Stands a Calder Man (45 page)

The idea of leaving the ranch was a possibility Ruth had never considered. And she didn't want to now,
either. This was her home; all her friends were here—and Webb. “My father's health isn't that good,” she murmured. “I should be nearby so I can look after him. With what I earn teaching—”

“But I don't want you to teach anymore,” he interrupted and sat down on the bed to take off his boots. “You're my wife. Your place is in our home, taking care of things and raising our family. I wouldn't be much of a man if I couldn't support a wife.” He pulled off one boot and tossed it in the corner, then raised his leg to take off the other. “Any chance of me being more than a cowboy on this ranch is about zero. Calder doesn't make outsiders into foremen. The only ones who get positions like that are men whose fathers worked for his pa.”

“I don't think you're being fair to Webb.” Ruth couldn't remain silent in the face of that criticism. “If you talked to him about a better position, I'm sure he would consider you.”

“No.” The other boot joined the one in the corner. Virg Haskell stood up and walked the few steps to the mirror in his stockinged feet, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Maybe if you talked to him, he might listen. But he doesn't think all that much of me.”

“That isn't true.” Ruth turned around to face him, defending Webb, as she always would. “I've heard him say to others how hard you work and how dependable you are.”

“Next week sometime, why don't you mention to him about me becoming one of his foremen . . . kinda feel him out on the idea,” Virg said and let his hand trail down the length of her pale braid. “If it looks like a possibility, I'll go talk to him myself. If I can earn a decent wage, there wouldn't be any reason to leave here.”

“I'll . . . I'll talk to him,” Ruth agreed reluctantly, because she didn't want to leave.

He grinned and kissed her lightly. “Spoken like a proper wife,” he said and moved away to unbutton his shirt.

But she knew she wasn't. It made her look at him and say, “I'll be a good wife to you, Virg,” she promised, determined to make up for the fact that she didn't love him the way she should.

His shirt was completely unbuttoned and pulled loose from his pants, but he didn't slip it off. He stared at her for a long second before speaking. “You can start by unbuttoning that dress.” His voice was husky and the look in his eyes was avid as he watched her fingers comply with his request. “From this night on, you're going to belong to me—and no one else.”

Not even Webb Calder. Virg Haskell had known about him all along. Ruth was his wife by default, but Virg was convinced that he'd won just the same. He had wanted her, and she was his. Nothing would ever change that. It was his name she carried, and it would be his children she birthed. If she didn't love him now the way he wanted her to, she would.

When she stepped out of the dress and stood before him in her lace petticoats, Virg Haskell reached out to take what was his by right. This night her body would know his—and every night to come.

The range had been in poor condition going into the winter months, and the winter turned out to be one of the most brutal in thirty years. The chinooks either were late in arriving or didn't come at all. The strong, warm wind was blowing across the plains to usher March toward its conclusion and offering a respite from the killing cold, melting snow and ice. The Triple C was taking advantage of the brief spate of mild weather to check the ranch stock and tally up the losses that would undoubtedly run high.

Separating himself from the band of riders on shaggy-coated horses, Webb rode over to the Stanton house and dismounted. His knock on the door was followed by a muffled permission to enter. He stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. Ruth came out of the kitchen and faltered slightly when she saw him.

“Webb. I didn't know it was you.” She pushed at her hair, trying to smooth the stray wisps into place, nervously gesturing at a chair. “Sit down. I'll pour you some coffee.”

“No, thanks,” he refused, not bothering to take off his hat because he didn't intend to stay more than a couple of minutes. “We're on our way out to check the herds. I stopped by to ask if you would mind looking in on Lilli while I'm gone today. She hasn't been feeling well this week.”

“Oh?” Ruth put a hand to her stomach, aware of the life it contained. The recent bouts of morning sickness had left her somewhat weakened and shaky for most of the day. “What's wrong? Do you know?”

Webb shook his head, “She feels all right when she wakes up, but by the afternoon, she can't seem to keep any food down. I've sent a couple of the boys into town to have Simon stop by when he makes his rounds. She insists she'll be all right, but—I won't be back until late today, and I'd feel better if you checked on her later.”

“Of course.” She wondered why Webb didn't say anything about the expected addition to her family. Surely Virg had told him. He had spread the word quickly enough through the other families at the Triple C headquarters. She remembered how proud Virg had been when she told him, happier than when Webb had given him a foreman's position.

“Thanks, Ruth.” A smile briefly creased his face, showing relief. He reached for the doorknob and paused in the act of turning it. “I heard about your news. Congratulations. You'll make a fine mother.”

But not to your child, she thought, then buried it deep. “We are very happy about it.” Which was true, because a baby would give her something to love, and she had such a storehouse of love.

“I'm sure you are.” Webb studied her for another close second, not entirely convinced she was happy with her husband. He couldn't lay his finger on what it was about Virg Haskell that he didn't like. Making him foreman was one of the rare times Webb had showed
favoritism, solely because of Ruth. He couldn't fault Haskell on the job he'd done so far. Maybe he'd never regarded Haskell as being good enough for Ruth.

He touched his hat to Ruth and walked out of her house. He would always consider it her house, never Haskell's. She was the one whose roots went into the land as deeply as his own. Webb knew he could count on her to look after Lilli while he was gone. The knowledge helped to ease his concern about his wife.

Lilli couldn't recall any time when she'd been so sick. She watched the doctor closely while he made his examination, trying to get some advance warning in case there was something seriously wrong. But his face showed her nothing—so calm and composed, just as it had been when he was treating Stefan.

“I don't understand it, Doctor—” she began, voicing her confusion and apprehension.

“Simon.” He corrected her with a faint smile.

“I feel fine when I get up in the morning. Then, shortly after lunch, I get sick to my stomach. I'm so dizzy and weak I can hardly stand.” She repeated the symptoms that plagued her. “Is there something you can give me? Some medicine I can take?” She tried to laugh away her fears. “I know Webb is tired of fixing his own supper every night.”

“I have a feeling he'd better get used to the idea.” There was almost a twinkle in his eyes when he straightened, his examination evidently concluded.

“What do you mean?” She looked at him uncertainly, afraid to move her head too much in case the dizziness hit her again.

“I strongly suspect that you are going to have a baby,” he informed her with a smile that slowly widened across his face.

“But—” She hardly dared to believe it. All those barren years married to Stefan, she had wondered if she would ever have children despite the doctor's assurances of her own fertility. “Are you sure?”

“It's early,” he admitted. “But I'm about as sure as I
can be. All the signs point to that. The sickness associated with pregnancy doesn't always come in the morning. Some women don't get sick at all.”

Tears filled her eyes. She bit down on her lip, trying to contain the happiness that bubbled in her throat. She reached for the doctor's hand and squeezed it tightly, unable to express all the emotions that were tumbling through her.

“Is Webb back yet?” Laughter ran through her eager question. “I can hardly wait to tell him.”

“I'll check with Ruth and see.” He winked. “I think she's still downstairs,” He stood up, smiling at her, some of his tiredness fading. “If you two women would take some pity on an overworked doctor, you'd have your babies on the same day so I wouldn't have to make two trips all the way out here to deliver them.”

“We'll see what we can do about it,” Lilli promised with a laugh and hugged the delicious news to her as Simon Bardolph left the room.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Ruth on her way up. “No need to rush,” he cautioned her against the way she was hurrying. She stopped abruptly.

“You're needed downstairs, Simon, right away,” she murmured anxiously. “Shorty got in a fight in town. He's in bad shape. Slim brought him here.”

There was a time when he first came to this empty country to begin his practice that he would have raced down the steps to treat an injured patient, but he'd since learned to ration his energy. It was rarely a life-or-death situation, so he neither took his time nor rushed.

The cowboy had an assortment of injuries including a dislocated shoulder, some busted ribs, and broken fingers, plus a deep cut that required some stitching. Those were the injuries Simon could treat; the multitude of bruises would have to heal on their own. Niles had been worked over thoroughly, and looked worse than the injuries indicated. Simon was taping up his ribs and shoulder when Webb walked in.

At first, Webb didn't even recognize Shorty Niles. Both eyes were blackened and swollen to mere slits, the purpling bruises spreading across the rest of his facial features. His chest was swathed in bandages. Red blood was seeping to the surface of the bandage on his forearm. His puffy lips were split in several places and a couple of front teeth were missing. The only clue to the man's identity was the shortness of his stature.

“What happened?” Webb asked the doctor, then glanced at Slim Trumbo, who also bore some marks of battle.

“He isn't as bad as he looks.” Simon Bardolph secured the bandage and handed Shorty his shirt. “Although I guarantee you he hurts like hell.”

“How did it happen?” Webb repeated his question, addressing it strictly to his two men as Slim helped Shorty ease his shirt on. Both men avoided looking at him.

“They got into a fight in town,” Simon volunteered as he repacked his medical bag and closed it up.

“Who with?” The doctor shrugged at Webb's question and Slim shifted uncomfortably under his steady regard, darting glances at Shorty. “They nearly beat your face into a pulp, Shorty.”

Shorty Niles said something that sounded like “personal,” but with his missing teeth and battered mouth, it was difficult to understand his words. Slim handed the cowboy his hat.

“You were with him, Slim,” Webb stated. “You tell me what happened.” Again he had the feeling something was being kept from him as the cowboy glanced at his injured buddy.

“You know how Shorty is,” he hedged. “Somebody said something to him that he didn't like and he laid into 'em. ‘Fare I knew what happened, they were swarm in' all over him.”

“Who?”

Slim shrugged nervously. “Just some nesters,” he said without naming names. “Kreuger and his friends?” Webb guessed.

Slim looked down at his boots and glanced at Shorty. There was a faint negative shake of the cowboy's head, warning Slim to keep silent.

“We didn't catch their names,” Slim mumbled, and tried to joke his way out of the question. “They didn't exactly take time to introduce themselves.”

“Don't lie to me,” Webb stated and gave them both a hard, cold look. Suspicions were already forming in his mind. “You might as well admit it was Kreuger, and go ahead and tell me what he said.”

“He said something Shorty didn't like, that's all,” Slim insisted. “I'd better be gettin' Shorty over to the bunkhouse.”

“What was it Kreuger said?” Webb demanded. Their secretiveness convinced him it was something he would find personally offensive. They would have openly admitted if it had been against the ranch or cowboys, but they were trying to keep the subject from him. “Was the remark aimed at my wife?”

Slim licked his lips and didn't say anything, but Shorty spoke, as clearly as he could, “Da bastard was tellin' lies.”

“Slim. What did Kreuger say?” Webb challenged.

“Just a bunch of crap about you messin' around with her when she was still married and that you got shot by her husband. He was just callin' both of you names. Shorty tried to shut him up and—” He stopped, looking uncomfortable. “Nobody listens to Kreuger He's just a bag of wind.”

“Yeah.” It was a hard, dry word that confirmed what Webb had been suspecting. Anger burned slowly in him, gathering heat and gradually expanding to spread through his system.

Simon nodded to the cowboy to escort the injured man out of the room. This time Webb didn't try to stop him, possessing enough details to fill in the rest of the story.

“You wouldn't happen to have any good whiskey in the house, would you, Webb?” the doctor inquired. “I could use a glass—purely medicinal, of course.”

“There's some in the den.” It was an offhand reply, given without actual thought to the subject. Webb was thinking about Franz Kreuger. His hands were tied. The drylander wouldn't listen to reason, and the fight he'd had with him last fall obviously had made no difference, so it was futile to think he could silence him. Kreuger was going to continue to spread his malicious talk, and there was nothing Webb could do about it except keep it from Lilli if he could. “How's Lilli?” As he asked the question, he was struggling to control his anger and frustration, removing his hat to rake a hand through his hair.