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Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: Green Calder Grass
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“She’s what?” His fingers tightened their grip on the receiver, shock and disbelief racing through him.
“You heard me,” Chase replied flatly. “And she’s bringing an architect with her. Her plane should land at our strip between ten and eleven. I thought I’d better let you know that.”
There was a click, and the line went dead. Ty replaced the receiver on its cradle and swept back the covers, swinging his legs out of bed.
“That was Dad,” he said needlessly, his sideways glance bouncing off Jessy.
“I gathered,” was her dry response. “What was that about Tara?”
“She’s flying in this morning, with an architect. They should be landing around ten or eleven.”
Happy Anniversary, Jessy thought, and followed Ty’s lead, climbing out of bed to get dressed.
Chapter Six
O
n its final approach, the private jet angled for the runway, a long gray line of concrete cutting a path through the sea of summer-yellow grass. In the plane’s cabin, Tara faced the double-paned window, idling looking out while her mind hummed, determined to make sure there was no argument she had overlooked.
“I thought we were going to land at the ranch.”
Roused from her thoughts, Tara glanced across the aisle at the young, athletically built architect seated across from her. “That is the ranch below us,” she informed him, smiling at the surprise that flickered over his clean-cut, college-boy features.
“All of those buildings?” Noah Richardson, a preservationist at heart and the current wunderkind of the architectural world, peered out his side window, eager for a closer look.
“I told you the Triple C was different from other ranches you’ve seen. There are few like it in the world, I suspect.”
“It looks like a small town,” he marveled.
“And just as self-sufficient as one. At least, where the necessities are concerned,” Tara qualified.
As the plane continued its descent, the outbuildings disappeared from view. Only The Homestead remained in sight. Tara could almost pinpoint the exact moment when Noah Richardson switched his attention to the high plains mansion.
Losing interest in her traveling companion, Tara let her gaze wander to her own window, catching a brief glimpse of two men waiting by the hangar as the plane sped past, beginning its rapid deceleration. Brief, though it may have been, it was enough for Tara to recognize both Ty and his father. Unworried, she settled back in her seat.
By the hangar, Chase watched the sleek plane taxiing toward them, the line of his mouth thinning in annoyance. “An architect,” he grunted, not for the first time, then shot a glance at his son. “I know Tara and her extravagant ideas, and I’m telling you right now we are not building some grandiose monstrosity just to sell a few cattle in it.”
“You won’t get any argument from me.”
Chase nodded in approval.
Engines whining, the streamlined aircraft swung abreast of them and braked to a stop. One of the ranch hands trotted out from the hangar and positioned the chocks behind the plane’s tires. In a succession of minutes, the engine’s high-pitched whine faded into silence, the cabin door was cracked, and a copilot in a white shirt and tie latched the door open. With the push of a button, he lowered the flight of steps, skipped down them, and turned to offer assistance to his passengers.
Tara stepped into the doorway and paused on the top step, her darkly vivacious looks accented by the matching powder blue top and slacks she wore. A chiffon scarf of the same shade was loosely knotted at her throat. Her searching gaze finally landed on Ty. A warm smile broke across her face as she lifted a hand in greeting, then descended the steps with a lithe grace.
Without a backward glance, she moved across the tarmac toward them. But Chase’s attention focused on the young man at the head of the steps, clad in blue jeans, a tan shirt with thin, white stripes, and a navy tie.
“If that’s the architect she brought,” he muttered under his breath to Ty, “he looks like he’s straight out of college.”
But Ty had no opportunity to reply as Tara reached them, her dark eyes sparkling and alive to him. Gone were all traces of grief’s dullness and pallor. She was once again a ripely beautiful woman, certain of herself and her allure.
“Ty.” She spoke his name in simple greeting, then turned to his father. “I’m so glad you’re here, Chase. Forgive me for forcing myself on you. I know I should apologize for sticking my nose into something that is absolutely none of my business. But I’m so excited about my idea that I just had to tell you and Ty about it in person. I know you both are going to love it.”
“We’ll see,” Chase replied, deliberately cool.
Undeterred, she half turned to include the young man just joining them. “Ty, Chase, I want you to meet Noah Richardson. Don’t be fooled by his looks,” she warned. “His stunning renovations of abandoned factories and a variety of historic buildings have made him the talk of the entire Southwest. There is absolutely no one better qualified than Noah for the job I have in mind.”
Ty waited until Tara had finished the introductions to ask, “Just what is this job you have in mind?”
She paused for effect. “The barn.”
“I assumed this was probably about the new sale barn we’re planning to build. We already have an architect working on drawings for one,” Ty replied.
“Not a new barn, Ty,” she corrected, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “I’m talking about that old, timbered monstrosity you already have.”
Caught completely off guard by her answer, Ty exchanged a quick glance with his father then asked for a clarification, “You’re talking about remodeling the old barn into a sale facility?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she reasoned, confident of his agreement. “After all, why build a new facility that can be used for little else when you can remodel an existing structure to serve a dual purpose?”
“Assuming it can be done,” Chase inserted.
“Of course. That’s why I brought Noah. So he can look it over and see if it’s possible.”
Noah finally spoke for himself. “If it’s the same building I saw from the air, it certainly looked big enough. But size isn’t the only determining factor. I really need to spend some time in it.”
“Well? What do you think?” Tara looked at Ty with bright-eyed expectancy.
“I think it’s worth checking out.” There was way too much logic in the suggestion for Ty to argue with it. He didn’t ask, but he took his father’s silence on the matter as an agreement.
Without further discussion, the four of them climbed into the four-door Suburban parked near the hangar. Ty slid behind the wheel while Tara took the front passenger seat. Leaving the private airstrip, Ty drove along the narrow road that led southwest to the ranch headquarters.
He parked close to the barn and walked over to open its massive double doors. After an initial groan of protest, they slid apart to reveal the shadowed gloom of the barn’s cavernous interior and its wide alleyway.
The young architect walked directly into it, his head on a swivel as he began a visual inspection. He paused near one of the stout, upright supports and ran a hand over its uneven surface.
“These timbers are hand-hewn.” He turned back toward Chase. “How old is this barn?”
“Well over a hundred years,” he replied.
The architect leaned a shoulder against it, giving the rustic column a testing shove, then stepped back, murmuring, “Solid as a rock.”
“Can’t you just picture it, Ty?” Tara edged closer to him, gesturing at the interior. “All this old wood varnished and gleaming, washed with indirect light. It’s the perfect setting, utterly rustic and Western, steeped in history and tradition. The sheer ambiance of it will be a draw in itself.”
A fuzzy image flickered in his mind’s eye, indistinct, yet enough to stir him. “It would be different than any sale barn I saw,” he conceded.
“That’s an understatement,” Tara said with a laugh. “Most of them are little more than huge metal sheds. They have no charm, no character at all.
This
will be a sensation that will have everybody buzzing. Anyone who fails to attend your first auction will definitely not miss the next one.” Tara slipped an arm around him as naturally as if they were still married. “If there’s one thing I learned from Daddy, it’s that success in business requires more than an excellent product. Equally important is the image of the product that you project to the public. In other words, it’s how you wrap it.”
“It’s all about marketing,” Ty agreed.
“Am I forgiven for barging in, then?” Tara had a way of looking up at him from below her lashes that aroused a man’s senses.
Ty became aware of the warmth of her body pressed along his length and rounded imprint of her breast against his arm. The pull of the past was strong, reminding him of a time when loving her had been a habit. And one that seemed much too easy to resume.
Gently but firmly, he untangled himself from her encircling arm, putting a little distance between them. “There’s nothing to forgive. It remains to be seen whether this barn can be converted into an auction facility.”
After spending the better part of an hour poking in corners, clambering up the crude ladder to the hayloft and surveying the outer perimeter, the young architect’s verdict was favorable.
“So far,” he told Chase and Ty, “I haven’t found a single thing that would lead me to believe it can’t be done. It’s a grand old barn.” There was genuine fondness in the sweeping glance he gave it. “It’ll be a real challenge. I’ll have to do some research to get a clear picture of the specific needs you’ll have before I can start any design work.” He paused a beat and focused a questioning look on Chase. “I don’t suppose you have any as-built blueprints of the barn.”
“Not hardly.”
“That’s what I figured.” He dragged in a deep breath and let it sigh out. “I’ll need to create one. Which means I’ll have to measure every inch of it. Usually I have a couple of assistants to help with something like this.”
“I’m sure it can be arranged to have a couple of ranch hands help you,” Tara inserted then added, “assuming, that is, that you want Noah to go forward?”
In theory, Ty much preferred remodeling the existing barn than building a new structure. But he had learned during their marriage just how expensive Tara’s tastes could be, and the steep fees that were charged by the professionals she hired.
“Before we give Mr. Richardson the go-ahead, we’ll need to sit down with him and discuss exactly what this design work will cost.”
“Of course,” Tara demurred.
“That’s fine with me, too. It’s just”—the architect hesitated—“you do realize that getting all the measurements on this old barn will be considerably more than a two or three hour job.”
Only Tara expressed surprise at his statement.
“Really?”
“Oh, it’ll easily take a full day. And”—he glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist—“half of this one is already gone.”
“I am so sorry.” Tara turned to Ty and Chase with a look of earnest apology. “I’m afraid I’ll have to impose on you further. The company house in Blue Moon is occupied, and there simply isn’t any other place we can stay—unless we can spend the night here.”
Irritation flickered through Ty. Tara knew as well as he did that a visitor was never turned away from their door. It was one of the unwritten codes.
“Not a problem,” Chase replied. “We have plenty of room at The Homestead. We’ll arrange for your luggage to be brought from the plane.”
“I do appreciate this, Chase,” Tara smiled, “especially because it gives me a chance to see the twins.”
In The Homestead’s old kitchen, Jessy sat close to the highchair and scooped up another small spoonful of cereal to feed her son. Trey immediately grabbed for it, interested not in the spoon, but in getting his fingers in the cereal. There was more cereal smeared over his face, hands, and hair, not to mention the high chair, than had made its way into his mouth.
She caught at his grabbing hand and held it out of the way while she carried the spoon to his mouth. Straining, he turned his face away from it, babbling a protest.
Jessy drew the spoon back. “You do realize that your sister has already gotten her bottle, don’t you, Trey?” She made another attempt to feed him, but it was no more successful than the first. “Not hungry, huh.” Setting the baby spoon and small cereal bowl on the table, she picked up a wet washcloth and wiped his face and hands, then lifted him out of the high chair. “What you really need is another bath, little boy,” she chided and tickled his tummy. He squirmed in her arms, gurgling with laughter.
“Hellooo!” The seeking call came from the entry hall.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Jessy yelled back, and shifted Trey onto a hip while she set about wiping up the worst of the cereal from the high chair before it hardened into concrete.
The big house echoed with the approaching jangle of spurs and the heavy
clump
of booted feet on the hardwood floors. Jessy looked up from her work when they reached the kitchen doorway. Dick Ballard stood in the opening, a simple canvas duffel bag hanging from a shoulder strap and two, huge expensive suitcases weighing down his hands. Jessy knew immediately that the suitcases were Tara’s. From that, it was easy to surmise that Tara was spending the night.

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