This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

Then she had been right about the woman being one of the titled aristocracy. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, your ladyship.” Lorna made a little curtsy, as she had been taught in Miss Hilda’s School. An eyebrow was slightly raised by Lady Elaine at the proper reference. “I’m Mrs. Lorna Calder.”

“From Texas.” It seemed more statement than guess.

“I am,” Lorna confirmed with vague surprise. “How did you know?”

“That soft, drawling accent of yours,” she explained. “Nearly everyone in Dodge City seems to be from Texas.”

“That’s because of the trail herds.” She summoned the boldness to ask, “Where are you from?”

“England. My husband and I are on an extended tour of America. When my husband was younger, he spent a year in the West. The stories he tells about his adventures.” The woman widened her dark eyes to indicate they were endless. “He’s decided to relive some of it. Actually we’re on our way to San Francisco.”

“I’ve heard it’s an exciting city,” Lorna admitted.

“Yes.” She seemed indifferent, and glanced toward the street doors. “At the present, I’m waiting for my husband to bring the carriage around. He wants to drive out and look at some of the herds. He cherishes the dream of someday being the proprietor of a large ranch in the West. Are you waiting for your husband, too?”

“Yes.” In a way, it was partially true, although it wasn’t precisely her reason for being in the lobby. “He rode out this morning with a cattle buyer to show him some steers he wants to sell.”

“You and your husband are here in Dodge City to sell cattle?”

“Yes, but we’re only passing through on our way to the Montana Territory. My husband has some land there that he’s going to run cattle on. It will be our new home,” Lorna explained.

“Then you have left Texas for good?” The English lady appeared mildly interested by that discovery.

Some of Lorna’s regret must have shown in her expression, because the blond-haired woman guessed, “It must have been very difficult to start out on a new life.”

“It was.” Which was something of an understatement, but Lorna didn’t want to confide how painful it had been.

“Do you and your husband still have family in Texas?” she inquired.

“Benteen’s father passed away shortly before we left, but both my parents live there,” Lorna explained.

“How sad for your husband,” Lady Elaine murmured. She lowered her lashes to conceal any hint that the news was of significance to her. The last potential problem was gone. Too many years had passed for her to feel anything but relief. Always keen in her observations of small details, she noticed the rough and reddened hands of the young Calder wife. She experienced a rare surge of compassion, perhaps because her thoughts had briefly turned back to her own harsh years. “I hope you won’t be offended, Mrs. Calder, but in the short time I’ve been in the West, I have discovered how damaging this climate can be to a woman’s skin.”

Lorna reddened and tried to conceal her hands in the folds of her dress. She was well aware of the contrast between her skin and the woman’s creamy smooth complexion.

“I have a lotion that my chemist prepared specially for me. I should like to have my maid bring some to your room. It does wonders, I assure you.”

“It’s very generous of you,” Lorna murmured.

“Women need to look out for each other. Actually, we do a much better job of it than men.” Again there was that faint smile. “I’ll send my maid to your room with some of my lotion.” The street door opened and an elegantly dressed gentleman entered. “My husband is here with the carriage. I must leave. It was a pleasure talking to you, Mrs. Calder.”

“Good day to you, your ladyship.” Again Lorna made a small curtsy and received a gracious nod before the woman turned and glided across the lobby.

Lorna had expected the lady’s husband to be some dashing and handsome nobleman, but the man Lady Elaine greeted was much older than Lorna believed the woman to be. He wasn’t at all handsome. Except for his clothes, he looked dull and ordinary. He ruined Lorna’s fantasy that Lady Elaine was wedded to a Prince Charming.

She was so engrossed in the titled couple that she almost didn’t see Benteen enter the hotel. The elegantly dressed woman was facing away from him. She received no more than a passing glance from him to ascertain it wasn’t Lorna as he walked by. A second later he spied his wife across the lobby. At first he thought the rapt look on her face was for him, and his stride quickened, but it vanished when she saw him.

Benteen didn’t realize how many little things in their relationship he’d taken for granted. Like the way she used to turn to him when he touched her, the special excitement in her eyes when he looked at her, and the way she always watched for him. But not anymore. He tried to steel himself not to feel the loss.

Lorna hadn’t turned out to be the loving, amenable wife he had thought she would be. At times she was too assertive, too ready to disagree with him, and too critical of his actions. He blamed Mary Stanton’s influence for the way Lorna had started talking back to him. Those new qualities in her rankled him, yet he strangely admired her passionate spirit, her strength of will, and her unbending pride. When she angered him, he wanted to break her—as he had nearly done when he’d raped her. Yet Benteen had the uneasy feeling that if he ever succeeded in making her kneel to him, he would cease to care. It was an odd contradiction that he didn’t understand.

He was trying not to care for her so much, so he wouldn’t be scarred if she left him. If he couldn’t hold her, he wanted to be able to turn his back on her and block her existence from his mind. That’s what his father should have done.

“I didn’t expect to see you in the lobby,” he remarked when he reached her. “I thought you’d be in the room.”

“I was just on my way there,” Lorna replied.

“Who is the young woman?” Con Dunshill asked of his wife. She usually expressed no interest in those of her own sex, so he had been surprised and curious to see Elaine in conversation with a young woman, especially one not of her class.