Chapter Eight.

On a lamblike morning in late March, Ty stood with his father outside the old timbered barn, his sheepskin jacket hanging open. After a long and brutally cold winter with the temperature and wind chill hovering near the zero mark for days on end, the last patches of snow had finally melted, exposing the brown stalks of dormant grass. With the thermometer already registering above the forty-degree mark, the morning felt downright balmy.

The rough winter had created any number of construction delays in the remodeling of the old barn. Even now there was considerable work to be done on the inside, but the exterior was all but finished. Ty studied the single-story addition that had been added to the side, noting the way it seamlessly blended with the original structure.

"It's hard to tell where the old ends and the new begins, isn't it?" he remarked to his father.

Chase nodded in agreement. "And to think we planned to bulldoze that old shed at South Fork this spring," he mused. "It was a good thing Ballard went scavenging around the ranch to see what he could find after those lumber bids came in so high. We had some labor costs salvaging that shed, but we still came out dollars ahead."

As reluctant as Ty was to admit it, Ballard had proved his worth on more than one occasion, both in the preliminary planning for the auction and in the construction of the facility. "Ballard never struck me as having so much business sense."

"We never hired him to do more than rope and ride and mend fence. That makes it hard to judge whether a man is capable of more than that," Chase replied. "Speaking of fences, did you see the quotes we got for new steel fence posts?"

"I saw them. They were a helluva lot higher than I expected."

Chase grunted an agreement. "With the up-front cash we have to spend for this auction, we will have to make do with the fencing we have until next year."

"Or late fall, after the sale." A date in early September had been set for the livestock auction. "With any luck, we'll recoup a big chunk of the money we have invested."

"With the high hay costs we had this winter, we'll need it." Chase shifted his position, conscious of the immediate and sharp protest of his joints. "Ballard has things well in hand here. We might as well head back to the house."

Turning toward the pickup parked nearby, Ty sent a glance toward The Homestead. "Tara said last night that she wanted to fly back to Fort Worth early this morning. She should be just about ready to leave."

Together they crossed to the pickup. Any other time Ty would have walked from The Homestead to the old barn, but as a concession to his father's stiffened joints, Ty had driven instead. It was a short drive up the slope to the big house that crowned the rise.

Parking in front of it, Ty climbed out the driver's side and caught the sound of a vehicle approaching from the east. The morning sun was in his eyes, and he lifted a hand to block the glare of it. The minute he spotted the light bar mounted atop the sports utility van, he guessed at the identity of its occupant even before he saw the county sheriff insignia on the side.

"It looks like Logan. I wonder what he wants."

"We'll soon find out," Chase dryly stated the obvious.

The white van pulled up alongside the pickup. The engine rumbled to a stop and Logan stepped out of the driver's side, wearing a down-filled leather jacket over the tan of his uniform. He adjusted the set of his hat, the sunlight briefly gleaming on the blue-black ends of his hair.

"Ty. Chase." He nodded to both of them and approached the steps where they waited. "I didn't expect to catch both of you home."

Something in Logan's tone of voice and the way he held himself aloof had Chase lifting his head, sharply alert. "Why do I have the feeling this isn't a social call?"

Logan dipped his head, then raised it again, a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. "You're right. It isn't."

"What's wrong?" Ty asked in quick demand. "Cat and Quint are all right, aren't they?"

"They're fine," Logan assured them. "No, I'm here on another matter. I started to call, then decided to come out myself. I have some news that I understand you aren't going to like, Chase."

"What's that?"

"Buck Haskell was released from prison this week."

Of all the things Logan might have said, that was the last one Chase expected to hear. Shock and surprise ripped through him, opening up the past and making fury and outrage as fresh as yesterday.

Chase's voice trembled with the force of it. "I was supposed to be notified before he was released."

"There must have been an oversight somewhere," was Logan's only explanation. "One of the deputies saw Haskell in Blue Moon yesterday. I overheard him telling someone else. When your name was mentioned, I asked some questions. Otherwise I wouldn't have known it was your late wife he attempted to kill."

"I never expected this day to come." Chase looked away, feeling older and, somehow, less in control.

The front door to The Homestead opened, and Tara emerged, her booted feet tap-tap-tapping across the porch's wood flooring as she walked swiftly to the steps.

"There you are, Ty. I was beginning to think I wouldn't have time to tell you goodbye before we left." She glided down the steps to his side, an ermine jacket slung about her shoulders, the white fur contrasting with the shining darkness of her hair. "Why, Logan, I didn't know you were here. Did Cat come with you?"

"No, she's at home," Logan replied.

"What a shame. I would have loved to see her, even for a few minutes." Belatedly Tara became conscious of the heavy tension in the air. Her glance made a quick and probing sweep of the trio. "My, but you are a solemn group. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Ty lied, trapped by his own memories of that long-ago day when he had climbed in the saddle, his head still pounding from the blow Buck had delivered to it. He could still hear his mother's voice, shouting at him to ride for help. He remembered the fear and indecision he had felt gripping him once again.

"Here comes somebody else." Tara's remark drew the attention of all three men to the pickup traveling up the lane. "This is your morning for company, Ty."

"It seems like it," he agreed and watched the vehicle as it made a swing toward The Homestead. With a growing uneasiness, he spared a glance at his father. "I don't recognize the pickup. Do you?"

"No." But like Ty, Chase watched it, every muscle in his body tightening up.

The pickup slowly rolled to a stop fifteen feet from them. For a long moment, its sole occupant remained behind the wheel while the truck's rapidly cooling engine made its noises in the morning stillness. No one said a word when Buck Haskell stepped out of the vehicle.

Chase had eyes only for the man who had once been as close as a brother to him. Age had changed Buck. His short-cropped hair had retained its curl, but its once blond color was now snow-white. His blue eyes had an old and hard look to them, minus their cocky sparkle. Gone was the big grin that once came so easily to Buck, and his skin had a prison pallor to it instead of a burned-deep range tan. There seemed to be more muscle and heft to his wiry frame than before, and his clothes were plainer than the ones he had once favored.

But his voice, when he spoke, was exactly the same. "I didn't figure you'd be surprised to see me, but I wasn't expecting this kind of reception."

"You aren't welcome here." Chase's words were hard and flat, intolerant of any argument.

"I know that," Buck acknowledged, unconcerned. "I also know that you'd be well within your rights to have your son-in-law here arrest me for trespassing. But I'll ask you not to do that."

"Why?" Chase challenged.

"Don't worry." Buck's mouth curved with a ghost of its former grin. "You already gave me a second chance once. I'm not here to ask for another."

"What do you want?"

"I served my time, Chase. Every single day of it. I'm a free man now, and there's nothing you can do about it. I've rented me a place in town, and I've come here to visit my mother's grave and fetch my father."

"That is Vern's decision to make. Not yours," Chase stated curtly. "He has a place on the Triple C as long as he wants it. He knows that."

"He don't want your charity any more than I do. But don't take my word for it. Come along and ask him yourself," Buck challenged with some of his former cockiness.

"Don't think I won't," Chase retorted. "He's an old man, Buck. We can take better care of him than you."

Buck shook his head. "You can tend to him better, maybe, but you won't care about him more than I will. He's my father, the only family I got left. Now that I'm out, his place is with me," he stated. "He wrote that he was staying with Walt and Ruby Atkins. Is he still there?"

"He is."

"Then that's where I'm going." Buck swung around and jerked open the pickup door, then paused to fire another look at Chase. "Are you coming along or not?"

"I'm coming," Chase answered grimly. "I'm not about to let you bulldoze an old man into leaving here." He shot a quick look at Ty. "I'll handle this. You go ahead and take Tara to her plane."

Logan spoke up. "Why don't you ride with me, Chase? I'll tag along just to keep things peaceable."

"Suit yourself." Changing directions, Chase headed for the patrol vehicle. He didn't expect any trouble from Buck, convinced that the man knew Chase would grab any excuse to throw him behind bars again.

Through it all, Tara had been a silent but interested observer. She gazed after the departing vehicles, trying to piece together the tidbits of information she had gleaned from the exchange, but there were too many blank spots.

"Who was that, Ty?" she asked curiously.

"Buck Haskell."

At that instant it all came together. "Ruth's son," she murmured with the certainty of knowledge.

"Yes." Ty's answer was short. Just as abruptly, he said, "Are you ready? What about your luggage?"

"It's already been taken to the plane. I'm ready if you are."

Out of habit, Ty took Tara's arm and escorted her to the truck, opening the door and giving her a hand into the cab, but he was preoccupied, his thoughts on his father and Buck Haskell.

The Atkinses lived in one of the houses the ranch provided for its married hands. Buck was waiting by the front stoop when Logan and Chase arrived at the house.

"I figured you'd want to be the one to do the knocking," Buck said by way of explanation when they joined him.

Making no response, Chase walked past him and rapped lightly on the front door. After a brief interval, Ruby Atkins opened the door, a stout woman in her early forties. She stepped back in surprise when she saw Chase, "Mr. Calder, I didn't expect it to be you at the door." Her glance darted past him, touching on Buck and lingering an instant on Logan. "If you're looking for Walt, he's at the calving shed."

"No. We're here to see Vern," Chase stated.

"Oh." She blinked in surprise and backed out of the doorway. "Please come in. He's in his room as usual. He seems to prefer it there." She held the door open while the three men filed through, then hurried ahead of them to lead the way. "His room is right through here. Honestly, given a choice, I think Vern would stay in there all the time. But I have insisted that he join us for our meals. The minute he's finished, though, right back in the room he goes." Ruby paused outside a closed door and knocked twice. "It's me, Vern," she said and walked in.

Shriveled and old, Vern Haskell sat in a cane-backed rocking chair in the corner, his gaunt face turned toward the bedroom's only window. A space heater glowed a few feet away, raising the room's temperature to an almost suffocating eighty degrees. Yet he was bundled in a turtleneck and heavy flannel shirt with an orange and brown afghan draped over his bony legs.

Without pause, Ruby crossed directly to his chair and bent close. "Vern." She spoke in a deliberately loud voice. "Mr. Calder is here to see you."

The announcement roused him, bringing his head around to stare with vacant, cataract-clouded eyes toward the doorway. Chase moved forward as Ruby swung away from the rocker, pausing long enough to bend down and switch off the heater.

"You'll have to speak up," she warned Chase when she passed him. "He has gotten very hard of hearing."

Chase nodded and continued on to the corner. "Vern, it's Chase Calder."

The old man craned his neck back to look up at him. "What do you want?" he demanded in a crotchety tone, then waved a skeletal hand at the others. "And who's that with you? You're figurin' on cartin' me off to a nursin' home, aren't you?"

"No. I brought you a visitor," Chase began.

"Tell 'im to go away. There ain't nobody I want to see."

"You'll want to talk to this one," Chase stated and turned to motion Buck forward, but he was already on his way.

Bending, he crouched directly in front of the rocker. "Hey, Pop, it's me, Buck."

The old man rocked forward and peered intently at the white-haired man before him. "Is that really you, boy?" he demanded with wary doubt.

"It's me, Pop. White hair and all," Buck replied with a flash of his old grin. "I told you I'd come as soon as I got out."

A kind of wonder stole through the old man's expression. Reaching out, he clasped Buck's face with both hands. "It is you," he breathed the words, then released a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a sob. With tears shining in his eyes, he let go of Buck's face and excitedly fumbled around in his shirt pocket before he finally succeeded in pulling out a slip of folded paper. He showed it to Buck. "You wrote you would come. I've been carrying your letter with me ever since. I was afraid to hope." His voice had a quaver to it. "I just knew that sunavabitchin' Calder would find some way to keep you there. But-you're really here."

"I'm really here," Buck repeated in emphasis. "I'm a free man, Pop. I did my time and there is nothing anybody can do to send me back there."

"You're free." Tears ran down the hollows of Vern's cheeks. "If only your mother could have lived to see this."

"I know." Buck nodded then patted the old man on the knee. "Look, Pop, I rented a small little house in town, the old Kromke place. Do you remember it?"

"Yeah, I know the place."

"It isn't much, but it's big enough for the two of us. I want you to come live with me."

In answer, Vern began to frantically grope around the chair arms looking first one way then the other. "Where the hell did that damned woman hide my cane this time?"

Straightening, Buck retrieved the cane that had been hooked on the windowsill. "Here it is, Pop." He pressed it into the man's hand.

Immediately, Vern struggled to rise from the rocker, using the cane for leverage and support. "Give me a hand, will you?" he said with impatience.

As Buck assisted him to his feet, Chase spoke up. "You don't have to live with him, Vern. You are more than welcome to stay right here."

"And just why the hell would I want to do that?" Vern challenged with vehemence. "This ain't my home, and the Atkinses ain't any kin of mine. Why would I want to stay in a place where I've gotta eat when they say, and I'm not allowed to smoke or drink? She won't even let me have a chew now and again."

Made self-conscious by the criticism, Ruby defended herself, "But you can't see well enough to spit into the cup, Vern. You had tobacco juice all over the place."

Vern either didn't hear her protest or didn't care. Leaning on the cane, he took a shuffling step toward the closet. "I'll just get my clothes and we'll get out of here." He took another step then stopped to glare at Ruby. "Don't just stand there, woman. Go get me something to put my clothes in."

Hesitating, she glanced at Chase. He nodded. "If Vern wants to leave with Buck, that's his choice."

Vern's belongings were few. In less than twenty minutes, all of them were stowed in the back of Buck's used truck. Buck was the only one to thank Ruby for looking after his father. Vern never offered so much as a goodbye to any of them.

From the northeast came the rumbling roar of a plane taking off, its engines at full power. The noise of it masked the sound of Buck's pickup when it pulled away from the house. Chase lingered long enough to express his own gratitude to Ruby for the care she had given Vern, then rode back to The Homestead with Logan.

"That went smoothly," Logan remarked.

"I didn't expect any trouble," Chase replied grimly. "Buck is smarter than that. If you can, keep an eye on him."

"I will."

Ty stood by the desk in the den, sifting through the stack of morning mail, when Chase walked in. He looked up, running a searching glance over his father's face.

"How did it go?"