Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mrs. Calder came up beside him, the only one in the room who seemed to understand the limits of his healing abilities. “There’s hot coffee and homemade apple pie downstairs. I hope you will have some before you leave.”

“That’s kind of you, ma’am.” He folded together his black bag and moved to follow her out of the room.

“You’ll stay with Webb, won’t you, Ruth?” Mrs. Calder inquired of the blond-haired girl. “Benteen?” She spoke her husband’s name in a tone that prodded him into accompanying her.

Impatience made the stem line of his mouth appear even harder. He flashed a dark look at the woman called Ruth. “I want to know the minute he comes to.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised and drew a chair next to the bed to begin her vigil.

But it was the middle of the second night before Webb stirred. Ruth had just come into the bedroom so Lorna could get some sleep. She was at his side with the first sign of movement.

“He has a slight fever.” Lorna Calder wrung out a wet cloth to lay on his forehead and handed it to Ruth.

As she laid it on his forehead, Ruth noticed his lips moving. She bent closer to quiet him, then froze as she heard him murmur something that sounded like Lilli. Her gaze jerked to Lorna Calder.

“Is he conscious?” Lorna asked anxiously.

“No. That is—” Ruth faltered. “Do you know anyone named Lilli?”

A stillness came over Lorna’s features. “No, I don’t know anyone by that name,” she denied. Then she gave Ruth a considering look. “I’d rather you didn’t mention this to Benteen.”

“The man who brought Webb here, was he fairly old—with a gray beard?” Ruth asked, feeling the sharp pain of suspicion and trying to conceal it.

“Yes. Why?” Lorna Calder eyed her closely.

“I just wondered,” Ruth murmured and lowered her gaze. Although she had asked how Webb had got shot, Lorna had indicated to her that she didn’t know. At first, Ruth had thought that likely, since Webb hadn’t regained consciousness. But if it was the same man who had brought him here that Ruth knew to be the husband of that young woman Webb had danced with at the Fourth of July celebration, it seemed very possible the shooting had been over that woman.

At some point this year, she had lost Webb and hadn’t even known it.

17

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bsp; Benteen, please remember he’s very weak,” Lorna cautioned her husband before they entered Webb’s room.

“I will.” But he was impatient with the minor delay caused by her brief comment. Now that Webb had regained consciousness, he wanted to find out the actual circumstances that had surrounded the shooting. After two days of being gnawed by the old man’s claim, Benteen couldn’t accept it as true. “But there’s some things I’ve got to find out.”

As she opened the door, Lorna gave him another warning look that asked him to stay calm and take it slow. Ruth was sitting on the bed, spoon-feeding Webb some broth. Benteen was shaken by the whiteness of his son’s face. It made the blackness of his hair and eyes and the stubble on his cheek all the more pronounced. An array of feather pillows supported him in a semi-reclining position. Benteen felt a stirring of anger again for the man who had laid low his vital, strapping son.

“Ruth, would you leave us alone with Webb for a few minutes?” Lorna requested.

Benteen needed the time to compose himself and bring his emotions under control. He was trembling, and he shoved his hands deep into his pockets so it wouldn’t show. While Ruth gathered up her tray to leave, Benteen ranged alongside the bed, searching the pale features of his grown son. He didn’t say a word until Ruth had left the room.

“How are you feeling, son?”

“All right.” His voice lacked strength. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a hard head.” The effort of speaking seemed to send shock waves through his head, increasing the pounding pain that fluctuated between a steady dullness and a stabbing sharpness.

“I want to know about the shooting, Webb,” Benteen stated, broaching the issue that had brought him to the room. “I want to know what happened and who did it.”

It wasn’t a physical pain that closed Webb’s eyes. “Forget it.”

“Forget it?” The retort came back fast and sharp, loaded with temper.

“Benteen.” Lorna issued a quiet warning from her position at the head of the bed.

He struggled to lower his voice and it came out rough with the effort. “I’m not going to accept that. Now, are you going to tell me what happened and why?”

“I said forget it,” Webb repeated, opening his eyes to challenge his father. But Lorna saw the film of moisture in them and felt her heart twisting for her son. It was a stupid code that men had to do their crying on the inside, and she wished she could cry Webb’s tears for him. “This is my business. It has nothing to do with you,” Webb insisted.