Stands a Calder Man (14 page)

Midmorning found him miles from the headquarters of the Triple C with the fenceline of the east boundary in front of him. The gelding sidled along the barrier, waiting for a command from its rider as to the next direction. Webb applied pressure on the bit to check it to a halt and uncoiled the rope tied below the saddle-horn. He dropped the loop over the fence post and turned the horse away from it, taking a wrap around the horn with the free end of the rope.

A touch of the spurs had the horse straining against the partially anchored weight. The wooden post groaned; then the earthen bed gave way at its base. Dismounting, Webb freed the loop from the post and walked his horse across the downed fenceline, then righted the post again, stamping at the loose earth around its base until it was solidly in place.

When he was in the saddle again, he angled the horse toward the southeast. He knew where he was going now, the destination that had been in the back of his mind all along. He pushed the horse into a ground-covering lope and watched the landscape for a long strip of barren earth.

Perspiration trickled down her neck. Lillian paused in the hoeing of her garden to wipe at it with the hem of her apron. A movement in the distance caught her eye. Thinking it might be Stefan coming back from Franz Kreuger's place, she stopped to take a closer look. He had said he doubted if he would be home until the
afternoon, but it was possible they had finished the plowing sooner than he had expected.

But there was just one horse, not a team. And it was being ridden, not driven, so it couldn't be Stefan. More than that, he was riding diagonally through the young wheatfield. Stefan would never risk damaging the young stalks. Lilli gripped the hoe with both hands as she tried to identify the rider.

The shantylike building belonged to the bleak landscape, churned and stripped of its protective grass. A wagon stood in front of it, but Webb noted that the corral was empty of the horse team. His eyes searched the land without finding any sign of horse and plow. He was about to conclude there was no one about when he saw a figure on the south side of the shack. From a distance, the dark color of her dress had blended in with the landscape. Hatless, her dark hair glinted with the sun's fire. Something tightened inside him.

She watched his approach, but didn't come forward to greet him even after he stopped his horse. There was a wariness in her look, a hint of distrust that he hadn't seen in her eyes before. Still, she didn't speak. The custom of the range was to invite a man to step down from his horse, but she made no offer.

“Could you spare some water for my horse?” Webb broke the silence with his terse request.

“There's some in the barrel.” She motioned to the wagon box.

He curtly nodded his thanks and swung out of the saddle to lead his horse to the wagon. Out of the corner of his eye, he was conscious that she followed him, as if she thought he intended to steal something. She gripped the hoe like a weapon.

Since she didn't offer him the use of a bucket, Webb took off his hat and ladled a couple of dipperfuls into the upturned crown. When he turned to offer the water to his horse, he was facing her. His glance slid over her and back to the horse as it buried its nose in the hat to suck up the water.

“Did you get your basket home safely?” He baited her with the memory of the incident, feeling someone owed him an apology.

“Yes.” She watched him as if she expected him to sprout horns any minute and was ready to chop them off with her hoe if he did. She tipped her head slightly to one side. “You're Mr. Calder's son, aren't you?”

“Yes.” The horse had drunk its fill, and Webb used the moment to empty the rest of the water from his hat. “I'm afraid I didn't catch your last name,
Mrs.
—” He put biting emphasis on her marital status and moved leisurely to the left side of his horse as if to mount it, but the action brought him within two feet of her.

“Reisner. Mrs. Stefan Reisner,” she said without a trace of guilt or regret.

“Is your husband about?” His gaze made another arc around the homestead.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered.” Webb brought his attention back to her. Then he looked down to her left hand. “You aren't wearing a wedding ring,” he accused.

“No, I'm not.” Her gaze faltered under the level study of his. “Stefan and I decided we would rather use the money to come out here than buy a ring.”

This time he looked away, struggling against the anger he felt. “You knew that I thought you were single, Lilli,” he muttered in a thick, rough voice. “You should let a man know such things before he goes making a fool of himself.”

“Our acquaintance has been brief, Mr. Calder—” She was a little pale suddenly.

Webb cut across her defense. “The other day you were ready enough to call me Webb. Have you forgotten that?” he challenged. “And you didn't raise any objections when I called you Lilli.”

“The other day I also didn't know you were the man who threatened Mr. Kreuger and his family,” she retorted just as swiftly.

“I never threatened that belligerent little farmer,” he
denied angrily. “I spoke to him, yes, but he was the one who began ranting about having a gun and being willing to use it to protect his family.”

Despite his disclaimer, there was still doubt in her eyes. “That isn't the way he told it.”

“And you'd believe him before you'd believe me,” he snapped. “All I did was warn him that it was going to be rough on his family living in these conditions.” He gestured toward the shack to make his point.

Her chin came up. “It's just until next year; then we're going to build a real house.”

When he'd ridden up, he'd noticed the partially dug hole on the other side of the house. “And I suppose you're going to sink a well so you can have water.”

“Yes. Mr. Kreuger is going to come over and help after Stefan finishes helping him plow his ground.”

With an effort, he controlled his exasperation and attempted a patient explanation. “Ranches in Montana have been called chunks of dry ground with a water right to go with it. You don't even have that. You aren't going to find any water. Or if you do, it's going to be so thick with alkali you won't be able to drink it.”

“You don't know that.” She resisted his prophecy.

“I was born and raised not thirty miles from here,” Webb reminded her. “If it's one thing I know, it's the land. I'm not trying to scare anyone into leaving, and neither is my father. But you drylanders won't listen.”

“You don't want us here. You want all this land to yourself.” She said the words, but there wasn't a lot of strength in them. “That's what Kreuger told Stefan.”

“Kreuger again,” he muttered.

“Everyone knows your father is trying to keep more people from coming here.”

“Yes, he is, because he doesn't want to see the land destroyed by people who think it will grow wheat.” Webb defended his father's position.

“But it can grow wheat. You rode through it,” she reminded him with a triumphant lilt to her voice. “Your father is wrong.”

It was hard to argue when he was faced with the evidence. He released a long breath. “I didn't come here to debate anything with you, Lilli.”

She looked at him, meeting his gaze as fully as she had other times. “Why did you come?”

“Because—” His teeth came together and a muscle flexed in his jaw. He took a step toward her, the reins slipping out of his hands to trail the ground. “Why did you marry him, Lilli?”

Her eyes rounded in vague alarm at his bluntness “Stefan ... is a good man . . . and a good husband.” She struggled with the answer. “He's warm and kind and—”

“And he's old enough to be your father, if not your grandfather.” His hands closed on her shoulders as he ground out the words to finish her incomplete sentence.

Her right hand released its hold on the hoe to push at a forearm in mute protest to his touch. “He is older than I am,” she admitted.

“Old enough to be your father,” Webb persisted, determined to get that admission from her.

“Yes.” It was said with defiance. “More than that, he was my father's best friend. They came over to this country together. I was fourteen when my parents died. If it wasn't for Stefan, I don't know what might have happened to me.”

“That's why you married him?” He searched her face, trying desperately to understand—wanting desperately to understand, “Because you were alone?”

“Because I was alone. Because I cared about him. Because he was good to me. Because there wasn't anything else I could do. No one else cared about me.” She flung out the reasons that had always been so sound.

“You didn't have to marry him.” His fingers tightened their grip on her shoulders. Things were all twisted up inside of him. The only certainty he knew was that she didn't belong with the man she'd married. “You could have gotten a job.”

“Doing what? The only job a girl can get is in a
factory or—” She clamped her lips shut on the other alternative that didn't need to be drawn for him. “I don't regret marrying Stefan. I would have done it if he was a hundred years older, because I care about him. I am his wife, and I'm proud of it.”

The air rang with her declaration. Webb was left with the feeling that he'd lost a battle he hadn't known he was fighting. His hands fell away, releasing her from his hold.

“I guess there's nothing more to be said, is there?” He waited, but she didn't answer.

Turning, he swept up the loose rein and sank a boot in the stirrup. The saddle groaned as it took his weight. A nudge of his spur swung the horse's rump in a quarter-circle so Webb was looking at her. The restless, galling anger was gone, leaving a hollow feeling of loss. He touched a hand to his hat.

“I'm obliged for the water, Mrs. Reisner,” he murmured formally and clicked to his horse.

As Nate hauled the heavy stock saddle off his horse, he saw Webb ride up. Even as close as they'd been growing up, Webb had always struck him as being a kind of loner. This last month, he'd made himself about as scarce as hair on a gnat's ass. The way Nate figured it, it didn't take no genius to know that Webb hadn't been the same since he'd had that run-in over some farmer's wife. He'd never quite got the full scoop on that.

They nodded to each other as Nate swung his saddle onto the top rail of the corral. Walking back to the horse, Nate used his saddle blanket to begin wiping it down while he watched Webb dismount and flip the stirrup over the seat to loosen the cinch. Webb's back was to him, nothing about him inviting conversation, but that didn't faze Nate.

“Them honyockers are havin' a big whoop-de-do celebration in town for the Fourth of July. Are you figurin' on going'?” Nate inquired.

There was a momentary break in the rhythm of Webb's movements at the question; then he was lifting the saddle off the horse's back. His expression was closed to any probe of Nate's eyes.

“Nope.” It was a flat and definite response.

“You're likely to be the only one who ain't. The rest of the boys are plannin' to take in the doin's,” Nate informed him, but Webb didn't appear to be swayed.

“Hey, Webb!” Young Shorty Niles hailed him and made a detour from his planned route to the bunk-house. “The Old Man left word that you are to
dine
at
The Homestead tonight.” He put bantering emphasis on the fancy word for eating.

Webb acknowledged the message with a curt nod of his head, but otherwise gave no sign that the news wasn't to his liking. Like Nate, he hefted his saddle onto the top railing of the corral and used the blanket to wipe the moisture from his horse's back. Young Shorty leaned on the fence to watch.

“Ike picked up a poster in town today. There's gonna be a big doin's the day after tomorrow to celebrate Independence Day.” Shorty's eyes were alight with the news.

“Heard about it,” Webb commented with definite lack of interest.

Shorty ignored it. “There's gonna be races an' fireworks—even a dance.” He offered a brief list of the activities. “The only good thing them drylanders have done for this country is bring their daughters. I ain't got no more love for those honyockers than the next man, but I don't intend to hold nothin' against their daughters. I'm gonna whirl them little gals right off their feet.”

Moving to his horse's head, Webb unbuckled the cheek strap and slipped the bridle off. With a wave of the blanket, he spooked the horse away from the fence, sending it galloping to join its equine companions milling on the far side of the corral.

Nate kept one eye on Webb as he responded to Young Shorty's last remark. “You're gonna have to stand in line to get one of them farmer gals. I think every cowboy for miles has got the same idea.”

They could have been talking in Chinese for all the notice Webb paid to their conversation. He hefted the saddle onto the back of his shoulder and spared the two of them one brief glance.

“See you later,” he said and headed for the barn to stow his gear.

Lately it seemed Webb had trouble working up emotion for anything. Even the summons to dine with his father had produced only a pale shadow of his
former resentment. There had been a scant second when he had nearly been jolted out of his indifference when Nate had imparted the news about the Fourth of July celebration in Blue Moon, but he'd shut that out, too.

He guessed the dinner that night was a farewell to-do for Bull Giles. His planned month's stay should be about over, so he'd probably be pulling out any day now. As far as Webb knew, nothing had been accomplished by the visit.

After a wash, shave, and change of clothes, Webb left the bunkhouse and headed for the big, two-story house with the pillared front that sat on the knoll overlooking the headquarters. It seemed to represent all the bigness the Calder name implied.