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The motor had started and the pickup was reversing out of the ranch yard before Culley remembered. “What about the cake?” he called after his niece, but she didn’t hear him above the engine noise.
He kept it for days until the chocolate frosting dried and cracked and the cake became too hard to eat. Finally he threw it away.
“The spring roundup went well.” Ty sat in the chair beside the hospital bed. Dressed in a western-cut suit, he idly turned the Stetson hat in his hand, trying to find an easy way to lead up to the matter he dreaded to tell his father. “Our winter losses were minimal.”
“That’s good.” His father grabbed the overhead bar with his one good hand and tried to shift his position in the bed slightly. The twitching grimaces he tried to control indicated he was in considerable pain. His big frame seemed gaunt and pale, the deep tan faded after these long months in the hospital. The accident and Maggie’s death had aged him, graying more of his hair until the temples were completely silvered. When the pain had subsided to
a tolerable level again, he glanced at Ty. “Did you bring me any cheroots?”
“I thought the doctor said you weren’t supposed to smoke,” Ty reminded him. He’d suffered a collapsed lung in the plane crash; then infection had set in, further weakening his breathing.
“The doctor also told me I wasn’t supposed to live,” his father countered dryly. “Which just shows you how much he knows.”
The reference to death brought a different kind of pain into his eyes as he briefly turned away. Ty knew he was thinking about Maggie. He still hadn’t gotten over losing her, and probably never would. Without her, his father had lost interest in so many things and seemed to go through the motions of living, with no more purpose than to get through each day.
It seemed wise to change the subject. “Some of Tara’s friends from the East came to stay during the roundup. They got a kick out of watching how it was done in the ‘Wild West.’ As a matter of fact, they’re still at The Homestead. That’s why Tara didn’t come with me today.”
“How’s Cat? Did she come with you?”
“Yes. There was some shopping she had to do, and she didn’t want to leave it too late in case the stores closed,” Ty explained. “She should be here before long.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile that crooked the line of his mustache. “She received her grades from school, and I’m sure she has every intention of showing them off to you.”
“One time she talked to me about staying at the Triple C and having a private tutor,” his father recalled vaguely. “Look into that for her.” The accident hadn’t altered her father’s willingness to indulge his daughter’s every whim, regardless of its extravagance.
“We can’t afford it.” Ty looked grimly at his hat, then lifted his gaze to his father. “I’ve been cutting expenses everywhere I can.”
“You’re running the show. You do what you have to.” Along with everything else, his father appeared to have lost interest in the operation of the ranch.
“I am,” Ty stated and took a breath to finally make his announcement. “You might as well know I’ve dropped the suit for title to the disputed ten-thousand-acre parcel. In the meantime, I’ve negotiated an interim lease on it.”
For a few minutes, he had his father’s undivided attention. “Why?”
“The legal fees were too expensive. Maybe, if the cattle market changes, I’ll be able to afford to go after the title again.”
“But possession is nine tenths of the law. That land has been in the Calder name, in one form or another, for a hundred years,” his father protested, but not vigorously.
“And it still is. That’s why I waited until I had a signed lease before I dropped the suit. It can be filed again,” Ty assured him.
He sank back on his pillow. “Maybe you’re right.” There was defeat in his voice, and it hurt Ty more than an angry dispute over his decision could have. “Maybe it isn’t worth fighting over. If I hadn’t been so determined to get it, here would have been no reason to fly to Helena and your mother wouldn’t have been killed.”
“Don’t talk that way. You can’t blame yourself,” Ty insisted.
“You can’t deny it’s true.” It was a humorless smile he turned on his son. “Light me a cigarette.”
After hesitating, Ty reached inside his suit jacket and took out a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. He lit it and passed it to his father. A long, dragging puff was taken from the cigarette and blown at the ceiling.
“Did you talk to Dr. Haslind when you arrived?” He studied the smoldering tip of the cigarette.
“No. I missed him. Why?”
“I’m scheduled for surgery Monday morning. They think they can relieve some of this pressure on my spine.”
For a long minute, Ty couldn’t say anything. “I’ll be here.”
“You have a ranch to run”
“I’ll be here.”
When they wheeled him down the hospital corridor to the operating room, Chase was all prepped for surgery. A nurse had given him a shot earlier, and he felt heavy and groggy. With blurring vision, he searched the faces above him. Ty had said he was going to be there.
