Lords of the Land

by Braun, Matt;

  “Yeah, that’s part of it. All my life it’s been a cat-and-dog fight between my folks. He’s always had the upper hand and Mom’s always trying to go him one better, and it’s like I don’t even exist. They’re so wrapped up slugging it out with one another that I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “Sweetheart, there’s nothing unusual in that. Honestly, there isn’t! You wouldn’t suspect it, not the way my mother acts in public, but it’s the same in my family. After people have been married a long time, it’s almost like a game. They’re constantly picking at each other, finding fault. It happens to everyone.”

  “Hell, I could handle that,” Hank told her. “They could fight till they’re blue in the face, and it wouldn’t phase me a bit. I’m talking about something else.”

  “Now I’m lost again. Something else what?”

  His gaze drifted out across the prairie, hung there awhile, then he blinked. “I guess it comes down to what separates the men from the boys. I’ve got no say-so at the ranch, and never will. I’m just an errand boy.” His voice was suddenly edged. “A glorified errand boy! All I do is trot around delivering somebody else’s orders.”

  “But you’ll eventually take over, everyone knows that. Even the vaqueros already call you the young patron.”

  “Eventually isn’t soon enough.” His face twisted in a grimace. “Damn it, Becky, I’m going on twenty-five years old! I want to be my own man.”

  She studied him a moment, finally nodded to herself. “That’s why you bought the mares, isn’t it?”

  “You bet it is!” he declared hotly. “I am to have something all my own. Ten mares aren’t much, but it’s a start. In a couple of years I’ll make enough off the colts to buy myself a blooded stallion, and after that ... watch out! I won’t be taking orders from anybody.”

  “Not anybody?” Her lips curved in a teasing smile. “What about me?”

  “You? What about you?”

  “Well, you’re right, you know ... eventually is a long time.” She hesitated, watching him closely. “Sometimes too long.”

  “Could you break that down into simple English? Words of two syllables or less.”

  “Don’t play the clown with me, Hank Laird. You know very well what I’m talking about.”

  “Awww hell, Rebecca Ann.” There was mute eloquence in his shrug, somehow furtive and apologetic. “I told you we’d get married. And we will, you’ve got my word on it.”

  She pressed him. “When, Hank? How soon will we get married?”

  “Just as soon as I’m not working for wages anymore. Hell, I can’t even support myself on what the old man pays. If it weren’t for room and board, I’d starve to death.”

  “Oh, honestly! Can’t you think of a new excuse?”

  “It’s the truth. Matter of fact, that’s one reason I bought the mares. Thought it would give us a stake and sort of ... you know ... push things along.”

  “I’ve already waited a year! Are you telling me I’m supposed to sit around and twiddle my thumbs until your mares make you independent? Are you?”

  “No, it’ll be sooner than that, honey. Lots sooner.”

  “Oh, sure, the first snowfall this winter, right?”

  “Snow?” Hank was impervious to any irony but his own. “It never snows here, you know that.”

  “Precisely.”

  Silence thickened between them. Becky had the sinking feeling that she would never get him before an altar. Of all the men she’d known, he was the only one who gave her goosebumps. Sometimes her dreams were lustful and wicked, indescribably wanton. She wanted him in her bed, wanted him inside her, wanted his babies. There was a vitality and magnetism about him unlike anything she had ever imagined, and sometimes, when he kissed her and held her close, when she felt his hardness pressing against her thigh, it was all she could do not to tear off her clothes and experience in the flesh all those outrageous things she’d done in her dreams. She hadn’t simply because she was too proud and too stubborn to let him have for free what was still negotiable for a wedding ring. Yet she knew he was equally stubborn, and for all his bullish charm, she had misgivings about his promises of marriage. His affection was genuine, and she believed he meant it when he said it, but she wasn’t at all certain he’d ever given it a moment’s serious thought. He was too busy chasing phantoms and daydreams, the image of a boy already become his own man.

  After a long while he nudged her with his elbow. “Got an idea. Might not cure the rash, but it’d sure help the itch.”

  “Oh?” She eyed him warily. “What’s that?”

  “Maybe we could fool around a little, while we’re waiting on the mares to do their stuff.”

  “You go to hell, Hank Kruger!”

  “Yes, ma’am, just as soon as you gimme the key.”

  She laughed, unable to resist his devilish grin and his sly look of innocence. He put his arm around her and she snuggled up against his shoulder, ran her hand inside his coat. Then her fingers trickled across his belly, lingering above his beltline, and he groaned. She whispered something warm and suggestive in his ear.

  Chapter 37

  Early that evening Kruger drove into the ranch. Hank was seated on the veranda with his mother and Becky, still bragging volubly about his mares. Since arriving home, he’d talked about nothing else, and by now the women were barely listening. As the Pierce-Arrow came to a halt, Hank rose and hurried down the steps. His father represented a new audience, and though there was no lessening of strain between them, he circled the car with a broad grin. Kruger saw the look, greeted him with uncharacteristic warmth.

  “Well now, it appears I’ve no need to ask. By your expression, I take it you’re pleased with the mares.”

  “Wait’ll you see ‘em!” Hank grabbed his arm, tugging him in the direction of the stables. “C’mon, I’ll show you some real bloodlines!”

  “Hold on, there’s no rush!” Kruger twisted around, waving at the women as he was pulled along. “Won’t you ladies join us?”

  “No thanks,” Trudy called out. “He’s just about talked our ears off.”

  “Well, it seems I have no choice. Pardon me if I don’t stop to say hello.”

  “You’re forgiven, but don’t let him keep you too long. Becky’s spending the night, and supper is almost ready.”

  “C’mon, Dad!” Hank tugged harder. “Plenty of time for them later. I want you to see the mares!”

  “All right, I’m coming! Why do you think I drove all the way out here?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just that you’re in for a real treat, that’s all.”

  “Then why didn’t you send for me this morning? I could have just as easily seen them at the loading pens.”

  “Because, I wanted to get ‘em home. Stop dragging your feet, will you, Dad? C’mon!”

  “All right, all right! Just quit manhandling me!”

  Kruger attempted to retrieve his arm, but Hank kept hustling him along toward the stables. The mares were loose in the corral, munching on piles of fresh hay, and Kruger’s protests diminished as they approached the fence. Watching them, Trudy laughed and shook her head.

  “Have you ever seen it fail? There’s something about fine horses that turns grown men into little boys. Sometimes I think if they had to choose between women and horses, we’d find ourselves running a poor second.”

  “Hallelujah!” Becky agreed wistfully. “Only I’m not even sure we’re in the running. All the way out here I felt like a store dummy. Honestly, I did! Hank just went on and on and on about those mares.”

  “I know. His father’s the same way! Once in a blue moon, he’ll come to the ranch during the week. But mention Thoroughbreds and he comes roaring out here in that machine like a dragon with his tail on fire.”

  “You’re right, Mrs. Kruger! At heart, they’re nothing but little boys.”

 
; “Yes, and thank God for that. If they ever really grew up, we’d be in a fine pickle! Believe me, Becky, little boys are lots easier to handle.”

  Trudy fell silent, her gaze fixed on Kruger. She found herself pleased by his unexpected appearance. Which was indeed a change of heart for her, and curiously, one that gave her a measure of content. In the last year their relationship had altered gradually, quite subtly, in ways she sensed but hadn’t yet defined. Somehow, though the precise reason escaped her, all her personal ghosts had been laid to rest. Perhaps it was the shock of his accusation, the fact he’d known her innermost secret all those years and restrained himself until goaded beyond control. Or perhaps it was the realization that her fantasies—the ghosts of Roberto and her father —were simply a childish invention. One conjured out of tattered dreams and faded memories, kept alive merely to avoid the reality of her husband and the demands of their marriage bed. She wasn’t given to introspection, and felt no compelling need to examine the change. She only knew it was true, unquestionably so. The ghosts were gone.

  Kruger apparently sensed it as well. He sought her bed no more often than in the past, but these days there was a difference. They were now comfortable together, and with the lessening of tension she was able to give something of herself. It was a tentative passion, awkward though offered freely, and to her surprise, quite pleasurable. She discovered that her husband, encouraged by the change, was hardly as cold and insensitive as she’d always imagined. Outside their bed, he was still hard and ruthless, obsessed by his own ambition. Yet when he held her, slipped inside her, there was a tenderness and a concern for her needs unlike anything she recalled from the past. Perhaps it had been there all along, and in her bitterness she’d been blinded to the gentler side of his nature. She couldn’t be sure of things past, but of one thing she sensed a growing certainty. She now felt something very akin to love for Ernest Kruger.

  One thought led to another, and she glanced at the girl seated beside her. Becky and Hank were truly blessed, fortunate in a way she’d never even comprehended in the past. They were young and in love, caught up in the sort of wondrous enchantment that was fully shared. Their marriage would begin properly, not with reservation and misgiving, but with eagerness and anticipation and mutual need. Nor would they be forced to endure, as she had, thirty years of senseless antagonism before discovering the need to love. Indeed, they were the most fortunate of all people. Young lovers who were already companions and friends, content with each other, happy with themselves. She rejoiced for them, took heart from them for herself ... and her husband.

  Suddenly she felt a vast outpouring of affection. Her gaze swept back to her husband and her son, embracing them in a warm and very private moment. Then, deeply moved by her own fierce emotion, she turned to the girl.

  “Becky, you’ll probably think it’s none of my business, but I want to ask you something ... something personal.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Kruger. What is it?”

  “When are you going to put your foot down ... with Hank?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Now, there’s no need to play innocent with me. Maybe he’s my son, but I’m on your side. So forgive the bluntness and just indulge an old woman with a straight answer.”

  Becky gave her an astounded look. “Mrs. Kruger, do you really mean that—do you—honestly?”

  “You ought to know me better than that by now. I always say exactly what I mean.”

  “Oh god, what a relief! I’ve wanted to talk with someone, but I just didn’t know where to turn. You see, my mother isn’t ... well, you know ... she doesn’t ...”

  “Let’s forget your mother. You can talk to me, and I want you to be frank—woman to woman! You won’t shock me.”

  “Yes, well, it’s all a little sudden, Mrs. Kruger. I’m not really sure where to start.”

  “Then I’ll do it for you,” Trudy said, eyes narrowed in a firm stare. “He’s giving you the runaround, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose so ... in a way ... but I’m not even sure he knows his own mind.”

  “Horseapples! He knows, all men know it when they’ve met the right woman. It just scares them... . That’s their way of postponing the inevitable.”

  “If it were anyone else—” Becky paused, averted her eyes. “Hank’s very confused right now, Mrs. Kruger. He feels he hasn’t done anything with his life ... and he’s angry ... hurt.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. He’s unhappy with his father and feels like he’s forced to play second fiddle around the ranch, isn’t that it?”

  “Yes.” Becky nodded, surprised. “That’s it exactly.”

  “Hank’s impatient—too much like me—but don’t worry your head about that. One way or another, I’ll get it straightened out. Your job is to get him in front of a preacher, and the quicker the better. You’ve let him run wild too long already.”

  “Oh, I agree, and I’ve tried, Mrs. Kruger, really tried!”

  “Have you messed around?”

  “Mrs. Kruger ... I mean ... really!”

  “Come on now, don’t act coy. Have you slept with him or haven’t you?”

  “No! No, I haven’t, and to be perfectly honest about it ... I’m beginning to think that’s the problem.”

  Trudy regarded her a moment. “The problem or the solution?”

  “I’ve thought of that ... and I’m tempted ... but it’s ...”

  Becky looked away. Her features were immobile, and under the dappled light of oncoming dusk, she betrayed not the slightest emotion. Then her gaze went to the corral, fastened on Hank. She stared at him a long while, her examination deliberate, almost clinical, hard as diamonds. She seemed abstracted, altogether lost in a maze of thought, but presently she blinked and her expression changed. She nodded, her eyes suddenly vivid, and her look became one of brisk determination. She turned, chin lifted defiantly, and smiled at Trudy.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Mrs. Kruger. It goes against everything I believe to trick a man into making a decision. But I love Hank and I want him, and I’ve just decided I won’t spend the rest of my life waiting for him to settle down. If I have to trap him somehow, then that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  “Wait a minute!” Trudy frowned, peering at her. “You’re not talking about a shotgun wedding ... are you?”

  “I don’t know, not yet. But I certainly haven’t ruled it out, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Now, you listen to me, Becky! We’ll think of something, but don’t go off the deep end. At least nothing that drastic, all right?”

  “I won’t promise, Mrs. Kruger. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “You know something, young lady? I think Hank got more than he bargained for in you.”

  Becky looked toward the corral, and her gaze once again fastened on Hank. A slow catlike smile touched the corner of her mouth, then she laughed.

  “He hasn’t yet, but he will, Mrs. Kruger. He will.”

  The hall clock struck twelve.

  Becky eased her bedroom door open. She waited until the last chime faded, then stuck her head out the door and slowly inspected the hallway. The house was dark, wrapped in stillness, silent except for the measured beat of the clock. She stepped through the door, gently closed it behind her, stood listening a moment. Her hair was down, cascading across her shoulders, and she was barefooted, dressed only in her nightgown. At last, satisfied no one was awake, she padded quietly along the hall.

  At the end of the corridor, she paused before a door, listening. All she heard was the thump of her heart and the hammering ring of her own pulsebeat. She took hold of the doorknob, turning slowly until the latch clicked, then swept the door open and quickly stepped inside. The bedroom had a pleasant man-smell odor, and a large brass bed gleamed in a spill of moonlight from the window. She stood with her back to the door for several seconds,
listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. Her heart was thudding now and she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it until she’d steadied her nerves. Then she turned and marched straight to the bedside.

  She whipped her nightgown overhead and dropped it on the floor. In the moonlight the swell of her breasts and the curve of her tightly rounded buttocks were exquisite, at once voluptuous and statuesque. Without an instant’s hesitation, she pulled the blanket aside and slipped into bed. He was sprawled out on his back, the hair on his chest matted in a tangle of gold and chestnut. She lay perfectly still a moment, watching him, then she wiggled inside the crook of his arm and pressed herself against him. Nothing happened; he snored lightly. She wiggled closer, snuggling her head into the hollow of his shoulder. She kissed his earlobe, let her fingers trickle through the curls on his chest, brought her leg over his hip, and rubbed gently with her thigh. The snoring stopped.

  His arm moved, suddenly halted as his hand found the velvety flesh of her buttocks. He went still, lying motionless on an indrawn breath, then his arm tightened around her hips. She felt him growing firm against her thigh, swelling stiff and hard as his breathing turned rapid. His head moved, sleepy eyes focused on her in the moonlight, and his look was one of raw disbelief. He swallowed, managed a choked whisper.

  “Becky?”

  “Yes, Hank.” Her voice was warm, husky. “It’s me.”

  “I don’t get it.” He was awake now, all the more incredulous. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Oh, something you said this afternoon.” She ran her hand down his stomach, inserted her finger in his bellybutton, probed tenderly. “You know ... about curing the rash.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Silly.” She snuggled closer, lifted his hardness erect and quivering with her knee. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Ah Becky ... god, honey, you’ll never regret it ... I promise you . . ,”

  He rolled over on top of her, fondling her breasts, kissing her neck and eyes and finally brought his mouth to her lips. His breath was labored, hot panting gasps, and his urgency too great once he touched the soft muff between her thighs. He levered his rump a bit higher, spreading her legs, and positioned himself. Suddenly her hand reached out, grasped his hardness, and he groaned, waiting for her to guide him into the warm dampness. She looked up at him, holding him in a firm caress, and saw his eyes glaze with pale fire. Her mouth curved in a sultry smile.