Ty nodded absently in understanding, and filed the information away.

As he worked his way through the crowded bar to reach Quint, Ty skirted a group of onlookers that had gathered by the pool table to watch the game in progress. Ty was quick to notice that Dick Ballard was among them, one hand hooked on the opposite shoulder of the shapely brunette beside him. The woman was no one Ty recognized, but she definitely wasn't Emily Trumbo.

Leaning closer, Ballard whispered something in the woman's ear then bent his head to catch her answer. He responded with a quick smile that might appear sexy to a woman, but to Ty, it had the distinctive wheedling quality of a man on the make. It reinforced his opinion that Ballard was little more than Casanova in cowboy boots. Why Jessy thought of him as a friend Ty would never understand, which made him all the more irritated by the man.

At the table, the cue ball ricocheted off the black eight ball and sent it spinning into a side pocket. Amid the accompanying cheers of victory, there were a few hoots of derision and an exchange of money.

The balls were already being racked up to start a new game by the time Ty reached Quint's side. The gray-eyed boy scooted to one side, making room for Ty to stand next to him along the wall.

"I didn't know you were coming, too," Quint said.

"Trey wanted to see what was going on." Ty noticed how quickly Quint's attention reverted to the table when it appeared another game was about to start. "Like pool, do you?"

Quint responded with an emphatic nod. "When I get bigger, my dad's going to teach me how to play."

"That's good."

A heavyset cowboy bent over the table, sighted down his cue stick, drew it back, and sent it shooting forward. Trey's eyes widened at the explosive crack and clatter of the break. He stared in wonder at the brightly colored balls careening off each other in every direction.

He pointed to them, then looked at Ty. "Baw."

"That's right. Those are balls, but they aren't the kind little boys can play with."

"Only big boys, Trey," Quint chimed in.

For a time Trey was fascinated by all the noise and action at the pool table. But his own restless nature made it impossible for anything to hold his interest for long. Within minutes he wanted down. The instant his feet touched the floor, he made a dash for the pool table and the cache of balls that had fallen into the pockets.

"Sorry, guy." Ty scooped him back up.

As usual, Trey simply looked around for another distraction and settled for the rhythmic gyrations of the people on the dance floor. Several more minutes passed before Ty noticed that Ballard and the brunette were no longer among the spectators at the pool table. Too soon the fast music ended and a slow song took its place, too slow to interest Trey.

Idly Ty ran his glance around the area. There was no sign of Ballard in the immediate vicinity, but he did catch sight of Logan working his way toward the bar area.

He touched Quint's shoulder. "Here comes your dad. It must be time for us to head back to the table."

"Okay." With a barely perceptible sigh of resignation, Quint dragged his gaze from the pool table and moved away from the wall.

Ty shifted Trey to his left hip and followed behind Quint. Near the bar, they hooked up with Logan. The jam of people made for slow going as Logan led the way with Quint sandwiched between the two men.

Their route took them by the small dance floor. Just ahead on Ty's right a burly mineworker slapped one of his compatriots on his shoulder and pivoted blindly right into Ty's path. Ty stepped quickly to the side to avoid running into the man and bumped one of the couples on the dance floor.

"Sorry," he began then found himself staring into Ballard's face. A quick glance revealed that his partner wasn't the shapely brunette Ty had seen him with earlier, or Emily Trumbo. This one was a bleached blonde. Ty shot Ballard a look of disgust. "Why can't you be satisfied with just one woman?"

Ballard's eyes narrowed briefly. Then a faintly taunting smile curved his mouth. "At least I'm not married like you."

In the fraction of an instant that it took the words to register, Ty realized that Ballard had seen that innocent kiss between himself and Tara-seen it and put his own construction on it.

Furious, Ty let his fist fly, slamming it against Ballard's jaw. The force of the impact jarred his whole arm and knocked Ballard sideways into other dancers, where he stumbled, lost his balance, and fell.

One minute Ty was staring at Ballard, propped on one elbow, trying to shake off the effects of the blow; and in the next, Logan blocked his view, stepping between them.

"That's enough!" He shot Ty a look of sharp warning.

It wasn't necessary. That momentary fury was gone. Ty loosened the muscles in his shoulders and opened his fist, spreading his fingers wide, all the while conscious of the aura of stillness and expectancy that surrounded him. He felt the stares and heard the low hum of murmuring voices as Ballard got to his feet, rubbing his jaw.

"I'll give you that one, Calder," he said in a low but audible voice.

"Are you all right?" Logan asked him.

"Except for a sore jaw, I'm just jim dandy, Sheriff," Ballard assured him with a return of his slow smile. "But I'm sure going to watch closer for flying objects. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a dance to finish."

Turning from both of them back to the blonde, Ballard effectively signaled an end to the moment. Immediately the milling and talking began in an eager exchange of information.

Logan glanced sideways at Ty, his gaze curious and measuring. "What was that about?"

"That's my business." Brother-in-law or not, Ty wasn't about to explain.

"I'll accept that." Logan continued to study him. "Just make sure that it doesn't eventually become my business."

Among the many things Logan had learned about the Calders since moving to Montana, he knew they demanded loyalty from those who worked for them, and they gave it in return. He hadn't heard the words the two men exchanged, but he had seen enough to know that something Ballard said provoked Ty's swing. And Ty wasn't a man to rile easily, or likely to punch one of his employees. So why had he? Logan hated questions without quick answers.

Chapter Twelve.

The high and wide Montana sky was a startling blue, lit by a bright morning sun. A twin-engine Beechcraft bearing the Triple C insignia on its door sped down the runway. Buckled in the passenger seat across the aisle from Cat, Jessy gazed out the window at the rolling grassland whipping by.

Unlike Cat, she couldn't summon any enthusiasm for this shopping trip to Dallas. Logic told her it was necessary, but as far as she was concerned, it was one of life's unpleasantries that had to be endured.

With the engines roaring at full power, the plane's nose lifted. A moment later the craft was airborne, the land falling away beneath it. Somewhere around eight hundred feet it began a banking turn to the south.

"I've been thinking," Cat said.

"About what?" Jessy asked when Cat failed to continue.

"We will actually need two outfits. One for the auction, and another for the open house the day before."

"What open house?" Jessy stiffened. "No one said anything to me about having one at The Homestead."

"I don't mean it literally. But a lot of the buyers will want to come the day before the auction to look over the sale stock and decide which they want to bid on. People will probably be coming and going most of the day. In that sense, it will be a bit less informal, but we still need to dress appropriately."

There was that word again, Jessy thought with an inward sign, but she managed to joke, "I guess jeans and a shirt wouldn't be appropriate."

Cat laughed, as Jessy knew she would. "Don't you wish."

"Don't I, though," Jessy agreed with a rueful smile and automatically glanced out the plane's window again. This bird's-eye view of the land on which she was born was one she never tired of seeing. And she had cow-boyed for too many years not to instinctively watch for the unusual.

Intent on the ground, she almost missed the aircraft sweeping across the eastern sky. But its movement caught her eye. Leaning closer to the porthole, she took a second look then hurriedly unbuckled her belt and scrambled out of her seat.

"What's wrong?" Cat frowned.

Jessy didn't bother to answer as she made her way up the aisle to the cockpit. "Jack." She tapped the pilot on the shoulder and pointed to his left. "Do you see that helicopter off your wing?"

He turned his head in that direction and nodded. "Got it."

"Try to raise somebody at the ranch and tell them a helicopter is flying on a course toward the Wolf Meadow range."

"Will do," he promised and glanced at his copilot. "Get on the horn, Andy. Frank still might be in the hangar area." Over his shoulder, he said to Jessy, "If we can't get Frank, we'll patch a call into headquarters."

"Thanks," she said and turned away.

The minute she stepped into the cabin, Cat's eyes were on her, a mixture of curiosity and concern in her expression. "What's wrong?"

"I spotted a helicopter that might be headed for Wolf Meadow," Jessy explained, returning to her seat. "Jack's going to make sure Ty knows about it."

A grimly determined look stole over Cat's features at the news. "Maybe at last we'll find out who bought the land."

"I don't have a good feeling about this." She hadn't from the moment they learned the government was not renewing their lease.

"We'll get it back," Cat stated. "Whatever it takes, we'll get it back. After all, what good is it to anybody? We have it completely landlocked. Their only access to it is by air."

"Maybe whoever bought it wants to turn it into a nature preserve." That seemed to be the general consensus of the attorneys.

"Do you believe that?" Cat eyed her closely.

Jessy shook her head. "No." But she couldn't put her finger on why she felt so certain about that.

"Neither do I." Cat replied then sighed rather grimly. "With any luck, we'll learn the identity of the new owner before the day's out."

But something told Jessy that any satisfaction to be gained from solving the mystery of the new owner's identity wouldn't last long.

Up front, the copilot climbed out of the right seat and stepped into the cabin doorway while the plane continued to climb to its assigned altitude. "Thought you would want to know we passed on the word about the helicopter. Ty is going to check it out."

"Thanks," Cat said and glanced at Jessy. "It won't be long now."

"We received word that there might be some clear-air turbulence up ahead. Better make sure you keep your seat belts fastened," the copilot added in warning.

As far as Jessy was concerned, she didn't need to be warned of impending trouble. She sensed it.

There were few curves in the dirt ranch road as it followed the undulations of the rolling plains. With his foot pressed hard on the pickup's accelerator, Ty drove as fast as he dared.

He ducked his head low to scan the sky ahead of him, making sure the chopper was still in sight. Fighting through the glare of the rising sun, he caught a glimpse of it still some distance ahead of him but lower than before. It was descending. A quick check of its angle confirmed Ty's suspicions-its landing point would be well north of the road on the Wolf Meadow range.

But exactly where, he couldn't tell. The helicopter was too far away yet. Which made it all the more important for him to keep it in sight as long as possible.

As the helicopter swooped lower, the land's natural rise and fall soon made it difficult for Ty to keep the craft in view. Then it disappeared completely. Cursing his luck, Ty tried to gauge how far north of the road it had been at his last sighting of it. Close to a mile was his best guess. Next he attempted to triangulate where a line from that point would intersect the road. It wasn't an easy task without landmarks to guide him.

As he approached the imaginary junction, Ty spotted a fence gate just ahead. Slowing the pickup, he pulled into it, stopped, hopped out of the cab, and dragged open the gate. Back in the truck, he removed the binoculars from their leather carrying case and laid them on the seat beside him then switched the pickup into four-wheel drive and took off.

Speed was no longer important; only finding the helicopter was. At the crest of each rise, Ty pulled up and made a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree sweep of the country before him with the binoculars. It was a rough and broken land, dotted with low mesas and gouged with wide coulees.

When that scan turned up nothing, he traveled on to the next vantage point and glassed the area again. Still nothing. On his third stop, he spotted the chopper on the ground approximately a half-mile northeast of him. It had landed a short distance away from windmill eleven near the base of Antelope Butte.

With its location pinpointed, Ty drove in an easterly direction until he reached the dim trail, used by Triple C hands to service the windmill. After he turned onto it, it was a more-or-less straight shot to the site.

Within minutes the butte face loomed before him, but Ty's gaze was centered on the two men standing near the helicopter. Leaving the overgrown trail, he aimed the pickup toward the two men, taking his measure of them. The taller of the two, in shirt sleeves and aviator glasses, Ty quickly dismissed as the chopper pilot and centered his attention on the second man, dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and a black cowboy hat.

Observing Ty's approach, he said something to the pilot and split away from him, moving forward to meet the truck. At a point of his choosing, the man stopped, dipped his head down, and waited for Ty to stop.

With a grim kind of eagerness for the coming meeting, Ty switched off the engine and climbed out of the pickup. Rounding the hood of the truck, he walked toward the hatted figure, mildly annoyed that the man had yet to look up.

When Ty was only steps from him, the man slowly raised his head, giving Ty his first good look at his face.

Recognition splintered through Ty like an electric shock. It was Buck Haskell.

"I expected either you or your pa to show up," Buck stated with a smile. "I'm kinda' sorry it's you."

"What are you doing here?" Ty demanded and shot a quick look at the second man by the chopper.

"My job." Buck's smile deepened, but his eyes had a watchful look to them. "I told you last week I'd be starting any day."

"So you did." Behind him, the windmill groaned a protest as a stiff wind tugged at its tied-down blades. Ty ignored it.

"You do realize you're on private property," Buck reminded him. "Technically you're trespassing."

Unconcerned, Ty smiled. "Technically, maybe. And maybe I'm just doing the neighborly thing by coming to meet the new owner." He nodded in the direction of the man by the helicopter. "Is that him?"

"Nope. That's the pilot."

"So where's your boss?" Ty challenged.

"Over there." With a sideways bob of his head, Buck directed Ty's attention toward the butte.

Making a half-turn toward it, Ty stared in surprise at the couple seemingly intent on studying the stretch of land at the base of the bluff some distance from the windmill. For a moment he was stunned that he had failed to notice them before now, then realized that he had been too intent on the helicopter to look far beyond it. Coupled with the fact that both the man and the woman wore tan-colored clothes, his oversight was understandable. The man was hatless, exposing a head of iron-gray hair. But the woman wore a beige scarf that fluttered in the wind. With their backs to him, there was little more that Ty could discern about either of them.

"I'll go introduce myself," Ty said to Buck.

"I think I'll come along." Buck's smile had an amused quality that Ty didn't like.

"Suit yourself," Ty replied and struck out across the grass toward the couple, indifferent to whether the older Buck could keep up with the pace Ty set.

Buck remained only a half a stride behind, saying nothing, his smile never faltering. When they were less than twenty feet from the couple, Buck called ahead, "Sorry to interrupt, but you've got a visitor."

As one, the man and woman turned and Ty had his first glimpse of Tara's raven hair and jet-black eyes. Ty stopped dead in his tracks, a fury surging through him.