Stands a Calder Man (18 page)

He was summing up his argument. “After all, Mr. Kreuger, we have all gathered here to celebrate our country's independence,” Doyle Pettit reasoned. “On this special day, I think we should put aside petty differences and join together in the festivity here. I will personally vouch for the conduct of all the members of the ranching community present and assure you their behavior will be above reproach. If any of your womenfolk would care to dance with the cowboys, I promise they will be treated with the utmost respect.”

“And if they aren't?” Franz Kreuger challenged with open skepticism.

“You have my word on it.” Webb issued the cool reply before Doyle Pettit could speak. “The word of a Calder means something around here, Mr. Kreuger. If any of the boys step out of line, they will personally answer to me.” He paused a split second. “Do we have your permission to ask your ladies to dance?”

“I am not a big, important man like you, Mr. Calder. I am just a wheat farmer.” The modest disclaimer from Franz Kreuger was issued with a trace of contempt. “I can say you have permission, but that does not mean there is a woman willing to accept such an invitation.”

His response was a subtle way of indicating his attitude hadn't changed. The granting of permission was mere lip service that Lilli considered rude and unwarranted. One look at Webb's tightening mouth revealed that he viewed the response in the same light. His request had been reasonable and proper. She was irritated that it had met with such discourtesy from her own kind. After all, Webb had been willing to meet them more than halfway. The gesture should have been reciprocated, not rejected.

She took an impetuous step forward, leaving Stefan's
side. “I will,” Lilli asserted, seeing Webb's head come up as his gaze jumped to her. “I'm sure Mr. Calder can be trusted to keep his word.”

Webb's cool expression didn't alter, but his dark eyes were warm and approving, glinting with some disturbing force. Lilli felt the restraining hand Stefan laid on her shoulder and turned her head slightly in his direction.

“It will be all right, Stefan,” she insisted in a low murmur, but he didn't remove his hand.

She was angry with him for being so unreasonably protective of her. If Stefan objected, she couldn't openly defy him. It would shame him in front of all of his friends. Lilli felt torn by a sense of duty to her husband and the knowledge that her offer to dance was the proper response to ease the rising animosity between the two factions.

As she waited for a sign from Stefan, she looked back at Webb. He seemed to sense her conflict. His attention swung to Stefan as he removed his hat in a gesture of respect and held it against his chest.

“With your permission, Mr. Reisner, I'd like to dance with your wife,” he stated calmly.

Her respect for him was raised another notch by this action. Webb Calder had taken the decision out of her hands and placed it in her husband's, indicating he would abide by it and not assume on Lilli's impulsive action. Therefore, there would be no occasion for her to defy her husband's wishes. She silently prayed that Stefan would be as magnanimous as Webb Calder was.

Stefan's large fingers tightened briefly on her shoulder, then relaxed to slide away. Lilli was proud of him at that moment. She beamed a quick smile in his direction, then placed her hand on Webb's arm and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

His hand fit naturally to the curve of her slender waist, his fingers spreading on her back. Her hand was warm and small inside the grip of his as Webb held her less than an arm's length away. She was lithe and graceful, following his steps with ease, as if they'd
danced together many times before. Her arms and throat had a sun-golden beauty, while the mass of auburn hair crowning her head gave the impression of stature. For a moment, the vitality of her utterly destroyed his self-possession.

Around them, other homesteaders had relented and given their daughters permission to accept a cowboy's invitation to dance. Not many of them, but enough to show the majority was weakening. Webb had no interest in the possible trouble he'd averted. All his attention was on the girl in his arms.

“You were right, Mr. Calder,” she said.

“I was? That's nice to know.” The smile came easily to his mouth. “About what?”

“The well. We found water all right, but it was poisoned with alkali, just like you said it would be,” she admitted. “We're going to have to depend on a cistern for our water.”

“That's one time I'd rather have been wrong—for your sake.” He added the last on a husky note.

“We'll manage.” She sounded confident, then looked around them. “I didn't know cowboys enjoyed such things as dancing.”

“We don't spend all our time busting wild broncs and roping cattle like the Wild West Show would make you believe.” Webb recalled that her concept of cowboys had been colored wrongly by that show. “Our tastes are not totally unrefined. Dancing is right up there at the top of the list of a cowboy's favorite pastimes.”

“Right next to his horse?” she asked with a laughing look.

“Definitely.” He liked her sense of humor. “Our biggest problem around here has been the scarcity of female partners. You could count the number of available women on your fingers. That's why it was so frustrating for the boys to see all those gals on your side not dancing with anyone. I expected any minute for a couple of the boys to volunteer to be heifer-branded.”

“What's that?” She tipped her head toward him in the most engaging fashion.

“That's when a cowboy ties a handkerchief to his sleeve to show he's willing to dance the female part,” explained Webb. “It's a desperate measure. But around the bunkhouse, a fella can get pretty desperate for entertainment. They've even been known to tie on an apron.”

“Have you ever been heifer-branded?” The gleam in her eye stopped short of actually flirting with him, but the interest was there. Webb could see it, whether she was aware of it or not.

“No. I guess I wasn't broke to follow someone else's lead.”

“I can believe that,” Lilli replied.

When the song ended, Webb was slow to let her go. “I was right about something else,” he told her, looking deep into her eyes. “When I noticed you earlier, I was sure the dress matched the color of your eyes. And it does.”

It was the intensity of his gaze, that light that smoldered in it, rather than his compliment that disturbed Lilli. She lowered her head, trying to avoid his look and the sensation it caused in her stomach.

“Thank you.” Withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp, she turned out of his hold to walk back to Stefan.

Webb fell in step to escort her back, but he didn't want to take her there. He didn't want to give her back into her husband's keeping. He was a man; vital instincts surged in him. For the first time in his life, he begrudged the obligation of his word.

When he stopped in front of Stefan Reisner, he knew he was the better man, but there was little solace in it. He handed Lilli into the man's possession, his features set in grim lines.

“Thank you for the privilege of dancing with your wife, sir.” He inclined his head, his dark eyes flashing.

He didn't dare look at Lilli again as he walked away.

Across the dance floor, Ruth watched him return to the sidelines as she had watched him since he had arrived, keeping track of where he was and whom he was with. It was something she couldn't stop doing,
even though Webb had not spoken to her once, nor even ventured in her direction.

Her glance ran back to the settler's woman. Jealousy was a painful feeling. It imprinted all competition clearly in her mind so that she never forgot any female who might be her rival. She remembered the young, auburn-haired girl as the wife of that elderly settler Webb had nearly gotten into a fight with. Despite that, Webb had just danced with her. It worried Ruth, as much as if the girl were single.

As Nate watched Webb striding over to rejoin them, he was reminded of a bull with its tail twisted. A wise rider gave a critter like that a wide berth. He sucked in his breath and said nothing when Webb reached them, letting the others do the talking. If they missed the warning signals, that was their lookout. His glance skipped to the girl in blue, and Nate shook his head in sad dismay for his friend. He guessed he knew what had been eating at him.

“I thought for a while there you weren't going to pull it off, Webb,” Shorty declared, but he was always the kind to wonder how deep the quicksand was. “Yellow Braids wouldn't dance with me, but I think I'll wear her pa down the next time.”

“Is there any whiskey left in that bottle you tucked away in your saddlebag?” Webb gave no sign he'd heard the congratulatory remark.

“Hell, yes!” Shorty confirmed with a wide grin. “And you've got the right idea. Let's go have a drink now that we've got ourselves a real party goin'.”

Webb pushed off, plunging through the maze of wagons to the rear where they'd left their horses. The slanting rays of a lowering sun cast long shadows on the ground as a summer wind carried the band's music away from them. The warm air was pungent with the smell of horses.

Shorty took the whiskey bottle from his saddlebag and tossed it to Webb. “You first.”

It was a case of fighting fire with fire as Webb tried to burn out the anger with a long swallow of the fiery alcohol. It shuddered through him, numbing his senses. Lowering the bottle, he pressed a hand to his mouth, the muscles in his throat paralyzed.

“Jeez, Webb.” Shorty gave him a reproving look as he took the bottle and wiped at the lip with his sleeve. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to slug it all down.”

There was a stirring of activity down the way, the creaking of saddle leather and the jangle of metal bits and bridle chains that indicated riders were mounting up. As Webb turned automatically to look, he recognized Hobie Evans and two more Snake M riders reining their horses away from the wagons.

“Looks like Hobie's a sore loser,” Abe Garvey remarked. “He sure was hopin' your play would work the other way. He had a bunch of the guys worked up to teach them homesteaders to be more friendly. But your move left him high and dry.”

“He never was too successful with the ladies,” Shorty concluded. “They aren't rough enough for him. ‘Course, with an ugly mug like that, what woman would want him?” He laughed the question and passed the bottle to Abe.

“You got a point.” Abe watched the trio of riders heading the horses up the main street of town at a shuffling trot. “Looks like they're goin' to Sonny's.”

“One thing you gotta say about Hobie, that fella can hold his liquor,” Shorty admired and glanced at Abe as he released a loud, satisfied sigh of approval for the throat-clearing swallow of whiskey. “What d'ya say? Shall we go back and try our luck with Yellow Braids and her pa?”

Webb stuck a hand in the side pocket of his denim Levi pants and pulled out a coin. “I'll buy the rest of the bottle from you, Shorty.” He flipped the coin toward the cowboy, who caught it with a quick, one-handed stab.

“Aren't you coming?” Shorty hesitated, giving him a puzzled look.

“No, I think I'll just stay here and drink for a while,” Webb took the bottle by the neck and eased his long frame onto the ground, propping his back against a wagon wheel.

Shorty studied him a second longer, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

As Shorty and Abe ambled off, Nate lingered to roll a smoke, but Webb gave no indication that he wanted company. Nate lit the cigarette and squinted at Webb through the smoke.

“I guess you know the only thing you'll find in that bottle is a helluva hangover, so I'll just see you later,” Nate said in parting and went wandering back through the wagons after his other two friends. “Women,” he said to himself. “Ain't nothin' can tie a man into a tighter knot.”

Alone with only the sounds of tail-swishing horses stamping at flies, Webb stared at the uncorked bottle. The dance in progress was just a distant hum. He took another long swig from the bottle and leaned his head back against the cradle of the wheel spokes. A high, blue sky was above him, but there were shadows all around him. There were shadows in his heart and mind as well, black ones, directing his desires down a bad path.

Hobie Evans rode in the middle, his mount a step or two ahead of the flanking horses. Passing the roadhouse saloon, they trotted out of town to the west. Hobie was slouched loosely in the saddle, his sullen gaze contemplating the land ahead of them.

“Never thought I'd see the day when a Calder would toady to a bunch of egg-sucking farmers.” Ace Rafferty broke the silence.

“Never should have let the first one of 'em throw up a shanty,” Hobie countered roughly, then swung a gleaming, malevolent look at his compatriots. “You ever been inside one of their huts?”

“No.” But both showed a sudden interest at the question, guessing he had something in mind.

“There's a honyocker that's got himself a place just a couple three miles from here. Wanta go check the place out?” Hobie grinned.

All three men lifted their horses out of a trot into ground-covering lopes, heading for the settler's shanty up the way.

“It is growing late, Lillian.” Stefan took her by the arm as he cast a glance at the sun hanging above the horizon. “The sun vill be down in another hour. Ve should be leaving.”

“So soon?” she murmured in protest, but smiled a reluctant agreement. “I suppose we must,” she conceded. There was a lull in the music as the band took a well-earned break.

“Alvays you vomen enjoy the dancing, but tomorrow it is vork again,” he reminded her. Then he remarked, “You never said if you enjoyed your dance vith that Calder man.” They started toward their wagon.

“I enjoyed it, the same as I enjoyed the polka with Mr. Anderson,” she replied, although the experiences had been vastly different. “I was proud of you today, Stefan. You were just as much a fine gentleman as Webb Calder.”