by Janet Dailey
“Why don’t you and me tangle right here? We’d settle that question real quick,” he declared.
The prospect seemed to amuse his father in an arrogant kind of way. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until your wound has completely healed and you’ve got more of your strength back?”
“No. I figure it would put us at an equal advantage, ’cause you’re old and slow,” Webb countered.
“Fists never win as many fights as brains do. You’re thinking with your gut right now, boy. And that isn’t the way to get this ranch from me,” his father stated. “All you’re doing right now is proving to me that you don’t deserve it. You talk big, but you haven’t shown me anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” Webb agreed that no more could be accomplished with words. He swung away from his father and let his long strides carry him from the room.
Benteen watched him from the center of the room. He stood tall and straight, his big bones fleshed out and his dark hair frosted with gray. The expression of anger and taunting challenge that had been on his strong-lined face gave way to pride, and the gleam in his brown eyes misted over with tears. A second after he heard the sound of a pair of boots climbing the stairs, Lorna came hurrying into the room.
“What happened?” She searched his face, expecting the worst after the angry, shouting voices she’d heard and the way Webb had come charging out of the room. “Webb isn’t leaving the ranch?”
“No.” He reached out to take her in his arms and gather her against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head and closed his eyes, trembling relief and gratitude all mixing together. “I finally have my son.”
“I don’t understand.” Lorna shifted in his hold and tipped her head back to look at him.
“He’s going to fight me to get the ranch.” Benteen was smiling. “I called him in here tonight to tell him he wouldn’t inherit it.”
“Benteen!” She was shocked at the statement, and more than a little angry.
“I had no choice.” He defended his decision calmly now that he knew the outcome. “Up till now, he hadn’t shown me he gave a damn about it. Deep down, I think I was hoping he would react the way he did, but Webb has disappointed me so many times.”
“But what happens now?” Lorna didn’t see how it was going to work.
“Go up to his room, but don’t say that I sent you,” Benteen told her. “Tell him that a ranch this size has never been successfully run from a bunkhouse. And tell him that if he expects to have any authority, he’s going to have to take it—and it isn’t just a matter of giving orders. It’s taking charge.”
18
Once he had cooled down, it hadn’t taken Webb long to figure out that he’d played right into his father’s hand. But there was a difference. They weren’t playing against each other. They were partners.
On the first day of spring roundup, the morning gather of bawling cattle was bunched about a hundred yards away from the chuckwagon where the bulk of the cowboys had collected. Webb was standing a little off to himself, not joining in with the men and trying to be one of them.
The branding fires were hot, the irons lying in them, ready for an afternoon’s work. Webb swirled the coffee liquid and dregs in his cup, mixing them together before drinking the black and bitter stuff.
In a curious flash of memory, he recalled another cup of coffee he’d drunk on a stormy night and the auburn-haired woman who had poured it for him. His thoughts turned to Lilli at odd times, coming to him without warning and stabbing him with their futility. She had said no to him. And the very fact that she hadn’t attempted to contact him or make any inquiry about him told Webb she hadn’t changed her mind. She intended to stay with the man she had married. Even though he had thrown all his energies into the ranch, he still couldn’t forget her.
He shook out the last drop of coffee and wandered over to the wagon to toss his cup into the wreckpan, aware the men were waiting for his signal to start the afternoon’s work. But he paused there to light a cigarette, not making a move toward the saddled and fresh horses. In addition to Triple C riders, there were reps from other outfits on hand to claim strayed cattle and drive them back to their home ranges.
Nate ambled over to throw his plate and cup into the wreckpan, then paused to stand with Webb. “Sure feels good to be back on the payroll again after bein’ flatbusted all winter.” He took out his tobacco and papers to roll himself a cigarette. “Well, boss, are you about ready to slap down a few calves?”
“Soon enough.” Webb smiled faintly at the term signifying his authority. It didn’t grate as he thought it would.
The majority of the riders, especially the older hands, had regarded his step-up with silent approval, even though they were watching to see how he’d do. Webb didn’t mind that, either, because it meant he’d be earning their respect—and they were going to expect more from him than they would from one of their own. It was crazy that he hadn’t looked at it that way before.
Maybe he’d finally grown up. Maybe it had taken losing some of that hot blood of youth and getting cracked over the head. It was for certain a lot of hard lessons had been learned. He had wanted Lilli and Lilli had wanted him, but that hadn’t made it right. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier, but at least he was beginning to accept it.
He was doing it again—thinking about Lilli instead of concentrating on the business at hand. His glance ran to Nate, observing the miserly way he licked the tobacco paper together, conserving his spit for the long, dusty afternoon ahead of them. Roundups were brutal on a cowboy. Rain or shine, he worked every day until his muscles were too weary to know the difference, and never got enough sleep. It would be a grueling six weeks or longer.
“Why don’t you smoke ready-mades and save yourself all that work, Nate?” Webb asked.
“I don’t smoke as much this ways—and it’s cheaper,” he added the decisive factor. He squinted through the swirl of smoke at the cowboy sauntering toward them.
Hobie Evans was not one of his favorite people. Nate was of the opinion that Ed Mace could have chosen a better representative for his Snake M brand—but then, he didn’t have much time for Ed Mace, either.
“Well, Mr. Big Boss?” Hobie stopped in front of Webb, addressing him in a derisive challenge. “Are you figurin’ on standin’ around all day?”
Before Webb could respond, Nate inserted, “Sure seemed to me like there’s a lot of strays mixed in that herd. More’n usual. Most of ’em were carryin’ a Snake M brand, too. How do you s’pose that happened?”
“We had a lotta trouble with our fences this year,” Hobie was quick with an answer. “Add to that the way the snow drifted. It made regular bridges for the cows to walk over the fence. Those honyockers get right testy about cattle gettin’ into their fields,” he declared with a grinning smirk. “They sent ’em scattering with no courtesy at all about headin’ ’em back to where they belong. The boss really needs to string new fence, but money bein’ as short as it is, I don’t imagine he’ll be able to do much about keepin’ his cattle in this year.”
“You look all tore up about that, Hobie,” Nate remarked dryly.
Webb took a last drag on his cigarette, then dropped the butt and crushed it under his heel. “Might as well get started branding and sorting this batch.”
He signaled the start of the long afternoon’s work by walking to the big, rangy bay horse he used for roping and swinging aboard. By the time he’d turned his horse toward the herd, the rest of the men were either sitting on their horses or stepping a boot into the stirrup.
It was customary for the ranch owner or his foreman to select the first calf to be branded at the roundup, so Webb rode into the herd and shook out a loop. He smoothly roped the nearest bounding calf and dragged it to the fire, where the branding irons of the various represented ranches were heating to an orange-red. The problem of choosing which brand to use was easily solved by applying one of the basic principles of cowboy lore. The calf would be branded
the same as its mother, and a cow was quick to inform a cowboy with her wild-eyed bawling when he’d roped her calf.
Webb took one look at the cow watching anxiously over her roped calf and called out the brand: “Triple C!” Two of the men on the ground wrestled the youngster down and Old Shorty Niles burned the appropriate brand on its flank.
A dozen more calves were branded in the same manner. Two more ropers joined in with Webb to work the herd. The next calf he snared was a hefty-sized youngster that had the look of a late-fall calf. An indistinct brand was already burned on its hip and it looked suspiciously like the Snake M even though its frantic mother carried the Triple C mark. The bellowing calf was thrown to the ground and the two men holding it looked expectantly at Webb, waiting for him to call the brand.
“Triple C.” He shouted the order to blot out the other brand, then picked out Hobie Evans from the other reps around the branding fire. “Evans! You’d better tell Mace to teach his stray calves not to suck Triple C cows,” he warned. It might have been an accident that the calf had the wrong brand, but then again, it might not. Webb had known he couldn’t let the incident pass without a comment. Silence could have signaled to the unscrupulous an open season on unmarked calves.
The Snake M man had a decidedly unpleasant look on his face, but he made no comment to Webb’s cutting advice as the air turned acrid with the smell of singed hides.
When Lilli walked into the general store at Stefan’s side, she noticed the quick glances and the whispers from the wives of other drylanders. She didn’t blame Stefan for the knowledge in their eyes. The source was undoubtedly Franz Kreuger and his meek wife, who repeated everything her husband told her. Lilli felt like the heroine in that Nathaniel Hawthorne book, The Scarlet Letter. She walked a little straighter into their midst, her head held high. She was accustomed to this silent treatment, having endured so much of it from Stefan. Trust, she was learning, was a fragile thing. Once broken, it took a long time to repair, but the restoration was never total. The cracks were always visible, like a mended piece of china.
The advent of spring had brought her some relief, since Stefan had been in the fields from dawn until dusk. The additional acreage he’d purchased in the autumn meant more ground to be plowed and seeded in wheat, which had necessitated the purchase of another team of horses and the expense of a hired hand, the younger son of one of their new neighbors. No longer content with mere prosperity, Stefan saw wealth around the corner. Lilli suspected his sudden obsession with money was partially a result of his need to prove he was a man and overcome the sense of failure she had caused by her brief interlude with Webb Calder.
There were times in these last few months when her relationship with Stefan had seemed hopeless. On those occasions, she had wondered if she should have given in to Webb’s entreaty to go away with him. She had too much time alone to think about him. His ghost haunted the shack and sat at the table during the many silent meals. She knew he had recovered simply because no one spoke of him around her. If he had died, they wouldn’t have tried to keep the news from her.
Inside the store, she turned to Stefan, behaving neither subdued nor submissive. “I am going to look at material to make into shirts for you. Mr. Ellis mentioned he was expecting a new shipment when we came to town in April. I’m going to see if it has arrived.”
With her intentions stated, she left it up to him whether he accompanied her or not. Stefan shadowed her every time they came to town. Lilli suspected that he believed she would arrange some rendezvous with Webb if he didn’t. Wrong as it was, she hoped she would see Webb, not necessarily speak to him, but just to see him.
Bolts of cloth filled the shelves on the far wall, along with needles, threads, and an assortment of buttons. When Lilli crossed the store to dry goods, Stefan didn’t follow her. He knew where she was and could easily keep an eye on her. And Lilli was fully aware of it.
As she approached the bolts of shirt material, several women were crowded around the same shelf area, inspecting the selection of cloth. None of them attempted to make room for Lilli, ignoring her with subtle ostracism. Lilli struggled to be patient and wait her turn, but there was a part of her that was simmering. Finally she moved to the button counter, too angry to notice the two women examining the narrow spools of lace.
“I believe I prefer this one, Ruth. What do you think?” The older woman looked to the blond-haired woman for her opinion.
It was strictly female curiosity that prompted Lilli to glance at the pair and see if she would have selected the same lace, and also to find out who could afford to buy such a luxury item. The blonde’s response was lost to her as she recognized the older woman with the dark, silvering hair. It was Webb’s mother. There was no question about it. Her pulse quickened, and before she could entertain second thoughts, Lilli approached her.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Calder.” There was a slight break in her voice that made it almost a question.
“Yes?” The woman turned to her, the questioning glance giving way to a steady interest.
“How is your son?” Lilli managed to sound casual about the inquiry. “Is he well?”
“Yes, he is. He has fully recovered from his accident.” There was slight stress on the last word.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She couldn’t hold back all of her smile. Her relief was too natural and genuine to be completely controlled.
“Are you, Lilli?” his mother asked with a certainty that said she knew the answer. Webb was the only one who had ever used the abbreviated form of her name.
“Yes, I am,” Lilli admitted and mentally braced herself against the disapproval she expected to see.
There was something proud in the way she held herself, and something a little defensive. “Evidently he mentioned me to you.”
“He has.” But his mother didn’t elaborate.
A feeling of depression began to weigh on her as Lilli realized this conversation had accomplished nothing beyond assuring her that Webb was well. Everything else remained the same.
Somewhat leadenly, she suggested, “I think it would be best if you didn’t mention that I asked about him, Mrs. Calder.”
“I understand.” She nodded.
“Good day.” Her glance skipped to both women as she took her leave and moved away.
This chance meeting with the young woman had answered many questions that had been in Lorna Calder’s mind. She absently stared after the tall, straight back and the sheen of dark copper hair swept atop her head.
“How strange,” Lorna murmured, then realized she’d said it aloud. Consequently the remark required an explanation. “In some ways, she reminds me of your mother, Ruth,” Lorna Calder continued to study the woman named Lilli, so young and so proud. “She has the same strong spirit and boldness, the same determination. I think it’s those qualities more than her looks that attracted Webb.” She glanced at Ruth to see what she thought. Ruth was not adept at masking her feelings. The wounded hurt she saw in Ruth’s expression made Lorna immediately regret so thoughtlessly listing the woman’s attributes. “How silly of me,” Lorna chided herself. “I don’t know a thing I’m talking about. She probably isn’t like that at all. Now, which lace did you say you preferred?”
Throughout the summer’s hot days, Webb found himself more and more involved in the operation of the ranch. While much of the final authority remained with his father, Webb had the responsibility of seeing that the orders were carried out. It was a full-time job, taking his every waking minute, but he needed and welcomed this occupation that demanded all his time and energy.
Late on an August evening, Webb arrived at The Homestead well after the dinner hour. Tired and dusty after a day at one of the outcamps, he waved aside his mother’s offer to fix him something to eat and made his own foray into the kitchen, coming back with some cold beef layered between two slices of homemade bread. He took it to the den where his father was finishing up some paperwork and plopped on the leather sofa, stretching out his legs a
nd hooking a spurred heel across his other boot.
“The hay’s up in the south branch.” Webb took a bite of the bread and meat and chewed at it tiredly.
“It’s time to be getting geared up for the fall roundup. I got a list of supplies here the cookie will be needing.” Benteen Calder set the piece of paper to the front of his desk for Webb with only a brief glance in his direction.
“I’ll send a couple of the boys into town after it.” Webb didn’t rouse himself from his comfortable position to fetch the list, letting it lie on the desk for the time being.
“How long has it been since you were in town?” His father leaned back in his chair, studying him with a prodding look.
“A while, I guess.” Webb shrugged and bit into the sandwich. Town was a place he had more or less been avoiding—town and the chance of seeing Lilli. He had needed this time to pass.
“It’s time you went and found out firsthand what’s happening in the area,” his father stated in a decisive tone. “You get the supplies.”
“It isn’t necessary.” Webb ignored the trace of command in the reply. “Besides, the boys have put in a hard summer. They deserve a day in town.”
“Take them with you.” Impatience flickered across his expression as Benteen Calder pushed out of his chair and came around the desk. “I’m making my own guesses about why you don’t want to go into town. But I’ll bet there are a bunch of drylanders that have come up with a different reason why you’ve made yourself scarce. Chances are they’re going to think you’re too scared. They figure they’ve got a hold on you. Do they?” he challenged.
“No.” It was a hard, flat answer.
“Then you’d better prove it to them,” Benteen advised. “And take Ruth along with you. She would welcome a trip into town.”
“Why?” A dark frown creased his brow.
“Because you’re not going to town hunting trouble. With a woman along, they’ll see that,” he reasoned calmly. “You aren’t going to be hunting trouble, are you?”
