Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“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.