Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“See ya later,” he said, not feeling obligated to tell them of his intentions.

His long, skinny legs were bowed a little from a lot of long days forking a saddle. They made little effort to pick up his feet as he ambled across the room. Pausing near Benteen Calder’s chair, he adopted a genuinely respectful look for his boss.

“Where’d Webb take off for?” he asked when Benteen acknowledged his presence with a glance.

“He went over to the store to give Ruth and his mother a hand with their packages.”

Nate bobbed his head at the information and touched his hat in a casual salute. Webb’s errand sounded as boring as this place had become, but Nate decided to go in search of him anyway.

Inside the general store, Stefan Reisner scooped up a handful of nails and sifted them through his fingers until only one was left in his palm. He tested its strength by taking it between his fingers and exerting a little pressure to see how easily it might bend.

“They are cheaper across the street,” he was advised by a voice on his right.

When Stefan turned, he recognized his new neighbor, Franz Kreuger. The man’s dark and brooding eyes were difficult to meet for long, yet they seemed to have missed nothing. Franz Kreuger had been here for such a short time, yet he had acquired more knowledge about local people and places than Stefan had. Stefan tried to justify his own lack of awareness by reminding himself that he had devoted all his hours to improving his homestead. But he also knew inside that he was a follower by nature. It had been Lillian’s father Reinald’s idea to come to America, not his. Most of his dreams were shadows of someone else’s.

On the other hand, Franz Kreuger was a leader, naturally asserting his opinions as he had at the well when he had denounced that big ranch owner’s threats. He had made himself known to all the homesteaders, while Stefan had quietly listened and ventured no opinion.

But Stefan had never wanted to be the center of attention. By being quiet and going on about his business, he didn’t attract confrontations such as Franz Kreuger had experienced with the rancher and his men. He was a passive man who never went looking for trouble, so he seldom found it.

“You have bought at the hardware store nails?” Stefan raised the nail he was holding, satisfied with its quality. “Good ones?”

Franz Kreuger nodded affirmatively. “I buy mine there.” He looked at the goods around them with displeasure. “The prices in this town are high for everything. So many things I could have bought cheaper in the city.”

“Ya,” Stefan agreed. “But the cities are far from here. The shop owner must pay freight for his goods to the railroads.” He had reasoned out the cause for the hig

her prices, although it had initially alarmed him when he had realized how much more had to be earned in this country in order to live and pay his debts.

“Are you buying nails to build your house?” the new homesteader probed.

“My house is finished, but furniture ve must have,” Stefan replied. “When the ground dries, a veil for vater I must also finish digging.”

“When the ground dries, I must get back into the fields with my plow.” Kreuger’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “The rain did not come at a good time for me. My land is not ready to put the wheat in the ground. Two days I have lost. That is not good. I have not much time left to plant and grow a crop to harvest in autumn.”

Stefan could readily understand the man’s concern. It seemed to explain the brooding anger that lurked in his eyes. “You said at the veil ve must together stick. My vheat is growing. Vhen the ground dries, I vill bring my plow and horses to your place. Ve vork together to plant your vheat.”

A smile formed on the man’s face, an expression that seemed alien to its ingrained lines. “And I, Franz Kreuger, will come to dig your well for water.” He extended his hand to seal the bargain with a vigorous handshake. “Come. We will go to the hardware store and buy your nails for furniture.”

Stefan raised no objection at the way Franz Kreuger was taking charge. It reminded him of that bygone time when Reinald was alive, sharing the workload and doing nearly all things together. He had not been that close to another man since then. Perhaps his new neighbor would change that.

Side by side, they made their way to the door. Stefan had taken one step beyond the threshold when Franz laid a staying hand on his arm. Stefan halted to turn a questioning look at the Latvian to learn why they had stopped.

A frown had narrowed his eyes and darkened his expression, but his attention wasn’t directed at Stefan. It went beyond him, focusing on something or someone else. Stefan turned to look.

“That cowboy,” Franz said in a low voice, and there was only one individual wearing the clothes of that job. Stefan stiffened when he saw the cowboy was speaking to Lillian. His hand was gripping her elbow in a most familiar fashion. “He’s the one the rancher Calder sent to threaten my family. Do you see how he has accosted one of our defenseless young women? Someone should do something to stop this tyranny.”

The words prodded Stefan to act. It was evident that since Lillian’s back was partially turned to them, Franz hadn’t recognized her. With quick, long strides, Stefan moved to confront this tough-looking cowboy bothering his Lillian.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Calder?” she asked.

“All my life, it seems.” Webb couldn’t force the smile that might have lightened the flatness of his voice. Nor did he take advantage of the second opportunity to explain he was the son, not just another working cowboy. Sooner or later she’d find out, so he didn’t understand his reluctance to make it known to her now.

“I—” She started to make a comment, but a guttural voice, thick with anger, slashed across her words. “You vill leave her alone!”

Before the harsh command was finished, a hand was reaching out to grab Lillian’s arm and yank her away from Webb. For a split second, Webb was stunned by the suddenness of it. Anger flared in a purely instinctive reaction to the apparent attack as he faced the bristling drylander planted squarely in front of Lillian.

“What the hell are you doing?” Webb demanded an explanation from the tall, whiskered man.

“You stay avay from her!” The man was past middle-age, muscled but gaunt.