Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“It’s going to take a lifetime for that to happen, if it ever does.”

Regret rippled through her. “There’s so much we could have shared already—”

“Don’t look back.” He shifted heavily onto her. “We’re going to forget what’s behind us and only look ahead.”

“Yes.” Her hand stroked his side, lightly touching the scarred depression left by the bullet hole, and let him think what he suggested was possible.

With the supper dishes finished, Ruth Stanton straightened the oilcloth covering the table and wiped off the crumbs from the meal. There was a knock at the front door of the wood-frame house she shared with her father. Company was the last thing she wanted tonight.

“Papa,” she called to her father in the front room. “Somebody’s at the door. Will you answer it?” She walked to the cupboards, making noise so it would sound as if she were busy.

When the second, peremptory knock went unanswered, Ruth advanced to the kitchen doorway and saw her father dozing soundly in his easy chair. His hearing wasn’t too good anymore. Impatiently she walked over and nudged his shoulder. He stirred, looking around blankly.

“Somebody is at the door, Papa,” Ruth repeated. “What? Oh.” He blinked to rid himself of the sleepy daze. “You had better answer it, Ruth.”

In a flurry of frustration, she went to the door and tried to compose a look of calm on her strained features as she opened it. Virg Haskell was standing on the porch, turning his hat in his hand. She felt a sinking sensation. She had thought—had hoped—it was one of her father’s cronies coming over to chat about old times or play a game of checkers, someone who wouldn’t expect to be entertained with talk from her. Tonight of all nights, she didn’t want Virg Haskell pressing his attentions on her.

“May I come in?” His smile was wide, expecting to be welcomed as he usually was.

The

re was no reason to refuse him admittance into her home, but Ruth didn’t respond with any enthusiasm as she opened the door wider. “Of course.”

“Hello, Virg.” Her father started to rise stiffly out of his chair to greet the man he regarded as his daughter’s suitor.

“Don’t get up, Mr. Stanton.” The cowboy moved quickly to shake the older man’s hand.

“What brings you here—as if I need to ask?” he asked with a winking look at Ruth. His failing vision didn’t notice the stiffness of her features.

“It’s a nice night out—a full moon. I thought Ruth might like to go for a little walk.” The slim, brown-haired cowboy turned his earnest gaze to her, a light shining brightly in his eyes.

“I can’t tonight. I ... I have papers to grade,” she lied, but her father caught her in it.

“You did those before supper,” he reminded her.

“Well, I meant ... I had assignments to prepare for tomorrow.” She made a faltering attempt to cover her He.

“That won’t take longer than a jig-tail,” her father rebuffed that excuse. “You go out and walk with your young man and do that when you come back.”

With no more excuses left to her, Ruth wasn’t able to state that she didn’t want to go walking with Virg, which meant she was trapped into accepting. She stalled for time. “I’ll need a wrap.”

She took an unconscionably long time putting on her coat, but Virg Haskell was waiting by the door when she returned. Her father made some inane remark about having a good time as they left the house.

There was one blessing in the situation. Virg always talked so much, mostly about himself, that Ruth was seldom required to say anything. As they wandered along in the moonlight, she let his voice run past her and didn’t bother to listen to the words. Her gaze strayed to The Homestead. There was only one light showing, and it was on the second floor. The sight of it slowed her steps to a halt, a knife twisting in her heart.

Suddenly Virg’s face was blocking it out and his lips were on her mouth, exerting forceful pressure. For a second, Ruth let herself pretend he was someone else and kissed him back until he became too demanding.

“Ruth,” he groaned roughly while his hands moved over her back, trying to rub out her resistance and make her close to him again. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I’ve asked you so many times to marry me. What do I have to do to make you say yes?”

She looked at him, suddenly seeing the great emptiness of the life ahead for her. A single woman was nothing—the next thing to dead. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being wanted. She’d marry a man she didn’t love before she’d endure that. It was a kind of unwritten law of survival—a person had to make do with what was at hand.

“Ask me again, Virg,” she said. “I have your answer now.”

24

The sunlight flashed on her gold ring, intensifying its color and luster, Lilli turned her hand experimentally and watched the play of light on her wedding band, wondering if all newly married women were fascinated by such simple things. In spite of the cold November day, she had refused to wear gloves to keep her hands warm, because they’d hide the ring she wore with such pride.

Her lips lay softly together, curved upward at the corners with a hint of a secret smile, while she supposedly supervised the loading of her purchases in the buggy. The high-necked coat she was wearing was new, a forest-green wool trimmed in a black-dyed woolskin. The dark green color brought out the blue sparkle in her eyes and the sheen of red in her dark hair.