12
Stones clattered under the iron-clad hooves of the black gelding inching its way along the coulee where it fell at a fairly steep angle. When the ground leveled out and the footing became more solid, it picked up its pace without any urging from its rider, Webb Calder. It stopped automatically when it reached the young cottonwood tree and the concealing shade of its branches. Black ears swiveled back to the rider, waiting for further instructions.
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nbsp; The Reisner farm was about a mile away at this point, its shanty-house clearly visible. Webb had come upon this hidden approach to the farm about three weeks ago and used it about four times since then. Twice he’d seen Lilli working in the garden beside the house, but neither time had he left the concealment of the cottonwood. Reisner had been in the fields nearby. At least, Webb had been assured that Lilli was all right, although he didn’t kid himself that it was the only reason he came.
As he scanned the fields and the area around the tar-paper house, he saw no sign of Reisner. The horses and wagon were gone, too. Smoke was coming out of the stovepipe chimney, which indicated someone was home. He looked over the fields again; then he walked the gelding out from under the tree and crossed the intervening land at an easy lope.
Coming up to the one-room shanty, he slowed the horse to a walk and made a close-up note of the changes since the last time he’d been there. A couple of chickens were scratching up dust under the feed trough in the corral. There was a handpump sitting atop a cistern cover, and a scraggly but determined patch of flowers growing alongside of the house. The air was laden with the yeasty aroma of baking bread, which assured him the lady of the house was at home.
Unhurried, he stepped down from his horse and let the reins trail to ground-tether his mount. The door was propped open, a kind of silent invitation which he readily accepted. Webb paused at the threshold and let his gaze travel over the slim figure of a woman standing at the table with her back to the door. She was vigorously kneading a batch of dough, apparently unaware of his presence. Wisps of hair had escaped from the bun and lay against her neck. The trace of burnt copper was absent from the dark shade of her hair without the bright sunlight to expose it.
Taking off his hat, he ran a hand through his hair, then rapped his knuckles lightly against the door frame. “Anybody home?” His voice was warm and certain of the answer to his question. It was the same in his eyes as he watched the quick turn of her head and the darted glance over her shoulder. There was only the briefest pause in her bread-kneading before she resumed her former rhythm.
“If it’s water you’re wanting for your horse, you’re welcome to draw from the pump,” she said.
It pleased him that she remembered the reason he’d given for stopping the last time. “That isn’t why I came by.” The dull clank of his spurs signaled he was crossing the threshold.
“What is it you wanted, Mr. Calder?” she asked without turning.
He crossed to the table, his glance skimming the interior with its newspaper walls and homemade furnishings. Her dark head was bent to her task, and she didn’t raise it when he stopped at the narrow end of the table. The front of her apron was spattered with flour dust and there was a little white smear by her cheekbone.
“We’ll be busy with fall roundup at the ranch for the next few weeks and I wanted to check and be sure you had recovered from your bums,” Webb offered as his reason.
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Calder, but they were really very minor. They healed within days and never left a scar,” she assured him and continued pounding and pummeling the dough.
The room’s lights and shadows and warm smells took on a strange familiarity. Webb ranged about the table, a sense of comfort and home sweeping over him.
“When I was a little boy, we lived in a log cabin about this size,” he mused. “Standing here, it doesn’t seem so long ago. I guess this place reminds me of it a little.”
“Stefan will be interested to know that you found something nice to say about our home.” She shaped the dough into a loaf and slapped it into a pan, pushing it out to touch both ends.
There was a slight narrowing of his gaze at the determined reference to her husband. When she finally lifted her head so he could see her face plainly, it was as if she were wearing a mask. Webb chose to ignore her reply.
“I had forgotten that making bread was such rough work.” He smiled. “I’d be black and blue if I was pounded like that.”
“You’ve got to get the air out, otherwise the bread will be full of holes,” she stated and picked up the pan. To avoid passing him, she went the long way around the table to reach the stove and opened the oven door. He watched her crouch down to slip in the pan and test the other bread baking inside.
“It smells good,” he remarked.
Closing the oven door, she straightened and nervously smoothed her hands down her apron. He noticed that she was deliberately avoiding looking at him.
“I never did thank you, Mr. Calder, for putting out the fire before I was more seriously burned,” she began, saying the words as if she had been mentally practicing them for some time. “I am very grateful. I wish for you to know that.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Webb tipped his head at an angle, trying to figure out why she was so aloof with him when she’d always been so open before. “I’m just glad I was there.”
She dropped her chin again and looked about her as if searching for something. “It was very good of you to drop by and ask after me.” She moistened her lips and made an effort to look directly at him. For a few seconds, she was very poised. “I hope you’ll understand that I’m very busy with the baking and all, so I can’t ask you to stay.”
It was a roundabout way of asking him to leave, but Webb didn’t believe she meant it. He crossed the short space between them to stand in front of her. There was a hint of agitation in the rise and fall of her breasts.
“You’ve got some flour on your cheek, Lilli.” He reached to wipe it off, but she turned her head away from his hand and brushed at it herself.
“It’s true that in the past I might have given you cause to believe you have my permission to speak to me in such a familiar way, Mr. Calder,” she said stiffly. “But from now on, I would prefer that you address me properly as Mrs. Reisner if we should meet in the future.”
His brows were pulled together in a puzzled and doubting frown. “Lilli—”
“You knew my husband wasn’t here when you rode in, didn’t you?” she accused suddenly, a wounded and angry look flaring in her eyes.