This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

“Three days.” That was his plan.

“Right after the weddin’, huh?” Stoney grinned, a ribald twinkle lighting his eyes. “Think you’ll be in condition to fork a horse?”

Benteen smiled and let the comment pass without reply. “I heard a man named Davies had a wagon for sale.”

“Yep.” Stoney nodded and yanked on the horse’s head when it started to fuss at the smithy’s approach. “Another one of them farmers,” he said, and spit into the dust. “They’re getting thick up north. Heard they was fencin’ in the water.”

“Is that a fact?” He filed the information away, part of the storehouse of knowledge about trail conditions. Trail drives went from one watering hole to the next. “What about the wagon?”

“It’s over behind the barn,” Stoney replied, gesturing toward the stable with his head. “Davies left it here. He’s hopin’ to sell it to get seed money. I told him he should pack his things and move on. They’re a stubborn bunch, those farmers.”

“What kind of condition is it in?” Benteen was going to look for himself, but it never hurt to ask.

“Hell, it’s like new. He brought it from Kansas. Swears he’ll never go back.” Stoney chuckled. “Can’t blame him.”

“I’m gonna take a look at his wagon,” Benteen stated.

“It’ll go cheap. Like I said, the fool needs money for seed.”

Benteen could use a bargain. Crossing to the corral, he started to hop the rail and cut through to the rear of the stable. He thought he heard someone call his name, but there was so much racket in the streets it was hard to be sure. He glanced around.

“Hey! Calder!” A wagon rattled toward the stables, a man and woman perched on its seat.

Benteen stepped back on the hard-packed ground as he recognized Ely Stanton. Ely whoaed the pair of horses to a stop in front of the stable and set the brake.

“Howdy, Ely.” Benteen greeted the man and touched his hat, nodding respectfully to the woman sitting beside him.

“I was just coming into town to look for you.” Ely was smiling, a rare occurrence in Benteen’s memory. “This is my wife, Mary. I don’t think you’ve met her. This is Mr. Calder, honey.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Stanton,” Benteen responded to the introduction.

“It’s an honor, Mr. Calder,” she replied. She was a plain-looking woman, strong with a no-nonsense air about her. She was the kind who could wind up henpeckin’ a man if he wasn’t careful. But there was a solidness about her, too, that Benteen liked. “Mr. Stanton has told me a great deal about you. If only half of it was true, you must be quite a man.”

Ely sent her an impatient look to shush up, but Benteen chuckled at the bluntness of the woman—after all, he wasn’t married to her. Mary Stanton wasn’t about to be intimidated by a man’s superiority.

“Ely has mentioned you several times, too,” Benteen replied, and the woman looked a little uneasy, as if her outspoken nature was a trait that her husband found objectionable, but she concealed her feelings well.

“I came to tell you that I have decided to take you up on the offer for Mary and me to travel with you on the drive,” Ely stated, putting a little bit of emphasis on his role in the decision-making process, asserting his position as head of the house.

“But only as far as Dodge City,” Mary inserted. “From there, we’re going to Iowa, where I have relatives.”

“Ely mentioned that before,” Benteen assured her, but suspected Ely wasn’t in favor of that journey. Benteen hated to see a man with Ely’s cow sense turn to dirt farming, but it wasn’t his life.

“I just wanted to be sure you understood.” But her reply was directed more to her husband than to Benteen.

“I do.” H

e pretended to be unaware of the interchange between husband and wife. “We’re planning to pull out in three days. You and your wife are welcome to join up with the herd whenever you get loaded up.”

“We’ll be there the day after tomorrow,” Ely stated, and his wife didn’t dispute it.

“Benteen!”

He recognized Lorna’s voice and pivoted. A smile broke over his features when he saw her wave to him from the middle of the street where she waited with her mother for a buckboard to pass. He had a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle as she lifted her skirts to hurry a few steps out of the way of another horse-drawn vehicle. There was a silent groan inside him at the thought of waiting two more days before she belonged to him, and there would be no more “glimpses” of things.

“Hello.” For all her ladylike demeanor, there was a vivid sparkle in her brown eyes. “We stopped by the store on our way to the millinery shop. Daddy said you were coming over here.”

“I came to see about a wagon to haul all of your ‘precious cargo,’” he said mockingly, referring to all the embroidered linens and household articles she had accumulated for their new home.