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“Enough about clothes.” Jessy said with her usual bluntness. As far as she was concerned, the subject had been exhausted long ago. There were more important matters at hand. “Were you able to learn who the new owner is?”
“Actually I knew it when I talked to you yesterday, but Dad and I decided to wait until you were back to tell you,” Ty admitted, watching as Jessy mentally braced herself. He slid a glance at his sister, aware that she would be the one shocked by the news. Logan shifted closer to Cat. “It’s Tara.”
“No.” Cat stepped back from him, bumping into Logan, her green eyes round with denial and disbelief. “She wouldn’t do that. You made a mistake.”
“There is no mistake, Cat,” Ty stated with a gentle firmness. “I talked with her myself.”
“But . . . why? Why would she do it?” Cat looked at him with heart-touching bewilderment.
“Her reasons don’t really matter,” Ty replied. “She owns it and we have to deal with that.”
It was on the tip of Jessy’s tongue to throw it in Ty’s face that she had warned him all along that Tara wasn’t to be trusted. But she was wise enough to know that indulging in I-told-you-so was a waste of precious energies when they needed to concentrate their efforts on dealing with this new circumstance.
“What does she plan to do with it?” Jessy asked instead, every inch of her intent on his answer.
“She claims she wants to live on it.” Ty was obviously not completely convinced of that. “But we’ll have a better idea of her intentions after Friday.”
“Why Friday?” Cat frowned.
“She’s coming to dinner—at her suggestion,” Ty added with dry emphasis. “Afterwards we will sit down and talk.”
“She’s after the coal, Ty.” It was the only explanation that made sense to Jessy. “It was what her father wanted. Now she intends to fulfill his dream for it.”
“If it is, she will play hell getting it out.”
Chapter Thirteen
News of Tara’s purchase of the Wolf Meadow range spread across the Triple C faster than a summer squall. By the middle of the week there wasn’t a single individual who hadn’t heard about it. Only the very young ones failed to understand its significance.
Mention of it was never made around anyone in the Calder household. But Jessy found it impossible not to be aware of the watchful glances directed her way each time she ventured out of The Homestead. They were all waiting to see what was going to be done about it, which increased the subtle tension that gripped all of them.
Patience had always been a forte of hers, but even Jessy found the waiting difficult. Keeping her mind occupied was the best antidote for it. And there was no better way to do that than astride a green-broke horse.
The three-year-old stud colt tugged at the bit, its muscles bunching with eagerness for a faster pace, but he maintained the sedate trot Jessy had set around the training pen. The colt was a flashy buckskin with a sharply white blaze down its face, jet-black mane, tail, and leg stockings, and its coat was that yellow-gold color associated with a palomino. His registered name was Lion’s Paw, but Jessy had long ago dubbed him Dandy, short for Dandelion.
Halfway along the corral fence, Jessy signaled the colt to cut across it with a combination of leg cues, weight shift, and rein pressure. As always, the buckskin’s response was lightning quick. One bit of inattention on her part and Jessy knew the colt had the ability to jump out from under her and leave her sitting in the air. That awareness was enough to keep her alert to every flex and shift of its muscle.
As if on cue, the colt broke stride, snorting in alarm as he rolled an eye at the cowboy climbing onto the opposite fence rail. Without difficulty, Jessy straightened the colt back up and brought him down to a walk. Only then did she let her attention stray long enough to identify Ballard with a quick glance his way.
“That’s not fair, Jessy,” Ballard protested. “He was wantin’ an excuse to run and kick up his heels.”
“And he would have done just that if I had given him a chance.” Reaching forward, she stroked the buckskin’s sleek neck.
“The twins must be takin’ their afternoon nap,” Ballard guessed.
“They fell asleep about twenty minutes ago,” Jessy confirmed.
Ballard ran an admiring eye over the horse. “That colt is definitely something special.”
“He should be. He is a double grandson to Cougar.” She referred to the long-dead ranch stallion that had sired nearly all of the Triple C’s top cow horses. “I can hardly wait until he is ready to work cattle.”
“From what I’ve heard, if he’s anything like his granddaddy, he’ll be a natural.” Ballard continued to study the three-year-old. “How’s he comin’ along?”
“Fast,” Jessy admitted. “He’s already getting bored with the routine of the training pen.”
“In that case, give me a couple minutes to saddle up Jake and we’ll take a ride down by the river and give the colt a chance to stretch its legs a little.”
“Sounds good,” Jessy agreed. “By the time you’re ready, I should have most of the freshness worked out of him.”
