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A silent and humorless laugh came from his throat in the form of a loud breath. “I’m half Calder and half O’Rourke, and I don’t know which of you is more stubborn once you get your mind to something. Doesn’t that make me twice as determined to carry out my decision?” Ty looked at her, saddened, yet unwavering in his stand. “You didn’t talk me into it, Mom. And he isn’t going to talk me out of it.”
When Ty entered the den, his father was standing in front of the massive stone fireplace. One hand rested on the mantel while he stared into the cold and blackened hearth. There was a slumped curve to his shoulders that told Ty just how hard his father was taking his decision. He was glad, at this minute, that he couldn’t see his face.
“Dad—” Ty began and watched the wide shoulders and muscled neck stiffen. “I know you’re disappointed in me.”
“Disappointed!” The man whose word was law on the Triple C dropped the supporting hand from the mantelpiece and swung half around to stand tall and erect, his body angled toward Ty. A struggle was going on inside him, a battle between his emotions and his control of them. When he spoke again, his voice was contained, yet taut. “I promised your mother I’d abide by your decision, and I will. But I can’t agree with something I know is wrong.”
“I know that.” Ty nodded stiffly.
“There’s some sense to the reasons you gave,” his father grudgingly conceded. “But they won’t stand up.” His mouth came together, disappearing entirely into a compressed line, taut with anger. “Dammit, Ty! Do you think I was never eighteen? I was like you! I thought I knew more than my father! Most of the time I listened to the warnings he gave me with a smile on my face. I thought he was exaggerating. Hell, I didn’t know the half of it. And you don’t comprehend any of it!”
The sweeping condemnation stung Ty into defending himself. “I understand more than you give me credit for.”
“Do you?” his father challenged harshly. “Look at the map.” He thrust a pointing finger at the hand-drawn map mounted in a frame and hung on the wall behind the large desk. Years had yellowed the canvas on which the boundaries of the Triple C Ranch were crudely outlined. “It’s old, Ty. It’s old, but it’s still accurate. Do you have any idea how many big ranches there were then? Today, there’s less than a handful that can still boast they exist—and most of those are owned by some absentee corporate investors. Those other ranches had their glory days. But the Calders lasted because they made a commitment to the land and all that lived on it, livestock and people.”
“I understand that,” Ty insisted with a gathering frown of irritation and resentment. He didn’t need a sermon. Over the last three years, he’d heard more preaching than anything else. “I am capable of thinking for myself.”
“Then you’d better start thinking,” his father advised. “A place this size is vulnerable to outside forces, and it will collapse like a house of cards if the man heading it doesn’t know what he’s doing. And you’d better damned well understand that! If the core of something is weak, it can’t support what surrounds it.”
“I’m standing up to you for something I believe is right,” he declared through his clenched teeth. “Dammit, that has to mean something.”
“I’ll give you that,” his father conceded without taking back anything he’d said. “But I know this land will make you into the kind of man this ranch needs. And you’ll never convince me that a bunch of goddamned professors are going to do that. I won’t stand in your way, Ty,” he breathed heavily, “but I’m not going to lift a hand to help you either. You aren’t going to learn about life in a classroom. It’s out there!” His finger jabbed in the direction of the window.
“In time, I’ll prove to you I’m right.” Ty was hurt by his father’s lack of support, but he didn’t let it show.
“By God, you’ll have to.”
Ty’s chin dipped a fraction of an inch lower as he turned to leave the room. The firmness of his conviction was shaken, but he was still determined to go through with his decision. His stubborn pride insisted that he prove he was right.
4
At summer’s end, upwards of two hundred people—ranch hands and their fam
ilies—gathered at the Triple C headquarters to have a going-away party for Ty before he headed for college.
There weren’t any speeches, but there was a lot of back-slapping and some good-natured ribbing about college girls. Cold beer flowed freely from kegs, youngsters stealing sips from paper cups left unattended. Outdoor buffet tables were covered with a variety of salads, casseroles, pies, and cakes supplied by the wives of the ranch hands.
Tucker, the bald-headed ranch cook, struggled to maintain his supremacy against the invasion of women and finally retreated to reign over the barbecue fires with a long-pronged fork and a carving knife. There was a constant ebb and flow of people to and from the tables of food set up beneath a large canvas tent with its sides rolled up to permit access from all directions. Makeshift picnic tables of board planks atop sawhorses were scattered around under what shade trees were available.
Those who weren’t eating or drinking had gathered at the large corral by the barn. Part of the afternoon-long festivities included some friendly competition among the cowboys, matching their skills in ranch-related events such as team roping, cutting cattle, tug-of-war on horseback, and breakaway roping, and in gymkhana events such as barrel racing and pole bending.
Ty had participated in many of the events with no hopes of winning, but as the guest of honor, his active involvement was expected. At least he had the satisfaction of making a respectable showing in the events he rode in.
One of the cowboys swung the gate open as Ty walked his speckle-faced sorrel out of the corral and finished coiling his rope after taking his turn in the breakaway roping competition. It differed from straight calf roping in that the cowboy was only required to rope the calf and let the loop snug up around its neck, then throw the rope away. The calf wasn’t thrown and tied.
Outside the corral, he circled his horse around to the fence to watch the next contestant. After he tied the coiled rope in place on his saddle, Ty hooked a leg on the saddle horn and leaned on it. There was always an odd comment or two directed at him by the participants or spectators on the sidelines; most of the time, they didn’t require more than a nod or a brief smile in response.
Sid Ramsey was in the corral, hazing loose livestock back to the catch pens. During a break in the action, he stopped his horse close to the corral fence where Ty sat on his horse.
“So you’re pulling out for the big state of Texas, huh?” he said to Ty with the corners of his mouth pulled down.
“That’s right.” Ty nodded. “I’ll be flying out with Dyson when he leaves the day after tomorrow.”
Saddle leather creaked as the cowboy leaned to the side and spat at the ground near his horse’s feet. “One thing about it, me and the rest of the boys won’t have to be carrying your load of work anymore. You always was a sorry excuse for a cowboy.”
“Hell, look what I had for teachers,” he countered with a mocking grin. He understood the derogatory comment was Ramsey’s backhanded way of saying he’d be missed. It was part of that peculiar code of these men to speak with roughness when their feelings were deep. And the ones who gave him the hardest time were also the ones who seemed the sorriest that he was leaving, Ty had discovered.
Ramsey chortled, then touched a hand to his hat and spurred his horse toward the burst of action in the corral. A tightness gripped Ty’s throat as he suddenly realized he was going to miss all this. He peered up from his hat brim at the endless expanse of open sky overhead. The sights and sounds became important—the slap of hooves on hard ground, the grunt of running animals, the clanking of spurs, the rank smell of manure and the sweat of bodies. There was a oneness here, a working partnership between man, animals, and the land. It seemed difficult to remember that he’d known any other kind of life.
