Stands a Calder Man (21 page)

“It happened outside of town. He says there is nothing he can do.” There was a harshness in his voice, reminiscent of Franz Kreuger, that implied the response was what they should have expected. “The sheriff can protect us only vhen ve are in town. Ve must protect ourselves and our property. The next time ve go to town, Franz is going to come, too, and help me buy a gun.”

Stefan. Kind, gentle Stefan with a gun. It was so absurd Lilli wanted to laugh, but she couldn't because she knew he meant to do it. What really frightened her was the thought he might use it. She wished she could wear blinders like a horse and not see or know any of this.

“Come. You must eat some more.” He offered her another spoonful.

She wondered if her suddenly nauseated stomach would tolerate another swallow of the bland gruel. “Stefan, please, you don't have to treat me like an invalid anymore. I'm capable of feeding myself.” With new forcefulness, she reached for the bowl and the spoon. “You have spent so much time looking after me that you must have gotten behind in your work.” When he hesitated, Lilli added, “I promise I'll eat every last bite.”

“All right.” He finally smiled and relinquished his possession of the bowl and spoon. “I vill let you chase me back to vork.”

After he'd left the one-room shack, she let the bowl rest on her lap and stared at the wide patch of sunlight on the floor. Gleaming dust particles danced in the light spilling through the window.

It was July and she felt cold. There were changes going on inside herself that she didn't want to happen.

Even Stefan was becoming different. She pressed her fingers to her lips, feeling them. A man had kissed her, and she hadn't told her husband. She hadn't told Stefan she was alone with Webb Calder, even though he was being falsely accused of starting the fire. Why? Because his kiss had made her feel things that were wrong.

During those terrifying moments at the fire, it was his voice, his arms, the feel of his body pressing on hers, that kept her link with sanity. By not mentioning it, she had let Stefan believe it had been his strength and comfort she had relied on. She had vowed to be a good wife to him. She had to keep that vow.

Webb's spurs made a dull clanking sound with each striding step as he crossed the hardwood floor of the entryway to the den. His father was seated behind the big desk, going over the ledgers. Webb removed his hat and combed his fingers through his hair as he approached the desk.

“Barnie said you wanted to see me.” He kept his hat at his side, tapping it slightly against his leg in a small show of impatience at the summons.

“Yes, I did.” The big chair groaned as his father leaned his weight against the back and ran a calm eye over Webb. “I've decided that I'm not going out on the roundup this fall. I want you to take my place and supervise the operation for me.”

“Barnie is more qualified than I am. Why don't you ask him or Ely?” Webb stiffened at this sudden thrusting of authority onto his shoulders.

There was a moment of absolute silence. Benteen glared at Webb with open irritation, but appeared to make an attempt to control his anger. “If I wanted Barnie or Ely, I would have asked them to take charge of it. Dammit, I want my son heading the roundup,” he declared roughly.

“Is that an order?” Webb asked.

The corners of Benteen's mouth turned down, forming a hard, grim line. “No.” His father dropped his gaze from Webb. “It isn't an order.” There was a
stubborn streak in him that wanted Webb to accept the responsibility without being ordered to do it. “That's all I wanted. You can leave.”

As Webb started to put on his hat, he noticed his father press a hand to his chest and hold it there. He paused, his eyes sharpening in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” It was an irritable retort, but the hand was slow to come away. “My chest has been bothering me since the fire,” his father offered in grudging explanation. “I guess I got too much smoke in my lungs. It just hurts now and then, but it goes away.”

Webb gripped and ungripped at his hat. He was of half a mind to tell his father he'd changed his mind about taking over the roundup. The Old Man did look tired. He'd probably rest easier if he thought Webb was in charge. Webb also knew that Barnie and Ely both would be shadowing him to make certain he didn't make any mistakes. That was the irritating factor about accepting, knowing the two men would be supervising him. They were just “letting” him be in charge.

“The word is going around that the fire was started deliberately,” his father mentioned in passing.

“Where'd you hear that?” Webb frowned.

“Somebody picked it up in town.” He shrugged to indicate an indefinite source. “I wouldn't be surprised if it was true.”

“What makes you say that?” His eyes narrowed.

“There's a lot of cowboys out of work, and a lot of hard feelings between them and the drylanders. It sounds like the kind of cruel prank a cowboy might pull after he's had a couple drinks.”

The remark prompted Webb to recall something that hadn't seemed significant before. “Hobie Evans and two Snake M boys left the dance early. It was less than an hour after that the smoke was seen.”

“Hobie's got a streak of mean in him.” He paused to look at Webb. “Every man does. It's just a question of how wide it is. You might want to keep that in mind.”

“Why?” He found that curious advice.

“So you don't underestimate someday what the opposition's capable of doing,” his father replied and turned his attention to the opened ledger on his desk.

It seemed a cryptic warning. Webb pushed it to the back of his mind where it lingered as he left the big house to resume his day's work.

Stones clattered under the iron-clad hooves of the black gelding inching its way along the coulee where it fell at a fairly steep angle. When the ground leveled out and the footing became more solid, it picked up its pace without any urging from its rider, Webb Calder. It stopped automatically when it reached the young cottonwood tree and the concealing shade of its branches. Black ears swiveled back to the rider, waiting for further instructions.

The Reisner farm was about a mile away at this point, its shanty-house clearly visible. Webb had come upon this hidden approach to the farm about three weeks ago and used it about four times since then. Twice he'd seen Lilli working in the garden beside the house, but neither time had he left the concealment of the cottonwood. Reisner had been in the fields nearby. At least, Webb had been assured that Lilli was all right, although he didn't kid himself that it was the only reason he came.

As he scanned the fields and the area around the tar-paper house, he saw no sign of Reisner. The horses and wagon were gone, too. Smoke was coming out of the stovepipe chimney, which indicated someone was home. He looked over the fields again; then he walked the gelding out from under the tree and crossed the intervening land at an easy lope.

Coming up to the one-room shanty, he slowed the horse to a walk and made a close-up note of the changes since the last time he'd been there. A couple of chickens were scratching up dust under the feed trough
in the corral. There was a handpump sitting atop a cistern cover, and a scraggly but determined patch of flowers growing alongside of the house. The air was laden with the yeasty aroma of baking bread, which assured him the lady of the house was at home.

Unhurried, he stepped down from his horse and let the reins trail to ground-tether his mount. The door was propped open, a kind of silent invitation which he readily accepted. Webb paused at the threshold and let his gaze travel over the slim figure of a woman standing at the table with her back to the door. She was vigorously kneading a batch of dough, apparently unaware of his presence. Wisps of hair had escaped from the bun and lay against her neck. The trace of burnt copper was absent from the dark shade of her hair without the bright sunlight to expose it.

Taking off his hat, he ran a hand through his hair, then rapped his knuckles lightly against the door frame. “Anybody home?” His voice was warm and certain of the answer to his question. It was the same in his eyes as he watched the quick turn of her head and the darted glance over her shoulder. There was only the briefest pause in her bread-kneading before she resumed her former rhythm.

“If it's water you're wanting for your horse, you're welcome to draw from the pump,” she said.

It pleased him that she remembered the reason he'd given for stopping the last time. “That isn't why I came by.” The dull clank of his spurs signaled he was crossing the threshold.

“What is it you wanted, Mr. Calder?” she asked without turning.

He crossed to the table, his glance skimming the interior with its newspaper walls and homemade furnishings. Her dark head was bent to her task, and she didn't raise it when he stopped at the narrow end of the table. The front of her apron was spattered with flour dust and there was a little white smear by her cheekbone.

“We'll be busy with fall roundup at the ranch for the next few weeks and I wanted to check and be sure you had recovered from your bums,” Webb offered as his reason.

“That's kind of you, Mr. Calder, but they were really very minor. They healed within days and never left a scar,” she assured him and continued pounding and pummeling the dough.

The room's lights and shadows and warm smells took on a strange familiarity. Webb ranged about the table, a sense of comfort and home sweeping over him.

“When I was a little boy, we lived in a log cabin about this size,” he mused. “Standing here, it doesn't seem so long ago. I guess this place reminds me of it a little.”

“Stefan will be interested to know that you found something nice to say about our home.” She shaped the dough into a loaf and slapped it into a pan, pushing it out to touch both ends.

There was a slight narrowing of his gaze at the determined reference to her husband. When she finally lifted her head so he could see her face plainly, it was as if she were wearing a mask. Webb chose to ignore her reply.

“I had forgotten that making bread was such rough work.” He smiled. “I'd be black and blue if I was pounded like that.”

“You've got to get the air out, otherwise the bread will be full of holes,” she stated and picked up the pan. To avoid passing him, she went the long way around the table to reach the stove and opened the oven door. He watched her crouch down to slip in the pan and test the other bread baking inside.

“It smells good,” he remarked.

Closing the oven door, she straightened and nervously smoothed her hands down her apron. He noticed that she was deliberately avoiding looking at him.

“I never did thank you, Mr. Calder, for putting out the fire before I was more seriously burned,” she
began, saying the words as if she had been mentally practicing them for some time. “I am very grateful. I wish for you to know that.”

“You don't have to thank me.” Webb tipped his head at an angle, trying to figure out why she was so aloof with him when she'd always been so open before. “I'm just glad I was there.”

She dropped her chin again and looked about her as if searching for something. “It was very good of you to drop by and ask after me.” She moistened her lips and made an effort to look directly at him. For a few seconds, she was very poised. “I hope you'll understand that I'm very busy with the baking and all, so I can't ask you to stay.”

It was a roundabout way of asking him to leave, but Webb didn't believe she meant it. He crossed the short space between them to stand in front of her. There was a hint of agitation in the rise and fall of her breasts.

“You've got some flour on your cheek, Lilli.” He reached to wipe it off, but she turned her head away from his hand and brushed at it herself.

“It's true that in the past I might have given you cause to believe you have my permission to speak to me in such a familiar way, Mr. Calder,” she said stiffly. “But from now on, I would prefer that you address me properly as Mrs. Reisner if we should meet in the future.”

His brows were pulled together in a puzzled and doubting frown. “Lilli—”

“You knew my husband wasn't here when you rode in, didn't you?” she accused suddenly, a wounded and angry look flaring in her eyes.

“I . . . noticed the horses and wagon were gone,” he admitted.

“The truth is, Mr. Calder, you stopped because he wasn't here.” She controlled her voice, taking all the sting out of it and making it hard with reason. Its very smoothness made the words penetrate and twist deeper inside him. “You deliberately came while I was alone. I am a married woman, Mr. Calder, and I do not
entertain men visitors when my husband isn't home. It is improper of you to expect that I should. Therefore, I must request that you leave, here and now.” But she wasn't through. “And the next time you ride by and my husband isn't about, don't stop. Because if you do, I shall bar the door and refuse you any hospitality.”

In good conscience, Webb couldn't argue with her. His position was indefensible, which made it all the harder to take. He was sore with an anger that was unjustified. She was within her rights to order him to leave.

“Why don't you want me here, Lilli?” He deliberately used his nickname for her, challenging her reason for not wanting to see him. “Do I remind you too much that your husband is an old man?”

A raw anger blazed unchecked in her eyes. A split second later, she was swinging a hand at his face, and Webb made no attempt to avoid it, knowing he deserved it for the remark he had made. But it was no weak slap in the face. All her force was behind it and her hand packed power when it struck. It jarred him, sending black shafts of pain through his head, and unleashed what little control he had left.

In instinctive retaliation, Webb grabbed the wrist of the hand that had struck him. The first slap he had deserved, but he wouldn't stand still for a second. After one attempt to twist out of his grip, she simply glared at him, her wrist straining against his hold. Webb could feel the angry tremors vibrating up through her arm. She knew she had no chance to best him in a physical struggle.