Stands a Calder Man (15 page)

The low murmur of voices came from the den when Webb entered the house. Sweeping off his hat, he swung left and walked toward the sound, running his fingers through his dark hair to rid it of its flatness. As he crossed the opened doorway, he saw his mother sitting on the leather sofa in front of the huge stone fireplace. His father was at the liquor cabinet, lifting the stopper on a whiskey decanter.

“You're just in time for a drink, Webb. What'll it be?” his father inquired smoothly.

“Whiskey's fine,” he replied and wandered into the room. His idle glance flickered over the massive desk and the framed map on the wall behind it. The hand-drawn map delineated the extensive boundaries of the ranch, and the desk represented the heart from which the control flowed to the farthest extremities. Webb swung his attention to his mother, smiling faintly. “Is that a new dress?”

“I'm surprised you noticed. I see you so seldom anymore.” The criticism was softened by the warmth of her smile. “Why is it we always have to issue an invitation for our son to have dinner with us?”

He shrugged at the question. “I guess you shouldn't have raised me to be so independent.” It wasn't an
answer, merely an avoidance of the issue that had strained the relationship with his parents.

Circling around the furniture, Webb stopped in front of the fireplace. A sweeping set of horns from a Longhorn steer was mounted above the mantel. They had belonged to Captain, the old brindle steer that had led the first herd of Triple C cattle to Montana and a dozen more drives in subsequent years. There had been so much crossbreeding on the ranch that the Longhorns had virtually died out. Captain had been the last of his kind.

“I spied a yearling steer the other day carrying a long set of horns,” Webb remarked in passing as his father gave a glass of port to Lorna before bringing Webb his whiskey.

“A throwback crops up every now and then,” his father replied and returned to the cabinet for his own drink.

“I wonder what's keeping Bull.” His mother cast a curious glance toward the open doorway.

“He'll be down shortly.” Benteen Calder wasn't concerned. “With that bad leg, it takes him longer to get around.”

“I suppose,” She sipped at her drink, then turned a bright look on Webb. “Speaking of invitations, have you asked Ruth to the Fourth of July festivities they're planning in town?”

He studied his drink before downing a swallow. “No.”

“Are you going to?” his mother persisted.

“I hadn't planned on it,” Webb replied.

“She is expecting you to ask her.”

“I haven't given her any reason to expect that,” he countered. “As a matter of fact, I don't have any plans to go myself. Somebody should stay behind and hold down the fort. The rest of the boys are so eager to go that I thought I'd volunteer to stay at the ranch.” Webb wasn't sure why he was going to such lengths to justify his decision.

“Coming from you, that's a surprise,” his father remarked dryly. It was a subtle dig at Webb's expression of concern over the ranch being left unattended.

“Forget the ranch for a minute,” his mother impatiently interrupted to continue with her subject. “I want to know about Ruth.” The situation had drifted on an aimless course for too long. Webb was thirty. It was time for him to be thinking about marriage and a family, and making a decision about Ruth's role in his future.

“What about her?” Webb lifted his head to coolly meet her challenging gaze.

“Since her mother isn't here to look out for her, I feel it's my place to do it for her.” She established that her concern was to protect the daughter of her best friend, rather than her own son. “You have been seeing Ruth on a somewhat regular basis for more years than I care to count. Just what does that mean?”

“It means I like her, but she isn't the only woman I've been seeing.” He was irritated by this questioning.

“Is there someone else?” his mother asked sharply, betraying a surprise at the possibility.

“No.” He snapped the denial then realized it required a qualification. “I mean there's no special woman I'm seeing.”

“Are you saying that you don't regard Ruth as special?” Her look was far from pleased.

“No, I don't, and I've never said anything that would give her reason to think she is.” A dark frown gathered on his hard features as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

“Maybe you haven't said anything, but your actions have certainly indicated otherwise,” his mother insisted. “When a man continues to see a woman over a long period of time, it's natural for her to believe that their relationship will evolve into something more permanent. It's hardly fair to expect Ruth to wait for you to make up your mind when she could be meeting other men.”

“I have never asked her not to see anyone else,” Webb declared.

“Have you just been trifling with her all this time?” she demanded.

“I've known Ruth all my life. Now that we're grown, am I supposed to ignore her?” he challenged in return, “I guess it's what I should have done, since now you're accusing me of trifling with her affections. I may have kissed her a few times, but I've never stepped out of line. And I've never made her any promises.”

“Then you have absolutely no intention of ever marrying her,” his mother concluded.

The anger went out of him as the pain returned once more to empty him of feeling. “She's a nice girl, and she'd make a good wife. But she won't be marrying me.

Lorna sighed with regret. The sadness in her heart wasn't just from a sense of loss for a long-held dream that someday her son and the daughter of her best friend might marry. It came more from the knowledge that Ruth was hopelessly in love with Webb and it was all in vain.

“I share your mother's desire to see you married and settled down,” his father spoke up, the frosted tips of his dark hair showing up strong in the light. “It's time you stopped avoiding responsibility and made some hard decisions about what you're going to do with the rest of your life.”

Something prompted Webb to voice the thought he'd been mulling around in his mind the last few weeks. “I thought after the fall roundup I might head down to Texas and take a look around.”

Dark brows drew together in a frown as Benteen Calder eyed his son. “To look around for what? There's nothing in Texas that can match what you've got right here.”

“Maybe I just want to see for myself.” Webb shrugged, mentally bracing himself for the argument that was bound to erupt.

“Benteen—” Lorna attempted to play the part of peacemaker. “Maybe it isn't such a bad idea. I've been wanting to visit my parents for quite a while now. With things the way they are, I know it's hard for you to get away for any amount of time.” The real truth was that Benteen had no desire to go back to Texas, having cut all ties when he'd left it. In the past, he'd mentioned returning only because he knew it was what Lorna wanted. “If I go with Webb, you wouldn't have to worry about me traveling alone.” It was also a way of ensuring that Webb returned with her.

“I'll think about it,” Benteen agreed, but under obvious protest.

Uneven footsteps approached the den, accompanied by the thud of a cane on the hardwood floors. “You'll think about what?” Bull Giles paused in the opening.

“Webb's got some wild-goose idea about making a trip to Texas this winter,” Benteen muttered into his glass. “As if we aren't going to be short-handed enough as it is.”

Bull threw Webb a look and limped into the room. “Are you thinking about trying to get in on that oil boom?”

“I might.” Actually, he hadn't thought about it. In this area, he would always be Benteen Calder's son. Somewhere else, he would be only himself. Texas was just a possible starting point if he finally decided to make the move.

Later that evening after dinner was finished, Benteen suggested that they retire to the den for a glass of brandy. “I think I'll pass that invitation,” Bull Giles refused as he rested his weight on the cane. “I'm going to take a turn on the porch instead.” He looked at Webb. “Care to join me?”

Concealing his surprise at the unexpected invitation, Webb quickly saw it as a way to avoid another lecture from his father. “Sure,” he accepted.

“Go ahead and enjoy your brandy, Benteen,” Bull
instructed and deliberately didn't suggest that his old friend accompany them.

Outside, the air was warned by a summer wind. A half-moon was perched drunkenly in the sky, throwing its light across the roofs of the many ranch buildings that spilled out from the base of the knoll. Bull Giles reached inside the jacket of his suit and withdrew two cigars from the inner pocket, offering one to Webb.

“Are you serious about this Texas thing?” he asked as Webb bent his head to the match flame Bull had struck.

Webb lifted his head slowly, trying to read the man's expression, but the flickering matchlight didn't reach the pugnacious features. “I'm considering it. Why?” He tried to sound casual.

“Just wondered.” Bull lit his own cigar and sent up puffs of smoke while Webb doubted that Bull Giles “just wondered” about anything. Bull shook out the match and looked at the buildings beyond them. “The first time I saw this place, there was only a log cabin. Benteen has sure built himself quite a spread.”

“Yup.” It was a noncommittal agreement. “Every bit of land you can see is sitting under a Calder sky.”

“It's a big sky,” Bull commented with seeming idleness.

“And a big chunk of ground,” Webb added.

“It takes a big man to run all this, but I guess I don't have to tell you that.” Bull removed the cigar from his mouth and studied the glowing tip.

“No, I don't guess you do.” Webb shifted restlessly, feeling he had escaped a lecture from his father only to get it from a longtime friend of the family.

“He's getting tired. He needs to start turning over some of the control to others. It's getting to be too much for him.” Bull changed positions to bring Webb into his direct line of sight.

“I suppose the next thing you're going to suggest is for me to start filling my father's shoes.”

Something close to a smile broke across the man's
face. “Is that what's bothering you? You don't like the idea of walking in your father's footsteps?”

“No, I don't,” Webb stated flatly. “He made his mark, and I'm proud of him.”

“But you want to carve out your own,” Bull concluded, surprising Webb at his ability to understand the situation so clearly. “You're a fool, Webb Calder.”

“Sir?” He stiffened at the insult, questioning that he'd heard right.

“I said you are a fool,” Bull repeated calmly. “The day your father's gone, you aren't going to be walking in his footsteps. You're going to be picking up where he left off. And if you don't walk strong and tall, you're going to get stepped on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I've been watching you. Between the little I've seen of you and a few comments your father has made, I've gained the impression that you're trying to straddle a fence. You try to act like all the other hands and just put in your day's work, but there's a gnawing in you to make some kind of mark so others can see where you've been.”

“And?” Webb neither confirmed nor denied it.

“And”—he puffed on the cigar—“you're going to have to get off the fence. You could have this ranch someday. Whether you believe you've done anything to earn it or not, you're going to have to fight to keep it. Because there will be somebody out there who will want to take it away from you. Getting something is easy, but keeping it is the real test of a man. You keep that in mind while you're thinking about Texas.”

“I'll give it some thought.” He rolled the cigar between his lips, tasting the richness of the blend. “This is a good cigar.”

“The best.” Bull leaned on his cane and used its support to pivot toward the door. “I guess I'll call it a night.”

“Me, too.” Webb moved slowly to the steps, his gaze shifting to night-darkened land.

On the Fourth of July, the Triple C headquarters seemed like a ghost town. Everyone had gone into town to take part in the celebrations, leaving Webb, the antisocial cook Grizzly Turner, and another cowhand named Budd Pappas behind.

All the odd jobs Webb planned to do were finished by early afternoon. He'd never been comfortable sitting around just idling time away. After a dozen games of solitaire and an equal number of cups of coffee, he prowled restlessly around the cookshack.

“Why don't you light somewheres?” Grizzly Turner grumbled irritably. “You're as edgy as a range bull with mating season just around the corner.”

Webb ignored the complaint and carried his cup to the cookstove to refill it. Black coffee dribbled out and barely covered the bottom of his cup before the pot went dry. He shook it and glanced at the cook.

“We're out of coffee.”

“Yeah, well, ain't that just tough,” the cook snarled. “Why didn't you go into town with everybody else? There ain't nothing for you to do here but make my life miserable.”

Webb started to snap an answer about the cook's miserable nature, then shut his mouth on it and set the cup on the stove. The restlessness in him was growing until he wished he had gone into town to blow off steam with the others. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became.

“You've got a good idea there, Grizzly.” He snatched his hat off the wall hook and pushed it onto his head. “I'm heading into town. The ranch is all yours.”

“And good riddance to you, too,” Grizzly Turner called after him as Webb walked out the door to head for the corral.

When he rode into town, the street was jammed with people, horses, and wagons. As expected, there were a dozen horses carrying the Triple C brand tied in front of the roadhouse and saloon. Webb dismounted and looped his reins around the far end of the hitching rail.