Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“I’ll see you later, Simon.” Webb threw the remark over his shoulder, not slackening his stride as he left the cookshack and brushing past Ruth as she was coming in.

Simon Bardolph continued to stare at the door long after it had closed, trying to puzzle it out. Ruth noticed his confusion. “Is something wrong?”

His glance flicked to her blankly; then he shook his head and turned back to his food. “I guess Webb just remembered he had to be someplace.”

“Why do you say that?” She glanced toward the door, remembering that Webb had been rather brisk, but she had thought it might be left over from their last meeting.

“We were talking. He was asking me questions about Reisner’s death—” he began, speaking and mulling the events over in his mind at the same time.

“Reisner.” The name came out in a quick breath. “Lilli Reisner?”

“No. Is that the wife’s name?” He shrugged that it didn’t matter. “It was the old man that died.” His gaze narrowed at the way the light seemed to go out of Ruth’s eyes. “Would you explain to me what’s going on here?”

There was a faint movement of her head in denial. “Nothing.” It wasn’t her place to tell him. In any case, it was possible he’d know for himself in a short while.

She had waited so patiently, clinging to the last thread of hope. Now it was unraveling. Tears were welling in her eyes. She excused herself quickly and escaped before the doctor saw that she was crying.

The first two weeks after Stefan’s death there had been so many details to take care of, so many things to do, that Lilli had barely drawn a restful breath. The third week, it had all caught up with her and she’d practically slept the clock round. Finally her mind and body were cleared of tiredness and indecision. No more dark hollows ringed her eyes. They viewed reality with a steady gleam of determination.

A restless wind tried to lift the skirt of her russet dress, swirling it about her legs. The shawl around her shoulders was the only black garment she owned. She meant no disrespect to Stefan, but buying black material to make mourning dresses seemed a waste of what little money she had. The wind tore at the bank draft in her hand, trying to rip it from her grasp.

“I’m sorry it couldn’t be more, Mrs. Reisner,” Doyle Pettit declared, respectfully holding his hat in front of him. “But with the lack of rain this year, the price of land has dropped. I had hoped for your sake that I could have sold your farm for more.”

What he neglected to tell her was that he had purchased the land himself. She had insisted on an immediate sale. So Doyle had paid the present, fair-market value of the land, confident he would double his money on it next spring. He certainly hadn’t cheated her out of any profits, merely taken advantage of the situation.

“I understand.” After the bank loans had been paid and deducted, there wasn’t much left. Not as much as she had hoped, certainly. She folded the bank draft into a neat square and slipped it deep into her pocket. “It was kind of you to come all the way out here to bring it to me.”

“It was no trouble, I assure you.” He used his charming smile on her and looked appropriately concerned. “What will you do now, Mrs. Reisner? It isn’t a great deal of money, but naturally you’ll want to invest it wisely. I’d be more than happy to advise you on the matter.”

“I have already made plans. It should be enough to buy a small restaurant, perhaps in Butte.” Cooking was the only skill she possessed, her only means of making a living, and with all the copper mines around Butte, Montana, it sounded like a good place. Besides, it seemed sensible to leave the area and put distance between herself and foolish dreams about Webb Calder.

“Going into business for yourself, now, that’s a big step, Mrs. Reisner.” Doyle Pettit had the same skeptical look in his eye that everyone else had. Men ran businesses, and women taught school or took care of the sick. “There’s a great deal you need to know.”

“I have managed our household for a good number of years, Mr. Pettit. I believe I know something about purchasing supplies and paying bills.” Lilli was bristling slightly behind the smile she gave him. “But thank you for your concern.”

Not by words or action did she encourage him to stay and chat, not even to the extent of inviting him inside the shanty that was no longer hers. The man was too smooth, too well dressed, and the Model T parked a few yards away showed too little dust. There was a vanity, a self-interest, about him that made him seem superficial. As a recent widow, she probably should have been flattered by his attention and interest, but she strongly doubted it was genuine.

Doyle widened his smile and attempted to cover his confusion over this businesslike reception. He had delivered the draft and she seemed to be urging him to leave. It might have been interesting to console her. She certainly looked more attractive than she had the day she came into the bank wanting to sell the farm.

“If there’s anything else I can do, Mrs. Reisner, I hope you’ll contact me.” There was nothing left but to take his leave of her.

“Thank you.” She bobbed her head briefly, never saying she would or wouldn’t. The sunlight caught the rusty autumn color in her dark hair.

But he didn’t hurry about leaving, turning up his collar and pulling on his gloves. “I think we’re going to have an early winter. It almost smells like frost in the air.” A drumming sound came faintly to him. Doyle turned to look down the lane. A horse and rider were approaching, still too far away to identify. “It looks like someone’s coming.”

As she stepped away from the windbreak of the shanty, she pulled the shawl more closely around her shoulders. There was a familiarity about the rider that seemed to trip up her pulse and send it skittering unevenly. Everything had been so settled; now her thoughts started going every which way as the rider came close enough for Lilli to be certain it was Webb.

The horse puffed to a stop beside the automobile, pricking its ears at it suspiciously, Webb sat in the saddle for a few seconds, his expressionless glance going from her to Doyle Pettit.

“Webb Calder.” Doyle recovered from his surprise to move forward to greet him. “I didn’t expect to run into you out here.”

Letting the reins trail to ground-tie the horse, Webb shook the hand Doyle extended to him, a measuring look sliding to Lilli.

She was almost glad Doyle Pettit was here. It gave her time to keep her feet firmly on the ground and not be blown away by this rocking of her senses.

“I stopped by to pay my respects to . . . Mrs. Reisner.” The hesitation over the formal mode of address was small but noticeable to Lilli. “I can’t say that I expected to find you here, either, Doyle.”

“I handled the sale of the farm for Mrs. Reisner. The transaction was finalized today, so I brought the draft out to her,” he explained.