Stands a Calder Man (3 page)

“I knew you'd notice me sitting here sooner or later.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “It looks like the two of you bought out the town.”

“We tried.” Lorna winked at Ruth in mock conspiracy.

An attractive girl with curling blond hair and quiet blue eyes, Ruth Stanton was innately shy. Even though Benteen had been the closest thing to an uncle all her
life, she wasn't able to directly meet his gaze. Her glance skipped quickly back to Lorna.

“I'd better take these packages to my room.” She almost pounced on the excuse to leave.

“We'll meet you in the dining room at six.” Lorna didn't attempt to detain the girl. “Webb will be there, too. Why don't you wear your new pink dress?”

“Yes, I will.” The suggestion brought a flush of pleasure to Ruth's cheeks. With a circumspect nod to Benteen, she slipped out the door to cross the hallway to her room.

When they were alone, Benteen tipped his head back to eye his wife. “Are you sure Webb's joining us for dinner?” With the roundup over and the cattle on theirway to market, most of the Triple C riders would be doing the town. And Webb counted himself among them.

“He'll be there if I have to drag him out of the saloon myself,” Lorna stated with a determined gleam in her eyes.

His mouth crooked in a wry line. “Maybe it won't be a saloon he's in,” he suggested dryly.

“It won't make any difference.” She moved away from his chair, recrossing the room to the table with the packages. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” She sounded too casual.

“What?” Benteen was instantly alert, prepared for almost anything.

“Is it true that Connie the Cowboy Queen had a dress embroidered with the brand of every outfit from here to the Platte?” When Lorna turned to look at him, there was a beguiling innocence about her expression that made Benteen shake his head.

“Where do you hear about these things?” Even after all these years, she still managed to surprise him now and again. Connie the Cowboy Queen had been one of the more notorious prostitutes in Miles City in its heyday.

“Women do talk about things other than sewing,
cooking, and children. I promise that I looked properly shocked,” she assured him with a mocking glance. “Was the Triple C brand embroidered on her dress, Benteen?”

“How should I know?” Amusement glinted in his eyes.

But she wasn't buying his attempt at ignorance. “A man can frequent such establishments without sampling the wares. Or maybe you just never saw her with a dress on?” Lorna pretended to accuse him of infidelity.

“When I had more woman than I could handle at home?” Benteen countered with a lift of one eyebrow; then it straightened to its natural line. “As for the dress, there was such a thing. And it wouldn't have been complete without the Triple C brand on it.” His gaze narrowed on her with wary censure. “I hope this isn't the sort of thing you tell Ruth. The poor girl probably hasn't been kissed yet.”

“No, I haven't gotten around to discussing any intimate topics with her.” The implication was that the day was coming when Lorna would. Turning sideways to keep Benteen within her vision, she began untying the strings around the packages. “I'm certain Ruth is more than a little in love with Webb.”

“Is that why you're going to make sure he comes to dinner tonight—and why Ruth is going to wear her new pink dress?”

Lorna paused to gaze wistfully into space. “Wouldn't it be wonderful if our son and Mary's daughter eventually married?” She barely controlled a sigh as she resumed the opening of her parcels. “It seems only fitting to me.”

“I wouldn't hold out much hope.” Benteen bolted down the half-jigger of whiskey in his glass in an effort to burn out the sour taste in his mouth. “You'll probably have about as much success trying to marry Webb off to Ruth as I've had trying to turn him into a rancher—which is zero.”

“You're too impatient.” Lorna gave him a mildly
critical look. “You grew up in a different time, under different circumstances, so you can't judge Webb by your life.”

The glass was abruptly set on the table next to the chair as Benteen pulled his feet under him and pushed upright. “Maybe that's the problem,” he declared grimly. “I haven't been hard enough on him. I've let you spoil him.”

“Me?” She stiffened at the challenging statement.

But Benteen was following the thought through aloud while he prowled restlessly around the sitting room. “Everything's been handed to him since the day he was born. He's been fussed over, coddled—the center of attention. Everyone's always smoothing the way for him. He's never had to fight for anything in his life.”

“That isn't true.” Lorna's maternal instinct rose with a rush as she confronted Benteen and forced him to stop his pacing. “Just look at how hard Webb has worked to earn the respect of the other riders. He's never let them treat him any differently because he's the boss's son.”

“Why doesn't he work that hard to earn
my
respect?” Benteen insisted, his dark brows puckering together in a wistful line. “I can buy a dozen cowboys as good as Webb is at working cattle for thirty dollars a month and found. I don't need another workhorse in harness; I need someone who can hold the reins.”

“Give him time,” Lorna argued.

“There isn't that much left.” He sighed and turned away from her. Defeat was tugging at his shoulders, but he kept them squared. “He doesn't give a damn about the ranch.” He was beginning to believe that.

“Yes, he does.” Her voice was steady, firm in its conviction. “It's his home.”

“I'll take your word for it.” He wished he hadn't brought up the subject. Long, stiff strides carried him to the table, where he crushed out the cigar. “I'd better shave and get washed up for dinner.”

Before he'd taken two steps toward the adjoining
bedroom, there was a knock at the door. He paused, waiting to find out who was outside, while Lorna walked to the door, the exaggerated bustle of her dress wig-wagging huffy signals at him.

“Hello, Mother,” Webb greeted her as the door swung inward. A gentleness softened the hard edges of his raw-boned features, giving them a warmth of expression they usually lacked.

“Webb.” For an instant, Lorna faltered in surprise and sent a darting glance over her shoulder at Benteen, hoping Webb's arrival on the heels of their discussion wouldn't precipitate a second and, perhaps, angry one. She didn't like being caught in the middle, her loyalties divided between husband and son.

The ease went out of Webb's expression as his gaze traveled past her to his father. The atmosphere seemed thick with tension, strong undercurrents running between his parents.

“Come in, Webb,” his father stated in a voice that sounded grimly resigned. “Your mother and I were just talking about you.”

When his mother's glance faltered under his silent inspection and she moved out of the doorway to admit him, Webb stepped into the room. Obviously he'd been the subject of disagreement between them. He didn't want to be the cause of disharmony for his parents. He just wanted to live life his way, on his terms.

“Yes, we were,” his mother agreed with commendable aplomb. “I was just threatening to drag you out of whatever saloon or bawdy house you were in so we could all have dinner together tonight. Now that you're here, your father can be spared that embarrassment.”

“I came by”—Webb paused to direct his explanation to his father—“to let you know that all the wires have been sent. The replies will be coming to you here.”

“Wires?” Lorna sent a questioning look at Benteen, mildly curious because it seemed a less quarrelsome topic, and because he hadn't mentioned telegraphing anyone. “What's this all about?”

“Nothing that needs to concern you.”

“Someday I hope you'll explain to me why you always insist something is none of my business when other people are around, and then tell me about it later when we are alone,” she lightly taunted him. “Men seem to think the only place they can talk to their wives is in the bedroom. But it isn't true, Webb,” she advised her son.

The corners of his mouth deepened with a hidden smile at his mother's daring. Webb noticed his father was wavering between irritation and amusement.

“I'll try to remember,” Webb murmured dryly.

“I thought I married a quiet, tractable woman.” Benteen shook his head in affectionate exasperation. “I hope you have better luck, son.”

“That reminds me,” Lorna inserted. “We'll meet you at six this evening in the dining room.” She ran a mother's critical eye over his dusty, smelly clothes and beard-roughened face. “That will give you time to bathe and change clothes. Ruth came to town with me to do some shopping, so she'll be joining us for dinner, too.”

The last bit of information left Webb feeling a little unsettled without knowing why. He liked Ruth. She was practically family—a younger sister.

Yet his mother had been quite insistent about him cleaning up and changing clothes. Surely a man didn't have to make a special point about that for a girl who was like a sister. Unless his mother didn't want him to regard Ruth as a sister. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes at her subtle maneuvering.

“It was good of you to bring her to town, Mother,” he commented. “I know it hasn't been easy for her since Mary passed away. She needed to get out and away from the house.”

“That's what I thought,” his mother agreed with a pleased smile.

“I'd better get cleaned up,” Webb started to turn toward the door to leave.

“Oh, Webb—” She called him back, faltering for a
second. “Be sure to notice the dress she's wearing tonight. It's a new one.”

“I will.” He was smiling as he left the suite. A compliment was expected to be issued about the new gown. It didn't seem to matter how old he got; his mother still felt obligated to remind him about his manners and gentlemanly behavior. Or was it another attempt to arouse a more personal interest in the woman wearing the new dress?

Lorna closed the door and leaned against it, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her lower lip. When she became aware of Benteen watching her, she straightened. “While you're washing up, I think I'll help Ruth fix her hair.”

“Matchmaking is like leading a horse to water. You can't make him drink,” Benteen cautioned.

“No, but maybe he'll remember where the water is and find it again himself when he's thirsty,” Lorna reasoned. She wasn't sure if it was the fading afternoon light or whether she simply hadn't looked at him so closely before, but Benteen suddenly looked tired to her. “Maybe you should lie down and rest a bit before dinner.”

“I'm fine.” An impatient frown deepened the lines already carved in his face. He started once again for the bedroom and stopped. “The last address we had on Bull Giles after he left Denver—was it the Black Dove in Washington?”

“Yes.” It was her turn to frown.

“That's what I thought.” He nodded absently.

“Did you have Webb send a wire to him?” She had already guessed the answer was affirmative. “Why?”

“He may have dropped out of the political scene, but he's bound to have some connections yet. There's a bill coming before Congress that has got to be stopped,” Benteen explained vaguely. “It would throw this whole state open to homesteaders and plows. I don't want to go into it just now, not until I find out the particulars.”

“That's what's been troubling you, isn't it?”

“Partly.” He rubbed a hand along the side of his neck. “And I'm tired. Tired of struggling to keep what we've got. It wouldn't be so bad if my son was fighting with me. It's battling alone—”

“You're not alone.” She glided quickly across the space that separated them and curved her hands around his forearm, tipping her head back to look at him.

“No, I'm not alone,” Benteen agreed, but there was a sad light in his brown eyes. “I don't really mind the fight. But I'm not getting any younger. What happens when I'm gone, Lorna? I worry about you and how you'll manage on your own. I can't depend on Webb to look out for you anymore.”

She caught her breath on a rising note of fear. “You're just tired, Benteen.” She made a desperate attempt to dismiss his remarks as exaggerations. “Things will look better after you've rested a couple of days.”

“Yeah.” But he didn't sound convinced as he patted her hand and moved away toward the bedroom.

Most of the time, Webb took Ruth's existence for granted. It seemed she'd always been there in the shadowy background of his life, never seeking any attention and not expecting it. She was so quiet that it was easy to forget she was even around.

At the dinner table that evening, Webb had noticed the determined way his mother had drawn Ruth into the conversation, soliciting comments from her when none were forthcoming. It seemed impossible that a girl with blond hair and blue eyes could appear plain. Her features were comely, and her figure was adequately rounded, yet she wasn't at all striking. Her fair coloring seemed muted, fading into nothingness, like her personality.

Still, there was a subtle difference about Ruth. She seemed more feminine tonight. Webb wasn't sure whether it was the pink gown with its softly ruffled neckline or if it was the pale curls of her hair. With a faint degree of cynicism, he suspected it was more likely six weeks with cows as the only female company.

It was his mother's initial prompting to take notice of Ruth's appearance that centered his attention on her, but it was the air of vulnerability in her blushes and shyly dropped gaze whenever he said something nice to her that finally claimed his interest. There was no coyness in her actions; they were purely natural. Perhaps that's what prompted Webb to want to put her at ease with him.