by Janet Dailey
It was going to be difficult to make the overture when he was so determined to keep his distance from her. She understood why, but that didn’t make her decision any easier to carry out. She hoped she had the boldness to see it through.
Her earlier calmness never returned. It was the approach of her wedding night all over again. All through supper, the little flutterings in her stomach wouldn’t go away. While she was washing dishes, Lorna saw Benteen go to the wagon for his bedroll, which she had hidden away.
The last dish was handed to Mary to dry, and Lorna was wiping her hands on her skirt when Benteen walked over. She felt the mad race of her pulse, caused by either anticipation or apprehension. Part of her wasn’t sure. She had difficulty meeting the frowning study of his gaze.
“What did you do with my bedroll?” He kept his voice down for only Lorna to hear. “I can’t find it.”
“I put it away.” The casualness was forced. “You won’t be needing it.”
She hoped he would take the subtle hint and not expect her to be more explicit. When she started to turn away, his hand was on her arm to stop her.
“Why won’t I need it, Lorna?” His dark gaze searched her face for the answer.
“Why would you, if you’re going to be sleeping in the wagon?” Her attempt at a smile trembled with nervousness.
“Is that where I’m sleeping?” Benteen asked huskily.
“Yes,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I want you to be my husband, Benteen.”
She felt herself being drawn into him. Lorna thought he was going to gather her into his arms and take her on the spot, the desire for possession was so overpowering in his look. Then his glance swung impatiently at the sun still hovering on the horizon. She couldn’t hold back her nervous laugh. It stopped abruptly when he looked at her again. There was a moment’s unease as Lorna wondered if he would be rough and demanding. His sharp gaze seemed to read her doubt.
“I’ll make it beautiful for you,” he murmured.
The promise brought a hint of pink to her cheeks. This time when Lorna turned away, Benteen let her go. She crossed to the wagon and climbed inside. There were many preparations she wanted to make before he came to her.
Removing the pins from her hair, she untangled its dark length from the coiled bun, then brushed it until it crackled and glistened. She stripped off her clothes all the way to the skin, and sparingly used Lady Crawford’s lotion to make her body silken to his touch. Evening shadows were stealing in when she slipped under the quilt to wait for Benteen.
It wasn’t long before the tent flap was lifted and he stepped into the back of the wagon. Unable to see in the darkness, Lorna listened to the sounds he made undressing. When he raised the quilt to lie down beside her, she felt a tremor go through her body.
“I hope this night will be as long as all the others have been.” His voice was lower than a murmur as he moved to her.
It was too late for any kind of second thoughts as his mouth searched hers with a hunger Benteen didn’t try to control. She closed her eyes as her lips parted voluntarily to deepen the kiss. There was no more reason to think as instinct took over and her hands slid compulsively up his muscled shoulders.
His fingers were tunneling under the weight of her hair and spreading down her spine to gather her closer. She felt him stiffen. The demanding pressure of his mouth eased as he muttered thickly against her lips, “My God, you aren’t wearing any clothes.”
“No. I wanted it like our wedding night—with nothing between us,” Lorna admitted in a murmuring whisper.
His hands began to move over her body, down her spine to the slender indentation of her waist and the rounded curve of her hip. Lorna shivered with a raw pleasure, moaning softly. Benteen accepted the silent invitation and abandoned her lips to nibble at the slim curve of her neck.
Inevitably, it seemed, he continued his exploration to the taut swell of her breasts. Where his kiss had been hungry and demanding, he now teased and tantalized. His tongue was like rough velvet on her breast, tracing small spirals around the sensitive rosy peak. Her hands buried themselves into the thickness of his hair and tried to force an end to the exquisite torment.
The moment spun out endlessly as Lorna surrendered to the passion he aroused. His hands and mouth were creating havoc with her senses, disturbing her all anew. She whispered his name over and over.
When he finally responded to her wordless urging and moved onto her, she felt a second of panic under the weight of him, but the warmth of his mouth reassured her that she had nothing to fear. And the coupling became very natural and right, mutually desired and gloriously satisfying.
Yet, when it was over and Lorna was resting in the crook of his arm, trying to breathe normally again, she sensed something hadn’t been as it was before. There was a part of him that Benteen hadn’t given her. He’d held back the emotional side.
“What’s wrong, Benteen?” she murmured, and let her hand glide across his curling chest hairs.
“Nothing.”
Somehow, she knew he was lying. “I wasn’t really going to leave you,” she said, because it was something she had never told him in so many words. “I just wanted to hurt you, because you threw away the roses. It was childish.”
“You feel like a woman.” His hand kneaded the softness of her shoulder to confirm it.
“I’m trying to be serious,” Lorna murmured.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Lorna.” His voice was flat and firm.
“But we should be honest,” she persisted. “You said it yourself.”
“You wanta be honest?” Benteen challenged, and shifted position to lie on his side, looking down at her. “Then tell me what made you decide to hide my bedroll?”
“Maybe I was afraid of losing you to some other woman,” she suggested, to see his reaction.
“Try again, but come up with a better story,” he mocked.
“You could have been with one of those dance-hall girls all day,” she insisted. “What did you do in town, besides buy me a hat? You didn’t hire any trailhands.”
“I wasn’t with any dance-hall girl all day.” Benteen smiled and traced his finger along her jaw. “And, if I had known I was going to get this kind of thanks for buying you a hat, I would have come back much sooner.”
“Why did you buy me the hat?” Lorna let him sidetrack her, deciding against mentioning the brass token she’d found in his bedroll.
“I hoped it would make you look more like a boy,” he admitted, and ran his finger over her lips and against her teeth. “I was going out of my mind looking at you in those pants.”
She bit his finger, not too hard, but hard enough. “That’s for wanting a boy instead of your wife,” she told him.
“Maybe I could have both.” His mouth began a descent toward hers. “A wife and a son.”
“What if I want a daughter?” she asked.
“Why do you always have to disagree with me?” Benteen muttered. “We’ll have a son first, then a daughter.”
“How about the other way—?” But Lorna didn’t get to finish the sentence, as he closed it off with a kiss. When she did have a chance to speak again, she was too enraptured with the other pleasure to remember what she had intended to say.
III
From right where you’re standin’
As far’s you can see,
That’s Calder range you’re lookin’ at,
And all for you and me.
18
When the trail herd left Ogallala, they followed the Platte River Valley into the Wyoming Territory and struck north out of Cheyenne. As long as possible, Benteen kept to routes established by previous drives that brought Texas cattle to Wyoming ranges.
Five weeks out of Nebraska they were in new country, the virgin plains that had once belonged to the buffalo. It meant Benteen had to do a lot more riding in advance of the herd, scouting terrain as much as a day or more ahead of the drive for graze, water, and safe places to ford.
Behind
him, the Longhorn cattle marched onward along the great pathless solitudes. Sometimes they were strung out for nearly two miles. As Lorna found, it was tedious, harassing work to keep the weary cattle moving without hurrying them. At night she fell into bed bone-tired and snuggled against Benteen, sleeping the minute she closed her eyes.
Woolie’s leg was healing, making him all the more anxious to get back in the saddle. Lorna didn’t think she’d be sorry to retire her cowboy hat and let him return to the weary, monotonous toil. But she was proud of the part she played, and knew she could do it again if her help was needed.
No visible line marked the boundary between Wyoming and Montana. One evening Benteen rode into camp and announced they were in Montana; the next day they’d cross the Powder River. In two weeks they’d be pitching their final camp. Tears of relief sprang into Lorna’s eyes. The trail had seemed endless. They’d been on it four months, and in some ways it seemed like four years.
“I wish you hadn’t told us how close we are,” she said to him later when they were in bed.
“Why?” He turned his head to look at her, lifting a strand of her hair to idly finger it.
“Because now I’ll be impatient to get there. I’m tired of living like this,” Lorna admitted. “It wasn’t so bad when I didn’t know how much longer it would be. Now I just want it to be over.”
“Complaining again.” Benteen clicked his tongue in mock reproval.
“Yes, I am.” She didn’t deny it.
“Just wait till we get there. You’ll find it was worth all we’ve been through,” he promised, and pressed his mouth to her temple.
The herd crossed the Powder, Pumpkin, and Tongue rivers, and finally, the Yellowstone in the middle part of August. Less than a week after the crossing, Benteen cantered his horse back to swing alongside Lorna, riding left flank. There was a vital, eager tension about him. It gleamed in his dark eyes when he reined in beside her.
“Wanta ride ahead with me?” he asked. “I’ll have Zeke cover swing and flank.”
By now the cattle were so well-broken to trail, they’d lost the urge to stray off on their own. They traveled as a unit, knowing when it was time to stop for the nooning and when to start in the afternoon. Only the drag riders had trouble yet with the laggards in the herd.
“Yes.” Lorna sensed something in the air. She knew they were close to the range Benteen had claimed, but she didn’t know how close.
Easing away from the herd, they put their horses into a steady lope to make a wide pass of the herd. The land rolled out in limitless plains of thick, matted grass. Its flatness was broken with buttes and gouged with coulees, and dominated by a lonely stretch of sky.
A rider was briefly outlined on the crest of a ridge. It was the first human Lorna had seen in weeks, outside of the trail crew. She pointed out the approaching horse and rider to Benteen, but he’d already seen him. Satisfaction settled over the line of his mouth as he slowed his mount to a trot.
“It’s Barnie,” he told her.
When the rider pulled up to greet them, Lorna expected a boisterous welcome. But Barnie Moore just nodded. “I figured that was your trail dust. Got any cigarette papers? I’m clean out.”
Benteen handed him a pack of papers from his vest pocket. “Keep it.”
“Never did take to chewin’.” He shook out some tobacco from his pouch and deftly twirled the paper around it, licking it shut. Lighting the cigarette, he sucked in the smoke and held it for a silent, savoring moment.
“How’s it been? Quiet?” Benteen waited until he’d exhaled to ask.
“I’ve had lots of visitors,” Barnie said. “Word’s gotten around about this free grass. A bunch of outfits have been up lookin’ it over.”
“I figured that.” Benteen wasn’t surprised.
“You’re gonna have some big boys for neighbors—XIT, the Turkey Track. Kohrs and some of the ranchers in western Montana are headin’ this way now that the goldfields are playin’ out an’ they won’t be selling as much beef to the miners. It’s gonna get crowded.”
All the while Barnie relayed the information, his glance kept straying to Lorna. With her long hair tucked under her hat and the loose-fitting shirt and snug pants, she looked like a smooth-cheeked boy, but she had long ago stopped being conscious of her appearance in men’s clothes.
“Who’s the kid?” Barnie bobbed his head in Lorna’s direction.
Laughter glinted in Benteen’s glance to her. “This is my wife. We’ve been shorthanded, so she’s been helping out with the drive.” Barnie tried very hard to disguise his shock and not stare. Benteen helped by suggesting, “The herd’s about five miles back. Why don’t you show them the way while Lorna and I ride ahead?”
Barnie tugged at the brim of his hat and mumbled to Lorna, “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am”; then he swung his horse out of their way.
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Moore.” She smiled.
Benteen continued to hold his horse in after Barnie rode off. His glance ran sideways to Lorna, bright with a knowing light.
“You never told me we were this close.” But she knew he had kept it from her deliberately. “How far is it?”
“About two miles. Are you impatient to get there?” A brow was arched with the mocking query, fully aware of her answer.
“You know I am.” Her smiled widened.
“Let’s go.” He pricked his horse with the spurs to send it bounding into a gallop.
Lorna’s horse was a stride behind and stretching out to run. Chunks of grass and sod were torn up by the pounding hooves as they raced the last two miles. It brought a wild exhilaration to the moment of journey’s end. Lorna was breathless, her dark eyes shining with excitement when she pulled her horse to a halt beside Benteen.
“This is it.” His voice rang proud with possession as he gazed upon the land.
There was a crude log shack sitting close to the river, with a small corral built out of cottonwood. She tried not to feel lost, but there should have been some invisible banner proclaiming this to be their new home. All she saw was a muscular landscape, so big and commanding that it stretched out her stare until her eyes hurt.
Under a summer sun, the harsh land rolled out in uneven waves, an endless sea of dull yellow grass with miles and miles of hazy blue sky overhead. Beyond the treeless ridges, a flat-topped butte poked its dark head above the horizon. Lorna thought back on the long trail they’d traveled to get here—and the price they had paid in lives, in tears, and sweat. For this.
Her jaw hardened. This land wasn’t going to beat her with its loneliness. She was going to stand up to it, and turn it into a home. Pulling her gaze from the overpowering breadth of the land, Lorna concentrated her attention on the green trees growing solid along the riverbanks. There would be wood for a cabin. She wasn’t going to live in a sod house like that woman in Kansas.
She followed when Benteen walked his blowing horse the last hundred yards to the shack. All his attention was on their destination, his gaze sweeping the surrounding range with proud satisfaction. It gave Lorna time to adjust to the vastness she saw, and attempt to visualize how it could look with a house and some buildings—anything to make it look civilized.
Under the cottonwood trees along the riverbank, Benteen halted his horse and swung out of the saddle with lazy ease. Lorna dismounted to let her horse drink, too. She watched Sandman’s black muzzle nose at the water, the bit clanking against his teeth before the buckskin began sucking in the cold river water.
“With this water, we control the range for twenty miles on either side,” Benteen began to explain the significance of the location. “As far as you can see, Lorna, and beyond, belongs to us.”
“All of it?” She was struck by the immensity of it.
“Yes.” He leveled his steady gaze on her, but the burning fire in his eyes was for the land. “And it’s just the beginning.”
“But Barnie—Mr. Moore—said there were other cattle outfits moving in,” she remembere
d.
“Not onto this range, they won’t.” He let the reins trail the ground and walked a few steps from the river. Reaching down, he tore off a handful of grass and held it out to Lorna. “This is like gold to a cattleman. And the water is silver. There’s always going to be somebody who will want it for himself. Because we got here first and claimed the best, others will try to crowd us out. I won’t be crowded.”
“Do you really think they’ll try?” Her head was tipped slightly back to study him without the obstruction of the hat brim.
“It’s the nature of man to want what someone else has.” Benteen showed tolerance for her attempt to cling to a belief in the goodness of people. “Call it envy or greed. Some control it. A few are open about it. And others try to disguise it. The few that are big always want more, and the ones that are little want to be big. Those that are in the middle, neither big nor small, try to pretend that’s the way they want to be.”
“Which one are you?” Lorna asked, and watched his mouth crook in a smile that held little humor.
“I’ve always been the one that was little who wanted to be big. I’m going to be big,” he stated. “The Calder Cattle Company will be an outfit anyone in these parts will have to reckon with.”
“But that isn’t wrong.” She frowned. “That’s just being ambitious.”
Smiling faintly, Benteen brushed the blades of grass off his glove and put an arm around her slim shoulders. “Ambition is a kind of greed, too.” They left the horses to walk in the direction of the crudely built shack. “It just sounds better.”
The subject made her uncomfortable, even though she understood what Benteen was saying. A fine line separated greed and ambition. One was a virtue, and the other was not. And ambition could easily beget greed.
Lorna turned her thoughts to a more positive topic. “You said you had the site picked out where we would build our house,” she reminded him. “Where is it?”
“Do you see that knoll just ahead?” Benteen pointed to the sloping rise of ground they were heading toward. “That’s where we’ll have our house.”
