Stands a Calder Man

by Janet Dailey

  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.

  8

  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 Youn
g 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.

  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.