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For the space of a heartbeat, Tara didn’t react at all. Then, slowly, she turned to look at Jessy. “You’re having a baby?” There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in the brightness of her voice that reflected the hatred that blazed in her dark eyes.
Inwardly, Jessy recoiled from it, but outwardly she maintained a calm composure. “Twins, actually.”
“Twins,” Tara repeated. “How wonderful. And when is this blessed event to be?” She directed the question to Ty.
“Early December.”
“In time for Christmas. Isn’t that perfect timing?” Tara declared then gave Ty one of her patented, sidelong looks. “Papa Ty,” she teased. “I can see you now, passing out cigars. Daddy, we really must remember to send Ty a box of Cuban cigars, so he can celebrate the birth of the twins in style.” Graceful as a doe, Tara rose from her chair and tucked a hand in the crook of her father’s arm. “Daddy’s come to drag me off to some dreary dinner with his mine supervisor, so I might as well leave willingly. Please give my love to Cat in case I don’t have time to call her this trip, will you, Ty?”
“I will.” Ty made a brief show of rising then settled back in his chair when the pair moved away from the table. There was a vaguely preoccupied air about him as he sent Jessy a half-apologetic glance. “With any luck, it will be another six years before we see her again.”
“We can only hope.” Few things ever unsettled Jessy, but the look of pure hatred in Tara’s eyes had.
“That reminds me,” Chase began, “I ran into your father this afternoon.”
He went on to explain about the rotted fence post. After which the conversation moved into a general discussion on the overall condition of the fencing on the ranch, replacement costs, and the massive man-hours the task would require. The subject of Tara wasn’t raised again.
A three-quarter moon on the wane rode high in the night sky. Its bright glow dimmed the sparkle of the blanketing stars. But the multitude of them was still awesome, stretching from horizon to horizon, from infinity to beyond. Barefoot and clad in a tan sleeper-tee that outlined the growing roundness of her stomach, Jessy stood at the second-floor window of the spacious master bedroom and gazed at the vastness of the Montana night sky.
Below her line of vision was the sprawling collection of outbuildings, barns, storage sheds, commissary, and housing that comprised the headquarters of the Triple C. In size, it was that of a small town, something a stranger might marvel over, but Jessy was too accustomed to it to notice. It had not the mystery of the starry sky.
An intermittent flash of light made a track across the studded blackness, catching her eye. A second later she recognized the red and green glow of navigation lights and knew it was an aircraft banking southward, not a shooting star. Too few planes flew across this empty stretch of the state. At that altitude, logic insisted that the aircraft had to be Dyson’s corporate jet—with Tara on board.
The view somehow marred, Jessy turned from the window just as Ty entered the room. He saw her by the window and paused briefly in mild surprise.
“I half expected you to be in bed.”
“I was headed in that direction, then stopped to do a little star-gazing. It’s a beautiful night out there.”
“To be honest, I’m too tired to care.” He crossed to the brass-edged bootjack and used it to pry out of his boots, one foot at a time. “It feels like it’s been a very long day.”
“Mmmm,” Jessy made an agreeing sound, then she watched while Ty began the laborious, one-handed task of shedding his clothes, something he insisted on accomplishing without assistance. It was a case of male independence and pride.
“You know, I’ve always known we had an exceptional herd of registered Red Angus, but every time I think about one of the bulls we bred walking off with the Grand Championship at the Denver
show—” Ty stopped and shook his head, as if the feeling it gave was beyond description. “I think I’ll look up Ballard in the next day or two and make sure he wasn’t feeding your dad a line.”
“Why would he do that? The facts are much too easy to verify.”
“And I’ll do that, too.” Ty scooped his jeans off the floor and tossed them over the arm of a plush chair upholstered in gold damask. “Everybody knows Ballard has shown a tendency to exaggerate in the past.”
Jessy hid an amused smile. “You never have liked Dick Ballard very much, have you?”
Her smile deepened at the way Ty took such pains to avoid looking her way. “I wouldn’t say that. He’s a good hand, fast and sure with a rope, steady and reliable, willing to turn his hand to any work, and sits deep in a saddle.” Ty ticked off the man’s good points, but in his mind, he kept remembering all the times he had seen Ballard sitting at Jessy’s table in the past. “But he’s too quick to chase anything in a skirt.”
“You still hold it against him for making a pass at Cat at the Christmas party a few years ago, don’t you? Good heavens, the man had been drinking, Ty.”
“I know. Just the same, Ballard has always been a little too full of himself.”
“He was that way when he was young,” Jessy agreed. “But all males are in their youth.”
Ty stripped off the last sock and added that to the pile of discarded clothes, then arched her a skeptical look as he stood there in his shorts and undershirt. “Really? I don’t ever recall being that way.”
Her wide mouth curved into a smile. “That’s because you were too busy trying to figure out what it took to be a Calder.”
Ty chuckled in remembrance. “You’ve got that right.”
“At least you finally got the hang of it.” Jessy crossed to the four-poster, canopied bed and began folding back the satin coverlet into a neat bundle at the foot of it.
