But instead of being comforted, his statement seemed to throw her into a frenzy. "Don't leave me, Ty. Don't leave me. Don't leave me." The words came in panicked sobs that clutched at him as frantically as her hands.

"We aren't going anywhere, Tara," Cat assured her. "We'll stay with you as long as you want."

Ty stiffened in silent opposition to his sister's unqualified promise. As broken and pitiful as Tara was at this moment, he was still very much aware of the familiar shape and warmth of the woman pressed so tightly against him. The heady, signature scent of Tara's perfume swirled around him, evoking memories of the fire and passion they had once shared.

But for the time being, Ty said nothing to contradict Cat's claim. That discussion could wait until later, when Tara was home and sedated. He concentrated instead on comforting the weeping woman in his arms.

The funeral director returned within minutes, accompanied by two assistants. With Ty carrying Tara and the others forming a phalanx around her, they whisked her out a side entrance to a waiting stretch limousine.

The minute Ty attempted to deposit Tara on the rear passenger seat, her clutching hands tightened their grip in panic. "Don't leave me, Ty. Don't leave me," she whimpered in a sobbing, little-girl voice.

"I'm not," he assured her. "We're just getting in the car so we can go home."

With reluctance, Tara relinquished her hold on him long enough for Ty to climb into the limo, but she was back in his arms the instant he was seated. The doctor held the door open for Cat while she scrambled into the rear seat next to them.

"I'll meet you at the house," the doctor told them and closed the door, slapping the roof of the limo twice, signaling the chauffeur to move out.

In the unnatural silence of the limousine, they glided along the streets, skirting the silver-skinned towers of downtown Fort Worth. Even the brick-topped Camp Bowie Boulevard was reduced to a nonintrusive purr.

Turning off the boulevard, they wound their way into the exclusive River Crest area, long favored by the Forth Worth elite. The chauffeur traveled a road that snaked along the hills that rose above the Trinity River, and eventually pulled up to a pair of iron gates. After the smallest of pauses, the gates swung open, admitting them to the private grounds of the Dyson residence.

After following the driveway's looping curve, the limo rolled to a silent stop in front of the Dysons' twenty-thousand-square-feet, Italianate mansion. Before the engine was switched off, a handful of servants spilled from the house, clearly anticipating their arrival.

With Tara cradled in his arms like a baby, Ty climbed out of the vehicle and found himself face to face with the ever-efficient head of the household staff, a balding man with the improbable name of Brownsmith. Of indeterminate age, the man no doubt looked fifty when he was twenty, and would still look like fifty at the age of eighty. He disdained the term "butler", preferring the title of "houseman" to the Dysons.

His recognition of Ty was instant. "Mr. Calder. I regret that we should meet again under such tragic circumstances." Despite his constant attempt to adopt the clipped, precise speech of his English counterparts, his voice had never lost its distinctive Texas drawl. To eliminate any need for a response from Ty, Brownsmith added quickly, as he pivoted with a gesturing sweep of his hand, "If you'll bring Miss Tara this way."

With the houseman in the lead, Ty carried Tara into the house, across a marbled foyer, styled to resemble an interior courtyard, up a palatial grand staircase, and along a wide corridor to a suite of rooms. All the while Brownsmith directed a flurry of scurrying servants.

Two maids waited to guide Ty through the sitting room to the bedroom, decorated in a daring but deft mix of scarlet and gold, softened with delicate touches of pink.

Again Tara protested the separation when Ty attempted to lay her on the bed. "No. Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere. But you can't get in bed with your shoes on," he chided, which apparently made sense to Tara because she sank onto the satin coverlet, lying quietly while he slipped off her black pumps. A maid was there to take them from him before he could drop them on the floor.

"Dr. Parker should be here directly. He had to stop at his clinic to pick up some medication for Miss Tara," the houseman explained, then lifted his head sharply, catching some sound that escaped Ty's hearing. He stepped to the window, parting the sheers to look out. "Here he is now. I'll bring him right up." He moved away from the window, issuing orders to the maids as he went. "Close the draperies, and see that Mr. Calder has a chair by the bed so that he can sit with Miss Tara." On his way into the sitting room, Brownsmith met Cat in the connecting doorway. He immediately intercepted her. "Forgive me but these are Miss Tara's private quarters."

Turning, Ty saw Cat. "That's my sister, Brownsmith."

The houseman recovered quickly. "Miss Cathleen," he said, making use of his instant recall to address her by her full given name. "You have grown into a lovely young woman. Forgive me for failing to recognize you."

"Of course," Cat replied as he waved her into the room, then disappeared himself into the sitting room. "How could he remember me when I barely remember him?"

Ty nodded in agreement. "You couldn't have met more than once or twice." Then Tara was reaching for him, on the verge of panic again.

Even after the doctor administered the sedative, Tara clung to him, locking his hand in a death grip and refusing to let go. With the doctor's departure, the maids withdrew, leaving Ty and Cat alone in the darkened room with Tara. They spoke little and then in hushed voices.

Late in the afternoon, it started to rain. Ty sat by the bed and listened to the sound of the wind-whipped rain pelting the windowpanes. It was a lonely sound, made more so by the dim light and the thick silence.

It was along about early evening when Brownsmith returned to the room and informed them that a light supper was waiting for them in the sitting room.

Cat shook her head when Ty suggested she eat first. "She seems to be sleeping soundly. I'll sit with her. It's time you had a break."

Ty didn't argue with that. Instead, he untangled his hand from Tara's fingers and walked quietly into the sitting room. A tall lamp cast a pool of light over the table set for two by the window. He cast one glance at the table then crossed to the telephone extension on a gilded table next to an easy chair, upholstered in a scarlet and pink plaid silk. He picked up the receiver and dialed the ranch. Jessy answered on the second ring. In the background, he could hear a baby crying.

"Sounds like I called at a bad time."

"It's just Laura, wanting her diaper changed. I take it you're back at the hotel. How was the funeral?"

Ty hesitated. "Actually I'm at Tara's."

"Oh." Pain cut through her, sharp and swift, caused as much by the small pause as by his reply. Jessy felt the old flare of anger and resentment, but kept it out of her voice. "How is she?"

"She collapsed at the church. The doctor gave her a sedative after we brought her back to the house. Cat's sitting with her now."

There wasn't any comment Jessy could make that wouldn't sound trite or false. So she said instead, "Then you haven't had time to make any calls to set up appointments to look over the sale facilities."

"No. Not yet. If I get back to the hotel early enough tonight, I'll call and see what I can arrange."

Which told Jessy that he didn't plan to leave Tara's anytime soon. Maybe it was simple jealousy she felt; Jessy wasn't sure, but she didn't trust Tara, not completely. And she never would.

PART TWO.

That grass, it's a-feelin' the footsteps.

Of those who walked it before.

One took the land.

and one raised his hand.

A Calder just don't know who to trust anymore.

Chapter Five.

Morning brought an end to the rain, but the clouds and the wind stayed, making it another gloomy and blustery day. It had been close to midnight when the limo dropped Ty and Cat at their hotel. Ty hadn't slept well; he seldom did in a strange bed.

After an early breakfast with Cat, he returned to his room to make the necessary phone calls while she went off to do some shopping. It was a slow process, making the calls and waiting for his to be returned. Each time the phone rang, he expected to hear Tara on the other end. But it never was.

Ty found it difficult not to remember the sight of Tara lying alone in that bed, looking small and lost-and so very vulnerable. The Tara he knew had never been vulnerable. Not even for one second.

Abruptly he tore off the notepad sheet listing the places, the contact names, and the directions to them, swung away from the silent telephone, grabbed up his hat and sheepskin-lined jacket, and headed for the door, stuffing the list in his jacket pocket.

Before he reached it, someone rapped on the door. Assuming it was the maid coming to clean the room, Ty opened it. Tara stood in the hall, her hands buried in the pockets of a fur-lined raincoat. She wore little makeup, a touch of mascara, a blush of lipstick, but no more than that. It had the effect of heightening the pallor of her skin and enhancing that aura of vulnerability. But it was the lack of vitality that struck him hardest.

"I didn't dream you," Tara murmured. "You did come."

"Yes." Ty wanted to ask what she was doing there, what she wanted from him. But she seemed too fragile to respond to such a direct question without shattering.

"Brownsmith told me that you sat by my bed until nearly midnight. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Her glance drifted down to the hat and coat he carried. The sight of them seemed to momentarily fluster her. "Are you going somewhere?" The question held a note of panic, reinforcing the impression of fragility.

"As a matter of fact, I was," Ty admitted. "Why?"

"Because . . ." Tara hesitated then appeared to gather herself. "I didn't go to the cemetery yesterday. I wanted to visit Daddy's grave today, but I was hoping you would take me." She lifted her head, her dark eyes vocal in their appeal. "Please. I don't want to be alone."

It was such a small request, one that wouldn't take more than an hour or two of his time. To refuse seemed somehow vindictive and callous.

His lack of an immediate response prompted Tara to add, with a downcast look, "You probably have an appointment." Head down, she started to turn away.

"It won't hurt anything if I'm a little late." Ty stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him.

"Thank you." Her soft voice was husky with gratitude.

A brisk wind stirred through the damp leaves, raking the willing ones into small piles at the base of the gravestones. It was a cold and damp day, made all the more bleak by the low, gray clouds.

Ty kept a steadying hand around Tara as they made their way over the uneven ground, past the orderly rows of ancient markers. With one hand, she clutched the up-turned fur collar tight around her neck, completing the frame of her cameo-perfect features. In the other hand, she carried a single Texas-yellow rose.

Their destination was just ahead, Dyson's final resting place marked by a rectangular mound of freshly turned earth, a sharp contrast to the winter-brown grasses. When they reached the site, Ty removed his hat out of respect, conscious of the wind ruffling his hair, as it was doing to Tara's.

They stood silently beside the new grave for a long run of seconds. For all of Dyson's Texas-flash while living, his granite headstone was an unusually modest one, containing no more than his name, date of birth, and a blank space for the date of his death to be engraved.

Stepping forward, Tara bent down and placed the yellow rose atop the dirt. The wind immediately blew at it, but it caught against a large clod and stayed in place.

Rising, Tara brushed back a strand of hair the wind had whipped across her face. "Daddy left written instructions that we were to move heaven and earth, if necessary, to see that he was buried here. He said he wanted to lie among real Texans, not a bunch of newcomers. Silly, isn't it?" she mused.

"He was proud of his Texas roots."

"I know." With a turn of her head, she looked up at Ty. Just for a minute there was that knowing gleam of the old Tara in her eyes. "Whereas the Calders rarely mention theirs at all."

It was the kind of subtly flirtatious look that invited a smile. Ty responded with a slow one. "I guess we've been in Montana too long."

Tara watched the smiling movement of his mouth, finding something sexy in the laziness of it that still had the power to snatch at her breath. There was a time when she would have tilted her head at just the right angle, inviting more than his smile. But she was much too wise to try that ploy this time. Instead Tara hooked an arm around his and let her gaze wander over the old cemetery.

"Do you remember the last time you brought me here, Ty? You wanted to show me where your great-grandfather was buried. We were both still in college." At a leisurely pace, she began to stroll in the direction of the car, drawing Ty with her, arm in arm.

"That was a long time ago."

"You proposed to me that day," Tara reminded him, giving him one of her patented sideways glances that was both coy and mischievous.

"For either the third or fourth time. I did a lot of proposing back then, as I recall."

There was an opening there, but Tara let it pass. "We were so young back then. Or at least I was. You were too serious to ever really be young."

"I suppose."

She deliberately let the silence lengthen a little. "It's sad, isn't it?"

"What?" Ty's glance touched her with mild interest.

"That you have to lose someone close to you, someone you loved very much, before you realize that money, status, the opinions of others-none of that matters. Only the people in your life are important. All my life I've been so ambitious-" Tara stopped and darted him a wry look. "But you know that better than anybody. Now-now, I realize that I spent all that time chasing the wrong things. And that is very, very sad." She knew there was nothing Ty could say to that, so she didn't give him the chance to respond. "Sorry. As always, I'm so wrapped up in myself and my troubles that I haven't even asked how you are."

"I'm fine. Busy as usual." It was exactly the kind of noncommittal response Tara expected from him.

"And Jessy?" It was so hard to keep her lip from curling in dislike.

"She and the twins are fine."

"She's had the babies, then." The news was like a lead weight in her stomach.

"Last week," Ty replied, with a hint of pride in his voice. "A boy and a girl."

"A boy and a girl." Tara didn't have to feign her surprise. Therefore, she let it work for her. "Then, you have been doubly blessed."

"We think so."

The pronoun grated at her with its reference to Jessy. "What are their names?" She tried to sound interested.

"Laura Marie and Chase Benteen Calder III."

So the name continues, Tara thought, tasting bitterness. She had never gotten along with her former father-in-law despite numerous attempts to gain his favor. In his inimitable way, Chase Calder had made it clear he tolerated her only because his son had chosen her to be his wife.

"That's quite a mouthful for a little baby," was the comment she made.

"Dad has taken to calling him Trey, and the nickname's caught on."

Tara leaned into his shoulder as they walked. "You sound very happy, Ty. I'm glad for you."

When he glanced down, Tara observed the doubt flicker in his eyes, questioning the sincerity of her words. She looked away, irritated that, in some ways, he knew her so well.