Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

They’d barely got a good start on the second bottle when the sheriff strolled into their midst.

“Sorry, boys, but we don’t allow any loitering in public places, and this is a public place. You’ll have to move on,” he stated.

There was a lot of grumbling and a few choice words muttered underbreath, but they didn’t argue. “Hell, I was outa tobacco anyways,” Nate mumbled.

“Yeah, let’s go to the store.” Shorty picked up on the thought. “I been meanin’ to buy me a new jacket for winter.”

They set out en masse, retracing their steps and passing the saloon to go to the general store. An intrepid motorist came chugging into town in another one of those horseless carriages. A homesteader fought to hold his rearing team of horses and keep them from bolting. Distracted by the commotion in the street, Webb walked right into the woman coming out of the store, jostling the packages out of her arms and scattering them on the board sidewalk. He grabbed her to keep from knocking her down as well.

“Sorry, miss, I—” He stopped abruptly as he stared into a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Lilli.” Her name came out with the soft breath he released. His hands immediately became gentle on her, the pressure changing to an involuntary caress.

For a fleeting second, he saw a leaping warmth in her eyes; then her lashes came down, concealing it. “It was my fault, Mr. Calder,” she murmured, and her shoulders moved slightly in silent request that his hands be removed from them. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He let her go rather briskly, a raw frustration filling his insides. When she knelt down to pick up her scattered packages, he was driven to help her.

“Let me get these for you,” he insisted.

“I can manage,” she returned curtly.

“It’s the least I can do after nearly knocking you over.” Webb gathered up most of the packages and presented them to her. When they were once again standing, he said, “I’d offer to carry them to your wagon, but—”

The door opened and Stefan Reisner stepped outside, carrying a shiny new rifle. Dark suspicion was in his expression when he saw Webb with Lilli. He stepped immediately to her side.

“Is he bothering you, Lillian?” he inquired, at least this time asking before he challenged Webb.

“No,” she asserted quickly and glanced at Webb through the top of her lashes. “I dropped some of my packages and Mr. Calder was kind enough to retrieve them for me.”

Webb noticed the inaccurate description of the incident, but didn’t correct her. Whatever her reason for the white lie, he wasn’t about to expose it.

“That’s a fine-looking rifle, Mr. Reisner.” He observed that the muzzle was absently pointed in his general direction. “It will come in handy this winter for hunting, although there isn’t much game around here anymore. The rabbits might be pretty thick, though.” Webb paused, then asked, “Have you used a rifle much, Mr. Reisner?”

“I know how to shoot it.” He was packing a box of shells under his arm.

“I don’t know what it’s like where you came from, but around here”—he casually reached out and laid a forefinger alongside the muzzle to point it in another direction—“we don’t point a rifle at something unless we aim to shoot it. It’s considered bad manners.”

“I vill remember that.”

They continued to face each other while Lilli stood to one side, uneasily watching them both. The air seemed heavy with the veiled antagonism that drifted between them, carefully undefined.

The sheriff interposed. “What’s the trouble here?”

“No trouble, Sheriff,” Webb replied with an easy look. “I was just admiring Mr. Reisner’s new rifle and wishing him good hunting.” He tipped his hat to Lillian. “Good day to you, ma’am.”

He stepped past both of them to enter the store, and heard the trailing sounds of several pairs of heeled boots belonging to the Triple C riders behind him. A raw and reckless energy was pulsing through his blood. Webb wanted to hit something—anything.

Business was brisk inside the store, wall to wall with customers as entire homesteading families dawdled over purchases of merchandise and supplies. Youngsters in their knickers with a penny to spend were wavering between the candy jar selections, the decision of which to buy nearly as sweet as the stick of candy.

Webb walked to the back of the store, far away from the front windows so he couldn’t see Lilli getting into the wagon with her husband. All of the Triple C riders stayed together in a loose, noisy bunch, browsing through the goods for sale. Nate was the only one with any intention of making a purchase, so he walked up to the counter to buy his tobacco. Webb prowled restlessly along with him.

A new clerk started to inquire how he could help Nate when Ollie Ellis, the proprietor, came over and sent the clerk to another customer. At first, Webb thought nothing of it despite the owner’s stern and businesslike expression. Ollie Ellis had always personally waited on representatives from the Triple C, so it appeared to be no different this time.

“What can I do for you?” The crisp inquiry was not even accompanied by a familiar address.

“I need some tobacco. Better make it a whole can of Prince Albert,” Nate added, figuring it had to last him all winter.

“Is that all?” There was something in the owner’s tone that seemed to resent such a small purchase.

Behind them, Shorty was trying on a lady’s hat, to the hoots and guffaws of the other cowboys. Shorty had always been part clown and part banty rooster, so his hot temper and wild antics were equally well known to the local tradesman.