Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

Webb hesitated. For an instant, Lilli thought she had won him over

; then he shook his head. “No. We’ll spend the night here as we planned and get an early start in the morning. Ruth’s taking good care of our son.”

“Yes.” She admitted that, but with more than a trace of agitation.

He put his arm around her waist and fitted her close to his side. “This business with Kreuger has spooked you.” He smiled warmly at her. There was pride in his eyes for this slim, strong woman who carried his name. She was beautiful and spirited, with a will to match his. Even now, she was pushing away the fear that shadowed her eyes.

“Maybe so,” she conceded.

“Do you suppose I can persuade a certain married woman to have dinner with me tonight?” he murmured, his voice growing husky.

“You can try,” she replied on a faint note of challenge.

The afternoon sun was leaning toward the west, slanting its rays through the boarding-house window. Franz Kreuger pulled the blind so the light wouldn’t disturb his wife. She had closed her eyes only minutes ago, finally drifting into a much-needed sleep. He slipped quietly out of the room and down the stairs to the parlor.

“How is she?” Doyle Pettit looked up briefly, then finished pouring liquid from his pocket flask into a glass.

“She finally went to sleep. She will be better.” Franz Kreuger refused to believe anything else. He moved to the window, an impatience claiming his actions; his gaze was restless and hard. “We should be going home. We have been away from our place too long. So much work has been left undone for so long.”

“It looks as if it’s going to be some time before your wife is in any condition to travel.” Doyle took a drink of the bootlegged whiskey.

“I’ll have to leave her here until she is better.” Franz was confident his wife would understand. She had never disagreed with any of his decisions, and she would see the sense of this one. “I have decided to go this afternoon.”

“Calder won’t be leaving until in the morning, so it’s probably a good idea that you leave today.” Doyle nodded his agreement. “I’ll arrange for Mrs. Rogers to look after your wife until she’s better.”

Kreuger faced him, suspicion lurking in his narrowed eyes. “You have done much for me, and I can’t pay you.”

“But you will.” Doyle smiled away that concern. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character, Kreuger. You are the sort that always pays your debts. This drought won’t last forever. And as long as you have your land, you’ll be harvesting wheat one day. That means business for my grain elevator, my bank, and my hardware store. By helping you, I stand to gain a lot, too.” Much more than Kreuger ever suspected. Doyle was confident that everything was going to work out as he had planned it. He lifted his glass in a silent drink to it.

When Kreuger saw the many ways Pettit stood to profit from helping him, it eased his mind. The day would come when he would pay him back. He accepted charity from no man. Pettit indicated he respected him for that, which pleased Kreuger. He’d rather die than grovel at the feet of any man, so he didn’t offer his thanks for the help Pettit had given him. The man would be paid, so gratitude wasn’t necessary.

“I will leave now,” Kreuger announced. “Please tell my wife that I will come to fetch her in three weeks.”

“Of course.” Doyle inclined his head. Not until after Kreuger had left the boarding house did a smile spread across his face and a different light began to shine in his eyes. “Hurry home, Kreuger,” he murmured and chuckled softly, “Hurry home.”

Early the next morning, the Model T was on the road, making the return journey to the ranch. Webb and Lilli passed families of drylanders, a common sight now. Some were on foot, others in dilapidated trucks, and still more in wagons. But the dust didn’t seem as bad. And the wind generated by the fast-traveling automobile made the hot temperature bearable. There were stretches of land blackened by range fires, and more acres mounded into dirt dunes, dotted with thistles that were fodder for milk cows. They drove by hardscrabble farms with chickens scratching futilely in the dirt and bone-thin pigs wallowing in the dust.

It was a relief when they reached the unmarked gate to the Triple C Ranch. Here the rolling country was covered with brown grass, dried out and burnt up, but it was a covering that held the rangeland intact.

“We’re almost home.” Webb took his eyes off the lane long enough to glance at Lilli.

The blowing wind had freed strands of dark hair for the sun to set on fire. Her wide mouth was lifted in a faint smile at the prospect of journey’s end. “I wish we could go faster.”

Ahead, there was a straight stretch of fairly smooth road. Webb pushed down on the foot pedal to increase their speed, blurring the landscape in his side vision. They were nearly halfway across the stretch when, all at the same moment, there was an explosion and the steering wheel was suddenly wrenched to the right, nearly ripped from his hands.

A blowout. Webb fought to regain control, but the automobile careened violently to the right, bounced wildly into a ditch, and came to an abrupt stop as it gouged into an embankment. It was a full second before Webb realized they were no longer moving. The instant he turned, he saw Lilli slumped against the door.

A wild fear clawed through him as he reached for her, calling her name. Her body was limp when he gathered it into his arms. Already an ugly bruise was coloring her right temple. His fingers found the pulse in her neck, but it wasn’t very strong. His own heart was thudding loudly in his chest, the blood pumping with powerful thrusts. As carefully as possible, he laid her down on the seat and reached behind him to open the door.

There was a whanging thud of a bullet ricocheting off the metal frame, and Webb threw himself across Lilli. It hadn’t been a blowout. Somebody had shot out the tire. Another searching shot plowed into the upholstery of the seat only a few inches above his head. He reached over to open the small compartment in the dash and take out the revolver that was always kept there. It was mostly for snakes, which were prevalent in this part of the country. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter one while changing a tire. Whoever was shooting had a rifle, but at least Webb, too, was armed.

Aware that he had to draw the fire away from the car, where Lilli might get hit, Webb waited until the third shot broke the windshield. He kicked the door open and rolled outside, counting on surprise. He hit the ground and kept moving. Two shots were snapped off in rapid succession, kicking up the dirt behind him as his unseen assailant tried to bring his moving target into his sights. Erosion had exposed an outcropping of coal just ahead of him. Webb lunged for the shelter it offered, grabbed a corner of it, and swung behind it. Another bullet fragmented the coal edge under his hand, coal splinters peppering his hand as he yanked it back and flattened himself against the ledge rock.

He was breathing hard; perspiration was breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. All the shots had come from the same rifle. There was only one person out there. Judging from the direction of the shots, the man had to be in that stand of dead pines on the hill across the way. Webb checked his revolver. There were only five bullets, the hammer resting on an empty chamber. He turned it and wished he’d grabbed some shells.

There was a chance a Triple C rider was in the vicinity and had heard the shots. But with Lilli hurt and unconscious, Webb couldn’t risk waiting for help to come.

So far, his attacker was unaware he was armed, which gave Webb a slim advantage. With only five bullets, he couldn’t trade shots with the man, which left him with the only other option—to stalk his attacker. There was little covering around him. The ambush site had been well chosen. The hill and the stand of trees gave a commanding field of fire. Webb would have to rely on the folds of the land to conceal his stalk, but first he had to verify the location of his prey.