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Ty chuckled, no more alarmed by the threat than the vet was. “She’s like Jessy. She’d take the whole damned herd in the house if that’s what it took to make them well.”
“Ranchers’ wives are about as crazy as the ranchers,” the vet agreed, but looked away at the mention of Jessy. He nodded his head, calling Ty’s attention to the vehicle pulling up in the yard. “Wonder what he wants.” A ray of sunlight glinted off the badge pinned on the winter coat of the man climbing out from behind the wheel. “He sure likes people to know he’s sheriff. As lazy as Potter was, he never threw his weight around like Blackmore does.”
“The sheriff probably figures he’s got it to throw around,” Ty murmured as he straightened and turned to meet the officer walking toward them. “You’re a ways off the beaten track, aren’t you, Blackmore?” Ty asked idly. “What is this? A social call or business?”
“I’m here on official business, I’m afraid,” the man said. He seemed unusually solemn, lacking his usually abrasive edge, as he glanced around at the southern camp’s buildings.
“If you’re looking for my father, he isn’t here. He’s in Helena for a couple of days,” Ty informed him.
There was a long, considering pause. “His plane didn’t make it to Helena,” the sheriff stated in a brusque yet flat voice. The first wave of unreality hit Ty. “It went down seventy miles this side of it—in some rough country. A sheepherder in the area saw it crash-land and went for help. A rescue party reached the site early this morning.”
“How can you be sure it was his plane?” The sense of disbelief demanded the question as Ty stared, unmoving, at the officer. Then the second realization hit him. “You haven’t said anything about survivors.”
“Your father’s been taken to a hospital in Helena. The only word I had from the authorities on that end was he was badly injured.”
“And my mother?” Ty demanded.
“She was killed outright.” His head bobbed downward, unable to meet Ty’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Beside him, the vet murmured a stunned “Sweet Jesus.”
Ty held himself tightly together, braced against the shock that tried to reject all he’d been told. A scraping rawness clawed at his insides, but he couldn’t give in to it—not yet.
“My sister—she’ll have to be told.” His mind seemed to detach itself from his feelings. “I’ll go by the school on the way to Helena. She’ll want to come with me. My wife has gone shopping today, in Miles City, I think. Would you put out an emergency bulletin for her, Sheriff, and have her call home immediately?”
“I’ll do it.” The sheriff nodded affirmatively.
“Bill.” Ty glanced at the vet, his voice turning on the husky side. “Tell Stumpy he’s in charge until I get back.”
“Will do, Ty.” It was a quiet answer, respectful and subdued.
There was a weakness in his knees and legs as he left the two men without another word and crossed to the pickup. It was a long drive to The Homestead, and it would be an even longer drive to Helena with a detour to the school to break the news to Cat. Until then, he had to keep his feelings at bay.
IV
Trouble’s got a way of picking its time
To beep you from mourning your dead.
Look to the land for the answer,
’Cause now you’re Calder
born—and Calder bred.
22
Al1 the while he was on the telephone, Ty stared at the empty leather chair behind the desk. Despite the things the impersonal voice on the phone was te
lling him, he found it difficult to believe his father was in some surgery room fighting for his life. The feeling of him was strong in this room.
The voice finished its report. Ty absently thanked it and hung up. Instantly the stillness of the house crept in and put its pressure on him. The shaking started and he reached for a cigarette, but his coat was still buttoned and his hands were still gloved. In a kind of suppressed agitation, he pulled off the gloves and jerked open the buttons.
He watched his hands tremble as he lit the cigarette, then dragged the smoke deep into his lungs. The action seemed to shatter the stiffness that had held him so erect. He sagged against the edge of the desk, sliding off his hat and leaving it on the desktop while he combed a hand through his hair as though trying to rake out the knowledge that clawed at him.
It hurt to breathe. He caught himself listening for sounds—any sound that would tell him there was life in the house, not just hollow echoes of it. Its silence seemed to tell him louder than the sheriff’s words that he’d never hear his mother’s laughter again. The front door opened, and Ty attempted to throw off this depression that weighted his body. Straightening, he turned to meet the sound of quick footsteps.
“Ty?” Jessy halted in the doorway. For a long second, she simply stood there, looking at him, her coat hanging open. He appeared all withdrawn and forbidding, invisible barriers surrounding him to shut her away. Then she saw the stark despair in his eyes and slowly crossed the room to stand in front of him. “Have you heard anything more about your father?”
