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Irritated that he had left with nothing finished between them, Jessy demanded, “Just where are you going?”
He paused in the doorway and turned back, his tall broad-shouldered frame filling the opening, his expression hard and unrelenting. “I don’t have time to stand around and thrash this out with you. In case you forgot, we have cattle to move and not much time to do it in. It will take every hand I can spare from the calving sheds and then some. That includes you. So you better give your mother a call and see if she can help Sally look after the twins for the next few days.”
His statement left no room for protest, which perversely angered Jessy all the more. Pivoting on her heel, she stalked to the telephone in the living room as Ty closed the door behind him.
Neither mentioned the incident again. But it simmered between them, unspoken and unresolved.
Chapter Nine
The area known as Wolf Meadow had a large stretch of broken country, crowned with flat tablelands and riven with wide coulees. In every direction it sprawled, vast and primitive, in endlessly stretching miles of more of the same.
A red-and-white Cessna aircraft swooped low to the ground, flushing a pair of cows with calves from their hiding place. Spooked by the low-flying plane, they bolted into the open, tails high. The minute they saw the waiting riders, they swerved.
Closest to them, Jessy reined her tired horse after them, spurring it in
to a gallop. She chased them for nearly a quarter of a mile before she succeeded in turning them. Once the little group was headed toward the bunch that had already been gathered, her weary horse slowed to a rough trot that jarred every bone in her body.
It had been over two years since Jessy had spent this many hours in the saddle. She was out of shape; every stiff and sore muscle in her body attested to it.
To her relief, the sun hung low in the western sky, its rays already painting the undersides of the scattered clouds with a fuchsia brush. Soon it would be too dark to continue the search for more cattle. There was just enough daylight to get this bunch to the holding pens that were better than a mile distant.
When she reached the small herd, Jessy took up her former flanking position and called to the other two riders, “Let’s take these home.”
High overhead, the Cessna flew by and wagged its wings in a signal that it was heading to the landing strip. Jessy watched it with a trace of envy, knowing it would reach the headquarters long before she would. As beat as she was, the end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.
When they topped the last rise and finally saw the portable holding pens near the fence line, the setting sun bathed the entire scene in a golden light, giving it the look of an old tintype. But Jessy was too tired to admire the picture it made.
As soon as they had driven their cattle into the first pen, Jessy peeled away to head for the picket line. Her legs felt a little rubbery when she dismounted. She blocked it out and loosened the cinch on her saddle, then rubbed down her horse.
Convinced that a jolt of range coffee would revive her, she headed for the cookshack. As she neared it, seven-year-old Quint came running up, displaying a great deal more energy than Jessy possessed.
“Hi, Aunt Jessy. I saw you ride in,” he told her, his gray eyes shining with excitement. “I’ve been helping with the roundup.”
“You have?”
“Yup. Grandpa said I did a good job, too.”
“Is he here?” Jessy scanned the handful of riders gathered around the cookshack. She spotted Cat by the coffeepot, but there was no sign of Chase.
“He’s over by the pens.” Quint flung an arm in their direction. “They’re getting ready to load some more cattle.”
As if on cue, Jessy heard the rumble of a diesel engine, the whoosh of air brakes, and the grind of shifting gears as a semi maneuvered its slatted stock trailer up to the loading chute. But her attention was on the cup of coffee Cat extended toward her.
“You look like you could use this,” Cat said.
“It shows, does it?” Jessy wasted no time taking a quick sip of the strong brew.
“Not really,” Cat replied. “But I figured you had to be as tired as I am.”
“I’m so tired I’m dragging.” Which was something Jessy would never have admitted to a man.
“A good long soak in the tub is what we both need. You can tell that brother of mine he owes me a massage and a manicure for drafting me into this.”
“I’ll tell him,” Jessy promised.
“Whoops, there’s Logan.” Looking past her, Cat waved at the patrol vehicle that had pulled up along the roadside. “Come on, Quint. Your dad is here. It’s time to go home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jessy said.
