"Our divorce was final six years ago," Ty reminded her smoothly.

"True. Six years, one week, and two days. But who's counting?" She kept her smile light and playful, but the look in her eyes was something more serious. Truthfully Tara had no idea of the exact date of their divorce, but she doubted that Ty knew it either. "Look." She raised her left hand, showing him the black opal ring on her finger. "I'm still wearing the engagement ring you gave me. I told you I was going to keep it. Even with the problems we had, we also had some very good times."

"Dammit, Tara." He pushed the words through gritted teeth, checked some further angry retort, and ground out instead, "It's long past time you took that ring off."

"Now you sound like Daddy," Tara chided.

"How is your father?" Chase inserted, regarding her with an impenetrable expression.

"Daddy, he's-"

"Doing quite well, thank you." The male voice with its distinct Texas twang came from E.J. Dyson. Dressed as usual, in an expensive Western-cut suit and familiar white Stetson, he came to a halt beside Tara's chair and cast an indulging smile at her head.

She glanced up in surprise. "What are you doing here, Daddy?"

"Looking for you, of course," he replied then nodded to Chase. "Good to see you again, Calder. And you, too." His encompassing glance included both Ty and Jessy. "It's been a while."

"Yes, it has," Ty agreed. But it was the worn and weary look about the older man that had Ty narrowing his eyes to make a closer inspection. The man looked every bit of his seventy years and more.

"As you can see, I still have trouble keeping track of my daughter. Some things never change, I guess. Truthfully, I'm not sure I want them to." E.J. laid a hand on Tara's shoulder in affection, then turned a smiling glance on Ty. "I understand congratulations are in order for both you and your wife."

Before Ty could respond, Tara looked up in confusion. "Congratulations? For what? Have I missed something?"

"Jessy is expecting," E.J. informed her.

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.

Ty stared at the flashing gold material for a second, then flicked a glance around the rest of the room. The line of his mouth thinned with displeasure at its look of sleek elegance. "Next month when you and Cat go to buy all the baby things, you need to pick out some different furnishings for in here. It's time we got rid of all this slick satin and gilded furniture."

"That suits me," Jessy replied, and wondered if Ty had noticed she had already removed some of the daintier feminine pieces. But the rest of the master suite was much the way it had been when he and Tara had shared it.

After their separation, he had moved back into his former bedroom and the master suite had sat empty. But with the twins coming, it was clear they were going to require larger sleeping quarters, hence the move into the master suite. But Tara's hand was visible everywhere Jessy looked. She was never more aware of it than tonight.

With the satin coverlet stowed safely out of the way, Jessy turned back the top sheet and slipped between the covers. Meanwhile Ty turned off the light switch, leaving only the bedside table lamp to illuminate the room.

"One of the first things I want you to do," he said as he crawled into the wide bed, "is to get rid of this king-size monstrosity. I'm tired of having to search for you when I climb into bed."

"Is that right?" Jessy scooted closer and rolled onto her side to face him, always careful of his shoulder.

She reached up to caress a fingertip over the black brush of his mustache with its first few strands of gray showing. Jessy had never been one to avoid issues. It was her nature to confront them. All this talk about redoing the master suite was an oblique reference to Tara. The woman was on both their minds, and it was time they faced it.

"She still wants you, Ty," Jessy murmured and studied him with knowing eyes.

He caught hold of her caressing fingers and pressed them to his lips, then held them against his chest. "Anything that's out of reach, Tara has always regarded as a personal challenge. And I'm taken. Remember?"

It was never her memory that Jessy questioned, but she played along with him and pretended to give his question heavy thought. "It gets a little faulty at times. Maybe you need to refresh it."

"With pleasure." Ty cupped a hand to the back of her head and drew her lips to his mouth.

Drawn against his hard-muscled length, the heat of his body flooded over her, warming the bareness of her long legs. She wound herself closer, responding to the hungry demand of his kiss, understanding it. Like him, she had a desperate need to blot out the past. And this was the way to do it-together, in the darkness.

She pulled away long enough to switch off the lamp and peel off the long T-shirt, then she came back to him, all slim-hipped and naked, her stomach swollen with child as were her once-flat breasts.

In the skies far to the south, the corporate jet continued to wing its way into the night, on course for Fort Worth. In the lushly appointed cabin, E.J. Dyson sat huddled with his chief financial officer, poring over a set of quarterly reports.

Free at last from the necessity of making conversation, Tara slipped off her high heels and settled back in the plushly cushioned seat, delicately curling her legs beneath her. Briefly her glance strayed to her father, noting his drawn and haggard look. She made a mental note to urge him to slow down, then turned her face toward the porthole window by her seat and gazed into the blackness beyond the panes.

Finally there was time to let her thoughts dwell on that fateful meeting with Ty. A meeting that had been full of such horrible irony.

Tara had never wanted the divorce. Never. At the back of her mind, she had always planned, one day, to win him back, convinced that it would require only a reasonable passage of time in order for her to achieve that goal.

A near sob caught in her throat. Dear God, she had waited too long. She balled a hand into a fist, long nails digging into her palm.

But the truth was-she never truly realized how very much she loved Ty until that shattering moment when she learned he had been shot. It all had become crystal-clear to her in that instant.

For a time, Tara had reveled in the role of the gay, Texas divorcee. But not a single man she met had ever measured up even close to Ty. A discovery she had made too late.

The bitterness of that disappointment didn't last, giving way almost immediately to an overwhelming rage at the knowledge that Jessy was going to have Ty's child. Even worse, she was going to have twins.

Ty would never walk away from the mother of his children. That stupid code he lived by wouldn't allow him to do it.

Not for the first time, Tara cursed herself for not giving Ty a child. She had always known he wanted one, but she had been too worried about the damage it would do to her figure. Now she had lost him forever.

Every ounce of her body screamed that it wasn't fair.

Suddenly her life stretched before her as miserable and empty as the sky behind the plane's window.

How could Ty do this to her? Surely he knew how much she loved him. Then came the cold, killing realization that he knew and didn't care. As disgustingly trite as it sounded, he had dumped her for another woman. Tara couldn't let him get away with that, not without making him pay. Dearly.

Chapter Three.

The bawl of cow and calf traveled across the rolling grass plains mixed in with shouts from ranchhands and the clang and rattle of iron chutes and headgate. High in the vast blue sky, the sun looked on, indifferent to the noisy activity below.

It was preg-check time on the Triple C, a time when every cow was palpated to verify whether she was pregnant or not. It was one of many thankless tasks on the ranch that was completely bereft of glamour. At the same time it was necessary to the operation's ultimate financial success. No rancher could afford to winter over a cow that remained barren more than two years, or a bull that couldn't service all his cows. Nor could a rancher afford to wait until the following spring to learn the outcome.

Astride a dun-colored buckskin, Jessy slapped a coiled rope against her leg and herded the last cow out of the holding pen into a long narrow chute that led to the head gate. A cowboy on the ground swung the pen gate shut, trapping the cow in the chute. Outside the pen, a calf bawled a lusty protest over the temporary separation from its mother. The cow answered with an angry bellow of her own.

Ignoring both, Jessy reined her horse away from the scene, her work done for the time being. In past years, she would have been taking her turn on the ground, down there in the thick of the action. But there was too much risk of getting kicked by a range-wild cow. The decision wasn't prompted by any fear of personal injury to herself, but rather by a concern for the safety of her unborn twins.

As she walked her horse to the main gate, Jessy was joined by the second rider who had worked the penned cattle with her. "That's the last of this bunch," Dick Ballard announced, more as a conversation opener than a passing-on of information.

The sandy-haired cowboy liked to talk to anyone about anything. Tall and strong he might be, but not silent. There was nothing braggy in his voice. It had a lazy, conversational pitch to it, and a distinctly cowboy cadence that was warm and friendly.

It was rather like his face, which was otherwise ordinary in its features. Over the years, his sand-colored hair had thinned until he was almost bald on top, but few people noticed that, and not because he wore a hat most of the time. It was because of his eyes, Ballard's most compelling feature. They were kind eyes, the dark blue color of new denim, always with a sparkle of dry humor lurking somewhere in their depths.

Jessy caught a glimpse of it when she started to reply to his idle remark, but Ballard held up a hand, checking her words.

"Don't say it. I already know. We've got three more bunches to go."

The line of her mouth softened into a near smile. "This is a cow-calf operation," she reminded him.

"That's why I like my job."

As the pair approached the pen's gate, it was apparent to both that Jessy was in a better position to maneuver her horse around to open it. And it never occurred to Ballard to do the gentlemanly thing and alter the circumstances. Long before Jessy had married Ty Calder, she had worked as a cowhand. No deference had ever been shown to her, and none was expected. Drawing a man's wage meant doing a man's work, regardless of the gender.

Jessy unlatched the gate, swung it open and walked her horse through, then gave the gate a push for Ballard to catch. He caught it, gave it another push, and trotted his horse through.

"I worked one long winter at a feedlot," Ballard remarked. "The wages were high, plus a full range of benefits. But when spring thaw hit, the mud was so deep in that lot it was halfway up to a horse's belly. It was nothin' to wear out three horses doing one morning's work. It's the kind of job that's probably good for a guy with a wife and family, but I couldn't call it cowboyin'."

"Isn't it about time you got married, Ballard?" Jessy let the dun-colored gelding come to a stop by the pen's fence rails.

"Me? Get married?" He drew his head back in feigned surprise and flashed her a wry grin. "That's not likely to happen."

"Why not? I heard you've been seeing Debby Simpson." Jessy had spent too many years of her life razzing cowboys about their love lives, or lack thereof, to quit now just because she was the boss's wife.

"I've two-stepped around the dance floor with her a couple of Saturday nights," Ballard acknowledged. "But marriage just isn't likely to be in the cards for me."

"Don't tell me you're going to turn into a confirmed bachelor like old Nate Moore was," Jessy retorted in an absently teasing fashion as her glance strayed to the activity at the headgate.

Old Doc Rivers, the paunch-heavy veterinarian, had completed his examination of the cow. Stepping back, he motioned to one of the hands to release the animal from the stanchion-like gate then turned to wash the fecal matter from the OB glove that sleeved his hand and arm.

"I don't know about the confirmed part." Ballard, too, glanced at the vet. "But it's true, I am a bachelor. Don't misunderstand, though. I don't have anything against marriage myself."

"Then what's the problem?"

"My horse does," he replied with a straight face, and only the smallest hint of a laughing gleam in his eyes.

Jessy just gave him a look and shook her head. Although Ballard wasn't among the descendants of families long associated with the Triple C, she had known him for years, certainly enough time to be comfortable with him, and with his attempts at humor.

Years ago, they had gone out together a few times. But Jessy had never regarded it as dating, although others had. In her mind, Ballard had simply stopped by her cabin a few times to shoot the breeze and have some coffee. On a couple of other occasions, he had given her a ride into Sally's on a Saturday night. There definitely had never been anything remotely romantic about their relationship.

As the last cow was prodded into the headgate, Ballard observed, "Looks like I'll have time for a smoke." He reached inside the breast pocket of his yoked-front shirt, pulled out a thin packet, and extracted an even thinner square of paper from it. After returning the folder to its pocket, he reached in the other and came out with a flat tin of loose tobacco.

Jessy's eyes rounded in amazement as he proceeded to tap a line of tobacco into the crease of the paper square. "When did you start rolling your own cigarettes?"

"About a month ago." None too deftly, Ballard slipped the tobacco can back in his pocket and began rolling the paper around the tobacco, losing a good bit of it.