This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

“They’re nice boys.” He rumpled Webb’s dark hair with affection.

“I wike you,” Arthur said, tipping his head way back to look at the stranger.

“I like you, too,” Bull replied with a slight gruffness in his voice.

“You’re very good with children,” Lorna remarked. “You should get married and have some of your own.” “That isn’t likely to happen,” he said, “considering the only girl I ever wanted to marry is somebody else’s wife.” His bold gaze made it clear that he was referring to her.

“Please don’t say things like that, Mr. Giles,” Lorna insisted awkwardly, because it couldn’t be unsaid, or forgotten. “It makes it impossible for us to even be friends.”

He breathed in deeply and released it in a quick sigh. “My apologies, Mrs. Calder.”

All she could do was nod and murmur a “good day.” With the boys in hand, she turned and walked to the waiting wagon.

22

Canvas tents were clustered together like so many giant mushrooms erupting out of the stark, lonely plains. Not far from the stretch of river where the tents and assorted wagons sat, a herd of horses grazed under the watchful eye of a wrangler. Longeared mules and powerfully muscled draft horses browsed side by side with sleek thoroughbreds, intermingling and sharing the food feast in a classless way that the people occupying the tents regarded as unthinkable for themselves.

“Don’t you find this all so exciting and adventurous, Lady Crawford?” declared Penelope Dunshill, daughter of the present Earl of Crawford and the future wife to the Duke of Middleton. The high-spirited brunette didn’t possess any real beauty, but her vivacity made it appear she was attractive. “I want to mount my horse and gallop madly over this melancholy land.” The instant the desire was expressed, she turned eagerly from the awesome expanse of rolling grassland to her companion. “Let’s go riding.”

“No.” Elaine Dunshill adjusted the black parasol to the other shoulder to keep the sun off her relatively unlined face. “Even you would wilt in this heat, Penelope, and George has a lavish dinner planned for this evening so we all can sample the wild game he shot this morning. He will be greatly disappointed if his future bride is too enervated to enjoy it.” That should have been sufficient argument against it, but for good measure she added, “Our guide is away from camp getting the carriage repaired. A person can become too easily lost in this country without a native to show the way. I suggest you lie down and rest for a couple of hours instead.”

“If you insist.” The long sigh that accompanied the agreement was an exaggerated show of unwillingness.

When they paused in front of Penelope’s tent, her personal maid appeared instantly. Counting the guide, horse handlers, cook, maids, and valets, there was a retinue of twelve to serve the English party of six. Yet, they were supposedly “roughing it.” Elaine smiled to herself each time the thought occurred to her.

It was practically the only amusement she found in this tour of the “real” American West. Con’s death had diminished the role she played in London society and politics. She made a striking figure in black, a color she continued to wear even after the year’s mourning had passed, but she was the wife of a dead earl, no longer sought for the influence she no longer had. Despite her personal and inherited wealth, she had been relegated to dowager status.

She chafed under the loss of power and prestige that had her playing companion and chaperon to an empty-headed girl who found more excitement in a mad gallop across the plains than in making money and manipulating people. The only alternative to her present position was to receive no invitations and retire to some country manor. And that would be infinitely more galling.

With her charge whisked into the tent by the maid, Elaine continued on, but not to her own tent. She wanted to have a word with her host, the Duke of Middleton, and find out how soon they would resume their travel. In truth, part of the appeal that had prompted Elaine to accept the invitation to come on this trip as her niece’s companion had occurred when George—the Duke of Middleton—had mentioned they would be touring the northern territories, including Montana. Elaine had been intrigued by the possibility of chancing across her son, Benteen Calder, and discovering whether he had made use of the potential she’d seen in him. But this territory was big, and so far she’d not heard his name mentioned. Not that it was important; she admitted to only an idle curiosity about him.

When she neared the center tent, Elaine noticed the horse and buggy out front, and recognized it as belonging to Judd Boston, a banker turned rancher. Their camp was located on his range, so he had become a frequent visitor. As a matter of fact, it was he who had recommended their present guide when George had dismissed the previous one for drunkenness. Although Elaine had little personal contact with the banker, she suspected that he was deliberately trying to keep their party on his land for some purpose of his own.

At the sound of voices coming through the canvas walls of the tent, Elaine had no qualms about eavesdropping on the conversation between this Judd Boston and her host. There had been occasions in the past when she had picked up valuable information in the same manner.

“I am confident this will prove to be a very profitable investment for you.” It was the man Judd Boston talking. Although he claimed to be Texan, he didn’t possess the accent. Elaine briefly thought it might be interesting to delve into his background. “This partnership of ours will be highly successful. There’s a lot of money to be made in cattle, especially if a man has not only financial backing but also important connections in government. With your financial support and my connections, our company will have both.”

“The Duchess Land and Cattle Company. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” George declared in his haughty, boasting voice. “My future bride is so taken with this country. I’m certain she shall adore having a ranch named after her.”

“An excellent engagement present,” Boston agreed, but Elaine caught a trace of cynicism in his tone.

Now she understood his game. He had kept the party here in order to persuade the Duke of Middleton to invest some of his considerable fortune in his ranch, as so many other members of European royalty had done recently. Fools, Elaine thought. They had no knowledge of the vagaries of ranching in the West. Droughts, blizzards, disease, not to mention fluctuating cattle markets. Money could be made. Yes, a lot of it. But not as easily as men like Judd Boston proclaimed. Absentee owners and partners were begging to be fleeced and bilked of their moneys.

“This is prime range,” Boston was saying. “You can search the whole of Montana and find none better.”

From what Elaine had seen of it, there was a cr

itical lack of water to sustain a large herd, certainly anything the size Boston had indicated he was bringing up the trail from Texas. Water had been the one asset Seth Calder possessed, but he had always been too conservative in everything he did. “Growing slowly,” he had called it, and Elaine had seen the months slip into years with no discernible improvements in their standard of living.

“What was this you mentioned about three claims you—or rather we—would be able to assume?” George corrected himself and emphasized his participation.

“Before the government will deed land to an individual, it requires that improvements be made. As I mentioned, there are three claims that don’t fulfill the requirements. I have a ‘friend’ in the land office that will throw out the claims at the proper time, leaving it open for us.” There was a slight pause before Boston continued. “You realize, of course, that the information must be kept strictly confidential. We wouldn’t want the owner of the Triple C to discover our plans and meet the conditions.”

“I’ll not breathe a word,” George promised, at the same time slightly affronted by and enthusiastic about their clandestine activities. “You will join us for dinner tonight, Boston. That Mr. Giles you recommended is a marvelous guide. This evening we will be feasting on game that I personally shot—game that our guide led me to. I should like you to share in the spoils of the hunt and celebrate our new partnership.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” Judd Boston accepted the invitation.

“I am sure you would like to rest and freshen up before dinner.” There was the sound of snapping fingers. “I’ll have Barton show you where you may stay.”