Together the four of them trooped up the steps and paused by the front door to stomp the snow from their boots. Cat didn't bother to caution her young son to be quiet in case the babies were sleeping. It wasn't in her son's nature to be loud and rambunctious.

"We're here," Cat announced unnecessarily when Logan closed the front door behind them.

"I'm in here," Ty's voice came from the living room that opened off the large entry hall.

Before all four managed to shed their heavy outer garments, hang them on the utilitarian coat rack, and deposit their wet snow boots in the large box placed by the front door specifically for that purpose, an angry wail shattered the stillness, originating from the living room as well.

Obeying, by now, her well-honed mother's instincts, Cat moved quickly toward the sound. Sally Brogan followed right behind her. There sat Ty on the large leather sofa, one whimpering, blanket-wrapped infant nestled in the crook of his arm. The second, squawling baby was strapped in an infant seat on the cushion beside him.

With a none-too-deft left hand, Ty attempted to slip a pacifier into the open mouth of the crying baby. But one suckle and the baby spit it out with an even louder wail.

"Where's Jessy?" Cat wasted little time in coming to the rescue of both her brother and the baby.

"In the kitchen warming their bottles." His voice had a frazzled edge to it, a tone most new fathers would recognize. Then it took on a dry quality. "Meet your new niece and nephew."

"Come to Aunty Cat." With the strap unfastened, Cat lifted the angry, red-faced infant from the carrier. Instead of being soothed and comforted by the contact, the baby unleashed an even louder wail of rage. "My, but we have a temper."

"You can say that again." Ty willingly surrendered the other baby into Sally's reaching arms. "She has made it plain from the first day that when she wants something, she wants it now."

"It doesn't work that way, sweetheart," Cat murmured and cupped a hand over the back of the baby's head, pressing a kiss on the downy soft cap of hair, the palest shade of gold.

Quint tugged at her pant leg. In response, Cat sank onto the sofa's leather cushion to give him a closer look at the baby. "Meet your cousin Laura, Quint."

"Why's she crying?" he wanted to know.

"Because she's hungry."

Quint thought about that a minute, then stated, "She's awfully loud."

"She certainly is," Sally Brogan agreed. "But not this little guy." Gently she steered the baby's flailing fist closer to its mouth, allowing him to gnaw on it between hungry whimpers. "Just look at all the hair you've got." She stroked a finger over his thick shock of hair, as dark as his sister's was fair. "What did you name him again?"

"Chase Benteen Calder the Third," Ty replied. "And the demanding one is Laura Marie Calder."

"Chase and Laura," Sally repeated in approval as Jessy entered the living room, carrying the bottles of warmed formula.

Despite the warm light of motherhood in her eyes, Jessy had the telltale weary and harried look of a new mother. She offered only token resistance when the two women insisted on feeding the pair. She sat down next to Ty and watched, not quite able to completely relax.

Sally glanced up from the nursing baby in her arms and looked around. "Where's Chase?"

"He's in the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to dinner," Jessy answered, then added with a hint of guilt, "He keeps saying that he doesn't mind, that it reminds him of his bachelor days when he did a lot of his own cooking."

Cat sent Jessy a questioning glance. "Where's Audrey?" Audrey Simpson had taken over much of the housekeeping and cooking duties from Ruth Haskell years ago.

"Cat, I'm sorry," Ty said with quick regret. "In all the confusion of bringing the twins home, I forgot to let you know that Bob Simpson was rushed to the hospital in Miles City yesterday morning. He's suffered a stroke."

Cat breathed in sharply then murmured, "How bad is it?"

"Severe. He can't talk, and the doctors are still trying to determine the extent of his paralysis."

"Poor Audrey," Cat murmured in sympathy.

"Let's hope it isn't true that bad news comes in threes." Logan stood by the large stone fireplace, where a cheery fire blazed.

"Why?" Chase joined the group in the living room.

"The word reached Blue Moon yesterday that E.J. Dyson had passed away. He had a massive heart attack and died within seconds."

His announcement was met by a heavy silence. It was Cat who finally broke it. "I can't help thinking what a terrible blow this has to be to Tara. You know how extremely close she was to her father, Ty."

"I know." It had been a source of contention during his marriage to Tara. But this did not seem like the time to recall that. "I suppose it would be appropriate to send flowers."

"I don't know why not," Cat retorted, flashing her father a look that dared him to dispute it. "The funeral services will be held on Wednesday. Weather permitting, I plan to fly to Fort Worth on Tuesday and attend the services on behalf of the family."

Ty doubted that his father liked the idea any better than he did. But it was useless to argue with Cat when she had her mind set on something. Her decision didn't really surprise Ty. Right or wrong, Cat had always thought a lot of Tara. More than that, she wasn't asking permission from either of them.

"I imagine Tara would appreciate your being there," Ty remarked instead. Although, knowing Tara, he wasn't sure whether she would care or not. But it was important to Cat to make this gesture.

"I think she will." There was almost a defensive tilt to her head as if Cat knew what he was thinking.

For several long seconds, no one said anything. Then Sally spoke into the silence, "Not all the news has been bad. I have some good news."

Jessy was quick to pick up on her statement, eager to turn the conversation away from the Dysons. "What's that?"

"I accepted an offer for the restaurant on Friday."

No one was more stunned than Chase. "You did what? From whom?"

"The buyers are a retired couple, Harry and Agnes Weldon. They'll take possession on the first." After she had related the essential bits of information to the group, Sally's glance finally strayed to Chase, a hint of uncertainty for the first time clouding the glow of pleasure that had been in her eyes.

"What are you going to do after you sell it?" Jessy held her breath, half hoping.

"I don't know," Sally admitted. "But I'll have to think of something soon, won't I?"

Jessy didn't hesitate. Their need was too great. "What are the chances that we could talk you into coming to work for us? It would be an answer to our prayers with Audrey gone and no idea when she can come back- assuming that Bob gets well enough so that she can return to work at all."

"Work here?" Sally's face lit up for a second. Then she hesitated, glancing at Chase. "Are you sure?" As usual, his expression provided little insight into the privacy of his thoughts.

The line of his mouth softened into something close to a smile. "I can't think of a better candidate for the position. And I've eaten enough of your cooking over the years to know you're a better cook than I am. As far as I'm concerned, the job is yours if you want it."

"Want it? There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Tears shone in her eyes, and she released a short laugh to cover them. "After the restaurant, can you imagine how easy it will seem here cooking for one family, keeping house and helping Jessy look after these two little treasures." Sally glanced down at the baby boy hungrily sucking on his bottle. "Whether Jessy wants to admit it or not, she's going to need help with you two for a while."

"Oh, I admit it," Jessy readily agreed. "It's taken only one day for me to realize that-especially when it comes to this little gal." She ran a caressing finger over the pale hair of the baby in Cat's arm.

"With that hair of hers, it's obvious she is going to take after you, Jessy." It seemed fitting to Sally that little Laura would favor her mother.

"And it's just as obvious," Chase inserted with a nod toward the baby Sally held, "that this little trey-spot is a Calder."

"The dark hair definitely marks him as a Calder," Sally acknowledged. "Just the same, I'm glad one of the twins is a girl. The outfits they have for little girls these days are absolutely precious."

"If little Laura takes after her mother, precious will not be one of the adjectives used to describe her." Ty cast an affectionate smile at his wife. "Strong and beautiful, maybe. But definitely not precious."

His comment drew amused looks from everyone, including Jessy. But the intruding ring of the telephone prevented anyone from responding. Chase was closest to the phone.

"I'll get it," he said and picked up the living room extension. "Triple C." A fraction of a second later, he shot a glance at Ty, all expression vanishing. "Yes, he's here." After another brief pause, he said, "Just a minute." He extended the receiver in Ty's direction. "It's for you. It's Tara."

Without a word, Ty rose from the sofa and walked over to take the phone from his father. The instant he identified himself, Tara's emotion-choked voice rushed through the line to him.

"Ty. Thank God, you're there. Have you heard about Daddy?" Her voice quivered with the effort to hold back a sob.

"Just a few minutes ago. Cat is already making arrangements to fly down for the funeral."

"You're coming, too, aren't you?" There was a desperation to her question that bordered on hysteria. "Ty, you must. Please." Her voice broke on a sob. "You don't know what it's like here. They're hovering around like vultures. I don't have anybody I can trust. Not a single one, Ty. I thought it would be enough just to hear your voice, but it isn't. I need to see you. I need to know someone is here for me."

The emotion in her voice, the needy words were like a snare, trapping him into something he didn't want-just like in the old days. "Tara," he began in resistance.

"Ty, you have to come," Tara rushed in a trembling voice that ripped at him. "If I ever meant anything to you at all, you'll do this. I need you." She broke down and began to weep in delicate, but wrenching sobs. In between each one, he could hear her little murmurs of "Please, please, please." It aroused all of his protective instincts.

The Tara he knew had never pleaded for anything in her life. Schemed and manipulated, yes. Sweet-talked and cajoled, yes. But she didn't beg.

Still Ty hesitated a moment longer before he finally said, "I'll see what I can arrange, Tara." His statement was met by barely coherent sobs of gratitude. He said his goodbyes and hung up.

Even before he turned to the group, Jessy felt a cold chill of foreboding run down her spine. She mentally braced herself for what was to come.

"She wants me to come to the funeral." It was more or less a general announcement, but Jessy knew it was her reaction he was seeking.

"You're going, of course." She said it matter-of-factly, without betraying the sick feeling in her stomach.

His mouth slanted in a crooked smile that was so full of warmth it was like a caress. "I knew you would understand."

"Of course." Jessy suspected that she understood better than he did. Even though his marriage to Tara had ended years ago, he still felt a lingering sense of responsibility toward her-a husband's responsibility, if not to Tara, then to his dream of Tara. And it was his dream image of Tara that was the most dangerous thing.

Ty shifted his attention to Chase. "Ballard gave me a list of places with on-premise sale barns. A couple of them are in Texas. I planned on checking out a few of them after the holidays, but I might as well look them over while I'm down there for the funeral. Before we can decide whether we want to go the private auction route, we'll need to know the type of facility it would require, plus the cost of construction."

Chase concurred.

On the day of the funeral, one of Texas's infamous blue northers blew in, shrouding the sky with heavy gray clouds. The outside temperature plummeted to near the freezing mark.

But it was warm inside the hushed church. Almost too warm. Ty sat next to Cat, his topcoat draped across his lap and his dress black Stetson resting atop it. The place was full to capacity with mourners, many notables among them as befitted someone with the status and wealth of E.J. Dyson.

Baskets of elaborate floral arrangements crowded the sanctuary, their cloying fragrance permeating the already stifling air. When the minister at last asked the gathering to bow their heads in prayer, drawing the service to a close, Ty breathed out in relief, even though it brought nearer the moment he dreaded.

Having flown into Fort Worth only that morning, he had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Tara before the memorial service had begun. There was a part of him that still wasn't sure why he was there, or what he would say to her when they did meet. But he already felt the awkwardness of it.

He stood in silence while the pallbearers brought the ornate pewter-gray casket up the main aisle. Tara followed it, leaning heavily on the arm of an older gentleman. Dramatic in black, she wore an elegant Chanel suit, unadorned with any trimmings. On her head was a small and simple black hat with a half-veil attached, creating a sheer shadow over the upper half of her face. Her only concession to jewelry was the black opal ring on her finger.

As Tara came up the aisle, she kept her gaze fixed on a point somewhere ahead of her, glancing neither to the right nor the left. There was a woodenness to her movements that was completely unnatural, and a pallor to her grief-numbed face that couldn't be faked.

"Oh, Ty," Cat murmured when she saw Tara. "Look at her. Have you ever seen so much pain?" she asked in a voice husky with empathy.

"I know," he murmured in return.

"I remember the way I felt at Mother's funeral." Cat paused and brushed away a tear that slipped off her lashes. "It hurt so very much."

In reply, Ty curved an arm around her and rubbed a hand over her shoulder, remembering his own pain that day. In this, he had no difficulty empathizing with the loss Tara felt.

Together, he and Cat joined the long receiving line as the mourners filed by to extend their sympathies. To each, Tara responded with a faint nod that was almost robot-like, her gaze barely focusing on any of them.

Then it was their turn. Cat stepped up, Ty at her side. The first glimmer of recognition registered in Tara's dark eyes. "Cat." The word was almost a sob as Tara reached out with needing hands. "Where's-" A slight turn of her head and she saw him.

"Tara," Ty began, but Tara's knees had already buckled as she sank in a dead faint.

Ty caught Tara before she fell and scooped her into his arms amid a rush of concerned gasps and alarmed murmurs. As others pressed in to offer aid, one of the funeral directors intervened and quickly ushered Ty to an out-of-the-way anteroom, complete with a small cushioned sofa.

With Cat at his heels, Ty crossed to the sofa and laid Tara on it while Cat hurriedly pushed a pair of throw pillows behind her, propping Tara in a reclining position. After closing the door, the funeral director joined them, taking a vial of ammonia from his pocket and uncapping it. He waved it briefly under Tara's nose.

There was a protesting movement of her head as she surfaced groggily. "She'll be fine," the director announced. He was about to add more when he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

After a disoriented second, Tara focused her eyes, black with grief, on Ty. "You came." Her cry was almost a whimper as she reached out both arms to him. "Oh, God, hold me, Ty. Hold me."

With that one simple gesture, she eliminated all need for words. Sitting on the edge of a cushion, Ty gathered her close. Tara wound both arms around his neck, buried her face in his suit jacket, and wept brokenly. "I needed you so much. So very, very much."

A corner of her hat snagged on his jacket, knocking the hat askew. Ty slipped off the small hat with its attached veil, passed it to Cat, then stroked a smoothing hand over Tara's silken black hair.

"It's all right," he murmured in comfort. "I'm here now."

A second man appeared at Ty's elbow, impeccably dressed in a dark suit and tie, a pair of steel-rimmed glasses precisely matching the sprinkling of gray in his neatly trimmed hair. "I'm Dr. Davis Parker," he identified himself, his fingers already reaching to seek the pulse in Tara's wrist. "I've been attending Tara since her father's death."

"No," Tara moaned in protest and pulled her arm away from his searching fingers, then pressed even more tightly against Ty. "Make them go away, Ty. Please."

"She's distraught." The doctor took a small, brown prescription bottle from his pocket and glanced at the hovering funeral director. "Could we have a glass of water?"

"I have one right here." He handed a foam cup to the doctor.

"Tara, take one of these." The doctor shook out a pill and offered it to her. "It will make you feel better."

She shook her head then lifted her tear-wet face to Ty. "Make him leave me alone. Make them all leave me alone," she insisted in a sobbing voice. "I don't want all these people around me anymore. Make them go."

"But, Mrs. Calder," the funeral director interposed in his most soothing voice, "we still have the graveside services. You know your father would want-"

"My father is dead!" Tara practically screamed the words. "He won't care whether I'm there or not. How could he? He's dead." She abruptly began to laugh and sob uncontrollably at the same time.

"She's hysterical," the doctor announced grimly. "I think it would be best if we took her home, where I can safely sedate her."

"Is there a side exit?" Ty directed the question at the funeral director.

"There is." The man nodded. "I'll arrange for a car to be brought around at once."

"Do that," Ty said, then attempted to make Tara understand. "We're going to take you home. Okay?"