by Janet Dailey
His hand fit naturally to the curve of her slender waist, his fingers spreading on her back. Her hand was warm and small inside the grip of his as Webb held her less than an arm’s length away. She was lithe and graceful, following his steps with ease, as if they’d danced together many times before. Her arms and throat had a sun-golden beauty, while the mass of auburn hair crowning her head gave the impression of stature. For a moment, the vitality of her utterly destroyed his self-possession.
Around them, other homesteaders had relented and given their daughters permission to accept a cowboy’s invitation to dance. Not many of them, but enough to show the majority was weakening. Webb had no interest in the possible trouble he’d averted. All his attention was on the girl in his arms.
“You were right, Mr. Calder,” she said.
“I was? That’s nice to know.” The smile came easily to his mouth. “About what?”
“The well. We found water all right, but it was poisoned with alkali, just like you said it would be,” she admitted. “We’re going to have to depend on a cistern for our water.”
“That’s one time I’d rather have been wrong—for your sake.” He added the last on a husky note.
“We’ll manage.” She sounded confident, then looked around them. “I didn’t know cowboys enjoyed such things as dancing.”
“We don’t spend all our time busting wild broncs and roping cattle like the Wild West Show would make you believe.” Webb recalled that her concept of cowboys had been colored wrongly by that show. “Our tastes are not totally unrefined. Dancing is right up there at the top of the list of a cowboy’s favorite pastimes.”
“Right next to his horse?” she asked with a laughing look.
“Definitely.” He liked her sense of humor. “Our biggest problem around here has been the scarcity of female partners. You could count the number of available women on your fingers. That’s why it was so frustrating for the boys to see all those gals on your side not dancing with anyone. I expected any minute for a couple of the boys to volunteer to be heifer-branded.”
“What’s that?” She tipped her head toward him in the most engaging fashion.
“That’s when a cowboy ties a handkerchief to his sleeve to show he’s willing to dance the female part,” explained Webb. “It’s a desperate measure. But around the bunkhouse, a fella can get pretty desperate for entertainment. They’ve even been known to tie on an apron.”
“Have you ever been heifer-branded?” The gleam in her eye stopped short of actually flirting with him, but the interest was there. Webb could see it, whether she was aware of it or not.
“No. I guess I wasn’t broke to follow someone else’s lead.”
“I can believe that,” Lilli replied.
When the song ended, Webb was slow to let her go. “I was right about something else,” he told her, looking deep into her eyes. “When I noticed you earlier, I was sure the dress matched the color of your eyes. And it does.”
It was the intensity of his gaze, that light that smoldered in it, rather than his compliment that disturbed Lilli. She lowered her head, trying to avoid his look and the sensation it caused in her stomach.
“Thank you.” Withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp, she turned out of his hold to walk back to Stefan.
Webb fell in step to escort her back, but he didn’t want to take her there. He didn’t want to give her back into her husband’s keeping. He was a man; vital instincts surged in him. For the first time in his life, he begrudged the obligation of his word.
When he stopped in front of Stefan Reisner, he knew he was the better man, but there was little solace in it. He handed Lilli into the man’s possession, his features set in grim lines.
“Thank you for the privilege of dancing with your wife, sir.” He inclined his head, his dark eyes flashing.
He didn’t dare look at Lilli again as he walked away.
Across the dance floor, Ruth watched him return to the sidelines as she had watched him since he had arrived, keeping track of where he was and whom he was with. It was something she couldn’t stop doing, even though Webb had not spoken to her once, nor even ventured in her direction.
Her glance ran back to the settler’s woman. Jealousy was a painful feeling. It imprinted all competition clearly in her mind so that she never forgot any female who might be her rival. She remembered the young, auburn-haired girl as the wife of that elderly settler Webb had nearly gotten into a fight with. Despite that, Webb had just danced with her. It worried Ruth, as much as if the girl were single.
As Nate watched Webb striding over to rejoin them, he was reminded of a bull with its tail twisted. A wise rider gave a critter like that a wide berth. He sucked in his breath and said nothing when Webb reached them, letting the others do the talking. If they missed the warning signals, that was their lookout. His glance skipped to the girl in blue, and Nate shook his head in sad dismay for his friend. He guessed he knew what had been eating at him.
“I thought for a while there you weren’t going to pull it off, Webb,” Shorty declared, but he was always the kind to wonder how deep the quicksand was. “Yellow Braids wouldn’t dance with me, but I think I’ll wear her pa down the next time.”
“Is there any whiskey left in that bottle you tucked away in your saddlebag?” Webb gave no sign he’d heard the congratulatory remark.
“Hell, yes!” Shorty confirmed with a wide grin. “And you’ve got the right idea. Let’s go have a drink now that we’ve got ourselves a real party goin’.”
Webb pushed off, plunging through the maze of wagons to the rear where they’d left their horses. The slanting rays of a lowering sun cast long shadows on the ground as a summer wind carried the band’s music away from them. The warm air was pungent with the smell of horses.
Shorty took the whiskey bottle from his saddlebag and tossed it to Webb. “You first.”
It was a case of fighting fire with fire as Webb tried to burn out the anger with a long swallow of the fiery alcohol. It shuddered through him, numbing his senses. Lowering the bottle, he pressed a hand to his mouth, the muscles in his throat paralyzed.
“Jeez, Webb.” Shorty gave him a reproving look as he took the bottle and wiped at the lip with his sleeve. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to slug it all down.”
There was a stirring of activity down the way, the creaking of saddle leather and the jangle of metal bits and bridle chains that indicated riders were mounting up. As Webb turned automatically to look, he recognized Hobie Evans and two more Snake M riders reining their horses away from the wagons.
“Looks like Hobie’s a sore loser,” Abe Garvey remarked. “He sure was hopin’ your play would work the other way. He had a bunch of the guys worked up to teach them homesteaders to be more friendly. But your move left him high and dry.”
“He never was too successful with the ladies,” Shorty concluded. “They aren’t rough enough for him. ‘Course, with an ugly mug like that, what woman would want him?” He laughed the question and passed the bottle to Abe.
“You got a point.” Abe watched the trio of riders heading the horses up the main street of town at a shuffling trot. “Looks like they’re goin’ to Sonny’s.”
“One thing you gotta say about Hobie, that fella can hold his liquor,” Shorty admired and glanced at Abe as he released a loud, satisfied sigh of approval for the throat-clearing swallow of whiskey. “What d’ya say? Shall we go back and try our luck with Yellow Braids and her pa?”
Webb stuck a hand in the side pocket of his denim Levi pants and pulled out a coin. “I’ll buy the rest of the bottle from you, Shorty.” He flipped the coin toward the cowboy, who caught it with a quick, one-handed stab.
“Aren’t you coming?” Shorty hesitated, giving him a puzzled look.
“No, I think I’ll just stay here and drink for a while,” Webb took the bottle by the neck and eased his long frame onto the ground, propping his back against a wagon wheel.
Shorty studied him a se
cond longer, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
As Shorty and Abe ambled off, Nate lingered to roll a smoke, but Webb gave no indication that he wanted company. Nate lit the cigarette and squinted at Webb through the smoke.
“I guess you know the only thing you’ll find in that bottle is a helluva hangover, so I’ll just see you later,” Nate said in parting and went wandering back through the wagons after his other two friends. “Women,” he said to himself. “Ain’t nothin’ can tie a man into a tighter knot.”
Alone with only the sounds of tail-swishing horses stamping at flies, Webb stared at the uncorked bottle. The dance in progress was just a distant hum. He took another long swig from the bottle and leaned his head back against the cradle of the wheel spokes. A high, blue sky was above him, but there were shadows all around him. There were shadows in his heart and mind as well, black ones, directing his desires down a bad path.
Hobie Evans rode in the middle, his mount a step or two ahead of the flanking horses. Passing the roadhouse saloon, they trotted out of town to the west. Hobie was slouched loosely in the saddle, his sullen gaze contemplating the land ahead of them.
“Never thought I’d see the day when a Calder would toady to a bunch of egg-sucking farmers.” Ace Rafferty broke the silence.
“Never should have let the first one of ’em throw up a shanty,” Hobie countered roughly, then swung a gleaming, malevolent look at his compatriots. “You ever been inside one of their huts?”
“No.” But both showed a sudden interest at the question, guessing he had something in mind.
“There’s a honyocker that’s got himself a place just a couple three miles from here. Wanta go check the place out?” Hobie grinned.
All three men lifted their horses out of a trot into ground-covering lopes, heading for the settler’s shanty up the way.
“It is growing late, Lillian.” Stefan took her by the arm as he cast a glance at the sun hanging above the horizon. “The sun vill be down in another hour. Ve should be leaving.”
“So soon?” she murmured in protest, but smiled a reluctant agreement. “I suppose we must,” she conceded. There was a lull in the music as the band took a well-earned break.
“Alvays you vomen enjoy the dancing, but tomorrow it is vork again,” he reminded her. Then he remarked, “You never said if you enjoyed your dance vith that Calder man.” They started toward their wagon.
“I enjoyed it, the same as I enjoyed the polka with Mr. Anderson,” she replied, although the experiences had been vastly different. “I was proud of you today, Stefan. You were just as much a fine gentleman as Webb Calder.”
“Ya?” He seemed to question her observation, but she noticed that he held his head a little higher.
Strangely, she didn’t find any satisfaction in the knowledge that she had reassured him. Her blue eyes were clouded by the troubled thoughts in her mind, brought on by the slow discovery that Stefan had asked the question out of jealousy. It was obvious that Webb Calder was younger and stronger, more handsome in the hard way this land had of growing men. She hoped it was merely the jealousy an older man had toward one younger. Stefan was very dear to her. Lilli didn’t want him to know a part of her was drawn to Webb Calder. She was certain it was natural to like someone who was more attractive and closer to her own age, but it didn’t mean she thought any less of Stefan, although she doubted that he would understand the innocence of the attraction.
Someone called to them before they had passed the first row of wagons around the dance floor. Both stopped to turn and look behind them.
“It is Franz Kreuger.” Stefan identified the man threading his way through the milling group of homesteaders toward them.
“I’m sure he wishes to speak to you.” Lilli had the feeling that their neighbor didn’t like her very much, although he had certainly never indicated it in any overt way. “I’ll go on to the wagon and wait for you there.”
Stefan nodded agreement and started back to meet his friend. Lilli lingered a moment to watch them. In truth, she didn’t like Franz Kreuger very much, either. Maybe he had guessed that. He struck her as being arrogant and intolerant toward anyone who didn’t share his views. He knew it all and pressed his biased opinions on everyone around him. Lilli suspected Franz Kreuger’s distrust of those who had more than he did, like the ranchers especially, was really a mask for jealousy. Of course, Stefan would disagree, but he had been influenced by his neighbor’s stronger personality.
Sighing, Lilli turned and began strolling toward their wagon. In places, the wagons were three deep. They had arrived at the dance area late, so theirs was parked in one of the outer rows. It was already evening, but the summer sun was still up and the air was warm. The band was starting to play again, but the music drifted away from her on a dying breeze.
She began humming the melody the band had played when she danced with Webb Calder. She could almost feel the guiding pressure of his hands, leading her through the steps. He was an important person, probably the most sought-after bachelor in the area, and he had danced with her. As a matter of fact, she had only noticed him on the dance floor a couple of times. It was curious the way he had disappeared right after he had finished the dance with her. It made her feel just a little special that she had been one of the few he had partnered. She had liked the way he had made her smile with his amusing tale about cowboys dancing with each other. For a little second, she had been tempted to flirt with him until discretion surfaced.
It was a new experience to have a man pay attention to her, especially one of Webb Calder’s caliber. Most of her life she’d been too young; then her parents had died and many harsh realities about living alone had had to be faced. She had missed out on being courted, so the dance with Webb Calder had given her a little sample of what it might have been like. Stefan was so staid and stolid, he shouldn’t object if she stole a few minutes of excitement, but Lilli knew he would.
As Lilli reached their wagon, the Belgian mare, Dolly, issued a low, inquiring whicker. “We’ll go home as soon as Stefan comes,” she assured the animal, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Instead of climbing onto the wagon seat, she leaned against the side of the box.
“Lilli.” A low voice called her name.
She turned, startled. The vague surprise disappeared the instant she recognized Webb Calder. It didn’t occur to her to question what he was doing here or why he had sought her out. For the moment, she felt only the pleasure of seeing him again.
He was framed against the backdrop of the plains. It seemed fitting, because they had shaped him so. It was something she could see clearly, being city-bred herself. With so much room, he’d grown big and tall, but the sun and wind had carved him into flat sinews and bronzed his skin. His smile was slow to come, but it always held meaning. Even when he was looking at her, as now, his dark eyes still showed the habit of looking across far distances.
“Hello,” she greeted him easily.
As he walked to her, Webb studied the outline of her body, slim and lovely against the velvet curtain of shadows. There wasn’t much left in the whiskey bottle propped against the wheel a few wagons away. He followed a stiff, straight line to her, one foot determinedly planted in front of the other.
Webb stopped when he reached her. Her wide lips were curved in a smile, and he thought he saw extra warmth in the blue eyes for him. The caution that should have been in his head if the alcohol hadn’t dulled his thinking was nowhere to be found. After drifting so long, not knowing what he wanted, he seemed to have found it.
“Are you leaving?” His voice stayed low-pitched.
“Yes.” She added an affirmative nod. “Stefan stopped to speak to a neighbor, so I came on ahead.”
Her words ripped at the fine feeling he’d known so briefly. She belonged to another man; all that bold spirit and beauty were for Stefan Reisner. Webb swayed, like a heartsick wild animal at the end of its tether watching others of its kind run free. Too much pressure was applied against th
e rope, and it snapped. His hands closed on her shoulders and he felt her stiffen in startled resistance as he gathered her to his body.
Too stunned to struggle, Lilli barely had time to bring her hands up against his chest in an instinctive effort to ward him off. The muscled arm circling her waist pressed her to his hard, strong body; then his hand was gripping the back of her head, holding it still so she couldn’t avoid him. She caught the smell of liquor on his breath and realized he was drunk.
A tiny animal cry of struggle came from her paralyzed throat, but it was silenced by the driving pressure of his mouth on her lips. He claimed them with a hunger and need that were jolting. It was not the gently warm and quiet kind of kiss she’d come to know. The sensation was a crazy, downward spiral that seemed to reach all the way to her stomach. She was frightened by the intensity of the feeling.
She shuddered with relief when he dragged his mouth from hers and trailed it down the curve of her neck. She was shaken and raw; the condition didn’t improve under his nuzzling exploration and the virile impact of his hard length.
“Lilli, you don’t belong with him,” he muttered thickly.
The sound of his voice seemed to release her from the numbed silence. Lilli clung to the belief that he wouldn’t have forced his attentions on her if he hadn’t been drinking. Since he had lost his head, it was up to her to remain calm.
“Mr. Calder, if you don’t let me go this minute, I shall have to scream,” she informed him. Her voice sounded steady, but she hoped he didn’t notice how agitated her breathing was.
She was willing to excuse his behavior and not mention it to Stefan if Webb released her now. Drink caused men to behave in ways they wouldn’t consider while they were sober, she kept telling herself, trying to rationalize why she wanted this incident kept secret.
Her threat did not loosen the closed circle of his arms, but he did lift his head, as if to see if she meant it. With an effort, Lilli boldly returned his look to convince him she would scream if he didn’t do as she had asked. He shook his head in a silent request for her not to make any sound and cupped a hand over her mouth, his callused palm lightly brushing aginst her lips. Yet the very gentleness of his action indicated it was not a genuine attempt to smother any outcry.
