by Janet Dailey
Angus’ pleasure was fleeting, vanishing the instant he saw Webb Calder positioned between himself and the cattle Culley and Maggie were holding. His throat and mouth became dry, and he could feel his palms sweating. There was no choice but to ride up to Calder. Silently, Angus cursed that the man had no right to sit there like some goddamned king expecting everyone to tremble before him.
“Sorry for the delay, Mr. Calder.” There, he’d done it again, Angus realized in frustration—humbled himself to the man. “We’ll be on our way now.”
Webb Calder made no comment. His gaze swept to the Shamrock cattle bunched beyond him to his left, deliberately drawing attention to them. “I count thirty-seven head, plus calves. That’s quite a number to stray onto Calder grass.”
Nervous sweat was forming beads on his upper lip, but Angus forced out a smile and a laugh. “You know how it is, Calder. A cow sees grass on the other side of the fence and finds a way to get to it. They don’t respect such things as boundaries.” His gaze skittered away from the hard stare to look at the thick grass he stood on. There was enough graze on this range to support half again as many cattle on it than Calder ran. The man should share his plenty with those who had less. “My few head didn’t deprive your herd of any graze,” he added resentfully.
“I don’t graze my pastures to the roots,” Calder snapped and carried the statement no further, but Angus understood the implications of it. He bristled at the inferred criticism that he was mismanaging his land, never admitting the observation was justified. “I’ll buy your story this time that all those cattle strayed. You start riding that fence line, O’Rourke—or my men will do it for you. If you can’t keep your cattle on your side of the fence, I will.”
He paled at the threatening tone. “Culley and I are going to make that fence tight first thing tomorrow, Mr. Calder. You don’t need to have any worry on that score. It’s been a hard winter, and being short of help like I am, I had to let some things slide to take care of others, but you can rest assured, Mr. Calder, that you aren’t going to have any problems with my fence.”
“I know I won’t.” Webb reined his horse away and urged it into a canter toward his herd.
Angus turned his horse in a quarter-circle to watch Calder leave. The quaking was replaced with anger. He spat onto the ground. “The greedy bastard. So high and mighty.” His mouth curled in bitterness. “My day will come. You just wait and see.” He slammed his spurs into his mount and sawed roughly on the reins, spreading the horse’s mouth to keep it from bolting into a gallop toward the bunched Shamrock cattle.
“What did Mr. Calder say to you?” Culley blurted out the question the instant Angus reached them.
“He was just throwing his weight around.” He shifted in the saddle, avoiding his children’s eyes. “Let’s get these cows drifting home.”
Maggie glanced from her father to the disappearing rider and made her own guess about the conversation. Slapping the coiled lariat against her thigh, she started her side of the cattle moving east, while her brother worked the other flank. They would turn them north later, at the river crossing.
Hazing the herd toward home ground required little conscious attention. Maggie’s actions were almost automatic, leaving her a lot of free time to ponder the day’s events. The incident with Chase Calder stood out sharply in her mind, partly because she had been so embarrassed to have taken that spill in front of so many expert riders, and partly because they’d come to her aid because she was a girl, thus, supposedly less able to take care of herself.
But mostly it was because of those fleeting seconds when Chase Calder’s hand had inadvertently closed on her breast. The strangeness of the sensation had tingled through her like an electric shock, exciting in the frightening kind of way that something forbidden usually is. Her initial anger had been a direct result of that rush of panic.
Then, when she’d looked into his face and seen the recognition of her as a woman, she’d been hurt because he hadn’t seen it before. Had she been beneath his notice? She’d seen him more than half a dozen times in the last couple years when she’d gone to town for supplies. Hadn’t he ever looked at her before?
She would have been less than honest with herself if she hadn’t admitted that she had watched him with a certain amount of interest. After all, he was a rich, young, rancher’s son, the object of a lot of girls’ fantasies. Even discounting who he was, Chase was roughly good looking in the Calder way.
Her glance strayed down to the baggy Levi’s she was wearing. She wasn’t always going to wear somebody else’s clothes. She wasn’t going to live the kind of life that her mother had known with her father. She was going to be somebody—the lady her mother had always wanted her to be—someone important. People were going to go out of their way to speak to her on the street and not shake their heads in pity when she went by.
Her mother. She had been such a gentle woman, so slim and fragile, old before her time. Maggie had been only twelve when she died. The cause of death had officially been attributed to pneumonia, but Maggie knew her mother had literally worked herself to death. She could remember her clearly—always working from the dark of morning to the dark of night, always struggling to maintain a decent home for her family, always defending her husband’s failures, and never complaining. Maggie had grown up protective of her mother, quick to defend her when her father complained that dinner wasn’t on the table the minute he walked in. She didn’t condemn her mother for her self-effacing attitude; rather, she considered her mother had been misguided. There was nothing self-effacing about Maggie.
Ambition burned in her. Not the dreamy kind her father had. Hers was fierce and consuming, driving her to obtain an education even without regular schooling, and to secret away nickels and dimes she had squeezed out of the slim amount her father gave her to buy their food. Someday she’d have the money saved to leave, and no one was going to stop her.
Maybe she would come back someday, wearing one of those elegant dresses like the models in the fashion magazines. She’d love to see the looks on people’s faces. She smiled just thinking about it.
The point where they would ford the river was just ahead on their left. Maggie fell back to the rear of the herd as they angled the cattle toward the bank, bunching them closer together. The river was as high as it was ever going to get. Winter run-offs and spring rains made it chest-deep, except where there were deeper pockets. At the ford, the river ran wide and shallow, from ankle-deep most of the year, to thigh-deep in the spring.
The clean, clear sight of it winking at her through the cottonwoods on the banks reminded Maggie how grimy and sweaty she was. They’d been without running water in the house for almost two weeks since the pump to the water well broke down. Her father had been tinkering with it—with no success. She’d been hauling what water they needed from the barn, which was supplied by a different well. The prospect of hauling and heating enough water for a bath seemed daunting in light of the chores to be done and the supper still to be prepared when they reached home.
The riverbank began to slope gently to the water, worn down by years of crossings. They turned the cattle down the slope, bunching them tightly. The leading cows balked at entering the water. Yipping and whistling, they pushed the rear ones forward, forcing the leaders into the water. The crossing was accomplished with little fuss, the sluggish current offering no problems.
Maggie dropped back to ride beside her father. From this point on, it was an easy mile’s ride to the fence line. Between her father and Culley, they could handle the cattle with no difficulty. Having risen at daybreak to help with the morning chores and working every hour since, Maggie felt entitled to a half-hour or more of respite and the chance to actually immerse herself in water instead of merely sponging off the day’s dirt.
“You and Culley can take them on from here,” Maggie said.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Her father shot her a challenging look.
“Swimming.” She tossed t
he answer over her shoulder as she reined the horse away from him and back toward the river.
“There’s work to be done!” he shouted.
“I’m sure it will be waiting for me when I get home.”
“I didn’t keep you home from school today so you could swim in the river,” he called after her.
As she rode away, Maggie didn’t look back or give any sign that she’d heard him. Angus shook his head in frustration. He just didn’t understand that girl—always talking back to him, never showing him any respect. She was the image of his dear, sweet Mary Frances, but she had neither her gentleness of spirit, nor her softness.
Lord knows, he’d tried his best to be a good father to her. They had a place to sleep and food on the table. He’d promised to buy her all the clothes and pretty things a young girl should have. Nothing he ever did was enough for that girl. She was a regular hellion; never gave him a minute’s peace.
Now, Culley was a good lad. He always listened and understood why things were the way they are. Angus wished Maggie were more like her brother. But Culley was a boy. It was easier to relate to a son. A father had to choose his words so carefully with a daughter. If Mary Frances were alive, she’d explain things to Maggie and make her understand that it wasn’t his fault they were poor. It was men like Webb Calder who wouldn’t give a man a chance to get ahead in this world.
Chapter III
With a deft flick of his wrist, Chase let the rope sail out and made a quick dally around the saddlehorn as the loop settled around the neck of a calf. In the work-a-day world of the cowboy, calf-roping did not entail the rump-sliding stops of the horse or the calf being jerked to the ground when it hit the end of the rope, as the rodeos depicted. With little theatrics, the calf was roped and dragged on foot to the branding crews to be vaccinated and branded.
Yet the scene held more excitement and confusion than a rodeo, in this arena of wild range land under acres of blue sky. Men were rushing everywhere, on foot and on horseback. There was the running banter of challenges and the bawling of the calves and bellowing cattle, riders dodging ground crews in pursuit of a calf, and men ducking loops. Churning hooves had ground the grass into the dirt, exposing the soil and sending up a thin haze of dust to blur the proceedings.
The scene assaulted the senses, dizzying the eyes that tried to take in all the action, confusing the ears that tried to separate the jumble of sounds, and assailing the nose with the combining odors of sweat, manure, and burning hair.
Through the maze of man and animal, Chase towed his protesting calf. It was Buck who came trotting up to flank his calf and bring it to the ground. Sweat had made streaks of mud on Buck’s face. While he stabbed a dose of vaccine into the downed calf, a second cowboy pressed the hot Triple C brand iron to the calf’s hip. Then Buck was loosening the noose and casting it free to let the bawling calf race back to its momma.
As Chase began recoiling his lariat, Buck paused for a breath. “I can’t take three days of this, Chase. All for one measly little ‘hell.’ It ain’t right. It just ain’t right,” he insisted.
“The world is tough, Buck.” The line of his mouth curved, alleviating some of its natural hardness.
“That’s a profound statement coming from the heir to all this,” Buck scoffed and took a tired stride after another roped calf.
The comment made no impression on Chase as he started his horse toward the herd. He accepted without question that the Calder empire would be his one day. He’d grown up with the knowledge. There had never been a moment when he’d thought of any other possibility. Someone called his name, and he stopped. Looking around, he spotted his father motioning for Chase to join him on the sidelines of the action. He walked his horse through the branding melee and reined in next to his father’s stud, pushing his hat to the back of his head.
“What is it?”
“I want you to come back to the house with me for dinner tonight.” At the vague surprise that leaped into Chase’s eyes, his father explained, “Senator Bulfert is flying in around five. He’s having dinner and spending the night with us before going on to Helena in the morning. It’s time you had some firsthand experience with behind-the-scenes politicking.”
“More lessons?” A reckless quality entered Chase’s smile, revealing an amusement for the endless schooling by his father.
“So far, all you’ve learned are the basics,” Webb answered with total seriousness. “If you expect to successfully run this ranch someday, you have a long way to go.”
On this subject, his father had no sense of humor. Straightening in the saddle, Chase pulled his hat down low on his forehead and wiped the smile from his face. “Yes, sir.”
“I know you think this ranch practically runs itself.” Webb read the thoughts in his son’s mind. “But when the time comes for you to take over, you are going to have your hands full, because they are going to try to take it away from you.”
“You keep talking about this ‘they,’ but you never tell me who ‘they’ are.” Chase couldn’t imagine anyone threatening to take the ranch from him. How could they?
“That’s going to be your problem, discovering which one of your friends or neighbors is making a move against you. This ranch seems secure, but it’s vulnerable because it’s so big.” His features became tainted with a grim sadness. “Nobody really likes you when you’re big, son. Sometimes that is the hardest thing to realize … and accept.”
It seemed to Chase that his father was exaggerating, but he held his silence. He’d learned long ago there was usually a great deal of truth in what his father said, no matter how skeptically he regarded it at the time.
“I left the pickup parked at the pasture’s east gate. Nate will ride along with us and bring the horses.” Webb gathered his reins. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep the senator waiting.”
“You have the senator in your pocket, and you know it,” Chase remarked dryly.
His father just smiled. “If you have a man in your pocket, he’s usually pilfering.”
Chuckling softly at his father’s wry wit, Chase followed along to meet up with Nate Moore on the near side of the herd. When the experienced ramrod noticed Chase, his gaze swung back to Webb.
“You never said I’d be losing a man. What’s the occasion?” he questioned, reining his horse alongside theirs.
“The senator is arriving to spend the night.”
A dancing light entered the older cowboy’s eyes, although his expression didn’t change. “Old Bullfart is coming, huh?”
“Senator Bulfert is coming, yes.” Webb stressed the senator’s proper name, but there was no censure in his tone.
“I suppose it pays to have friends in high places,” Nate conceded, “even when they stink.”
“I do my best to stay upwind from him so the smell never reaches me,” Webb replied and urged his horse into a reaching canter.
Both Nate and Chase quickly followed suit to keep abreast with him, but never ahead. It was one of the unwritten laws of the range—never ride ahead of the boss.
Five miles from the herd, cottonwoods thrust their greening heads onto the horizon, marking the river’s course. Their route was the same one O’Rourke had taken with his cattle. The small rancher’s passing was plainly marked by the trampled grass, slowly straightening. As they neared the fording place of the river, Webb Calder slowed his horse to a canter, then a walk, his gaze running to the opposite bank.
“When the branding’s done, I want you to leave a man behind to check O’Rourke’s fence line, Nate,” he ordered.
“Planned on it,” the foreman nodded. “I thought a few too many of his cows had strayed for it to be an accident.”
The comment strummed a chord in Chase’s memory, taking him back to a time when he’d been twelve or thirteen. He had accompanied his father on a fall roundup. On that occasion, a different rancher had more than a hundred cattle “stray” onto the Calder range. There had been a heated and bitter argument between the rancher an
d his father, the rancher claiming there was more than enough graze for both of them and that his father should share it. His father had ordered the man and his cattle off Calder land and swore he’d shoot the next animal that strayed onto it.
At the time, it had seemed the man had a valid point. There was enough for all. Later when he’d questioned his father about it, Webb had explained that if he let one small rancher bring his cattle onto the Calder range, he’d set a precedent to admit all the others into his boundaries. Then it wouldn’t be his land anymore. Once a line was drawn, never step back from it to draw a new one. A man had to take a stand or forever retreat.
Passing the point where the cattle tracks turned down the gently sloped bank to the river, they continued in a straight line to the east gate. The river made a sweeping bend, curving itself closer to their path. When his horse turned its head toward the river, pricking its ears in interest, Chase looked in the same direction to see what had attracted his mount’s attention.
Through a gap in the trees, he saw a saddle horse tied to a log on the opposite bank. A quick eye caught the Shamrock brand on its hip and Chase reined in sharply. A frown creased his forehead as he searched for the horses of the other two riders and the reason why the O’Rourke clan had stopped there. Instead, his gaze found clothes hanging from a dead limb of the fallen log, and a second later, he saw the flash of a white body in the river. The figure surfaced and Chase saw the long black hair, wet and shining sleek in the sunlight. A cold smile touched his mouth, a glint of revenge flaring in his dark eyes.
Nate Moore was the first to notice Chase wasn’t behind them. Checking his horse to a slower walk, he turned in the saddle to look across the several yards that stretched between them. “Boy, you coming?”
“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” Chase absently waved them forward as he watched the nude girl in the water.
