take my word for it. Come along and ask him yourself,” Buck challenged with some of his former cockiness.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Chase retorted. “He’s an old man, Buck. We can take better care of him than you.”

Buck shook his head. “You can
tend
to him better, maybe, but you won’t
care
about him more than I will. He’s my father, the only family I got left. Now that I’m out, his place is with me,” he stated. “He wrote that he was staying with Walt and Ruby Atkins. Is he still there?”

“He is.”

“Then that’s where I’m going.” Buck swung around and jerked open the pickup door, then paused to fire another look at Chase. “Are you coming along or not?”

“I’m coming,” Chase answered grimly. “I’m not about to let you bulldoze an old man into leaving here.” He shot a quick look at Ty. “I’ll handle this. You go ahead and take Tara to her plane.”

Logan spoke up. “Why don’t you ride with me, Chase? I’ll tag along just to keep things peaceable.”

“Suit yourself.” Changing directions, Chase headed for the patrol vehicle. He didn’t expect any trouble from Buck, convinced that the man knew Chase would grab any excuse to throw him behind bars again.

Through it all, Tara had been a silent but interested observer. She gazed after the departing vehicles, trying to piece together the tidbits of information she had gleaned from the exchange, but there were too many blank spots.

“Who was that, Ty?” she asked curiously.

“Buck Haskell.”

At that instant it all came together. “Ruth’s son,” she murmured with the certainty of knowledge.

“Yes.” Ty’s answer was short. Just as abruptly, he said, “Are you ready? What about your luggage?”

“It’s already been taken to the plane. I’m ready if you are.”

Out of habit, Ty took Tara’s arm and escorted her to the truck, opening the door and giving her a hand into the cab, but he was preoccupied, his thoughts on his father and Buck Haskell.

The Atkinses lived in one of the houses the ranch provided for its married hands. Buck was waiting by the front stoop when Logan and Chase arrived at the house.

“I figured you’d want to be the one to do the knocking,” Buck said by way of explanation when they joined him.

Making no response, Chase walked past him and rapped lightly on the front door. After a brief interval, Ruby Atkins opened the door, a stout woman in her early forties. She stepped back in surprise when she saw Chase,

“Mr. Calder, I didn’t expect it to be you at the door.” Her glance darted past him, touching on Buck and lingering an instant on Logan. “If you’re looking for Walt, he’s at the calving shed.”

“No. We’re here to see Vern,” Chase stated.

“Oh.” She blinked in surprise and backed out of the doorway. “Please come in. He’s in his room as usual. He seems to prefer it there.” She held the door open while the three men filed through, then hurried ahead of them to lead the way. “His room is right through here. Honestly, given a choice, I think Vern would stay in there all the time. But I have insisted that he join us for our meals. The minute he’s finished, though, right back in the room he goes.” Ruby paused outside a closed door and knocked twice. “It’s me, Vern,” she said and walked in.

Shriveled and old, Vern Haskell sat in a cane-backed rocking chair in the corner, his gaunt face turned toward the bedroom’s only window. A space heater glowed a few feet away, raising the room’s temperature to an almost suffocating eighty degrees. Yet he was bundled in a turtleneck and heavy flannel shirt with an orange and brown afghan draped over his bony legs.

Without pause, Ruby crossed directly to his chair and bent close. “Vern.” She spoke in a deliberately loud voice. “Mr. Calder is here to see you.”

The announcement roused him, bringing his head around to stare with vacant, cataract-clouded eyes toward the doorway. Chase moved forward as Ruby swung away from the rocker, pausing long enough to bend down and switch off the heater.

“You’ll have to speak up,” she warned Chase when she passed him. “He has gotten very hard of hearing.”

Chase nodded and continued on to the corner. “Vern, it’s Chase Calder.”

The old man craned his neck back to look up at him. “What do you want?” he demanded in a crotchety tone, then waved a skeletal hand at the others. “And who’s that with you? You’re figurin’ on cartin’ me off to a nursin’ home, aren’t you?”

“No. I brought you a visitor,” Chase began.

“Tell ’im to go away. There ain’t nobody I want to see.”

BOOK: Green Calder Grass

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