by Janet Dailey
“Quiet as you can ask,” Jessie replied. There was a lengthy pause as he straightened to bite off a chaw of a plug and fit the wad into the inside pocket of his cheek. “The Ten Bar’s got a big herd together to drive north. They got ’em bedded down ‘bout five miles from us. Bull Giles is bossin’ it.”
“You talk to him?” Benteen swirled the swallow of coffee in the tin cup to mix in the dregs.
Jessie gave a slow nod. “Bull just happened to ride over this way. Claimed we’d be eatin’ his dust all the way to Kansas.”
“S’pose it would upset him if it was the other way around,” Benteen mused with a dry smile.
“Might.” There was a gleam in Jessie’s eyes.
Lorna’s mother accompanied them to the church the next morning. While the wedding couple met with the reverend, she saw to some last-minute details regarding the decorations. Nothing was being spared to make her daughter’s wedding, their only child, a special event. Clara Pearce filled all her time with preparations for the wedding so she wouldn’t have time to think about the empty days that would follow when her daughter was far, far away.
It was successfully blocked from her mind when Lorna and Benteen had been instructed to the minister’s satisfaction as to their respective roles in a Christian marriage. She walked to the rear of the church to rejoin them.
“Are you ready to leave, Mother?” Lorna asked. “Benteen has some errands he needs to do, but he wants to see us home first.”
“I’m ready,” she agreed, “but I need to stop at the store just for a moment and speak to your father.” During trail time, Clara Pearce didn’t like being on Fort Worth streets without a male escort, especially around the business section, where so many of the cowboys gathered. “It won’t take long,” she told Benteen.
“I can spare the time.” Politeness and a sense of duty dictated that he take the time whether he could spare it or not. Women needed the protection of a man. That was an accepted fact.
Outside the church, Benteen assisted Lorna’s mother into the rear seat of the buggy and helped Lorna into the front seat. Walking to the back, he stopped to tie his horse on behind, then climbed onto the seat with Lorna, taking up the gelding’s reins.
The streets were crowded with cowboys and drovers, as they always were at trail time. Few of them failed to notice the young, attractive female in the seat next to Benteen. He was aware of the kind of comments that were made, but he didn’t feel the need to defend her honor. No harm was intended, and most remarks were made out of Lorna’s hearing.
In front of Pearce’s Emporium, he stopped the buggy and handed the reins to Lorna while he assisted her mother. “We’ll wait here for you,” he said.
“I won’t be long,” she promised again.
Benteen moved back to stand next to the buggy seat on the side where Lorna sat. “Tomorrow is the big day. Do you think your mother will be ready?”
“I hope so.” Lorna permitted a small smile to show. “She’s been running around like this for days. You’d think she was the one getting married, instead of me.”
There was too much activity going on around him for Benteen to ignore it. Vigilance was an instinct born of experience. A man never completely relaxed his guard, so his eyes were always taking note of the faces and movements of those around him. He saw Judd Boston walking briskly down the sidewalk toward his bank before Boston saw him.
Despite his personal dislike of the man, Benteen admired Boston’s iron nerve. There wasn’t the slightest change in Boston’s expression when he spied Benteen standing beside the buggy. A lesser man would have ignored him or gone out of his way to pretend not to have seen him, but not Judd Boston. He brazenly altered his course to come over to speak to him.
“Good morning, Benteen. Miss Pearce.” He politely tipped his bowler hat to Lorna.
“Boston.” Benteen inclined his head briefly in the banker’s direction in silent acknowledgment of the greeting, a coolness in his eyes.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to offer you my sympathies for your father’s death, although I’m sure you’ll doubt my sincerity.” Boston immediately confronted Benteen with his own thoughts.
“Since you already know that, I don’t have to say anything.” Benteen didn’t pretend otherwise.
“I’m not surprised you feel that way,” Boston said. “After you returned, I did expect you to come by the bank for an explanation of the circumstances leading up to your father’s death.”
“Why? It was obvious. You foreclosed, my father died, and you confiscated all his property and cattle.”
“Perhaps I thought you would be more upset over that than you are,” Boston suggested.
“It was inevitable. I saw that even if my father didn’t,” he replied. “The deck was stacked against him, but he refused to see it.”
“I’m glad you are being sensible about this, Benteen.” He smiled, but it was the smug smile of a man who believed he was facing an inferior.
“No. I’m just smart enough to throw in my hand and ask for a new deck before I sit down again to play at the same table with a snake,” Benteen countered.
It rankled Boston, but only briefly. “I understand you’re driving a herd of your own north.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s quite a financial undertaking”—he paused to glance at Lorna—”especially when you have a new bride. I understand the wedding is tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a pity to leave such a beautiful bride so soon after the wedding,” Boston murmured, turning his flattering attention to Lorna.
Benteen felt his hackles rise. “Lorna will be coming on the drive with me,” he stated shortly. “We’ll be making our new home in the Montana Territory.”
“I heard rumors to that effect”—Boston eyed him with new interest—“but I didn’t take them seriously. You are actually leaving Texas for good?”
“There’s nothing left in Texas for me.” Benteen thought of his father. Seth Calder would turn over in his grave if Judd Boston believed a Calder was running from a fight. It was a family pride that made him speak. “You haven’t run me out, Boston. My decision was made before you moved against the Cee Bar. Understand that if our paths ever cross again. My father wouldn’t stoop to your level of underhanded dealing, but I will fight dirty.”
“Your hostility is unfounded, Benteen. I never had anything personal against you or your father,” Boston insisted calmly.
“I believe that,” Benteen replied. “He was just in the way of something you wanted. And I’m warning you to stay out of my way.”
Boston laughed silently, as if it were preposterous to think there was any cause for Benteen’s suspicions in the past or future. “I have an appointment to keep. You will excuse me.” He formally took his leave from them and paused to add, “My best wishes to you both.” The last was really directed at Lorna, a subtle attempt to remain in her good graces and cast doubt in her mind about Benteen’s opinion of him.
A grim, inflexible line ridged his jaw as Benteen watched Judd Boston walk away with the slow, measured stride of a king inspecting his domain. The buggy springs creaked under Lorna’s shifting weight. Benteen glanced sideways, reading the thinly veiled disapproval in her expression.
“You weren’t very courteous, Benteen.”
“His kind doesn’t listen to courtesy.” His reply was abrupt.
Lorna’s mother came out of the store. Benteen moved forward to take a small parcel she was carrying and give her a hand into the buggy. Then he was in the seat beside Lorna, turning the bay gelding toward its home stable.
On his way home to the Ten Bar headquarters that evening, Judd Boston made a rare detour that took him out to the herd of beefs scheduled to take the trail north in two days. There was an additional mission he wanted his trail boss to carry out, after the cattle were delivered to the railhead at Dodge City.
One of the drovers spotted the buggy bouncing across the prairie with its escort of
riders alongside and passed the word to Bull Giles that the boss was on his way. Bull Giles rode out to meet him. Bull came by his nickname honestly. He had the neck, shoulders, and chest of a purebred Durham bull, and a punched-in face. By nature he was as argumentative as a bull on the prod, testy at the best of times. He liked giving orders better than taking them. He had the talent and the know-how to be top man on any ranch, but not the ability to say “yes, sir” to the owner. So he bossed trail herds, which kept enough distance between himself and the owner.
The Ten Bar foreman, Loman Jones, was riding alongside the buggy. Bull Giles had no love for the man, and ignored him to speak directly to Judd Boston.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Boston?” The question was almost a challenge as Bull struggled to sound courteous and respectful.
“Benteen Calder will be pulling out with his herd in a few days.” Judd Boston went directly to the point.
“Yes, and they’ll be tastin’ our dust all the way to Dodge City,” Bull announced.
Boston wasn’t concerned who was first or second on the trail. “Just get those beefs to market with some extra weight on them. It isn’t a race.”
“I know about trailin’ cattle,” Bull asserted.
“You’d better,” he stated. Bull Giles hadn’t been his choice, but Loman Janes insisted he was the best man available. “Calder claims he’s taking his herd all the way to the Montana Territory. I want to know if that’s where he really goes.”
“That’s where he’s headed, all right,” Bull stated. “I talked to Jessie Trumbo yesterday. Barnie Moore’s up there waiting for him with a section of range all staked out.”
“I’ve heard the story.” Boston was impatient with the man’s impertinence. “I want to make sure that’s his intention.”
“You ever been up in that country?” Bull challenged. “I hunted buffalo around the Little Missouri a few years back. It’s grass; nothing but miles and miles of grass.” Bull knew the story behind the takeover of the Cee Bar, and his eyes became sly. “Why would Benteen want to come back here and squabble with you over a little chunk of ground when he can lay claim to a range that would make the Ten Bar look like a pauper’s outfit?”
“Once that herd is delivered in Dodge City, you find out what Calder’s up to,” Boston ordered, and popped the buggy whip to send the team bounding forward.
8
The wedding ceremony itself didn’t seem to take any time at all. There was one moment, just before she walked down the church aisle on her father’s arm, when Lorna wanted to call it off. Then she had seen Benteen standing at the pulpit waiting for her, so handsome in his broadcloth suit. He didn’t look at all nervous. In fact, he appeared so confident and sure that Lorna felt childish for having even a moment’s doubt.
She expected to feel some change inside herself when the minister pronounced them man and wife, that some new maturity would overcome the butterflies in her stomach. But Mrs. Chase Benteen Calder felt the same as Lorna Pearce had. Even with the reverend’s blessing, she blushed when Benteen placed a chaste kiss on her lips. He was her husband now, which gave him certain rights to her that she couldn’t deny him. With his arm constantly around her, holding her and touching her, how could she not think about that?
The marriage ceremony was followed by a reception and a wedding supper at the Pearce home. Benteen had no relatives to invite, and the Pearces had only some elderly cousins living in the area, but there were enough friends on both sides to make up for the lack of family. Alcohol was not part of the refreshments offered by Mrs. Pearce, but some was stashed outside the house. Somebody was always slipping out for a little nip. The conversation and the laughter grew more boisterous with each “little nip.”
“I think it’s time we left,” Benteen murmured close to her ear during a lull between congratulating friends.
“Maybe we should stay a little longer.” Lorna was reluctant to leave the reception just yet. She was the center of attention. She wanted to savor the moment just a while longer because she’d never be a bride again. Also, she was slightly uneasy about being alone with Benteen.
“No.” He was firm, a restlessness showing about his features. “Let the guests keep your parents up until all hours—not us.”
A wife wasn’t supposed to argue with a man’s decision, so Lorna gave in. They weren’t allowed to slip away quietly. The minute the guests realized the bride and groom were leaving, they were showered with rice and occasional phrases of ribald advice.
Since they wouldn’t have a home of their own until they reached Montana, Benteen had reserved a suite at one of the better hotels in Fort Worth. He set the small case Lorna had brought with her inside the room and turned back to see her hovering by the threshold.
“Shall I carry you in?” he asked with a half-smile.
The possessive darkness in his look was a bit more than Lorna’s shaking nerves could handle. She stepped quickly into the room before he could come back to pick her up. Benteen closed the door and Lorna stiffened at the click of the turning lock key.
“It’s a very nice room.” She looked around and walked over to a tall chest of drawers, mostly because it was the opposite corner of the room from the bed. She ran a gloved hand over its oak wood. “It’s good solid furniture.”
When she turned, Lorna found Benteen watching her with warm amusement. “The bed is solidly built, too,” he murmured.
A scarlet heat burned her face and neck. Nothing she had learned at Miss Hilda’s School for Young Ladies had told her the proper behavior and procedure on her wedding night. She knew all about setting a fine table and arranging flowers and embroidering the linen, but she knew nothing at all about what was expected of her on this night of all nights.
“I’m sorry, Lorna. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you.” Even as Benteen apologized, amusement continued to deepen his voice.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted with a slightly bowed head. “You’ll have to tell me. Am I supposed to go into the dressing room first? Or …”
When she hesitantly lifted her gaze, Benteen was shaking his head to the side. She thought it was in answer to her question. When he started across the room, she thought he was going to the dressing room. Instead, Benteen walked to her. Very lightly, his hand cupped her chin.
“I’ve waited a long time, Lorna. Too long to waste time with playing musical chairs with the dressing room.”
Her heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t speak. She had been waiting for tonight, too. Not dreading it as a proper girl should do, she realized. She wasn’t afraid of what Benteen was going to do to her. She wanted it to happen. If anything frightened her, it was this clawing need to find out what it was like, because passion was something respectable women shouldn’t feel.
There was a wild fluttering inside while Lorna watched the strong line of his mouth make its descent toward hers. A flare of excited panic held her completely still as his mouth touched her own. It moved slowly and sensuously, exploring the stiff curve of her lips until they softened under his gentle insistence.
Then the kiss was ending and Benteen was slowly lifting his head, studying her expression with eyes that were three-quarter-lidded. Lorna hoped he couldn’t see what she was thinking or feeling. A glint of satisfaction appeared, and she drew a breath of relief that she hadn’t been too forward.
He took her by the hand and led her to the bed, his gaze never breaking contact with hers. Before he let go of her hand, Benteen slipped off the glove and took her other hand to do the same. There was a controlled deliberation in his actions as he laid them on the stand beside the bed and turned down the covers.
When he faced her again, Lorna was captivated by the quiet strength etched in his features, a solid assurance that he knew exactly what he was doing. It helped, because she didn’t. For a small second, she felt some of his confidence. Then his hands touched the first button of her gown, and the sensation fled. She dropped her gaze to the starched-stiff collar of his sh
irt, so white against the tanned column of his neck.
All her senses became charged. She stood stock-still under the brush of his fingers, making no attempt to interfere while Benteen slowly unbuttoned her gown. With each shallow breath, Lorna caught the scent of bay rum from his lean and closely shaven cheeks. Her heart was drumming in her ears at a forbidden tempo, too excited by the removal of her dress. She closed her eyes.
Layer by layer, her petticoats were removed and spread on the chair with her gown. All that was left was her chemise and her stockings. Lorna hadn’t moved. When his hands didn’t return to remove the last garments, she raised her lashes to look at him in uneasy curiosity.
The jacket of his broadcloth suit was off, and Benteen was unfastening the boiled collar to remove his shirt. At the first glimpse of the breadth of his naked chest, darkened with curling brown hairs, a fluttering weakness attacked her stomach. Lorna was shocked by her reaction, because she wanted to see more of his lean, hard body that until now she had only felt pressed against her.
The impropriety of that desire forced her to turn away so she wouldn’t see how he looked unclothed. The tightness in her stomach was increasing, until it was almost an actual pain. A lamp was burning next to the bed, throwing a steady light over that corner of the room. Lorna wished for darkness. At least, then, if she was tempted to look at him, she wouldn’t be able to see.
“We should turn out the lamp.” The disturbed pitch of her voice revealed too much of her inner feelings.
“Then we couldn’t see each other,” Benteen pointed out, and came up silently behind her. “And I want to see my wife.”
She breathed in sharply when his lips touched the curve of her neck and nibbled at the pulsing vein. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the violent storm of sensations breaking over her. Her knees went weak when she felt the steady pull on the ribbon tie of her chemise. Benteen lifted it over her head, discarding it with a careless toss.
Suffused with heat, Lorna could hardly breathe when his strong hands began rolling down her stockings, traveling down her thigh and over her knee and calf and gently lifting her feet to peel the stockings off completely. She was shaken with tremors that she rigidly tried to conceal from him. All her underclothing was gone.
