Stands a Calder Man Page 3

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  Most of the time, Webb took Ruth’s existence for granted. It seemed she’d always been there in the shadowy background of his life, never seeking any attention and not expecting it. She was so quiet that it was easy to forget she was even around.

  At the dinner table that evening, Webb had noticed the determined way his mother had drawn Ruth into the conversation, soliciting comments from her when none were forthcoming. It seemed impossible that a girl with blond hair and blue eyes could appear plain. Her features were comely, and her figure was adequately rounded, yet she wasn’t at all striking. Her fair coloring seemed muted, fading into nothingness, like her personality.

  Still, there was a subtle difference about Ruth. She seemed more feminine tonight. Webb wasn’t sure whether it was the pink gown with its softly ruffled neckline or if it was the pale curls of her hair. With a faint degree of cynicism, he suspected it was more likely six weeks with cows as the only female company.

  It was his mother’s initial prompting to take notice of Ruth’s appearance that centered his attention on her, but it was the air of vulnerability in her blushes and shyly dropped gaze whenever he said something nice to her that finally claimed his interest. There was no coyness in her actions; they were purely natural. Perhaps that’s what prompted Webb to want to put her at ease with him.

  When they left the dining room after a long, leisurely meal, Webb allowed his parents to lead the way to the hotel stairs while he followed with Ruth. Nate and the boys were waiting for him to join them at a saloon down the street. With dinner over, he had a perfect excuse to take his leave of Ruth and let her retire to her room for the evening as his parents were doing, but he didn’t use it. He curved her hand along the inside of his arm and let his gaze slide down to study her profile.

  “Would you like to step outside and get some fresh air?” Webb was surprised by the invitation he voiced.

  Her startled glance revealed a similar reaction, but her eyes were brighter. He felt the slight tremor in her hand where her fingers touched his arm.

  “Yes, I’d like that,” Ruth accepted and kept her eyes directed straight ahead.

  “It will be chilly outside. You’ll need a wrap,” Webb advised.

  “I have one in my room. It will only take me a minute to fetch it.” She sounded anxious, as if afraid he might change his mind and withdraw the invitation.

  “I’ll wait here for you.” Webb paused beside the newel post at the base of the staircase to the rooms as she picked up the front of her skirts and rushed up the steps, trying not to appear unduly hurried. For Webb, it was a novelty to be with someone who demanded so little from him. She seemed to have no expectations for him to live up to. That was rare indeed. If it wasn’t his father, then it was some local cowboy wanting to test his skill with a rope. Even whores expected more from him because he was a Calder, whether it was money or sexual prowess.

  As he glanced up the staircase, wondering how long it would take her, Ruth appeared at the top of the steps. A drab-looking coat of brown wool covered the pink gown, nearly destroying the feminine illusion he’d formed, but the anxiety he briefly glimpsed in her face was wiped away by relief when Ruth saw him waiting for her. She came quickly down the stairs to his side, a little breathless.

  “That didn’t take long.” His glance strayed to the incongrous brown coat, an un flattering choice for an evening wrap.

  “This is the only warm thing I brought with me.” She offered the explanation almost apologetically, aware it wasn’t appropriate.

  A smile broke the hard line of his mouth. “At this time of year, you’ll need the warmth of that coat. I was just thinking it was a shame that anything has to cover that pretty pink dress.” He attempted to make her feel less self-conscious about her appearance and tucked her hand along the inside of his arm to escort her outside.

  Night shadows crowded close to the edges of the gaslit streets, lurking near the corners of buildings and spilling onto portions of the sidewalks. It was relatively quiet, most of the muted noise coming from saloons down the street. There was a sharp bite to the cold air that turned their breath into vaporous clouds.

  “Will you be returning to the ranch tomorrow?” Ruth inquired.

  “I expect so,” Webb responded absently.

  “You’ll probably be glad to get back after being on the roundup for so long,” she murmured.

  “That’s for sure.” His glance ran over her, noticing the way she had burrowed her chin so deeply into the collar of her coat to keep out the cold, “Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m fine.” But her teeth chattered a little.

  Their strolling pace had carried them a block from the hotel. Webb suspected Ruth wouldn’t complain even if she were freezing.

  “I think we’d better turn back anyway. It’s colder out here than I realized.” He guided her into a wide turn without increasing their pace.

  “Yes, it is,” Ruth admitted.

  “What are you going to do now that you’ve finished school?” He didn’t mention the recent passing of her mother.

  “I thought about teaching some of the younger children at the ranch. Mrs. Calder—your mother—mentioned that maybe we could turn one of the smaller cabins into a day school.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “There aren’t many jobs for a girl around here . . . proper jobs,” she added on the heels of a raucous female laugh that came from a saloon across the street. “My father needs me right now, anyway, so I want to stay close by him for a while.”

  “Some cowboy will come along and sweep you off your feet,” Webb declared with a faint grin. “You’ll probably be married before you can decide about teaching school or working someplace else.”

  “No. That’s not going to happen.” She sounded so positive that Webb’s curiosity was aroused.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—” She almost looked at him, then lowered her glance and shrugged. “Just because it won’t.”

  “You don’t want to marry a cowboy?” There was an edge in his voice as he wondered whether she was like other girls—setting her sights higher.

  “No, it isn’t that,” she rushed to correct that impression. Once she met his gaze squarely, she seemed unable to look away.

  “Then what is it?” Webb tried to fathom the cause for the helpless way Ruth seemed to be staring at him.

  She broke away from his locking eyes, withdrawing and becoming more subdued. “I guess I just don’t think I’ll ever get married.”

  “Why not?” He had never heard a woman forecast her own spinsterhood. “You’re a pretty girl, Ruth. The right fella is going to come along some day and see that blond hair and blue eyes and fall in love with you on the spot.”

  “Maybe.” She conceded the point rather than continue the subject.

  Lights streamed from the glass windows of the hotel. “Here we are, right back where we started.” Webb opened the door and followed her into the heated lobby. “I’ll see you safely to your room.”

  “Are you staying here, too?”

  “No.” If his father’d had his way, he would have, but Webb preferred to bunk with the rest of the Triple C riders. That’s why he slept in the bunkhouse at the ranch rather than in The Homestead, as the main house was called.

  They climbed the stairs in silence, with Webb staying slightly behind her. He sensed awkwardness in her; she seemed uncertain how to behave. It became stronger when they reached the door to her room. She jumped visibly when Webb took the key from her and unlocked the door.

  “Do you want me to check inside?” he asked as he handed her back the key.

  She shook her head, tension showing on her face. “I enjoyed the walk.” It was apparent in the murmuring tone of her voice, too. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure, Ruth,” Webb insisted politely and waited for her to enter the room.

  But she continued to stand on the edge of the threshold, looking at him and appearing anxi
ous, unsure of herself. Her blue eyes were rounded in a silent plea. It was a full second before Webb recognized the expression of puppylike adoration. She wanted him to kiss her good night.

  His indecision didn’t last long. In the dim hall light, her blond hair shimmered like creamy silk and her blue eyes were pools of blue sapphires. Without conscious direction of his movements, Webb let his hands close on the coarse wool of the brown coat and find the round points of her shoulders while his head bent closer to hers.

  Her lips clung to his the instant they touched, yielding and soft, eager and inexperienced. It should have ended there, but Webb let the kiss draw out to an improper length. There was sweetness here and the taste was fresh and new.

  Reluctantly he drew away, although his attention stayed on the moistened curves of her lips. A gentleman didn’t indulge his baser needs on young ladies such as Ruth.

  “Good night, Webb,” she whispered on a note of lilting happiness.

  His gaze flicked upward to the shining light in her eyes. “Good night, Ruth,” he murmured huskily. “I guess we’ll probably be seeing you more often around The Homestead if you start teaching school there.”

  “Yes.” She swayed slightly toward him.

  “You’d better go inside,” he advised.

  Ruth continued to smile at him, not letting him out of her sight as she entered the room and closed the door. Webb stared at the closed door a second longer, then moved toward the staircase. Almost immediately her image faded into a blur, hazy around the edges, nondistinct. At the top of the steps, he passed a messenger boy from the telegraph office on the way up, probably with a reply from one of the wires that had been sent. Webb paused to light a long, narrow cigar, his side glance following the messenger down the hallway until he stopped at the door to his parents’ suite.

  Shaking out the match, Webb held it between his fingers and puffed thoughtfully on the cigar as he started down the steps. The Homestead Act had been in existence for years. His father had used it, twisting it a little, to build the Triple C Ranch to its present size. Yet he seemed to regard the proposed amendment to it as some kind of threat to the ranchland.

  Stepping out of the hotel into the crisp October night, Webb stopped and tossed the dead match into the street. He lingered there for a few minutes, wondering if the new bill might not be a benefit to the ranch by increasing the amount of land they held actual title to, then turned and walked down the street to the saloon where the rowdy group of Triple C riders had gathered.

  The door swung open just as Webb was about to reach for it. The cowboy lurching out the door nearly bumped into him, then rocked back on his heels to squint at him. The noise of loud, boisterous voices and the heavy-handed piano playing rushed out into the night.

  “Where are you goin’, Johnny?” Webb let a faint grin lighten the hard angles of his face. “The party’s just startin’.”

  The cowboy finally recognized him in the bad light and grabbed him by the arm to pull him inside. The air in the saloon was warm and stale, pungent with the smell of whiskey and beer. The smoke from cigars and cigarettes hung in layers over the long room.

  There were a few locals in the saloon crowd, but mostly it was made up of the crew from the Triple C outfit. A couple of the cowboys were swinging two of the floozies around the room—dancing, by their standards. Riders without a female partner were dancing with each other. Some were leaning against the long bar, offering their encouragement and criticism of the dancers. In the back of the saloon, a poker game was in progress.

  “Hey, boys!” Johnny shouted, his voice slurring slightly. “Look who finally showed up!”

  Webb was greeted with a motley collection of shouts and demands to know where he’d been. Someone yelled his name from the right. His glance went in that direction just as a whiskey bottle was lobbed through the air for him. In quick reflex, he made a one-handed catch of it.

  “You better get started!” Nate advised, waving a filled shot glass in a salute. “You got a lot of drinkin’ to do to catch up with the rest of us!”

  Webb pulled out the cork and raised the bottle to his mouth, tipping it up and guzzling down a couple of swallows of the fiery liquid. His action was met with cheers from the rowdy cowboys as he was swept toward the bar.

  The next morning he remembered little of what had transpired after that point. He heaved the saddle onto the back of his rangy black gelding, then had to rest a minute until the violent throbbing in his head subsided to a dull pound. He stank of cheap perfume and his loins ached. Every movement was jarring, sending shafts of pain from his head down. Gritting his teeth, Webb strung the strap through the cinch ring and tightened it. There was some consolation in knowing that the other riders saddling up felt as rotten and miserable as he did.

  Gingerly he pushed his hat a little farther down on his forehead. It felt like it was sitting on a balloon about to burst. The black gelding snorted and shifted sideways, rolling an eye at Webb. He changed his mind about climbing into the saddle and grabbed the trailing reins to lead the horse out of the livery corral and walk some of the humps out of its back before climbing aboard for the usual morning buck.

  A team of sorrels was hitched to the ranch carriage parked in front of the livery stable. The slanting rays of the sun hurt Webb’s eyes, and he dipped his chin down so more of his hat brim would shade out the sunlight. As Webb led his horse past the back of the carriage, he noticed his father standing by the front wheel. He felt the close inspection of those keen, dark eyes and bridled under it.

  Stopping, he checked the tightness of the saddle cinch again and caught the movement out of the corner of his eye as his father approached. Webb gave no sign that he was aware of him, feeling the waves of irritability sweep through his system.

  “I’ll be spending the next few days in town,” his father stated. “Your mother is riding back to the ranch with Ruth. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on her while I’m away.”

  His teeth came together as a muscle jumped along his jawline, but Webb merely nodded. “I’ll check on Mother.”

  “Fine.” Benteen kept his lips thinly together, bothered that he felt he had to make such a request of his own son. “Barnie’s going to let Ely know, since he’ll be in charge till I get back.”

  It would have been an opportune time to give Webb a taste of running the ranch in his absence if his son had shown any leadership potential in the past. But he couldn’t risk it, and that was another worrisome point to Benteen.

  When Webb made no comment, Benteen felt goaded into continuing the one-sided conversation until he got some kind of response from his son. “If I can arrange a meeting within the next week and get this new Homestead Bill nipped in the bud—” He paused, noticing the unexpected flicker of disagreement in Webb’s expression. “Do you have something on your mind?”

  Webb hadn’t intended to venture an opinion, but everything seemed to rub him the wrong way this morning. Instead of keeping his customary silence, he met his father’s narrowed look and decided to openly voice his differing view of the situation.

  “I don’t see why it’s important to keep that bill from going through,” he said flatly. “This land out here still isn’t any good for farming. If anything, the proposal would probably be more beneficial to the cattleman than the farmer by extending his title to range he’s already using.”

  At first his father’s reaction was one of impatience for his apparent ignorance of the bill’s ramifications, but it changed quickly, a speculative gleam appearing in his eye.

  “That’s what you think, huh?” he challenged, something close to approval touching his mouth. “Well, you’re wrong.” His father appeared to mentally shake away any lingering tiredness, energy suddenly returning to him. “Unsaddle your horse, Webb. You’re going to attend that meeting with me. Nothing is ever secure—least of all, the Triple C.”

  Webb started to reject the idea that it was important for him to be at the me
eting. Before he could say anything, his father read it in his expression.

  “That’s an order, Webb,” he stated. “I’m not asking you.”

  There was a testing of wills before Webb turned and hooked the stirrup over the saddlehorn to loosen the cinch. The black gelding twisted its nose around to snort at him to make up his mind.

  The telegraph in Miles City was kept busy that week transmitting messages back and forth from the nation’s capital to arrange a date for the meeting that all parties could keep. When a train from the East pulled into the depot ten days later, Webb and his father were on hand to meet it. Asa Morgan, having arrived from Helena the day before, was with them.

  As soon as the private railroad car was separated from the others and pushed onto a siding, they converged on it, crossing the cinder-bed tracks to swing onto the rear platform. A uniformed black man admitted them into the private car, bowing with servile respect.

  The interior walls were paneled with oak, and a thick gold and green rug covered the floor. It was ten years, maybe more, since Webb had seen the large, muscled hulk of a man seated in the overstuffed leather chair, but he recognized Bull Giles immediately. One leg was stretched out in front of him and a cane rested against the side of the chair. A second, heavyset man was standing by the window, no doubt having observed their approach to the train. Turning, he stepped forward to greet them as they filed into the car. His ruddy face was wreathed in a welcoming smile.

  “Benteen, good to see you again.” He vigorously shook his father’s hand, then turned his shrewd glance on Webb. He doubted if the man was in his thirties yet, but there was an age-old look of political cunning behind the good-natured facade. The old-young man with the portly build was a back-scratcher with an itch of his own. “You must be a Calder, too,” he guessed as he firmly clasped Webb’s hand.

  “This is my son, Webb.” His father completed the introduction. “Frank Bulfert, the senator’s aide.” Then he included the third member of the Montana party. “And I’m sure you remember Asa Morgan, with the cattlemen’s lobby.”