Chase acknowledged her presence with a sideways glance, then brought his attention back to the work at hand as the first cow reluctantly clattered up the chute and balked at the entrance to the trailer. "Better than I expected."

"We only have one day left. Are we going to make it?"

"With luck, we should."

Crowded from behind, the first cow was forced into the trailer. The others followed, lowing in protest. "Where are you taking this bunch?"

"Back to headquarters for the time being," Chase replied. "South Branch was able to handle only another fifty head. Broken Butte is already at capacity. Trumbo is checking the Lone Tree range to see if it can handle any more cattle. If we're lucky, we can scatter another twenty or thirty head around the ranch, but that's about it. The majority we'll have to hold at headquarters until we find out whether we'll get the grazing permit reinstated."

"What are the lawyers saying?"

"They claim to be as surprised as we are by all this, and insist they didn't see it coming." The grimness in his voice didn't entirely mask its underlying note of anger.

"Have you heard anything more from them?"

Chase leaned on the top rail, his big hands folded together. "Farnsworth called this morning. So far, all their inquiries have been met with a wall of silence. They haven't found anybody who will admit to knowing anything about the government's decision."

"Then we still don't know why it was done," Jessy murmured thoughtfully.

"I don't give a good goddamn why it was done." The low-voiced words fairly exploded from him. "I just want the rights to this land back. We can't hold all these cattle at headquarters forever. If we don't get the land back soon, we won't have any choice but to sell them." His hands clenched tightly together, knuckles showing white. "Dammit, we need this land, Jessy. We get more hay out of these coulees than we get from all the rest of the ranch combined. Even more than the hay, we need the water from it. I can't remember a single time when any of its wells went dry, not even during the worst droughts. Losing this land cripples our entire operation."

For the first time, Jessy felt a clutch of fear. "Ballard thinks Dy-Corp might be behind this." Which was something she hadn't mentioned until that moment.

"That possibility already crossed my mind." When the last cow was prodded into the trailer, Chase pushed off the rail and hollered to one of the hands, "All right, close it up and take 'em home. I'll meet you there." To Jessy, he said, "Ty is still out there somewhere. You might as well ride home with me."

Aching from head to foot, Jessy walked into The Homestead and headed straight for the stairs. The house seemed unnaturally silent. She was halfway up the steps when she met Sally on her way down. At that instant, Jessy knew why it seemed so quiet.

"Where are the twins?"

"Your mother, bless her heart, decided they should spend the night with her. She knew you would be late getting home, and tired as well."

"She was right on both counts."

"Did Chase and Ty come with you?" Sally glanced downstairs expectantly.

"Chase is down at the corrals getting the cattle unloaded. Ty was still at Wolf Meadow when we left." Grabbing hold of the smooth banister, Jessy started hauling herself up the steps again. "You better not plan on dinner for at least another hour. I'm going to go climb in the tub. If I'm not down in an hour, you'd better check to make sure I didn't fall asleep and drown."

Entering the master bedroom, Jessy swept off her hat, hooked it on a corner of a chair back, paused long enough to unbuckle her spurs, then crossed directly to the master bath. She filled the tub with water, hot as she could stand, stripped to the skin, piled her hair atop her head, and climbed into the tub.

A groan of pure pleasure slipped from her throat as the water's heat flowed over and around her. Eyes closed, she stretched out full length and let it work its magic on her sore muscles. For the time being Jessy was content simply to soak and enjoy. There was time enough later to think about scrubbing away the day's grime.

Distantly she heard a door open somewhere, but the sound didn't really register. Nothing did but the relaxing warmth of the bath.

Something, perhaps the sensation of being watched, prompted Jessy to open her eyes and send a heavy-lidded look at the bedroom door.

Ty stood motionless in the doorway, lines of tiredness etched across his strong-boned features, his expression unreadable. His hat was off, and his dark hair showed the rake of combing fingers. But it was the darkness of his eyes that held her attention, their depths impenetrable as their gaze made a slow survey of her nude length, easily visible beneath the clear bath water.

Made oddly uncomfortable by the look, Jessy sat up, breaking eye contact as she reached for the loofah sponge and bar of soap and began the task of lathering herself down.

"The shower is all yours." Her sideways glance bounced off his face, but not before she saw his mouth quirk at that familiar angle. Only this time there was a coldness to it.

It matched the hard edge in his voice when he spoke. "Don't worry. I have no intention of dragging you out of the tub and throwing you on the bed." He pushed out of the doorway, long impatient strides carrying him across the bathroom to the shower area. His hands jerked his shirttail loose and made fast work of the buttoned front as he went. "The thought crossed my mind, but you made damned sure it didn't take root."

Startled by the accusation, Jessy whirled in the tub, the sudden movement sloshing the water against the sides. "What?"

"The shower is all yours," Ty mimicked in sarcasm and shrugged out of his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and threw it toward the hamper. "That's a surefire way to get the message across that you're not interested in any lovemaking." He sat down on the velvet-cushioned vanity bench, a holdover from Tara's days, and began tugging off his boots, dropping them to the floor. "I ought to know. Tara was an expert at it."

Infuriated, Jessy demanded, "Stop comparing me with her!" All interest in the relaxing bath was gone. She rose to her feet and climbed out of the tub, snatching an oversized bath towel off its bar and wrapping it around her.

"It must be something you women learn at birth," Ty grumbled and tossed his socks after his shirt, then stood to unbuckle his belt.

"That is ridiculous." As far as Jessy was concerned, this entire conversation was ridiculous. And she wanted no more of it. Mindless of the water still dripping from her, she started for the bedroom.

"Leaving, are you?" Ty's mouth twisted with grim amusement. "That's another female trick. When the conversation takes a turn you don't like, you just walk out."

She spun back to face him. "You are clearly aching for a fight. Keep it up and you'll get one."

That had the ring of a threat. A Calder had never backed down from a fight, and Ty wasn't about to be the first. In two strides, he crossed the space between them and caught her up. Jessy immediately pushed against his chest in hard resistance. Angered by it, Ty ground his mouth across hers, the clipped ends of his mustache scraping her skin. She fought him, but she was no match for his strength. They both knew it.

There was no letup in his demand. He wanted her with a kind of desperation even he didn't understand. He molded her closer and felt her indecision, the wanting and not wanting of his kiss.

When she ceased her struggles, he rolled his mouth from hers and lifted his head to view her up-turned face. In her eyes were the first stirrings of desire, but they were still mixed with the heat of anger.

A dozen protests lay unspoken in her throat, each of them sounding too much like what Tara would have said. That galled Jessy even more.

"Sometimes I hate you, Ty Calder." She pushed the words through her teeth.

A sudden softness warmed his eyes. "You told me that once before," Ty remembered. "At the old Stanton cabin."

That time their angry fight had ended in fierce lovemaking. She recalled it, too. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the lessening of tension in her body. When he lowered his mouth to hers a second time, she kissed him back with a driving hunger that matched his own.

Ty scooped her up, towel and all, and carried her into the bedroom. Unceremoniously he dropped her on the bed. The loosely tucked towel fell open, revealing every inch of her slim length, still glistening with dampness. With a swiftness that belied his earlier fatigue, he stripped off his jeans and shorts, and sank a knee onto the bed, lowering himself onto it.

Her hands were already reaching for him, avid in their need to reassert a closeness. Ty needed no urging. His hands slid over her, finding and cupping her small but highly sensitive breasts. He swallowed the sound of pleasure that came from her throat and nibbled his way along the long curve of her neck. She smelled of soap and all things earthy and strong. It swirled around him, primitive and potent.

Over the years, he had learned all the places that drove her wild. He explored them again, resisting the urgent press of her hands before finally stretching her arms above her head and slipping into her.

There was nothing between them. It was skin to skin, flesh to flesh, and need to need. This coupling between man and wife was old as time and new as tomorrow, full of heat and building pressure as they each strained for release, their bodies bucking in harmony when it came.

Jessy lay tucked along Ty's side, her head pillowed on a shoulder, one leg draped over his muscled thigh. A liquid contentment flowed through her, leaving her feeling all limp and satisfied. She idly slid her fingers into his wiry chest hair, conscious of the slowing thud of his heart.

"I'm glad you threw me on the bed," she murmured.

"Enjoyed it, did you?" His voice emanated from someplace deep inside. She felt the vibrations of it beneath her hand.

Jessy lifted her head and turned to look at him, resting the point of her chin on his shoulder. "Something tells me you made very sure I would." A small, pleased smile touched her lips that he would care that much.

Ty shifted slightly to study to her face, noting the aftereffect of their lovemaking visible in her kiss-swollen lips, the lack of tension in her face muscles and the sated look in her heavy-lidded eyes. He took great male satisfaction in knowing he had put them there, not some other man.

It was a simple leap from that thought to the next. "Ballard could never make you feel like that."

In that split second, all the good feelings were gone. Jessy rolled away and slipped off the opposite side of the bed.

"For your information, he will never have the chance," she replied in a hard, flat voice then stalked to the tall bureau and began jerking open drawers.

Ty's reaction was instant and firmly grim. "You're damned right he won't." He levered up on an elbow.

"As if you have any say in it," Jessy muttered, irritated, not for the first time, by such a possessive male attitude. "What is it going to take to get it through that thick head of yours that Ballard is simply a friend." Jessy snatched up a set of underclothes and began tugging them on. "I have known him almost as long as I've known you."

"Calders don't have friends." Ty sat up. "If you need proof, ask my father about Buck Haskell."

"And just what category do you put Tara in?" In bra and panties, Jessy pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater out of the closet.

"It is strictly business between us," Ty snapped the retort.

"No doubt that's the reason she calls you 'darling' all the time," Jessy mocked.

"Dammit, you know that is just Tara's way."

"And maybe it's just Ballard's way to be kind and considerate." She pulled on her jeans one leg at a time and tugged them over her slim hips.

"Ballard is a woman chaser. That's why he hangs around you every chance he gets."

With both arms in the sweater sleeves, Jessy paused before pulling it over her head. "In all honesty, I can't call Tara a man chaser. But by your definition, she's a Ty chaser. She hangs around you all the time."

Ty stood up and snatched the oversized towel off the bed and wrapped it around his middle. "I told you, it's business with Tara. We're not talking about her anyway."

"And my dealings with Ballard are business." Jessy yanked the sweater down around her waist. "But you choose to forget that. And let's definitely not bring Tara in this. If we did, you might have to admit that a double standard is being applied here."

"The circumstances are different, and you know it. I don't trust Ballard."

"Then that makes us even," Jessy retorted. "Because I don't trust Tara."

"Tara has her faults. At times, she can be thoughtless, self-centered, and spoiled, but she isn't mean-spirited or vindictive."

"Which shows how much you know about women. I would sooner trust a cornered rattler than Tara. At least a rattler will give you some warning before it strikes." Jessy shoved a foot into a boot and stomped it into position. "With Ballard, the worst he'll do is make a pass. And if he does, I guarantee you he'll be walking around hunched over and spraddle-legged for a week." As soon as the second boot was on, she headed for the door. "You still need that shower. You'd better go take one. I'm going downstairs and give Sally a hand with dinner."

Grim-lipped, Ty stared after her. "Meek" had never been an adjective that described Jessy. But "stubborn" was proving to be very accurate. She was a fool to think Ballard was harmless. No man was harmless. And no woman, for that matter.

Yet Ty couldn't help thinking that there was one name they hadn't discussed-Buck Haskell. Ty had a nagging feeling that Buck wasn't about to fade into the background. They would be hearing from him again.

Dust swirled about the stock pens at the Triple C headquarters, kicked up by milling cattle, bawling in confusion. Their noise was underscored by the clatter of cloven hooves as animals were prodded up the wooden chute and into the slat-sided stock trailer. The curses and shouts from those on the ground and on horseback added to the racket.

In the midst of it all, a photographer and his assistant darted about, seeking the right angle and lighting for the shots they wanted, and further spooking the range-wild cattle in the process. Watching it all from his perch on the top rail, Ty kept his mouth shut with difficulty. For two cents, he would yank them out of the pen, shove them in their car, and tell them to get the hell down the road.

A pair of small white hands gripped the rail next to his leg. He glanced down as Tara pulled herself up to lean against the top rail, her arm brushing against his leg.

"How is the photo shoot going?" She scanned the pen to locate the photographers.

"Don't ask," Ty replied as the photographer knelt in the middle of the stock pen, his camera aimed at a horse and rider working hard to turn a bunch of cattle toward the chute. The same cattle the photographer had just scattered. "These cattle should have been loaded and gone an hour ago."

"It will be worth it," Tara stated confidently. "A feature article with photographs-that's free publicity."

"That's why I haven't kicked them out of here yet. But they'll be damned lucky if they don't get roped and hog-tied by one of the ranch hands."

"As soon as they get the shots they want of this, they will be all finished."

"It can't come soon enough."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Chase wants you at the house. He's closeted in the den with those lawyers."

Ty frowned in surprise. "They're here?"

Tara nodded. "Their plane landed a few minutes ago."

"Keep an eye on those two. If you can hurry them along, do it," he said and vaulted to the ground.

He signaled to Art Trumbo that he was in charge, then struck out for The Homestead. The brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the morning sun, sitting midway up in the sky. For the first of April, the temperature was unseasonably mild. But Ty was too preoccupied to notice, his thoughts already centering on the coming meeting with the lawyers.

Any hope that they might have arrived with good news died the minute he entered the den and saw the professional masks they wore, serious and businesslike, projecting an aura of competence. He shook hands all around and endured the jovial backslap from the blustery Justin Farnsworth, dressed as always more like a cattleman in cowboy boots and a flashy bolo tie. But his interest was piqued by the presence of Ed Talbot in the group, a former police detective and crack investigator.

Convinced the lawyers had arrived with some news, Ty walked over to the side table and poured himself a cup of coffee. Farnsworth resumed his seat in the wing-backed chair facing the desk.

"Chase was just telling me that you are shipping the cattle off to market," Farnsworth remarked, settling back in the chair and assuming an attitude of ease. "That is probably best."

Cup in hand, Ty hooked a leg over a corner of the desk and leaned on it. "What have you found out about the land?"

The investigator studied the steer horns mounted above the mantel, saying nothing and looking for all the world like an accountant. It was Farnsworth who answered Ty's question.

"It's just as we suspected. The environmentalists appear to be behind this one. I don't have to tell you how strong their lobby has become these last few years." He waved a hand in Chase's direction. "Save the trees. Save the whales. Save the snail darter. They are always hot to save something."

"And now they want to save my land, is that what you're telling me?" Chase rocked back in the big swivel chair, his hard gaze fixed on the lawyer.

With a politician's deftness, Farnsworth neither confirmed nor denied it. "You heard the hue and cry they raised about the damage done by cattle grazing in the national forest lands. It doesn't seem to matter to them that a hundred years ago herds of buffalo, numbering in the millions, used to roam the same land. Or that the herds of wild horses that they are so determined to see run free do more damage than cattle. And horses aren't even a species indigenous to this continent. But that is neither here nor there," he admitted. "Now, they have turned their attention to grass. Native grass, like the kind growing on your land. They have decided it needs to be protected, too."

"From whom? Certainly not from us. Calders have taken care of this land for well over a century now. Do you see that map on the wall behind me?" Chase jerked a thumb toward it. "There is native grass still growing on all of it."

"I'm sure there is." Farnsworth nodded his head.

"Are you saying the government plans to set aside that land as a nature preserve?" Ty asked, trying to cut through the rhetoric.

"Something of that sort seems to be afoot," the lawyer confirmed.

"That is the stupidest thing I ever heard." Chase's voice was thick with disgust. "Nature never intended grass to grow untouched. It was meant to be cut by grazing animals, cropped close to stimulate more growth. The damage comes from overgrazing."

"I quite agree with you. And I don't know of a single rancher who wouldn't."

"How can we stop this?" Ty asked.