This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

Benteen took a half-step back so the lower half of his body no longer pinned her against the buggy. His gaze dropped to the hand on her breast, and he slowly brought it down.

“I shouldn’t have let you do that,” Lorna whispered anxiously. “I don’t know what got into me. You’re probably thinking—”

“—that I want to bury myself in you,” Benteen finished the sentence for her, the sexual significance of his remark lost on her innocence. He seemed to realize it, as one side of his mouth became twisted in a rueful smile. “We’d better get married damned soon, because I need you, Lorna.”

“I need you too,” she murmured, but she was speaking emotionally.

“The things you do to me, woman.” The cryptic phrase was accompanied by a slight shake of his head. “I’ll be a solid stone by our wedding night.”

A shudder trembled through her at the greater intimacies that night would bring, and her possible reactions. The shawl had fallen down around her arms. Benteen reached to gently pull it up around her shoulders.

“It’s getting cool. We’d better get you home before you catch a chill.”

“Will you have dinner with us tonight?” she asked, not wanting him to leave her now that he had returned.

“I need to get back and check on the herd,” he refused gently, then promised, “I’ll be in town tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

He assisted her into the buggy. This time, he climbed onto the seat beside her, taking the reins and driving the horse to the Pearce house.

6

On a trail drive the cook was second in importance only to the trail boss. Most of the drovers considered him to be more important, especially if he knew how to cook. Besides fixing the meals and keeping a pot of hot, strong coffee going all the time, he doctored men and horses, was entrusted with personal belongings and money, pulled teeth on occasion, and trimmed hair. The cook could make life pleasant on the drive or turn it into sheer hell.

There was only one man Benteen wanted—a cantankerous old sea dog who claimed to have been the personal cook of an admiral. His name had long been forgotten, probably even by him, ever since a cowboy had claimed that his coffee tasted “rusty.” “Rusty” emptied the pot on the cowboy’s head. No one ever made the mistake of claiming his coffee was rusty again, but the name stuck.

Rusty had been cook on two of the outfits Benteen had bossed. He allowed himself to be persuaded to accept Benteen’s offer to trail with him a third time. He claimed that it wasn’t that he liked working for Benteen so much as it was a desire to see the Montana Territory, blaming the wanderlust in his soul.

Together Rusty and Benteen picked out the chuck wagon, since it would be Rusty’s domain for the next few months. The man who sold it gave Benteen the name of a man who had a covered wagon for sale. He slipped the piece of paper in his pocket and walked over to Pearce’s Emporium with Rusty.

After he had introduced Rusty to Arthur Pearce, he explained to Lorna’s father, “Rusty is the cook for my outfit. He’ll tell you what provisions he needs. I’ll be back later to pay for them.”

The quickest way to get on the wrong foot with Rusty was to tell him how many pounds of flour, kegs of molasses, jars of vinegar, pounds of sugar, bacon, and assorted items he’d need. So Benteen gave Rusty the authority to purchase what he felt he needed.

“Lorna asked me to tell you, if I saw you today, that she wanted to talk to you,” her father passed along the message.

“A man named Davies has a wagon for sale. I’m going to see him first, then I’ll ride over to the house to see Lorna,” Benteen agreed.

“She won’t be home this afternoon,” Arthur Pearce quickly corrected that impression. “She and my wife are going to the milliner’s shop this afternoon to pick up her wedding veil. Then they were stopping by the church to speak with the minister.”

Amusement lightened Benteen’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Run all over town trying to catch up with her?” He shook his head at the vagaries of the female sex.

“I’m just passing on the message.” Arthur Pearce smiled in understanding.

Leaving the store, Benteen first went in search of the man who had the wagon for sale. There seemed to be a never-ending number of things to buy. His pockets kept getting lighter.

The wagon was needed to carry the items for their new home in Montana as well as personal possessions. Also it would afford Lorna some privacy and the luxury of a bed. He didn’t expect her to rough it like the rest of them.

After the wagon, Benteen still needed to buy another twenty head or so of horses. He wasn’t comfortable with less than eighty horses in the remuda. Yates was wrangling for him and claimed to have found a fair-looking group to finish out the string. More money spent, not to mention the wages to the boys on the cowhunt. When he had started putting his plans in motion, eleven hundred dollars had looked like an ample amount of money to fund the drive. Now Benteen wished he’d taken the extra time last spring to catch another twenty head of wild cattle to throw in with the Ten Bar herd he’d trailed to Wyoming for Boston, instead of settling for just thirty steers of his own. He’d have two or three hundred dollars more to play with now.

It was a good thing he planned to sell some of the steers from the herd when they reached Dodge City, provided the beef prices were respectable. He’d need the money to pay off the drovers when they reached Montana Territory. He wondered briefly about Barnie and how the winter had been. The knowledge Barnie gained with one Montana winter behind him would be invaluable, come the next.

Benteen weaved his way across the street, dodging horse-drawn wagons and galloping riders. The dust constantly swirled about him, kicked up by hooves and wheels. The livery stable was just ahead. Benteen could see it through the haze of mixing dust and people.

The clang of a blacksmith’s hammer banging a horseshoe into shape added to the din of the streets. As Benteen neared the stable, he saw the gimpy-legged man holding a bald-faced roan for the shoer. He angled toward the blacksmith’s lean-to.

“Hey, Stoney,” he greeted the man.

“Hey, Benteen.” Stoney raised a hand to him. “Sad thing about your pa. Heard yore gonna be pullin’ out soon.”